I know that some of you requested polka dots for this background, but I couldn't find any that I liked sufficiently. This puzzle-y number that I found will have to do. It's more business-like than bright pink anyway...
Tragically Hip was awesome. Even the crazy potheads looking for rolling papers didn't put a damper on things. Well, they did put a ringing in my left ear for a little bit, but fortunately the Hip weren't playing yet. The crowdsurfer who landed on my back also had the potential to ruin things, but I persevered and had a kick-ass time.
You know, I haven't written an update in so long that I forget how to do them. Like, does this sound more like a run-of-the-mill blog b/c I'm just recounting my boring days? I should probably insert some of what I like to call "content."
I was watching this program with my niece today. They were singing this song and it asked the very deep philosophical question of "What would you wish for if you had three wishes?" And then they said that if you wished for three more wishes it would be cheating. It was at this point I recalled it was also cheating if you wished for infinite wishes. Well, I thought about my three wishes for a few minutes and I think I found a loophole. Now, what if I wished for eternal happiness? If I always had to be happy, I wouldn't really need any subsequent wishes. If I thought I'd be happy with the four horsemen of the apocolypse, then they'd appear. If two seconds after they appeared I was no longer interested in them, they'd have to disappear or I'd be unhappy which would go against my happy wish. I hope you're catching what I'm throwing. Anything I thought could bring me happiness would be mine. I wouldn't even need my other two wishes. Of course, my wish might be misconstrued in which case I'd live continually doped up on some sort of happy drug, but at least I'd be happy which is good. Hmm....
Enough of that stuff. The next night - Friday - we went out to Mexicali Rosa's for someone's birthday. Our waiter was the hugest dick. He made fun of the birthday girl, told her her drink was a margarita when it was in fact a strawberry daquiri, and insisted we didn't even think about changing seats. As I said, he was dumb as a rock so he couldn't keep things straight at all. Upon completion of my meal, he said "good job" which I didn't quite understand (or want to). He also called Turriffic his "little sugar plum" not 30 seconds after their first encounter. To top it all off, we had to tip the fucker since it's Mexicali Rosa's policy to include the tip whenever a party of ten or more dines. I can't believe what the world is coming to....
I'm ridiculously tired so I'm going to bed. I will recount my K-town adventures tomorrow or shortly thereafter.
July 16, 12:43 AM.
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Protocol to Follow Upon Spotting Roadkill Too Late To Not Run Over It
1) Say a little prayer for your fallen brethren
2) Under your breath, curse the fucker who initially ran him over.
3) Genuflect (if driving conditions permit)
4) Brace for impact
5) As you run over your once-furry friend, scream "Bye-bye for you little man" as loud as you can.
6) Repeat as necessary.
Must get ready for work.
July 16, 3:43 PM.
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As per usual, I had a few funny ppl at work today. The funniest one was Bunny Payette. She didn't actually do anything funny except have the name "Bunny." I guess that's more her parents' fault, but I still had a chuckle.
Also, this other lady told me that I look exactly like her niece Katherine (or maybe her friend's daughter. It really doesn't matter.) All I could think was poor Katherine. One b/c she looked like me, but more importantly, two b/c this stupid, dorky lady was related to her in some way.
And now for delightful K-town anecdotes. For all the less cultured folks in the audience, K-town is Kingston. I'm not sure that it's as socially accepted to refer to it that way as it is to call Toronto T-dot, but 102.7 FM seems to think it's all right. In deference to its wisdom, I will say K-town too.
New Word:
Garfing: Well, Garfield eats so fast and it sounds like scarfing, so it means eating a lot quickly.
The origins of this word are sketchy. Most agree it was first conceived in a 1989 Chevy in K-town.
Hightlights from the trip there:
For the WTF files - we saw the back of a truck in the back of a truck. Like there was a pickup truck cut in half on the flat bed of another pickup truck. Very strange.
Also, this stupid white van was going like 100 in the fast lane and I was none too impressed. Since it's just WRONG to pass on the right, I'm stuck. Finally, he looks as if he's going into the right lane. But no, he just straddles between the two lanes and I go ballistic. Fortunately, Turriffic was there to take notes of the sheer expletive brilliance that spewed from my mouth.
"Pick a fucking lane!"
"WRONG ONE."
"Fine!!! I'm tailgating."
"Fucking bitch. It's OVER!"
Eventually he moved over. I realize that I was not a model for cool driving, but he was going so excruciatingly slow. I wanted to die. I wanted him to die. I really behaved quite admirably given the situation...
Woo. I haven't even covered Willy's and shifts and giant tires and a whole wack of shit, but I'm spent for now. You'll have to tune in next time I feel like it to learn more.
July 17, 11:40 PM.
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And here's where I pretend I'm mentally balanced...
I just downloaded all the songs so I have a full version of Hole's "Live Through This." I used to have the tape, but it got ruined so I feel it's okay that I got all the songs for free.
Anywho, I know I've promised the rest of K-Town, but I have been too lazy to scan the pictures so you'll have to wait a little longer. I've got other shit that can keep you occupied. I went camping last weekend and it was awesome. Nothing like an impromptu camping trip! I'll write more on it once I get those pictures scanned. Don't worry, all the good stuff is documented in my little blue book. Well, all except the wild orgy, but I was enjoying myself way too much to take the time to write about it. As a taste, here's a way cool excerpt:
Julianna: "This looks like it could be good. Seagrams - they make things."
Lisa: "PS: I like cock"
Mike: "I have one or two."
Julianna: "It's an iffy thing."
Gumby: "I'm gonna ride you like a bull."
Brenda: "I'm drunk!"
So I hope that has whetted your appetite for the goodness that is camping stories. I'm really happy that Gumby was there...
I was looking at my comb today and thinking that I don't know what I'll do when it's no longer there. I've had that comb for at least 8 years. I am nothing without it. It's turquoise and so 1994, but it's mine and I love it. It's been with me through good hair days and bad and I haven't lost it which is quite the accomplishment. I think when it breaks or goes missing, a little piece of me will die. That or I'll have a few bad hair days when I'm too inconsolable to use another. It'll be a homage to the comb that no longer is. Let us hope that does not happen for a little while.
I find myself thinking about my life lately. It's really depressing so I won't recount it here. Suffice it to say, I hope that Costco is not the answer for me...
Links, yo!
I'm glad that cheating on your spouse can have positive side-effects like keeping you alive.
" It's my first time incarcerated..." Well, many more big guy!
It's heartening to know there's a sign for "my equipment is largely inadequate."
"We're Jeff and Tracy. We're your good neighbors, and we smoke pot."
"We only really understand each other when we're high." At least she's thinking of the children...
I want hoes in area codes!
Mild Blasphemy #1
Mild Blasphemy #2
Outright Blasphemy #1
Outright Blasphemy #2
(Must be nice. Must be nice. Must be nice.) Bryn is an interesting name for an interesting child...
Very cool shit.
"There's no way you can possibly cope with these people ... unless of course you want to sleep with them - but for God's sake use a condom."
And I'm spent.
July 23, 2:22 AM.
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There's this song that really speaks to me. It's fantastic and I can't stop listening to it. It's instrumental, but its title perfectly conveys the meaning. Now don't get too excited thinking I'll tell you what it is b/c I won't. Music is some personal shit and I don't want complete strangers just knowing what I really think. It's unsavoury and obscene. Just like an S & M palace.
Put on your unpolitically correct caps boys and girls b/c I've decided to be unsavoury and obscene. So I was at work today and packing like the packing mofo that I sometimes am. I come upon this fairly butch woman with a mullet and ask if she would like a box. Just them this even butchier woman with an even "better" mullet comes over and she has a box. My question is answered. They leave. Then I get to thinking that these ppl could quite honestly be two men. Like, one day when they were little did they think to themselves, "When I grow up I want to be a homosexual man!" b/c that's how it turned out...
Not too much happened at work today. I was bored. I'm working ten days in a row. It's going to suck. At least I've completed ten per cent of it now. Only nine days to go...
Well, I really owe you camping and k-town stories. However, I'm too damn lazy to scan that shit. I think I may pay the boy to do it soon b/c I'll never make it to the basement long enough to do it myself. If my scanner were attached to my computer it may be different, but since it's hooked up to my dad's super slow one I can't be bothered. I'm going to put in notebook stuff though since my little blue notebook is the reservoir of all that is cool. Here goes...
"Is that a statue or is it a person? Does she even have a face?" - Mike about one of our many neighbours.
PS: Our neighbour turnover rate was much higher than I anticipated. Much like my friend turnover rate...
"Fuck this noise. Let's go to Nepean."
"This day was brought to you by the letter H and the exit 28."
So that's enough camp-y goodness for right about now. Listen to what happened yesterday. I'm just sitting on the bus, minding my own business and possibly fantasizing about the one I love when I realize that it's my stop next. I pull the bell and wait since we're just pulling to a stop at a crazy long light. Just then, the bus driver opens the door. "We're in the middle of a fucking intersection," I say to myself. "You can't possibly expect me to get out of the bus here?!?!" I also mutter to myself.
Then I hear the voice of this woman in her car pulled up beside the bus. The bus driver opens the door to better hear her nasal whine: "You cut in front of me!" (I have no idea if he did b/c of the daydreaming, but it's a bus - what can you do?) Politely, he's like, "You're kidding. I didn't realize..." and she goes crazy. She screams "you cut in front of me" one more time and then proceeds to try and cut the bus off (in some desperate attempt at retaliation?). Only problem with that is the bus is stopped in the left turn lane and another car is stopped in front of it about two feet away. The driver parks the bus and writes her license on a scrap of newspaper. The light changes. She drives off and we miss the light.
The whole exchange makes me think road rage has reached unprecendented levels. The bus driver promptly calls and tells dispatch on her. What will this do? Are they going to build a file on her to see if she is a habitual bus-harasser? That is some fucked up repugnant shit, yo!
Well, that's enough for now. My liking for the human race diminishes as I type (completely unrelated to the typing, but whatev) so I'm going to stop before I go postal or something.
July 25, 2:10 AM.
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I wish there was a day you could hear everything anybody said or thought about you. Not so much for all the bad things, but for the nice things that they do and say and think that you'll never know about. Of course, ppl would have to take turns b/c if everybody was just listening for what ppl said or thought about them they'd be concentrating too hard on themselves and the day would just be wasted. Also, if you took turns and no one knew when anyone else's day was they couldn't just say or think nice things on that day. You'd be able to catch sincere good things and it would be good. Of course, this is entirely unfeasible b/c all the good things would be drowned out by all the bad things and everyone would just cry. They would also just cry if no one said or thought anything. They'd be nothing. I'd bet a lot more suicides would occur if ppl knew for sure that ppl didn't like them or never thought anything about them. Good thing we'll never know...
July 25, 12:51 PM.
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Before you accuse me of being the laziest mofo on the planet, I must inform you that my scanner is not currently working and that's why I have no pics for your viewing pleasure.
That said, my foot hurts. Not b/c I'm dirty, not b/c I'm clean, just b/c I kissed a guy behind the magazine.
Wait.
That's not it.
It's itchy b/c a mosquito bit the bottom of my foot last night. Don't worry, I did not allow her to breed using my top of the line O-positive material. I struck that bitch down in the middle of accomplishing her task and I feel fantastic about it.
I have ten minutes until I have to get ready for work. Unfortunately, I don't have too much to write about. Hang on. Cancel that. The lady and her 10 year-old son I saw last night at the Dairy Queen are definitely noteworthy. So Turriffic, Moses, and I are just waiting for our turn (an unbearably long time by the by) and there's this mother and son duo in front of us. They even talked to us about this game that we didn't really get for a while, but continued talking about. Then she puts her arm around him - nothing wrong with that - and they're just hanging out like a regular mother and son. Of course, it gets better. She then proceeds to palm his whole ass and fondle him. It was unreal. Moses did not catch these proceedings so Turriffic "made me" do it to him later. He likened the experience to someone searching for something in his ass or something equally uncool. He says his mom never did that to him and I'm inclined to believe it since he recoiled in horror instead of saying something like, "Oh mommy!" when I finally got around to groping him. You know, maybe they weren't mother and son at all but pedophile and consort. I can't figure out which would be worse, but I don't really have time since I forgot to make my dinner for work and should do that before I go.
July 31, 12:28 PM. (Also known as Day 8 at work.)
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Yo! Yo! Yo! I am officially on vacation. I feel fantabulous. After ten days of waking up and going to work, tomorrow will be such a deviation. I won't know what to do with myself. Actually, I do know what I'll do with myself. Tasha's coming up and we're drinking and eating wings all afternoon and partying all night. Can't beat that! It might hurt my pocketbook, but who the fuck cares anymore? Costco will always have me even if Carleton is booting me out for non-payment of tuition. Now, don't worry, things aren't that dire. Everything should be aces if I play my cards right (and I fully intend to). I'm also going to volunteer to work like a mofo when I'm done my holidays which should keep me in the money.
The coolest person I know with the coolest new job got this cell phone that's voice activated. To dial me at home, all she has to do is say "STD Hotline" into her phone. For my cell phone, it's "what's a mofo?" I am truly honoured by this. You'll have to give me a moment. I'm getting all emotional here. I'm going to cry tears of heart-warming joy.
Okay, the feeling has passed.
For a while during my marathon of work, nothing of interest happened. However, I have a story that more than makes up for it. There's this lady, her daughter and her friend who are shopping. They pick my cash out of the fifteen or so cashes that are open and decide to make my life hell. The woman and her friend each have a more than full basket. I process the first cart and try to pile her stuff back on the second counter. It begins to overflow. I put a few things away, make a sub-total (in accordance with our one receipt policy), and start piling the second one's stuff in the same precarious manner. Now, before I go on, normally when there are obscene amounts of stuff on the second counter ppl take the hint and go pack their own stuff. Not this bitch. She proceeded to tell me in broken French that I was under no circumstances to mix their stuff up. Non-plussed, I say "I guess I'll pack it..." (in somewhat competent French) and she "helps" by telling her daughter to give me a hand. Well, her daughter has some staring problem b/c all she did was watch me put stuff away as her mother criticized me. Meanwhile, lady number two has brought her cart over and starts to pile her stuff in. In equally broken French, she mumbles something. I take it to mean that she is putting stuff in the cart that I have already scanned so there's no need to scan it again. I finish her order, all the while looking up wide-eyed for someone to help me get these lunatics out of Costco as fast as fucking possible. Then the second lady tells me that I forgot all the stuff under her cart. I guess that's what she was trying to say when I couldn't understand her. She counts the items, "un, deux, trois, quatre, cinq, six. Tu dois les mettre sur ma facture." She counts again since I'm obviously the incompetent one - un, deux, trois, quatre, cinq, six. I scan her shit and she proceeds to tell me (and anyone in earshot) that she's not a thief. Then she has the nerve to say condescendingly "qu'est-ce que vous dites? Qu'est-ce vous dites?" (What do you say? What do you say?) Like I'm some sort of child who has to say thank you for making her pay for her entire order after she and her friend put me through this whole ordeal! I just about lose it. Instead of thanking her like she so desperately wants me to, I mumble something barely coherent in French so she thinks I'm some dumb idiot (as she no doubt already does). She asks me if I understand, I smile and nod. They pay. They haunt me by sitting in the Resto and watching me as I work for the next hour. Just as they leave, they speak to one of my supervisors. I expect that she's telling them of my supposed incompetence. I later learn that the girl wants to know how to drop off a resume. I tell them not to hire her b/c she's a lazy fuck. We all have a good laugh.
Work "fun" didn't end there. Yesterday at the super busiest time of the day, I finish processing an order and turn around to a completely empty belt and a line as far as the eye can see. This woman is standing at the end of the cash holding a few bags of milk telling me that the belt is covered in meat juice from the fresh meat we sell. I inform her that it's condensation from the bags of milk (much like the ones she's holding), but tell her I'll clean it if she really wants me to. She expresses this desire and I duly whip out some cleaning agents and a wad of paper towel. I begin and she makes me wash the belt for five minutes to the chagrin of the ppl in line behind her. When the whore is satisfied, she proceeds to dump five bags of milk on the counter which are - surprise! surprise! - full of condensation. As I pick each one of them I notice they have been covered in soap residue. I feel good as I "accidentally" drop some bags to coat them entirely in soap.
Today nothing really eventful happened. The only thing was this woman had the name Astrid. Like, who has that name? It's two hard syllables so I'm guessing she must have some sort of nickname. Saying that name over and over would piss the shit out of me. But what do they call her? Ppl can't be like, "Hey Ass, how's it going?" Can they? I almost asked, but I thought it might be inappropriate...
Well, that's enough writing for tonight.
August 2, 11:42 PM.
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I just came back from a super fun day of hanging out with Tasha and her associates. I am relaxed and awake enough that I think I will write ppl some letters that are long overdue. Not internet letters - or "email" - either. Real, handled by Canada Post type letters. It will be a good time. This I can assure you.
Got stopped by the ride program again tonight. Fortunately I wasn't driving. Being in the passenger seat for once gave me a whole new perspective on the whole process. For one, they must ask everyone two or three times if they've had any alcohol. Here's how the conversation went.
Officer: "Hi guys. How's it going?"
Us: "Fantastic."
Officer: "So, have you had any alcoholic beverages tonight?"
Curtis: "No officer."
Officer: "Not even one?"
Curtis: "No ma'am."
Officer: "Do you have a valid driver's license?"
Curtis: "I sure do."
Officer: "What kind of license is it?"
Curtis: "A G license."
Officer (incredulous): "A full G?!?"
Curtis: "Yes, a full G."
Officer: "So, you haven't had one drink tonight?"
Curtis: "Not at all."
Officer: "Okay, have a good night."
Julianna (as we drive away): "Well, you didn't lie to her..."
Julianna: "And did she even expect you to 'forget' and not lie the third time?!"
Curtis: "Seriously! 'Oh.... Officer, the first two times I thought you asked me if I'd had anything to EAT tonight. Drinks. Yeah, I've had more than my fair share. Hahaha!'"
Julianna: "'In fact, officer I've had three pitchers in the last hour. But food! Not a bite. All the alcohol's on an empty stomach so don't you worry.'"
Tasha: (approving moan from the back seat)
In other news, no one is online in icq or messenger. It's kinda scary since there's always at least three ppl online in icq and now none. I'm going to write those real letters and try not to think about it.
August 4, 2:17 AM.
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Previous: For shizzle muh nizzle.
Onward: Because the mind is a terrible thing to waste.
