Tuesday, February 22, 2011

February Chills

The scariest parts of my long weekend:

- Elevator ride to the 13th floor of a brand spanking new condo in West Queen West. So new, it wasn't even finished. Not quite sure it was safe for habitation yet, but after waiting three years, my friend Elo was moving in no matter what!

The elevator was made of wood and I'm pretty certain someone has already died in it. Elo told us a story about being trapped in it for an hour like it was no big deal. And what about the 13th floor thing? - I guess builders have stopped coddling us and pretending like it makes any sort of difference. When I lived in New York I lived on the 14th floor but of course everyone knew it was actually the 13th. The only bad luck I suffered that summer was...hmmm. Well, once I had a bruised peach and that kind of sucked. But other than that, the 13th floor curse was broken.

- The realization that 7 thirtysomethings could be mildly entertained for up to 3 minutes by lame shadow puppets. That we did this on a Friday night will drive Elo to get art for her walls, if nothing else. We had a pretty gripping plot going on with these characters. Don't worry, the bird and the dog with eyes got together in the end.

- Asian fly-by-night nail salon...in the daytime. You can call me a spa snob, but I'm not going to apologize for not wanting to risk getting a staph infection or fungus like Paula Abdul. I don't get manicures and pedicures often enough to have to be motivated by cost, but I got dragged to this hole in the wall on Barton Street and the $12 cost for my manicure was a lovely surprise.

While waiting an hour for our pre-booked appointment, I started taking matters into my own hands. The result was not unlike Nicki Minaj's hair - I always felt she was a kindred spirit.

Tracy, Dan and I spent almost all of the time laughing way more than one should in one of these places. Perhaps it was the acrylic nail paint fumes that hit us the second we walked in the door. One of the sources of our laughter:
I just noticed the money in her bra. This poster was right next to one that said "Touch of Class". Just a touch, though.
Side note: does anyone else feel that the word 'classy' has been completely robbed of its original meaning? Saying something is classy makes it actually sound tacky. How did that happen?

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