Free Times = Good Times

Having never been to the Free Times Cafe before, we were pretty wowed. Okay, I take that back – He had been before, to see our friends the Free Whiskey String Band play, but he didn’t have any food or drink, so really, it doesn’t count.

We went tonight as we were walking home from Honest Ed’s, and started to get hungry. It looked good, it smelled good, so we had a seat. We decided to do our olde money-saving non-fatties trick of splitting a meal, and decided on an organic beef burger (meat straight from Kensington Market ya’ll) with an egg bun, sweet potato fries and a pitcher (okay, two) of Mill Street Organic.

The burger – yo, it was the best. It was all falling apart, just like I like it, and only having half totally filled us up. The fries were good, “really crispy!” like our hilarious waitress said, AND, He found a sweet deal on Yelp that entitled us to a free latke – my favourite! Even better, our waitress gave us TWO free latkes! It was the best.

Our friend Pat showed up once it started to rain, and we moved inside for another pitcher as they planned His bachelor party (oh yeah, we did tell you WE ARE GETTING MARRIED, right?).

Then we walked home, got a new nose piercing for me from Blu God, and figured out our garbage shoot.

If I said stuffing like, “Winning!” then tonight would totally be a Win.

Thursday on College

Freetimes Cafe. Not free beer though.

So I Met This Guy Ralph…

I saw a guy who had just finished barfing on the street today. I was walking down Yonge Street – no longer the gorgy and introspective wonder it had been this morning – and I saw this dude: middle-aged, averagely dressed, normal. He didn’t look so hot and was just standing there – I wondered if he was having a heart attack or something?

But no – he had just finished puking. On the street. It was pink.

COOL.

Just Me & Yonge

Today, I walked up Yonge Street.

It’s my new commute. No more do I have to travel the mostly-reliable subway, and no more can I use it “running late” as an excuse in my daily life.

I can walk to work.

It’s awesome. The sun is shining, the freaky-deaky inhabitants of Wellesley/Yonge are all asleep, and the morning puke has already dried on my lovely little walk. I can listen to my iPod, or I can listen to the faint roll of traffic, since it’s too early for people to want to honk their horns at this hour.

The stores are closed, so I’m not tempted to purchase a new nose ring, or a $5 pair of jeans. There’s no one hassling me to come print a tee-shirt or try their protein powder (do I really look that weak?). It’s just me and Yonge.

As I get to the Bloor-Yonge intersection, the world begins to change. Jeans are replaced by suits. Flip-flops are replaced by heels.

It’s time for work.

But come 5 p.m. (okay, 6 p.m.), as I walk South towards the lake, to freedom, I’ll meet again with Yonge – this side her energetic and chaotic other half. And I’ll smile, and she’ll honk and give me the finger, and it will be great.