Resolute the New Year.

This New Year's, I'm encouraging you all to come up with the most absurd resolution possible, and carry through on it.

I'm not talking self-improvement here- after all, if you're anything like me, you don't need to lose weight, are already spectacularly good looking, and probably smoke/drink an adequate amount (I expect nothing less of my friends and readers). And I'm not talking world-improvement here- we've got Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt to take care of that for us. What I'm talking about is a completely useless goal, with no other concrete purpose than to at the very least to amuse you.

My personal resolution for 2006 is to only date guys with beards. And I'm not talking soul patches, or goatees, or chin straps here. I'm talking BEARDS. Beards that will cause my chin to break out in a perpetual rash. Man beards. Full-on heterosexual-I-chop-down-trees-in-my-spare-time-and-wear-flannel-while-smoking-pipes kind of beards.

Hello, Pulitzer!

I feel like I should write something profound. Some sort of Garden State worthy prose about what being "home" feels like, perhaps. I feel like I should write about how the balmy temperatures and the lack of snow is unsettling in Macbeth-esque proportions. I feel like I should write words that will make the world want to fall in love with me. And if not the world, then maybe just one man.

So here goes:

I got a dinner party in a box for Christmas.

Blogging Hiatus

Last night Mark and I went to see Stars play. Since he had to wait so long for me (which is the fault of the TTC, not me) he decided that he had spare time, and required two watches. (What?! C'mon, I thought it was funny when he told me.)


The crazy folky Christmasy opening band that wasn't surprisingly good (as bands like this sometimes are), but they did have a lead singer who resembled a white David Suzuki. He was wearing a sequined vest.

Anyways, since I'm headed back to Alberta tomorrow, this is a bit of a blogging hiatus for me. I hope everyone has a wonderful Festivus, and that there will be many moustaches in your future.

Or maybe that's just what I hope for myself.

And then there were two. . .

Scenes like this are probably making the Albertans in the crowd kind of whimsical and wishing that they had snow right now.


And then you remember that snow is cold.

After a long day of trudging through the snow and eating thai food, we decided to head out for a pitcher of beer at Mick E. Fynn's.

Strangely, no one was really there.


Except Courtney and Junior.


And they had fries and beer, which is a pretty big selling point for me.


Court and Junior got into an argument of sorts.


And then Max showed up. I insisted upon stroking his beard and telling him that if you put him in the Green Room and handed him a glass of wine, he would look like he was planning some sort of upsurgal revolution of the people.


Bored with just sitting, we decided to start table dancing, also known as "dancing like you are a parapalegic."


I'm really good at table dancing.


Charles and Sonja showed up too. This is Mick E. Fynn's, after all. I'm sure there's some sort of mathematical formula that dictates after a certain period of time you have to run into all your friends there.

I can't even explain what's going on in this picture.


Or this one.


However, I can acertain that in this picture, Court and I were singing along to a) Guns and Roses b) Bon Jovi or c) AC/DC. (One of the above.)


But then we abandoned the singing in favour of more table dancing.


Junior doesn't carry a hairbrush with him, so he had to use his cell phone as a microphone. Well, I guess they are both "phones." (Haha, that was another knee-slapper, right there.)

Another one of my many talents was revealed- I do a mean impression of the Muppets character Beaker.


Junior's brother Taylor showed up too.


My favourite thing about these pictures is that you can actually see the alcohol working its way through our veins, which is why I posted so many of them.


Taylor just met these two.








Courtney and I felt like we needed to make new friends too. This guy works at homeless shelters when he's not standing all scary like guarding pub doors, which caused Court and her bleeding heart to decide that we needed to not only high-five him, but also take a picture.


We left the bar, and took advantage of the snow to make snow angels. You can tell from this photo that I'm obviously the best at making them. (Sometimes, my talents overwhelm me. But then I remember that my purpose in life is to be this awesome.)


Court got exceedingly jealous of my snow-angel making abilities and attempted to kill two birds with one stone by wrecking my angel and smothering me at the same time. That bitch.


"You bitch! Help me up!"


Aw, that's what friends are for.

After we parted ways with the guys, Court saw the huge park of fresh snow as a mission.

The start of something great.














"Jess! There's not enough snow," Courtney told me. I couldn't make this stuff up.


"There's just not enough snow."


So we borrowed a snowman on the way home.


This is what my hand looks like this morning. Apparently I tried to write myself a note of some sort with a half-dead pen. I wish I knew what it said.

Cabbage is a popular euphemism for. . .

If you ever read any historical information on Toronto's Cabbagetown, you'll learn that the area was settled by early immigrants, many of whom were Irish. The area earned its name because the first inhabitats of the neighbourhood grew cabbages in their yards to feed their huge families since they were poor, and it was such a cheap, hardy vegetable.

Informational websites on Cabbagetown claim that this is no longer the case, and that current residents of the area are wealthy enough to afford more than just cabbage.


I beg to differ.

Sasha bought this massive cabbage, larger than her head, about a month ago. Why did she buy such a large cabbage? Because it only cost 97 cents.

You, too, can earn a university degree!

With one more final to go, I'm spending the night at home studying. This involves doing online quizzes from my textbook's website. Questions include the following:

Who assists in connecting the prostitute and client?
A)the john
B)a hustler from the hotel
C)the panderer
D)a gigolo

How is hard-core pornography defined?
A)sexually explicit material featuring themes of anal intercourse, bondage, rape, sadomasochism, necrophilia, and sex with animals
B)erotica
C)slightly more extreme than soft-core
D)none of the above

When Andy is home alone, he puts on his wife's dresses, which makes him sexually excited. Andy would be considered a:
A)transvestite
B)homosexual
C)transsexual
D)drag queen

Nudity is illegal when:
A)it is in the locker room of a gym
B)it is in your living room with an open window facing the street
C)it is sunbathing at a local beach
D)A and B
E)B and C

Which of the following sexual variations is probably the most dangerous?
A)troilism
B)asphyxiophilia
C)zoophilia
D)necrophilia

Can you answer all of the above questions correctly?

I didn't take these pictures.

Back in November (it was so long ago, I can barely remember it) I went out to Dance Cave for Vanessa's Birthday.


Which is apparently the night she met this guy, Avery, who was kind enough to send me a link to his pictures from Friday night.


Before the bar, we discovered the hidden purpose of the random rope at Mark's place. "It came with the apartment," he told us, "along with the Bob Marley poster." (For security reasons, I can't elaborate on the purpose of the rope. You'll just have to use your imaginations.)


Vanessa's delicious ammo, to be loaded in her banana gun.


Mark. (He was rather upset that Brie kissed the duct tape before she put it on his lips.)


At Dance Cave, I ran into the kid who walked me home the night of Vanessa's birthday party. He didn't remember anything about me at all, except for the fact that I'm from Alberta. (This seems to a be a predominant theme in my life. Everything about me seems to summed up for people when they say, "This is Jess. She's from Alberta." This introduction is inevitably followed by a short pause before the new acquaintance responds, "Ohhhhh," as though my Albertan status defines me as a person. I suppose it does explain a lot of things, by Ontario standards.)

I feel like I look so small and young in this picture. Am I that short in real life? I feel like I encompass more space than that.


Avery, Victoria and Vanessa.


I was really sweaty from dancing.


The girls were channeling Corey Hart.


I was really sweaty.


This picture makes them look like the sort of couple that I would pass on the street and instantenously hate for looking so together and happy.


However, I could never hate Vanessa's breasts.


Thanks for the pictures Avery!

One week until I go home. . .

If you live in downtown Toronto, and are staring out a window at snow right now while drinking black coffee, download Sufjan Stevens' "Jacksonville." You'll suddenly feel as though you're in a Sofia Coppola movie.

I'm itchy.

I've done a terrible thing. I'm at Mark's right now, with Brie, Vanessa, Julia and Victoria, getting ready to go out for the night. But I've done a really terrible thing.

I left the house without my camera.

On purpose.

I also didn't bring my cell phone, my purse, or any other technology. (Not that a purse is technology, persay, but it is pretty high-tech for me, considering I only started carrying one this year.)

All on purpose.

What was I thinking?! What have I done?!

I can't change my face. . .

. . .but I can change my hair.

Brie and I both went to get our hair done today, and tried out the new look with patented Paris Hilton poses.


Brie's now blonder.


And I'm now redder.

I really should be studying for my finals right now.