This guy was about the only one making up for the serious lack of testosterone in the room. There's no better way to assert your malehood than through an excessive amount of thick gold chains. His sweet dance moves only solidified his manliness.
After the show was over, I went to the restroom to call Robyn and Gill to figure out where they'd dissapeared to, while the girls went to grab another drink.
. . .and Gill, looking hot doing her own thing.
Because it's all about the Brie dance montage.
On Friday morning, I rolled my sore feet and body out of bed early to catch the bus to Ottawa. Joanna came to pick me up at the bus stop.
And then we ate too much,commiserated about being trashbags and discussed all the latest Vanuatu news.
On Saturday, Melissa and I got in trouble for taking pictures at Ron Mueck's exhibit. The one security guard scolded us in a way that made me feel like an elementary school kid caught for chewing gum in class.
So after we were done looking at the exhibit, we asked a young security guard where we could take pictures so that Melissa could get out all the thumbs-up pictures that she was dying to let loose. "You can go upstairs and take pictures of the stuff like Picasso's stuff. It's okay when the artist is dead or whatever, because then they obviously don't care." He paused for a second, weighing in his own mind whether his analysis of the situation was correct. "Because Picasso's dead, right?"
"'Giant Paint Chip,' I guessed.
"I'm going to call it. . ." Melissa thought for a second before concluding, "'Complimentary Neutrals. . .Of Life.'"
I was staying at Monique's place all weekend. As two Cold Lakers far from home, we bond together on holidays whenever we're feeling a little homesick. It works out well.
For starters: an appetizer plate and bruschetta.
Monique and Craig.
The holiday has never quite felt (and tasted) so good.