last night we all went to the sweatshop union show. i hadn’t heard of them till yesterday morning when rory forced their hip hop onto my breakfast. they aren’t half bad, so we all paid $10 to get into their gig. that was my budget for the night so i smuggled in pbrs in my fluorescent surf bag and ate some poutine and half a hot dog off the french canadian i was sitting next to and chatting with on the bus on the ride home at 3 am. he said he didn’t want it. officially ghetto.
you know you’re in whistler when everyone in the mosh pit has a tuque on.
my british roomie emma.
then this morning we all awoke to big, big snowflakes falling from the sky. the puffy, perfect ones that look like movie snowflakes. after a week of rain, i’m sure everyone with a season pass immediately started clapping.
then steve and i had pancake breakfast.
he made giant ones that took over the pan. he told me a story about drinking too much port and puking in a garden in santorini. i told him a story about a rocket scientist named cash from seattle who asked me out for coffee yesterday outside of moe joe’s.
and that is what is rad about living in a log cabin with 15 people.
there is always someone to tell your stories to. and eat pancakes with.