scott “the jesus” is awesome and talks really loud and says like a lot and he has fucked up hair and i asked him if he was going to be growing it down to his ass again and he said no he’ll keep it where it is and i said well i intend to grow my hair as long as the alphabet. i got blog-spotted by elizabeth and she came over and was all excited and i was flattered but also surprised. one guy in her posse said he was on morphine when i asked him to watch my jacket and our spot. scott was telling us a story about this guy’s apartment that has dog shit all over the carpet and how when he got there the dog immediately pissed on the carpet and a couple over his shoulder kept looking back at him talking about shit because they were trying to enjoy their meal and his shit story just kept going and going.

this one kid came over to try and have a pocket of quiet space for his cell phone call but then he left because scott was ten times louder than the rest of the bar.

scott also doesn’t have a microwave and one time his mum came home with a box that looked like a microwave could be inside of it and scott is all YAH MICROWAVE and his mum goes i got us a breadmaker and scott’s head which was just about to explode with joy, exploded with disapointment instead and then he went on to explain how the home made loaves are tiny and gross and what a waste a breadmaker is because store-bought bread is at least guaranteed to be good and then he went on a rant going what, you can’t afford store bread?

melissa also thought that scott was ward and kept asking if he was ward. haha.

mark is starving himself and it’s driving thom and i crazy. he’s been doing it since christmas and says he’ll finish around may. he’s totally emaciated and thirty pounds lighter and he wasn’t even fat to begin with. he’s exercising his inner-strength and zen-like whatever and when i talk to him about it and express my frustration he in-turn gets frustrated because he wanted us to be supportive of him. supportive? are you fucking kidding me? so i haven’t been hanging with him much because it’s hard to sit there looking at a skeleton who is stubborn and won’t get help and is starving himself for no fucking reason and also i feel like a house around him so fuck that noise.

saw apostle of hustle at the drake last nite and it was, i’d say, probably the best show of all the hipster shows i have experienced. members of broken social scene, metric, and stars were also there up at the front near to where we were sitting and also performed with aoh. beside me was this nerdy guy who was really into the music and was slamming his legs up and down to the beat and it made my beer jiggle all over my pants. K-OS was there and smashed his drink to the floor by accident. i felt bad for the opening guy because this gaggle of fat chicks were blabbing the entire time as loud as they possibly could through his entire set. i felt a psychotic rage coming on.

emily haines touched fil’s leg when she was trying to get by us to the front and fil swooooooned. i had a crush on the percussions chick when she was playing those clay maraccas and dancing. apostle of hustle is canada’s version of the flaming lips except they don’t have weird costumes, yet.

you’d think the mailman would deliver mail faster on fridays and have it in your box by 9 am because he is all PAAAAAAAAAAARTY FRIIIIIIIIIIIIIIDAY and is on speed. the mailguy takes a taxi to my street and that’s when/where he begins. i’ve seen him. that’s funny. why doesn’t he just get the cabbie to deliver all his mail for him and he can chill at home and they can speak on walkie talkies and the mailguy will be like oh watch out for that house because the lady watches out the window and if you walk across her lawn she will call and complain and she gives scary mean looks and i hate her.

anyway i would love to bump into a mail carrier party in a bar one day and see them all wearing shorts and reading return to sender letters and changed address magazines.