The way that light attaches to a girl. . .

On the Saturday night before I flew back to Alberta, Court, Brie and I went to see Bedouin Soundclash play.


Since drinks were ridiculously expensive, Brie came equipped with her own mini-bottle of Malibu.


Some bitch named Jessikers stole my nickname. I would never do something as un-classy as writing in a bathroom stall.


In an effort to get guys to buy us drinks, I tried the fool-proof method of attempting to take arms-length shots of the three of us together. Despite the number of guys watching our proceedings, none came over and offered to take the photo for us.


Maybe it's because Brie's hair was glowing up the black lights.


Afterwards, we went to Mick E. Fynn's, where Brent showed up with his brother. This picture was taken before I lit his e-mail address on fire.




Mark showed up, and we took one of our classic, "Jess pointing at Mark with the patented eyebrow raise while Mark looks confused and innocent."






It's over three weeks later, and I'm attempting to write captions. I have no explaination for this. I also have no explaination for why I don't appear to be enjoying it.


I have no explaination for this either.


Oh, Courtney, I forgive you for trying to molest me. Seranding always has that affect on me.






I'm sure I thought of a witty caption for this at the time. Right now, however, I'm feeling particularly un-witty. Besides, name tattoos speak for themselves. My favourite part about this particular name tattoo is that it is also a "tramp stamp".

And then, suddenly, I'm in Alberta.

At the Harbour House Staff Party.

After reading "The Game: Penetrating the Secret Society of Pick-Up Artists" by Neil Strauss, I came to the conclusion that I needed to put "peacock theory" into full-throttle. In otherwords, dressing for maximum attention in order to attract suitors. Hence the zebra-print.
(After seeing this picture of just a fraction of the HH staff, don't you suddenly want to eat there?)




The guns. I never give the guns. But I was in Alberta. There's an exception for every rule.



On the cab ride to the bar.


Once we got Legends though, no one was there.


And Monique couldn't figure out how to work the bank machine.


I, however, was content with the new colour they painted the bathroom stalls.


On Christmas Day, Andrew and I took a drive out to the country to take artsy photos and test out his new digital camera.


There's no snow in Alberta right now. It's eerie and unsettling. (Which, as it turns out, is the same way I felt about my visit home.)




The lake wasn't frozen for the first time in 42 years. It looked like glass.


And then, I got bored in Cold Lake, and impulsively drove to the city in the middle of the night. After all, no trip to Alberta is complete without a mini-road trip.