No Class at Osheaga

Nothing says class like buying a small bottle of whiskey and shoving into your crotch to smuggle it into a music festival. The festival organisers are asking for this though: if they're gonna make me pay 5.50$ for less-than-a-bottle of crappy beer, I think it's okay for me to do that. Maybe the group of women, who saw me stick my hand shamelessly and completely down into my junk to retrieve the bottle after clearing security, were a bit shocked, but I'll forgive them. We all need to make allowances, right?

PS: Prodige are my most favorite briefs ever.

On a different note, if Girl Talk ever makes its way to where you live, buy tickets. He (no, I have no idea why he chose the name Girl Talk) is the most phenomenal live act. It was completely worth skipping over live ColdPlay to see him. The entire hour+ was just a wild dancefest, with the audience dancing on-stage, giant inflatable beach balls, confetti, inflattable tubes, toilet paper, exploding balls with money (yes, real money) and fireworks in every direction. Two days after the festival, my body still physically hurts from the amount of funk that was coarsing through it and being released as body gyrations.


And for another complete shift in post direction:

Awww, Liz still luvs me.

Awww, Oldest Brother was briefly in town and still loves making fake smiles when I try to take his photo.

Awww, Mike & Mike's Girlfriend are cute - though even better: he's actually regularly & often appearing in our lives again!