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08.16.2004 - 6:54 p.m.


The amount of wonderful emails and comments I got from you after I posted my last entry was fucking staggering, and if I could say it just right - if I could tell you just how that made me feel, I would. But I can't, I can't do it perfect, and you deserve the sort of perfect response worthy of your kindness and generosity, so let me just say this: thank you. Thank you so, so much.


In a very last-minute spontaneous sort of journey, JB and I spent the weekend in Vancouver, BC, which was fun and pretty and chock full of urbaney goodness. We stayed at a Westin hotel downtown, which not only had a knockout view but also provided the most wonderfully supple, ivory-hued, clothesline-fresh, edible 23067396-thread count bed I've ever had the privilege to sprawl on.

It was simply one of those magical weekends that is hard to capture with words, so I'll just touch on the highlights: dinner at a smoooove sort of restaurant that served seared ahi on bruschetta that made my eyes roll back and dangle briefly in a joyful spasm down in my nasal passages, a Death By Chocolate concoction consisting of a vat of ganache, and let me just say, I know this is an odd request, but please, should I die, consider my last wish to be spread with layers and layers of ganache over my corpse, FUCK the embalming crap, because I know, I know, I'll be dead, ew and all, but hey - GANACHE, oh my god, ganache, that fattening creamy delectable 8th world wonder, and even if I'm six feet under and my flesh is rotting from my bones in great peeling maggot-ridden swaths, I will KNOW, by god, that the ganache is still with me, and it will be ALL GOOD.

After dinner, there was window-shopping, people-watching, and silly-photo-taking. Vancouver is sparkly and vibrant and has tons of nice helpful - albeit a wee bit twitchy-eyed - people offering you marijuana and it is ALSO home to a marvelously stinky Lush store that I want to live in forever and ever, surrounded by cheese-shaped wedges of lavender massage bars and cupcakey pink vanilla bath melts.

Our hotel sported the kind of bathtub that had a no-shit Olympic-sized deep end, so upon retiring for the evening I dumped in various Lush bombs and floated majestically while JB ferreted out, ho ho HO, let's not omit details here, some hotel porn on the living room television. Glistening with coconut body butter and spritzed with (O I am so ashamed of buying this crap but DAMN it smells good) Jessica Simpson's "Taste" fragrance, I emerged from the bathroom in an aromatic cloud meant to entice JB into a drooling sex zombie but in reality probably stood there reeking like one of those stale-ass birthday cakes made by pimply teenagers in Baskin-Robbins ("Happy Fith Birthday BilLy!").

I did, because I am a nasty little duckling, sit down and watch some of the porn for a while, which was VERY entertaining because the filmmaker had wedged in this hilariously putrid Babewatch/Rocky-esque dialogue in between all the requisite hide-the-sausage-in-various-orifices footage.


God, Jerry, he's dead! He's dead! It's all my fault!
Oh Sally, don't cry.. (
Mauls both breasts comfortingly)
Jerry, I just don't know what to do…I hid the body...I…I abandoned my…my lifeguard credo!!
Sally! Get ahold of yourself! You're with me now, and I'll save you. I'm here for you. I'll never let anything happen to you. You'll be the best lifeguard in the world, baby, and no one will ever know what happened…
Jerry, how could I have ever doubted you. You just wait, I'll be back on my feet in no time. I'll show them! This girl hasn't hung up her safety vest yet!
Damn right, Sally.You're damn right.

"Bow chicka wow wowwwww.."

Well, eventually the TV was abandoned, the bedroom lights clicked off, and in this recap, I leave you, dear readers, there. (You can, um, change the channel if you want. Maybe Leno is on.)

It was deliciously pleasant to wake up to buttery sunlight streaming in our high rise windows, and to watch the city aglow in morning activity. A little coffee, a little packing up, and we ventured back out to embark upon my last Vancouver activity: finding #3 in the Preacher comic book series, the last one I needed for my collection. O frabjous day!

Vancouver, you rule.


It was even worth the godawful wait at customs, and I wouldn't just say that about ANY city, eh?

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16 comments so far.

I have moved. - 1.03.2005
Obviously, a work in progress. - 12.27.2004
Happy holidays! - 12.24.2004
Listen, I am not a complete dick, it's not like I want Joe to die alone surrounded by cats or something. - 12.23.2004
Plus I am convinced my butt is extra big when it's upside down. - 12.22.2004

yay, diaryland