Howdy, reader. Let me tell you about my day.

This morning I got up and went downtown to check on the availability of free tickets to see the aforementioned David Usher and Holly McNarland concert. HMV, according to an ad in yesterday's Gazette, was giving away free tickets to the park itself, since although the concert itself is free, you must pay to get into the Six Flags gates. Naturally, the nice young man at the info desk looked at the ad and shook his head. He said they were out in fifteen minutes. Damn. So I trudged on home, and when I got there I basically needed another shower because Montreal in the summer is disgustingly hot.

My boyfriend rushed off to the bank and to memorize lines in a Second Cup, and asked if I would like to meet him downtown. I said sure, and realized it was going to take bloody forever to get there walking, since I had no pocket change for the metro. Thus, like the intrepid (yet foolhardy) rollerblader I am (occasionally), I climbed up the hill, strapped on my blades, and set out for the Second Cup.

About halfway there -- coincidentally, in front of another Second Cup -- a soccer mom in a minivan honked at me just as I was approaching a treacherous strip of Ste. Catherine's pavement. You know that spongy black stuff they use to fill in cracks? That was the stuff I tripped on and went sprawling almost under the parked car to my right as the asshole in the minivan sped on past. As I attempted to get up without further flashing the citizenry (since I was stupidly wearing a tank top that is quite low-cut and had no bra on at the time of the incident), the man loading the trunk on the car I was almost under asked if I was all right. I said, "yes," but what I really meant was, "ow." But I bravely got up and skated shakily on to the second Second Cup.

My tit scraped the pavement. Let my Note To Self for the day be a lesson unto you all: never rollerblade without a bra.

I also scraped up the palm of my right hand and the top of my left hand, as well as my right thigh, but my right nipple was the least happy with the alcohol I applied to clean the wound. Yowch.

Anyway, the boy gave me some cash for the metro back and a chillatte, kissed my bruised boob, and sent me on my way as he left for his rehearsal.

I came home to find one of his roommates, who asked if I wanted to watch Good Morning Vietnam, and so I did.

Then I went up the hill to IGA to buy some groceries, discovered they had nothing I wanted, and went to the other, more yuppie, grocery store instead. Whee.

And now, here I am updating. I think I shall go busy myself elsewhere, perhaps watching Resident Evil or some such DVD.

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