The bloody bits

I was stuck the city this weekend. It's starting to weigh down on me. I haven't been out of the concrete since December. It's strange that I spent the first 18 years of my life terrified by the sheer isolation of Cold Lake; when I was a kid I used to lay in bed and count the towns outwards from Cold Lake. Cold Lake, Grand Centre, Bonnyville. . .and then? Smokey Lake, I guess. And after? Edmonton. A 300 km drive, and all I could come up with was three smalls towns in between Cold Lake and Edmonton. It was unsettling. It kept me awake at night. I could never figure out why--I guess it made me feel trapped.

And now I'm trapped in a different way. I spent the other night online, frantically scanning the Ontario Tourism map, looking for genuine wilderness, looking for a route that only has three small towns in between Toronto and utopia. It doesn't exist. I looked for cheap rental car rates, and places where the tourists wouldn't be hoarding for the weekend. I ended up staying in the city instead. I spent my entire teenage years wanting to get out, and I'm sure I'm going to spend a large portion of my life as a young adult wanting the same.

I'm making the best of it. Natty and I went to one of those cheap Asian manicure places yesterday to get our nails did. It was my first time getting a manicure (I usually just get a pedicure because I figure my hands are a lost cause regardless), but I couldn't say no when it was only $10.

I got what I paid for. Check out the slight infection and bloody bits around my cuticles. Here's to hoping I don't get hepatitis.

In other news, I really want to compete in the Idiotarod. I'm not very good at Rock Band, playing basketball, or anything requiring general coordination or skill, but I know my way around a good costume.

And finally, I went to a BBQ at a fellow Albertan's house on Saturday night. There wasn't a single Ontarion in attendance, just British Columbians, Saskatchewanians and Albertans. We all commiserated about our hatred of the phrase "May 2-4."

This weekend is the prime example. May 24th is next weekend, yet this weekend is the May 2-4 weekend. Furthermore, what is a 2-4? Turns out that I'm not the only Westerner confused by this phraseology. (It's a flat of beer, apparently. This is definitely a product of Ontario's archaic liquor system, one that was developed during prohibition. Out West, we don't have to "order" our beer, so there's no way we would start saying things like "2-4.")