Forgotten blogs like jellybeans in a giant jar

Well, my efforts to keep regular entries in my blog have fallen by the wayside pretty quickly. Which sucks because there's a bunch of things I could have written about in this time. And I believe this week may be one in which things may shift in my life yet again. But I think it'll be a good shift.

However, I'm currently undergoing a sudden period of insomnia, after spending most of the past month sleeping constantly. This may be good news for my blog, but I can't imagine it'll do much for my baggy eyes or my general health.

I'll stop being oblique for a second and run down the past month: went to cottage. It's rare that life is like a beer commercial; rarer still to have that be a good thing.
Here's a pic of me dressed up in my cottage best - cowboy hat & wife beater - with jailhouse tattoos drawn on by my friend J using a sharpie. Visit his sharpie tattoo parlour and skate park, conveniently located at the corner of queen & bathurst.

Also, fully part-time at my job. But haven't really taken full advantage of it yet; especially since I've added some shifts, and next week I work a couple of days at Annemarie's office. I'm a glutton for white-collar punishment. Although in the case of working at a call centre, it should more acurately be called grey-collar: drab, soulless, devoid of the goodness and purity that the colour white suggests.

Also, dj night. Every sunday at the queenshead. Please come. Don't make me beg. Okay, I'll beg, but I won't bow before you. Okay, maybe just once. Just come to my dj night, dammit. Pitchers of beer are $10! What does this city have against cheap beer?! Actually, my friends have been pretty good about coming by for the most part, and they're the only ones reading this, so props to my peeps, yo.
And thus, I'll leave you tonight with the following new catch phrase for my dj night:
Bedhead sundays at the Queenshead: like a sharpie tattoo in audio format.