the good folks at MTV and Maynard's finally paid out, in exchange for all the traumatizing footage shot during my episode of Date My Playlist. (six months later - ahem). anyway, I decided to take five of my favourite people out to dinner at Fressen, and shit got messy. and delicious. then messy again.
I got a new job, working as a server/bartender at one of the most over-conceptualised venues in the city. Tattoo Rock is a bar, a venue, a high end restaurant, a tattoo shop, and vip lounge, complete with fur rugs and fireplaces. in theory, this place could be amazing, but it's got about as much cool factor as silk-screened jeans on a guido. and since that seems to be our target market, "ehhhhhhhhhh".
I was the first person tattooed at the launch party, as part of my boss' publicity event. they're running artists out of black line, so word-to-the-wise DO NOT GET TATTOOED HERE. mine was gross to the max, full of blown out lines, and felt like shit. the tattoo is a traditional rose, made out of a hundred dollar bill ('cause I'm a baller now'). actually because I knew the artist sucked, and I figured it was meant to be the kind of tattoo that looks like trash. plus side! I'm in last sunday's toronto star. it looks like I'm screaming in agony, but I think I'm actually yawning.
AS IF there was any doubt, the Dirtballs are the best dodgeballers in this city. we proved it monday, winning the tiiiiiight championship game. I was on another planet for most of the game, and just kind of floated around and dodged half-heartily. good game dirtballs! co-ed prevails!
life sort of rules right now. go watch a christmas movie and hug something.