My guess is none of you actually thought I was here for a Metallica concert. Good lord, no. If there is a hell and I am going there I will be doing my taxes and listening to Metallica forever. To be honest, I didn’t even know how to spell Metallica until just now when I started this post. No. I am not here to see them but every third person on the street was wearing a t-shirt with the aforementioned on the front. My guess is most people going to the concert would scoff at me even using a word like aforementioned.
Anyway… My husband is at the concert and I am quite worried about him. He was in the hospital less than 2 weeks ago and now he thinks he is fit enough to be traipsing around one of the worst parts of Vancouver. I’m not kidding. This is the view from the hotel window.
The hotel is nice and appears secure but I would not want to be walking outside after dark. Or even right now. I would end up in a place where they harvest kidneys and then sell me to the highest bidder. Which would be about $1.94. Canadian.
This is the view from the other window. This is the “nice” view. I want to know what is in that yellow rounded building with the stairs. I bet many people have died asking the same question and had the guts to go find out. Good thing I am afraid of everything and don’t even have the guts to go to the pop machine 3 floors down.
But do you know what? We got here by a helicopter. Have any of you ever been in one? I hadn’t until today. It was mostly hot and cramped and because I’m not very tall I couldn’t see much except ocean. We live on an island and took the helicopter to get to the mainland. And here is where I get nasty. Some woman on the helicopter was obviously going to the Metallica concert as well. My guess is she was coming up 60 and it was pretty obvious she had put a lot of thought into what one wears at 60 to a Metallica concert. It was a mixture of Tina Turner and Britney Spears with hair dyed as black as midnight. I was being a judgy bitch but then I decided to not like her at all when she announced she was staying at Trump Towers. I mean, really? Really? I would rather sleep on the street then set a foot into that place.
Here is what I had for dinner. Or about 1/4 of this. Why do they make meals so huge? It was good though.
On a totally different topic. This is a question for the Universe. Every Sunday I see the same client at the exact same time. And every Sunday I see these people.
The number of people change. Sometimes it’s 3 or 4. Other times is near 10. What stays consistent is the amount of bread they bring out of the house. Bags and bags and bags of bread. Bread. Buns. Breadsticks. Not small bags either. Garbage bags full. Where do they cook it? Where are they taking it? And why? In this picture you can only see a few garbage bags full but let me assure you that there was a lot more. I want to ask but then I look like the weird one. Or more like, then they know I am the weird one and why am I sitting across the street from them every Sunday. I am in my scrub uniform and wearing government issued ID but it is just weird to go up and ask someone what the hell is up with all the fucking bread?
Okay. I’m going to go roam around the hotel room and steal all the free soaps.
PS – there are a lot of seagulls around here and they sound angry. WTF?