Read this disclaimer first!!
Sunday, Feb. 23, 2003 - 8:04 p.m.
Meet Robin Smith

It just took me four and a half hours to get from Ottawa back here to Montreal. I ended up in the seat directly in front of the bathroom, so I couldn't recline at all. We were behind snow-ploughs twice. We had to stop at Dorval Airport. Traffic was insane. I was supposed to leave at 3, but didn't even board until 3:45. It was all frustrating.

But it was all worth it, because not only did I get to spend time with cj, a good friend, but I got to meet his girlfriend, who was pretty interesting despite being sick. The feature of the evening was the one and only Robin Smith. That's right, we hooked up for pints and dinner at the Manx (sounds like a gay leather-man themed bar). It's an okay place, but I don't think I really liked the waiter very much. He was like the Soup Nazi, except that it wasn't just soup.

As I figured, we got along with Robin pretty well. Here's a recent photo:

She is easy-going and funny as hell. She's much like the way she portrays herself in her diary. If you ever have the chance to hang out, do so.

After the Manx we headed to the Fox and Feather to meet another friend of cj's. He was in an interesting situation. Ten years ago he had a crush on this girl. They went out on a few dates. No big deal; they were about 13. Years later they meet again. She introduces him to her wife (because you can do that in Ontario now) to happens to be the sister of his current girlfriend. I think he felt a little awkward. I probably would have, too. Robin hated the place.

The next stop was one of Robin's favourite places, the Dominion. I have been there before, a few years ago when you could still smoke. It was okay, except that there was way too much smoke. Did you know that there is no smoking in bars in Ottawa anymore? I really love that idea. It truly makes for a more enjoyable time out, and you don't have to shower and spray Febreze on your jacket at the end of the night.

We stayed for a pitcher. This is a place that pretty much anyone could go to and not feel completely out of place. It's a punky place, and Robin is a punky girl. One of the staff had a pink spiked mohawk that really worked out well for him; I actually liked it. It looked good. I could have gone in there looking like Mr. Corporate and felt at ease, but if he had been my guest at the 19th hole at the country club, that would have been scandalous. Who am I kidding? They don't let blacks in country clubs unless they are there to serve.

After eating somewhere, we tried to get a cab. Hailing a cab was torturous. They wouldn't fucking stop for us. Can anyone explain the protocol involved with cabbies refusing fares? Under what circumstances is this perfectly acceptable? Why does this happen? And cabs in Ottawa hardly exist; they fucking scarce, not like Montreal. I wasn't a fan of that shit, no.

Now I get to do lots of work for tomorrow. We'll see about that.

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