Randomness

The sushi monster is rearing its delicious head once again. After not having it for a couple months, I've already had it three times this week. And, how I've missed you, dear spicy salmon roll. The only worrisome item is that, while I type this, I am eating leftover sushi from last night - around 7pm. It is now 1pm the next day. Am I playing with fire? It's still pretty good and doesn't smell off or anything. Now it's the waiting game. I still say it will be worth it.
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Why do some people consider it acceptable behaviour to show up to a date 35 minutes late? This isn't even okay in regular life, but on a date (a first date no less) it is despicable. Why I waited around, I'll never know. Oh yes, I do: cute dress.

Adding to it, I had already been there for 30 minutes because I was afraid of not recognizing the person and it's always better to be there first (Rule #6). So, 65 minutes and 3 vodka lemonades in, the candidate arrives. Now, if this were a friend (or soon to be ex-friend) I would be fuming, demand explanations and generally freak out. But, noooooo, I'm on a date! Oooohh. So, I obviously had to conceal my true self - such is dating anyway - and pretend that I didn't mind and that I actually enjoyed baking on the patio alone while World Cup revelers began getting unruly in my general direction and while the waitress pitied me.

Excellence all around.
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Saw Knight & Day last night and Cruise performs well as the confident secret agent with a dry sense of humour. It's really what he does best. I find every time I see movies like this - with high speed car chases, international mystery and intrigue and suspenseful alleyway skulking - I tend to pretend I am living in the movie once I leave the theatre.

I was driving like I was being chased, pretending my 2004 cell phone was a "This message will self-destruct in 1 minute" type of device and I pretended that my house was in fact a 'safe house' where I would receive further instructions. It's all very silly, but very fun.

Don't tell anyone. Or, I'll have to kill you.
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In case you were wondering, the juice from a summer fruit crostata looks like blood when it drips onto your sexy 1970s linoleum. Delish.

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Went to see Swell Season in Toronto the other night. Oh? You haven't heard of them either? Well, they're from Ireland, have apparently won an Oscar and look like this when they are fake walking down a cobblestone street:I didn't really fit in the crowd because I wasn't wearing brown or beige and wasn't carrying a shoulder messenger bag. But, they were actually pretty good (see Tracy? I did enjoy them!), but here are the two things that (almost) spoiled the night:

1) Massive traffic shutdown on the way home. An accident closed all the lanes way past my bedtime and I got a little cranky.
But then, it actually turned out to be pretty fun as everyone got out of their cars, shared food (well the guy next to us didn't offer me a marshmallow, but I survived), skateboarded and hung around. It was like that scene from Deep Impact - except less panic and worldwide impending destruction. Some, but considerably less.

Tracy thought it would be funny for me to ask out guys in neighbouring cars as we inched by them. Luckily, the traffic started moving or I would have been going out with Fisherman Bill in the boat of a car next to us. This is us trying to get a picture of him - but instead he's a ghost and I'm a weirdo. 2) I dropped my sunglasses in the toilet.