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Rachelle: Are you still on for the Textile Museum at 2:00?
Rachelle: Tetanus?
Rachelle: No
Rachelle: No, I am certain there’s no such thing as a “Tetanus Museum.”
Rachelle: Well, I’m sorry you misunderstood.
Rachelle: But we have passes for the Textile Museum and we agreed to meet there in 30 minutes.
Rachelle: But you were so keen on seeing the Kimono of Itchiku Kobuta! You said that’s what you were going to name your Fantasy baseball team! What happened?
Rachelle: Really, Pickle?
Rachelle: You think it’s cultural appropriation?
Rachelle: And you don’t want to exercise your white privilege by exploiting something that was not created for the white, male gaze?
Rachelle: And in order to achieve that goal you’ve gone to The Keg Mansion, the place where everything is specially made for you, is that right?
Rachelle: Yes, yes, I know you have a gift card.
Rachelle: And yes, I know The Keg is your safe space.
Rachelle: You’ve said it many times.
Rachelle: Will you do me a favour? Just have a look around.
Rachelle: Do you see a bunch of men who more or less look like you, all eating steak and drinking wine?
Rachelle: Yes, or drinking Caesars.
Rachelle: And are they all being served by hot, young women laughing at all the jokes they’re being told through gritted, shoot-me-now teeth?
Rachelle: In the exploitation Olympics, I think that beats going to a fabric museum, don’t you?
Rachelle: Look, do you even know what false equivalency means?.
Rachelle: I thought not.
Rachelle: Oh, I see.
Rachelle: I was all wrong about Madison the server.
Rachelle: She’s different, is she?
Rachelle: Well maybe when she said that she didn’t mean funny ha-ha?
Rachelle: Okay, let’s just never mind.
Rachelle: Are you going to meet me or not?
Rachelle: Oh, your wedge salad just arrived!
Rachelle: Well obviously your hands are tied.
Rachelle: Yes.
Rachelle: That was sarcasm.
Rachelle: Because you’re being a jerk.
Rachelle: Sweet Jesus.
Rachelle: In no way am I discriminating against you for eating meat.
Rachelle: I’m a Social Justice Warrior? I’m not even sure I know what one is.
Rachelle: You’re drunk.
Rachelle: You Keg-Sized your Caesar, didn’t you?
Rachelle: Yes, I am psychic.
Rachelle: I can also detect something slurry and aggressive in all your texts.
Rachelle: It’s like you’re campaigning for something.
Rachelle: Shouting from the podium!
Rachelle: Throwing emoticons everywhere!
Rachelle: Like angry confetti.
Rachelle: Whatever.
Rachelle: Just remember that the doctor said you could only have one drink a day, okay?
Rachelle: No, don’t worry about it. It’s fine.
Rachelle: I’m going to go to the museum then have a power skating session with Pierre.
Rachelle: No, he wasn’t deported.
Rachelle: He was in Costa Rica on a spiritual retreat.
Rachelle: Very tan. And he shaved off his moustache.
Rachelle: I know it’s a dream of yours to one day grow a full beard like Pierre does so effortlessly, but it’s just not your path, Pickle.
Rachelle: Yes, yours is the path of low testosterone and patchy facial hair.
Rachelle: We all have our crosses to bear, dear.
]]>Me: Feeling good today, very confident!
Me: You’re right, my Mindful Meditation session did go really well!
Me: Meditated the shit out of it! I was fucking Deerpark Chopra!
Me: No, I think it is Deerpark.
Me: Really?
Me: Deepak? That doesn’t sound like a name at all, more like a company that makes boxes or something.
Me: I don’t believe you.
Me: I’m going to look it up.
Me: Okay.
Me: Yes.
Me: I guess it is kind of amusing that I could get the last name right but still butcher the first name in such a “child-like” and “ challenged” way.
Me: I’m still going to call him Deerpark though.
Me: No, not stubborn, whimsical and playful. Like an otter.
Me: I also went to my first lymphatic massage session!
Me: Well, they tap your face.
Me: And yeah, that drains your lymph glands. Yes, by tapping.
Me: $200
Me: No, they didn’t wear diamond-encrusted gloves while doing the tapping.
Me: No, it wasn’t a topless lymphatic massage, either.
Me: Well, the happy ending is that my lymph glands are draining!
Me: I thought your insurance covered it!
Me: Fuck.
Me: Well, there are only 7 more sessions.
Me: Look, having drained lymph glands is important.
Me: At least as important as your “Power Skating” classes with Pierre. I mean, 3 times a week??
Me: I don’t trust Pierre, don’t believe he played in the NHL.
Me: Also don’t like the way you laugh around him.
Me: No, of course I trust you, my love.
Me: I’m at the Dark Horse Café now.
Me: Decaffeinated green tea, gangster style.
Me: Nowhere to sit in here.
Me: Woman says she’s holding last chair for a friend.
Me: Says she will be there in 5 minutes.
Me: Dazzling smile. Entirely distracting. Have forgotten why I was talking to her.
Me: I wish she did lymphatic massage.
Me: I’ll send you a picture.
Me: Really? Creepy and inappropriate?
Me: On every level? Really?
Me: You’re really weird, you know that?
Me: Okay, 12 minutes have passed now and her friend still hasn’t shown up. I’m going to say something.
Me: I wonder if she’s a model?
Me: Okay, it’s been over 20 minutes! I’m going to give her a piece of my mind!
Me: Her beauty doesn’t entitle her to anything!
Me: You’re right, she is exactly like that Leprechaun guy on the TTC!!
Me: Only radiant and if the Leprechaun were made out of sunlight.
Me: Like Pierre, you said he’s made of light, and what did you say, “thigh muscles,” didn’t you?
Me: I WILL SAY SOMETHING!
Me: I AM NOT A SLAVE TO BEAUTY!
Me: (Except yours, my love)
Me: Ok, here I go.
Me: Losing my resolve. Think it’s melting. Standing with tea is fine.
Me: Hemingway wrote standing up.
Me: Her laptop bag deserves seat in crowded coffee shop.
Me: Laptop bag like a holy relic.
Me: Friend just floated in like a beautiful perfume.
Me: Think Pierre emerging from a spray of ice chips.
Me: Such beauty, should be a cover charge here.
Me: They are now talking together, as angels do.
Me: All is sunlight.
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