What is Wonderful (Because I'm Sarcastic)

Christmas always puts me in this most fucked up of moods: one moment I'm reflective, and grave even; the next I'm thinking that Mike's light tastes exactly (and I do mean exactly) like the vomit I tasted so many times when I drank too many smirnoffs. How fucked is that? This entry looks at what is wonderful (because I'm sarcastic) and what is terrible (because I can't even muster the sarcasm to make these things seem remotely wonderful).

Part One: Tongue in cheek, the heroine tells you what is wonderful in her life.
There are some things that are just about beyond words. They are the things that keep writers writing and painters painting--because the thrill of capturing their essential goodness is so exhilariating it cannot be ignored. Most things are not so hot though, and it is only our sarcastic love of them that makes them even worth mentioning.

1. This fucking french game on which Dennis got me hooked (I was going to say "that Dennis got me hooked on" but lately I have been extra sensitive about prepositions.) It told me at least ten times that I am as stupid as Paris Hilton in a truly sarcastic and berating manner. It hurt my feelings. I can't stop playing it. PS I kicked Dennis's ass because I got over 30 seconds and his best is 26.836.
2. Christmas. Everyone else seemed to get a wad of cash. I got a bunch of things I was going to buy myself but my mom bought me instead. Life is wonderful.
3. Who needs to go to school at Georgian? Jeff's tuition receipt was returned. Fuck, I don't even know what that means, but apparently he will be returning to Barrie as of early January. "To do what?" you ask. "Fuck if I know, " I respond.
4. I broke our engagement present. Clean break at least. The "me" on the porcelein figurine just came off, and so did the "Shane" arm. Precious Moments figurines are cuter anyhow, and I much prefer my mother (and Amanda's) engagement present(s)--BOOZE.
5. Chocolate fucking cake. I love these two minute wonders. I'm eating chocolate cake that I "baked" less than 3 minutes ago. It may cause cancer, but god damn it is delcious.

Part two: In which the heroine tells you that which is not so very hot about her life (in case you were starting to think you should disown her on account of the fact that her life is too wonderful for her to need your guidance.)

1. Everything else. Absolutely everything else.

But at least I have my health, right? And a positive outlook. Clearly.

Holy How Long Has it Been?

December is here and Christmas is coming. The goose is getting fat. So how long HAS it been? There's no telling, but I know we have a lot of catching up to do.

The Big Day
I don't like to tell stories in any normal, linear order; too modernist...too progressive. So here goes the backwards way.
I say, "So how is life, Mark?" (I'm at Ford...just try to imagine how desparate for cash I must be)
Mark responds, "Oh it isn't so bad. School isn't that interesting but I like being there...I would ask you the same thing but I already know the answer--sparkle sparkle."
First of all: yes, this is why I love Mark the most of all. Secondly, yes, he is referring to my engagement ring. Holy crow--I'm getting married!

Did You Say you Were at Ford??
I did and I was. So I shall be on Friday. Wish me luck. I need all the help I can get.

Thesis Madness
I explained my thesis to Shane on Friday night and he looked at me like, "Well, yeah..." Four months in the making and that's all I get. More to come. Don't forget, if you can make it I have my thesis presentation in March. I think it might kill me...all those people...all those eyes.

A Game Involving Balls
Rory is a terrible person. He told me to be nice to his girlfriend, then got mad when I didn't hate her. He also introduced me to "A game involving balls". I'm addicted. I'm so screwed for the rest of my life because he can get like a million bigillion points and I am always poo. It totally sucks.

The Paletta
Sorry to say it, but the one place that I really want to have my wedding allows me to have almost no guests. IE I have to invite the family first, and they take up more than 95% of the seats. I yi yi. On to plan number 27. Let me know if you want to see my dress choices. Then you can all beat up Jean for being difficult and disliking the colour. Jerkstore.

You and I got something but it's all and then it's nothing to me YEA...yea.

Gotta Love November

Last Wednesday I stepped off the bus in the best mood I've been in for days, maybe even weeks. I had slept in. I was showered, dressed, and on campus for something besides class.

Then it hit me...
What the fuck guys? When did it turn into November? I don't know what to do with myself now. Even though the sun was shining, all I could think about was the torment yet to come. The excitement of Rory's visit was starting to wear off. I trudged to the UCC with a heavy heart. November? Really?

Fifteen Dollars for Food and Still No Sign of Redemption
Every year I volunteer at the school's Graduate and Professional Schools fair. Usually I meet a few interesting people. Almost without exception, I get a lot of free stuff. The big bonus is the fifteen dollar meal card they hand me for as little as an hour's worth of work. But I still wasn't feeling it. Even after a hefty lunch that I didn't have to pay for, even with my bag loaded with chocolate I didn't buy myself, something wasn't quite right. It was still November.

Whiner!
I know that many of you have the distinct impression that I am just being down to be down--but I truly despise the world in November. Everything is gloomier; nothing is jolly; the sky is dark, and if it's not raining it's snowing. Today it's sunny. Pure fucking spite. I don't know how much longer I can go through with this...

When Rory Comes to Visit

It's kind of hilarious how one unusual occurrence (like a friend coming to visit finally) can dramatically change the way you think about the world. Take, for instance, the impact of Rory Burns' visit on my regular Monday routine. While I usually vow to rush home and get straight to work, more often than not I am sidetracked by some tantalizing offer to go chair shopping or eat dinner. Last night, I stuck to the plan though. I went with Alycia to Curves right after the clinic, and came home and got straight to work. I was finished my MIT reading by 7! Moved on to my thesis proposal--something 6 weeks in the making is now complete. Clearly, I just work well under pressure--plus the excitement has made me majorly hyper and that energy is proving itself really helpful. Thank you, Rory Burns--you should come to visit more often. (Or at very least, you should threaten to do so.)

Here's how I see this dramatic event unwinding:

Tonight: The Grand Reunion

Rory (a zombie) runs towards Erin with wide open arms.

Erin (not yet a zombie) stands still and waits tearfully for Rory's slow motion run to bring him back to her outstretched arms. In his embrace: My God!! How long has it been??

Rory [tearfully]: Too long, baby!

They laugh and retreat from the terminal which is now full of conspicuously gawking onlookers.

Later that Evening: A Conversation

Erin (now a zombie):I'm drunk, Rory Burns.

Rory (still a zombie): Perfect.

The Finale: Rory's Return

Erin (no longer a zombie): It's just so said to see you leaving...

Rory (no longer a zombie either): Don't worry. We'll meet again someday.

Erin: Tomorrow.

Rory: Perfect. I knew we would be zombies again.

Erin: No. No more zombies. We're going to do something as real people instead of as the living dead.

Rory: But I like being the living dead.

Erin: Too bad. We're real people from this moment on.

Rory: I hate you.

Erin: Nope. You love me. I'll see you tomorrow.

Rory: Okay.

Conclusion: No tears. No drama. Very boring. But you can totally imagine it can't you? Rory if I knew you were coming I'd have baked a cake...well, I did know, and I didn't bake one. But that's because it would have tasted bad not because I don't want to celebrate your visit. So, I will dress up like a zombie instead. That would make a good song: If I'd known you were coming I would have blackened my eyes and painted my face white!

Smile, Even though It's Raining

Smile, though your heart is aching. Smile, even though it's breaking...la da da da da...just smile.

Today I am all wet. Soaked, head to foot. I hit the snooze button twice because there is no sense in drying your hair when it's pouring rain. Tired too? How'd you guess. But today, we're going to find reasons to smile, even though it's raining; to smile, even though it's Tuesday. We're going to smile because I'm too wet to start leaking from my eyes.

True Love and Thank You Cards

I'm in love with some guy from United Furniture Warehouse on Wellington. He doesn't know I love him, but that hasn't stopped me before. After travelling far (and I mean far) and wide (I never understood what that had to do with anything) in search of the PERFECT chair for Alycia, we arrived at the United Furniture Warehouse. Here, we realized that most of our philandering up to that point was a waste . The Brick's dumping ground, as it turns out, doesn't need to have sales because their prices are better than sale prices--but they still have sales. We wandered into the back room and found a couple reasonable, quite nice (but not perfect) chairs and even a few chair + ottoman sets (very important to us). After we decided that all the chairs were starting to feel exactly the same, we wandered back out to the showroom, where we met the newest love of my life.

I don't know his name. I don't even remember what he looked like, but he is the nicest person I had talked to all day, and he won my heart almost immediately. Instead of turning his nose up at us for trying to find less expensive, individual pieces, or trying to convince us that ugly uncomfortable chairs were neither ugly nor uncomfortable, he asked us if we'd snooped into the employees only section of the back room. When we adamantly denied even thinking of such a thing, he took us back there. Alycia sat down in the ugliest chair known to man (but it was cheap) and the guy said something along the lines of, "Well, that certainly is funky isn't it?" and then laughed at me when I tried really hard not to speak my mind (I know: for a change). Of course, the chair that Alycia liked was a bit on the pricey side, but that happens. I want to go back and give him a thank you card so that he knows I appreciate his existence. Fact is, I would have probably bought something just so that he could feel good about himself, but I didn't have my wallet. I think a thank you card would do the same thing, for about .03% of the price.

Uninvited

Do you remember that really bad Alanis Morrisette song from the City of Angels? I remember my friend's cheesy rendition when she was in a fight with someone from school and wanted to tell her not to come to her birthday party any more. "But you...you're disinvited..." Ouch. It hurts just thinking about it.

Jeff showed up unannounced Friday night and guess what--I wasn't home. He wanted me to come out with him and his friend, but that was nearly impossible. So he went and met up with Clayton and Ryan downtown anyway. Ran through a car wash. Evading some fees. Slept on my couch then went home in the morning. Weirdo.

Delayed RSVP

About ten years ago I invited Rory Burns to London. He's coming next week. We're going to raise quite a bit of hell. I can't wait. It would all be perfect, and I would have nothing else to say, except...why doesn't HE have to go to school?? I always have to go to school--12 hours a week!! This time, I am telling you right now, I will actually not recover from a broken heart if you let me down again, Burns. I will be dead. For good. I mean it.

Math Junkie

Telus might not want me, but I don't want Telus anymore. I applied for a position at the Millenium Research Group in Toronto. They want to make sure I'm not lying to them about my wonderfulness, so they have invited me down to their office to show off my skills. Actually, they are going to subject me to an hour long test in which I will have to prove my written and mathematical/analytical skills. I mean, clearly, I will have no trouble with the geometry or the finite, but what if I forget how to formulate a proper sentence?? I'll be screwed. And maybe dead. For good. I mean it.

The scariest part about applying for a job like this is that even though I'm confident that I'm competant enough to attend to the mathematical aspect, I can't help but wonder what kind of lowly and floundering company would want me to work for them? What kind of crazy person would offer someone like me a job?

If All Else Fails

Brand new decision: if I fail to find employment at least I will be able to finally get to work putting my million words into my own Erin-thesaurus. Yay, a project for post-grad. Do you think I could convince someone that is a relevant thesis for a masters programme? "I'm going to catelogue all the words floating around in my brain." I think they would think I'm crazy.

Scathing Wit

You could make me so happy if you would read over my book review for MIT. I know that Weapons of Mass Distortion isn't up everyone's alley, but if you enjoy my scathing wit you might find something to like in my piece. I spend about 100 words wondering how in the world lying about the existence of weapons that could (and will) kill us all can be equated to lying about having an extramarital affair. Clinton lied under oath is the apparent difference. So say what you want until you put you right hand on that bible--the cons take that shit right serious.
I wanted to include the word defenetre, but since I'm lazy about french accents it probably won't work.

My wit is bound to cause me more grief soon though. I have been really good lately and I don't know how much longer I can hold out before it comes out in one evil torrent of rage. Oh, it'll be a torrent all right.

Keep Smiling

The longer you hold on, the more likely you are to witness the torrent. That's a promise. So hang in there old chum, the best is yet to come.

21 Things that Baffle My Small Brain

Please explain them to me!!

1. Shakespeare's Coriolanus. Why is it allowed? Why is it so boring? Why does anyone even pretend to like it.
2. The trans-everything in Orlando by Virginia Woolf. Is she a woman, or a man? A (wo)man? How could a modern woman have such post-modern ideas?
3. Why did Virginia Woolf go and kill herself? If writing was so so so depressing, why wouldn't she just stop? Just stop already. If you hate something, don't freaking do it.
4. This quote by Nina Burleigh, reprinted in Weapons of Mass Distortion: "I would be happy to give [Clinton] a blow job just to thank him for keeping abortion legal. I think American women should be lining up with their presidential kneepads on to show their gratitude for keeping the theocracy off our backs" (Bozell 144). Are you freaking kidding me?? I don't even know where to start.
5. The chutnification of history in Midnight's Children.
6. Do I care about the chutnification of history in Midnight's Children?
7. What would Nietzsche have to say about all of this? He already told me God is dead, but he told me nothing about chutney!
8. How can an apology ever be proceeded by a "but"?
9. What in the heck is wrong with my tummy? I think I'm going to be sick again...
10. Civil war during the partition of India. If it makes you happy, then why the hell do you look so sad? And if it makes you happy, then why do you have to massacre each other? PS What were those damn Brits thinking, stirring up all that hate?
11. Partial birth abortion aka third trimester abortion. And why Bozell has to describe it so brutishly. If a baby born after only 5 months can live, don't you think we're capable of understanding that final trimester abortion is grueling?
12. Liberal media bias. Everyone who disagrees with you is liberal when you are a conservative? Am I wrong? If you're talking about political issues? Have a missed something?
13. Why are the things that taste so good, the one's I'm not supposed to eat?
14. Why 17 is minor, and 18 major--but not major enough to know how to handle booze.
15. Why was the 5 hour yarn event such a flop?
16. Why haven't I taken down the poster for the 5 hour yarn event?
17. Little Miss Sunshine is the best movie ever. Why isn't everyone watching it all the time?
18. Jackass 2. Moreover, leeches attached to eyeballs and snake bitten, sock covered penises. Why is that so hilarious? I almost peed.
19. Anyone who has seen Jackass 2 more than once. You're sick.
20. Why I'm writing a blog instead of reading.
21. Why I have a bookmark with Just as I Am printed on it. And why that song makes me feel all warm on the inside.

Do you know what the number one thing I don't understand is though? I don't understand why you ever bothered to read that list, knowing full well that I am sitting here at my computer lamenting the limits of my small brain. Tell me I'm a genius already! Man alive, how many hints do I need to give you before you realize I am in desparate need of an esteem boost? I'll be here: Just as I am, though tossed about, with many a conflict, many a doubt.

Eleven Reasons to Love Me

Some things you do for money, and some you do for fun. But the things you do for love are going to come back to you one by one.

This list started as Eleven Reasons to Keep Reading. Remarkably, a lot of the reasoning remains the same. I'm nothing if I'm not consistent.

1. It's the last thing they expect you to do. I don't look lovable, so you will have surprise on your side. This meshes well with any other spiteful reasoning you can come up with.
   
2. It'll improve your vocabulary. I know a million words, which is why I'm going to publish my own Erin-thesaurus. (And if I was a dinosaur I'd BE a Smythesaurus...tricky).
   
3. It'll improve your chances of making your fortune writing Harlequinn Romances. Fiction is way wilder than truth when the story begins with a confession of undying love for me and ends with the combined agony of both our aching hearts. For more on this, see my collaborative attempt with Burns at Soapy storymaking: Angel, Won't You Call Me...coming soon to a theatre near you. But seriously, do you know how much you can make writing that crap?
   
4. Unrequited love is entertaining. Ours might not be the same calibre as Romeo and Juliett's, but we're living in a different time and your sob story is still bound to delight someone you want to impress. (PS I don't expect this little experiment to end in a suicide pact. For the record.)
   
5. Have I mentioned I'm fucking hilarious? Only a crazy person would do someone else's homework; Only a hilarious person would be self-centred enough to make it a tragic romance pivotting on real events and real people, with herself as the heroine. [Sidebar: Rory's major objection to my manuscript had nothing to do with my declaration of my own pure genius...he just didn't want my character to be falsely pleasant. So, he changed "I know the warmth and comfort of her smile" to "I delight in her biting sarcasm"...wow. ]
   
6. Time waster...holy don't tell me you are bored...pining means business. You have to put some effort into finding reasons to look deep into my eyes and to fill me up with enough alcohol to make me much less discrete. Not that the second part is that hard...I have a list of reasons to drink enough alcohol as well . No joke. It's a true story.
7. Get your mind off of life. Whether you are disgruntled about being snapped at (not that you know anyone who is snappy at the Employment Help Centre) or frustrated about your credit issues (not that anyone ever has those), sit and have a loving chat with me and you will be primed and ready to get back to your life in no time. What a whiner, you will think. And, of course, you'll be right.
8. I really like puzzles. My mom is framing my Winnie the Pooh mosaic puzzle for me. If you love me, you will be too dazzled by my beauty and wit (read: sarcasm) to be bored.
9. Long walks on the beach, and across the scary bridge, and to the wrong lighthouse.
10. I'm used to abuse. Rory: "You should start judging people by the shoes you wear...I mean what if you see this gorgeous girl and you think she's awesome except that you notice she's wearing platform sandals. Then you ignore it but one day you'll get home and she'll be listening to Red Hot Chili Peppers. What then?!?" Erin: "But Rory, I am wearing platform sandals." Rory: "That's okay. We're already friends and I don't find you the least bit attractive." And the alternate-- Erin: "Brady, you are like my archnemesis. In fact, I think you might be the very reason that I hate people." Brady: "You're short." Ouch.
    
11. Rory does. He just likes to keep it a secret. And I know you secretly want to be like Rory.

And don't you just think it would be fun for a change? Besides I'm lonely and hungry and if somebody loved me I wouldn't be as likely to be both because that someone would love me enough to feed me or talk to me at very least..Now, top reasons to consume enough alcohol:

1. The lime they put in rye and gingers and rum and cokes. So delicious.
2. The look on poor Burns' face when I buy everyone but him a shot by accident.
3. Free shots.
4. Open bar.
5. You're lonely.
6. You turned 19.
7. You turned 19 two and a half years ago.
8. When you drink hard liquor straight from the bottle you can wipe your mouth on the back of your shirt because it's bad ass and being bad ass is so awesome.
9. You aren't 19 yet but you want to prepare your tolerance for the birthday celebration.
10. You are trying to raise your tolerance.
11. You secretly hate your liver.
12. Good excuse to hypnotize people.
13. Good excuse to go down stairs on your buttocks.
14. You want to get dressed up and go out.
15. You want to sit at home in your pajamas.
16. Your nipples are bleeding and someone is laughing at you: drunk you is allowed to punch that person square in the gut.
17. You're tired of driving.
18. You're tired of listening.
19. You feel like talking (a lot).
20. It's been a while since you told a good "...and then I destroyed BK Lounge" story.
21. The pink panther dance.
22. You're hungry but all you have is beer.
23. It will make you forget that you're hungry.
24. You feel like you have WAY too much money.
25. You feel like your significant other has more money than you.
26. Baby cannon prevention.
27. Drunk you is the only one anyone loves.
28. It's been a while since you showed a stranger (or friend) your boobs.
29. Tearful conversations that make you laugh when you wake up.
30. The day after your hangover you feel fantastic.
    

Farewell, Hostile Wednesdays

They say old habits die hard. Personally, I never thought this day would come.

All good things must come to an end. Bad things don't have to, which is a bit of a piss off. And even if bad things must end, the way that good things do, they would never end as quickly. So, place this tradition where you will, Hostile Wednesdays are no more. Here, drink in hand, I bid adieu to years of concentrated, guided bitterness and hostility. Let's take a look back, to a time when Hostile Wednesdays weren't so indelibly a part of weekly existence:

Excerpt from "Reasons I Hate Other People's Opinions" Officially titled Baby Cannon (April 18)

1. "I hate other people
2. I act out of spite so my judgment is clouded by my desire to counter them.
3. Opinions generate chaos.
4. When I find out what my opinion is, I rarely agree with it."

Excerpt from "Sulk Monster" Officially Look What You've Done

"[Rory] quit trying and now he wants to move to New Zealand and work at HMV and not talk to any body for the rest of his life, just sit in his room and listen to music that makes him so happy he cries. I told him I'm crashing his sulk party...and he said he will pay to get me there."

...

"Rory and I finally got to have a drink together though, at the Horseshoe Tavern. Rory tells me that it's the kind of bar that if you sat down at the bar alone someone would ask you what your troubles are and listen better than your best friend. I decided it was the kind of bar where you keep your eyes on your drink at all times so you don't get date raped."

Excerpt from Bitter Days (March 15, 2006)

"I wish everyone was loved tonight

But I hate them all out of spite

And it’s all because of all these bitter days"

Excerpt from MARCH (2006 Ed.)

"Why I Love the World: It hates me."

Excerpt from Jumping Jolly January (18, 2006)

"Snow. I know, yesterday I would have told you that I would much prefer snow to the freezing rain that was dripping down my back. But today is not yesterday and today I hate snow."

Excerpt from Walking Week Wednesday (November 3, 2005)

Tips for overcoming workoholicism: "Skip instead of walking. You move faster and get to feel like an absolute dork."

Excerpts from A Miserable Day: A Tale of Tragedy in Three Parts (Oct. 26, 2006)

"Part One: In which the heroine finds herself utterly alone in the world and tries to console herself by clinging to a desparate hope for "Better Days" as promised once in a song.

"Part Two: In which the heroine realizes her shortcomings and attempts to quit everything. Failing miserably to even quit, and the miserable day continues, as all days must.

"Part Three: In which the heroine provides yet another list for her devoted followers, providing renewed hope for bitter but not miserable days in the future."

Excerpt from You Know it's Wednesday When... (Feb. 9, 2005)

"You know it's Wednesday when I'm calculating the vindictiveness of the bus driver based on his position at the stop light. True story. If the bus is stopped at the very front of the line at the stop light s/he is doing it just to torture those kids on the corner who simply cannot make it to the stop on the other side before the bus. Moreover, s/he is ALWAYS shaking his/her head at that poor kid who just wants to hop on while the bus is stopped. It's a terrible conspiracy. Just terrible."

Excerpt from "Top Ten Reasons to..." An Ode to Hostile Wednesdays (January 26, 2005)

"Leave Hostile Wednesdays the way you found them:

• Bitterness is contagious, like mono. And I have both.
• My pouty face is the cutest face I can make.
• Hostile Wednesdays are the driving force behind this blog, and bitterness is the driving force behind my life.
• [If you don't] I will have fewer opportunities to threaten to defenetre everything you own.
• If I'm gonna vent about the deflowering of innocent young males at strip clubs, or the generally idiocy of the opposite sex, wouldn't you rather I get it all off my chest once every week than once every hour?"

So, why? you ask, must this phenomenon come to a close? Because there's nothing left to be hostile about on Wednesdays. Case and point:

• I don't have to get up early, so I don't have to fight with my alarm clock (one less thing to defenetre--boring!)
• I don't have to go to campus so I don't have to fight with the bus system (one less thing to bitch about)
• I don't have to talk to anyone if I don't want to.

Therefore, Wednesdays are too pleasant to be hostile...

I know what you're thinking: it's a crying shame to see a timeless tradition left in the dust. But just look at what you have to look forward to:

1. We could be day time drunks. That's what Rory wants to do because then we'd never get anything done.
2. Breakdown Thursdays: I come home, read 3 pages, have a minor nervous breakdown and spend the rest of the night drinking and watching bad tv.
3. A thesis: hello! Forty pages dedicated soley to my very own brand of pure genius (not whale anatomy, mind you).
4. Jean throws Erin a party. As promised. PLUS Jean works at M&Ms so there will be mounds of delicious food--and a bit for the party-goers to munch on too.
5. Signed Goo memorabilia. Delivered upon the completion of my four year degree. I love it when I make Jean sign her promises.
6. Graduation, I guess.
7. Job search extravaganza: I haven't been in university for the last four years working on my M-R-S...and I know you all feed on my exasperation (it's funny) and there is nothing more exasperating than endlessly searching for something that might simply not exist--like the perfect job.
8. I'm not happy but I'm funny--just wait til I'm not funny but I'm happy. Well fuck.
9. MIT will make me pull out all of my hair by December.
10. I'll have a fun time dressing for the royal ball with no hair to put up.
11. Erin fights her own hostily: and any one who talks in third person. Decidedly hostile towards hostility (there's another definition of irony for you Burns, Evans...)
12. You might die (I kind of hope so...)
13. Defenetring things isn't hostile if they land on your balcony. True story.
14. At least one mid-week "quit"--because there's an awesome buffet at the Hot House on Wednesdays--the only day on which there's any sense in quitting.
15. Brain death. Actually explosion. Don't worry though, you can store whatever you can scavenge off the floor in Brady's head for a while--he's leaving lots of room open for just such an emergency. (I'm not being mean that's what he told me!)
16. Maybe we'll both die (that would be sweet).
17. Future converts join the club. Weinism isn't going any where.
18. Rory gives up all hope on me when I finally kick my bitter addiction.
19. I get bitter because I miss Rory.
20. The reunion at Hot House.

Now if that isn't a send-off I don't know what more you want from me. Buy me a Rushdie book to add to my thesis stack and I'll be your best friend. Threats are out; bribes are in. Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end--thank you, Semisonic, you took the words right out of my mouth.

The Things You Do for Love

King Saul fell on his sword when it all went wrong, and Jacob's brothers sold him down the river for a song; Something something about tiger balm into his glove...Some things you do for money, and some you do for love love love.

Ten things I learned today. A la maniere de Wallace Stevens...a la maniere de GEC:

1. Everything's classier in French: He tried to woo me in the language of romance. You stood between us, my savior in a muscle shirt who had no love for me. He loved my ass while you praised my assets. Brilliant despite all obstacles. The French have a way of fucking everything up. French Brady curses Jim, makes me drop everything and run for sanity.
2. The lucrative effects of Canadian Whiskey: I make up new words like "lucrativity" and think I’m a genius. The stuff that loosens lips above and below. It makes me feel invincible, not invisible like rum. Thoughts slide around: like marbles on tile, oil on water, the ice cubes I dropped on the linoleum.
3. I could be in love with you: but you're always too fucking far away.
4. You could be in love with anyone.
5. Positive thinking: I'm positive--the worst is yet to come. You're positive--this is as bad as it could ever get.
6. Destructive drinking: Like I didn't know all about that before. I learned to love alliteration and words that start with "B". Searching for a word to make you proud, I fall short when I fall asleep at "aardvark".
7. I'm closer to where I started: She told me that song lyrics are a wealth of inspiration, looking seriously thoughtful...and seriously hammered.
8. You're farther away than ever before: I'll never be the same again because of your dewy eyes and hyperbole.
9. I'm the reason I hate people. [Sidebar: one of Erin and Brady's first conversations ever recorded. Erin: You're like my arch-nemesis. Everything I'm not-- I think you might just be the reason I hate people." Brady: "You're short." ] I'm bitter and unforgivable. You're happy without reprieve.
10. You were right all along: Fate sets out to set me back, and I wish I could do something to make you realize that despite your melodramatic, overactive lack of wisdom, I know full well that you were right and I was wrong.

Why did the tap dancer retire?

He kept falling in the sink! This blog is dedicated to nonsense, mostly born at Ford or during discussions about Ford.

I don't even know how to begin to explain this one. It's going to be random. It's going to be crazy. Hopefully, it will be freaking amazing (but I wouldn't hold my breath--mostly because I'm afraid of dying).

1. "Wa-bam"--in reference to my buttocks. My butt's famous at Ford nowadays. It's freaking weird. Cheryl Barrow told Rory that I'm great because I'm "so little, and then it's just like wa-bam: there's [my] butt!" She calls me booty butt. It would be one thing if she was the first, but she's like the fifth. I feel like I need to invest in a cape or something to cover myself up and stop the madness. Very few people who I trust much will comment on the situation. I mostly get patronizing condolences a la: "Your butt is just lovely, Smyth". Can't even get my name right, those crazies.
2. Let's talk about this "Smyth" business. Yesterday Rory made me a nametag, and it read: "Hello, I am a Smyth-osaurus" and if you flipped the bottom down it said, "Grrrrrrrrrrrrr". I don't know why Rory calls me Smyth, but I know he likes it. The main problem is why everyone else calls me Smyth. I think it might be easier to yell. Is it? At any rate, it is better than the other nicknames that have been (thankfully) abandoned: He-man, Teensy, and all the rest.
3. Bradyisms: I wanted to dedicate a whole blog to this, but I think a few lines will suffice. Brady is famous for saying things like "Right on, brother!" n shit. He is also famous for getting everyone riled up about the weirdest things. Today he was singing the Washington song (that is, he was talking about George Washington's 30 penises) and I said, "Oh no, not that song again. I thought we were over this song" and he replied, "No fuckin' way, man. This shit is makin' a come back!" And then I quit. Brady will be greatly missed when he leaves at the end of next week. He is a stabilizing force in our crazy group, and I really don't know what we'll do without him. Really. For real though. I mean it. I don't know. Know what I'm sayin? That's all I'm sayin' though.
4. A Walk to Remember. Rory and I went down to the beach Sunday night for our usual, I-missed-you-so-much-while-it-was-the-weekend madness. It was his idea: he wanted to watch the tide come in. There was no tide, but we did get to walk across the scary bridge and we found out that the RED lighthouse is on the side that doesn't require you be shit your pants crossing the life bridge. Not that I shit, ever: I was shot, it's like an appendix, it's just decoration.
5. It feels so nice against my body. Mark is a weirdo. I gave him a blue and black blanket and he didn't say, "What will I do with it?" or "It kinda looks like a bruise." He said, "I hope it feels good against my body." And then he came and assured me today that it did.
6. Whipped Dip. I love words that get me giggling. One of my new favourite people at Ford is named Cynthia Duchene and we had a moment during last break today: we simultaneously recognized the awkwardness of our situation, and burst out laughing. We just got made fun of. But it was hilarious.
7. I keep freaking messing up these numbers. Number 7 is always a little slow anyway. Aren't you glad you're wasting your life on this now?
8. French Bradyisms. Fuckin Jim unh? 'e wants everyone to come to 'is party, but no body comes, and what does 'e do? 'e fuckin dies so everyone will 'ave to come to 'is fuckin party. What a fuckin ass'ole unh? If Jim wasn't already fuckin' dead I'd fuckin kick 'is fuckin ass. You know what I'm sayin, unh? UNH?? UNH???
9. Japan is as bad as Bramalea. It's official: an entire country (that I have never visited) has failed me. Japan sent the WRONG part. We waited 10 days for our new transmission, and Japan sent the wrong one. Why was the transmission in Japan you ask? Let me know when you have an answer that doesn't include a look that suggests I'm an idiot for not knowing that "it's a Mazda transmission" and that should explain freaking everything.
10. I think my brother is a drug dealer. He was talking about it. He needs money. His msn name says that he found some crack. Oh good. This should be fun.

Good night and good luck with your decodations, young detectives.

I Hope You Die

I was just watching the Simpsons, and I heard the best line ever. I'm adopting it for use at Ford. Hell, why not work it into this entry? Anything is possible.

I hope that our few remaining friends, give up on trying to save us.
Ford has done nothing but bring us closer together. Rory proposed to me in C section last week. Want to know why? He said, "I figured it out. You are a prima donna" and I replied, "Fuck you I am not! I'll kick your fucking ass!" I'm hilarious. Well, maybe that was just one of my few moments. But I am one of those people that prefers illusion to despair. I'm so awesome.

I hope we come up with a fail-safe plot to piss off the dumb few that forgave us.
The plot is coming along nicely. My favourite part of it is where Rory and I drive around screaming this song at the top of our lungs and complaining that Ultramart never has the right kind of cake. The shorty shorts for swimming are also an important feature.

I hope we drive past the last exit. I hope it's already too late.
Fucking driving to Ford. I hate the rain the most of all. Today I left Jean's house at 5 after 12 and got to the Ford parking lot at 20 minutes after 1. What the hell. Driving sucks up my entire day. On Monday I didn't have to drive home because I got a migraine again. Oh thank God for Rory and not having a manual transmission this time. If the car hadn't been in the shop, we might have never made it home--well, that's not true, but some of us prefer illusion to despair.

I hope the junkyard a few blocks from here someday burns down. And I hope the rising black smoke lifts me up and carries me far away from this town and I never come down in my life.
The world is going to hell. It's all our fault. Working at Ford makes me feel personally responsible and that breaks my heart. I much prefer being as detached as possible from environmental affairs. When I do that, I get a chance to forget that my dad is working for the enemy to keep the production of gas-guzzling (I love that alliteration so much) SUVs and trucks (have you seen the truck) legal, in order to save heartless corporations like Ford. Oh, Ford.

And I hope I lie.
Actually I lie all the time--but usually to myself. Lying at Ford is a failing mission. Although, I did spend a good hour looking for Matt so he could assign me a cleaning job. How was I supposed to know he wouldn't look at Brady's desk in R section or the annex? By twenty to 10, I decided to stay in one spot in order to find him, but that failed too. I hope I don't have to keep this charade going or I'll get caught for sure.

And tell everyone you were a good wife.
Ouch eh? Someday I'll be a good wife, hopefully even if I am a prima donna. Don't believe me? Well, let the lie live on; some of us prefer illusion to despair. I don't want to despair today. Maybe tomorrow. Besides, I'm totally going to lie and tell everyone Rory was a good wife, even if he won't wear a wedding ring lest they become an obstacle for his extramarrital affairs.

I hope you die.
Hahaha. I told everybody at the bar that last week. It was the best. The week before I hypnotized Jared Goba (by smacking him in the forehead) and he is such a good sport; all he said was, "Oh wow. You really got me." There weren't even any daggers shooting from his eyes. They shot from the eyes of a few others. So by the end of that night, my head really hurt. Telling people I want them to die went over with much less pain. My favourite might have been Pat Borrelli because as we were filing out of the bar I kept saying, "Hey, Pat!" and he would say, "I know you hope I die!" and I said, "Don't be offended. I hope we both die!"

I hope we both die.
Cheerfully. That's the line that makes everything better. Don't worry: I'll be dead too and we can hang out in the afterlife. I'm pretty sure it will suck as bad as this life, but at least we'll be together.

When I'm at Ford I imagine the ways I could die there. It's hard to come up with anything that doesn't result in someone else being severely traumatized by the experience. (I.e. Getting run over by forktruck might destroy the driver) But I found the best solution to that problem: Brady is going to kill me. He almost accidentally kills me at least once a day--yesterday it was by pushing me into a metal rack.

I think I'm destined to die as a result of head trauma, and Rory is destined to stand over my dead body laughing. On Sunday I was trying to pick up the ball from behind the chair for Sable, and the chair tipped and I smashed my head off the wall and then hit my chin on the wood part of the chair. Rory laughed for ten minutes while I laid on the floor. He didn't ask if I was okay. He just laughed.

More to Come
Now you have something to look forward to--or an illusion to prevent you from succombing to inevitable despair--for another week or so at least.

Memorable Moments

Or what I remember of them...that is, moments from drunken craziness translated into some strange super anecdote...let's see how I manage to string together six weeks of madness into one long story.

Exploding Mirrors
I read this forum that Rory sent me about a car mirror that "exploded." A woman named Bambi wanted to know if it was possible that her sideview mirror exploded while driving through an intersection. She claimed that there were no other cars close to her, and she couldn't explain how the mirror just fell off, breaking her window as well. The resident expert told her that it was impossible, and a rock probably hit her window and the mirror, causing the damage.

I said to Rory, "That guy is cracked! Bambi's mirror isn't the only one that exploded: mine did too when Jeff was driving!" And he had no response to that.

Hoodeedoos
After reading this article, I went to Toronto with Rory to pick Jeff up from the airport. For his birthday, my dad flew Jeff with him to Vancouver. Since it was a last minute ordeal, they wound up on separate flights, so my dad needed to be picked up in Hamiltion and my brother in Toronto.

I was kind of frustrated about the ordeal because I didn't want to drive all the way back to Burlington, then rush to the airport all alone to pick Jeff up. So, my mother gave me a hundred dollars and told me to either order him a cab or take the boys out for dinner.

Lyndsay got a ride home, but Rory and I went to Hoodoo McFiggins. There, Rory said Hoodeedoo before everything he ordered, and so the waitress hated us. Then Rory tried to feed this crazy guy with a mullet through the window ("Did he eat the nacho?"..."Come on. It was a frickin' window! How the fuck would he feed him through a fucking window??"). Shortly after, he exclaimed emphatically, "It's like the zoo for ugly people...because that guy is ugly, not us." What a winner.

We're going back to Hoodeedoos again tomorrow. Woohoo.

Parking Lot Prankster
I've decided that I need to get some pepper spray. (Brendan says, "It's illegal. You can't have any." And I say, "Puff on you! I need something to spray in people's eyes if they are trying to molest me!") This revelation took place as I was sitting on a curb in a sketchy Oakville parking lot, waiting for Ryan to empty his teeny tiny bladder.

He assured me that if I yelled, he would come running as soon as he put his "junk" away. And proceeded to tell me that he would probably get it stuck, but that was a risk he was willing to take in order to protect me. Aww.

Two guys then came back to see us and we sat with them for a little while. They thought Ryan was the greatest thing since sliced cheese, and they even made him a special seat (on a shopping cart). Then they asked us how old we were, and Ryan was too busy laughing to hear, so I said, "Twenty." And the guy goes, "Oh shit man. I hope we're this cool when we're that old." He was 15.

And then I quit life and drove home. The End.

Good Reasons to Freeze to Death

I don't have a spiral ring notebook, so I'll write them out here. I included an extra suggestion because it was the dumbest thing I've heard in quite a while--denoted by an asterisk. First person to guess who said it wins a prize.

Rory made me listen to this crazy song and one line in it was, "...while I write down good reasons to freeze to death/in my spiral ring notebook." I think it was the same song in which there is a line about either a babbling brook or a battling frog--either way it makes no sense, unless you try to make sense of it. So here they are-- my list of good reasons to freeze to death:

1. No body listens to you. If no one listens to anything you say, then you might as well be invisible. Invisible people aren't people: they are ghosts. Ghosts aren't alive. So if you might as well be invisible, you might as well be dead. And if you might as well be dead, then you might as well freeze to death because that is a memorable way to go.
2. *Well, if you were in Hell...*Fuck that shit, if you are in hell then you are already dead. If you're already dead then you cannot die again.
3. You're being eaten by a polar bear. When you get hypothermia, most of the symptoms you experience are much like being drunk (dizziness, confusion, blurred vision...) so my theory goes that if you were freezing to death and you consequently felt drunk, then being eaten by a polar bear might just be hilarious. I think everything is funny when I'm drunk.
4. Someone just asked you again whether you think you'd suffocate or drown first if they put a plastic bag full of ice cubes over your head. Death by freezing would be better. And no, the ice cubes wouldn't freeze you...they would perform the experiment in Antarctica because that's the last lawless land.
5. Your fake fiance isn't really going to take you to Nashville. [Sidebar: the other night this super creepy guy was weirding me out, so I made Brady go get all my drinks for me. By the end of the night, I got up the nerve to go get my own but I brough Mark with me because he wanted a drink too. I introduced him to polar bears and he thinks they are delightfully girly. The creepy guy asked Mark when he was going to marry me and made him promise to take me to Nashville before the wedding.] That's just depressing. If you can't go to Nashville, you should go somewhere cold enough to freeze to death.

I know the list is short, but honestly, can you think of any better reasons to freeze to death? It's not just good reasons to die--this is serious business. For more on the weird ways my brain works, tune in next week for some other list that makes allusions to events but rarely fully explains them. Because scars are souvenirs you'll never lose.

What the Crap, Yo?

When I was training Jeff at Ford last year, he told me that what he really wanted was clothes that said, "What the fuck?" on them. All over them. A hat. Socks. An entire wardrobe. And he only wanted to wear it to Ford because that was all he thought when he was there.

Now, Rory and I aren't supposed to say that magic expletive, so this is my "what the crap" blog, dedicated to all the things in my life that make me say, "what the [you know what]?!"

1. "Yo." Rory makes fun of everything I say. Everything. So I've taken to deliberately saying things that I know Rory wants to make fun of. For example, Rory does not like those who say "yo," so I asked him to get a crink out of my shoulder (it hurt because truck wheels are bigger than me) and when he failed, I went up to him while he had a great big mouthful of water and exclaimed, "It's still broke, yo!" And he joked on his water and yelled at me, "WHAT THE CRAP!"

2. Rory threw up in the annex and now he doesn't have to clean it. He also got Lyndsay, Tim, and Ashlee off of cleaning duty. The puke just sat there in the annex for like a week. Sounds backwards to me. Shouldn't somebody clean up that puke? Perfect example of fordian what the crappism.

3. Lyndsay made Rory mad and that made Rory psychic. Rory told Lyndsay his new job for the summer would be to move flat trucks around. Today Lyndsay had to count every flat truck in the building. Well over 300, so why can't we ever find any? What the crap.

4. I have a new arch-nemesis. His name is Ryan Brady and I hate him because he is tall. Today, I asked him if he would do me a quick favour. He said, "What's that?" and I replied, "Could you just come over here and be tall for me for a minute?" and he laughed at me. What the crap. He also lied about having a knife. I told him later that he is the very reason that I hate people. He is the perfect arch-nemesis because he takes my insults without trying to change my mind or make my life miserable. My plan is working. What the crap? Nothing ever worked for me before.

5. I'm not invited to the Book Expo. I spent all of May waiting for June because the Book expo takes place in that month--not invited. What the crap.

6. I met Brendan's parallel self. He is just like Brendan but about twenty five years older. His name? Brendan Smith. Creepy eh? What the crap. Brendan number two is a sexist firefighter who couldn't get a job as a cop because he has the worst attitude towards people ever. He likes fires better now. It sounds kinda perfect for Brendan number one as well because he would probably enjoy playing with his hose almost as much as firing his gun, don't you think? What the crap. I might be related to Brendan number two some day. Oh no, then I'll never get free of Brendan-ness. What the crap guys.

7. Andrew got kicked out of school for smoking drugs. What the crap.

8. I've been fighting with my sister for the last month and I had no idea. What the crap.

9. Last night I had to drive home with a migraine. My arm went numb and I couldn't tell which set of lights I was supposed to be looking at, but Rory is still teasing me because I revved too high when I pulled out of his driveway. Then, when I pulled out of the driveway tonight I stalled the fricking car because I was so self-conscious. What the crap.

10. Lyndsay told me the worst thing I've ever heard and I can't get it out of my head. If I don't laugh I think I'll actually have a nervous breakdown. This is the best year at Ford for laughing until the tears stream down my face, ever. What the crap.

There's more to come, I'm sure. Ford does that to you. I spent half my day today trying to decide how to go about getting a thesis supervisor and the other half deciding what I'll do with the money I save by not paying tuition when I drop out of the honours program. I'm a smart kid. Clearly intelligence isn't my issue--sanity is.

Don't forget to convert. Hostile Wednesdays are way too fun to miss out on them any longer. Cuz I was your anger and you were my fear, and now that it's over of course it's so clear. But you were no angel and I was no sin. But somehow I can't let it go...oh, goo.

Proposal, Tears, and Ford Fun

Oh, they all belong in the same title all right.

Proposal
May 6th arrived with a vengeance. Shane scheduled an appointment for me in Toronto that started at 9 AM. I yi yi. I made it though. Despite all odds.

I got my nails done, including my toes. I almost kicked the poor woman giving me the pedicure because she kept tickling me. Someone blow dried my hair as well. She was a big bitch. And I got my make-up done. The woman who painted my finger nails said, "You are subtly, but definitely, transforming. I love how the eyeshadow embellishes the thousand stories that your eyes tell." I didn't laugh in her face. Thank goodness.

More fun to come. Shane and I walked up to the Eaton's centre and I bought a new dress and a pair of shoes. I wanted to look extra wonderful for our special dinner at the CN Tower. The reservation was made for 7:15 and we arrived 15 minutes early in order to orient ourselves, etc.

The food was good, but expensive. The view was beautiful. The wine was terrible.

Shane tried to propose on the observation deck but I wouldn't go outside because I was too cold. He managed to get me to go for a short walk with him and proposed at the bottom of the tower instead.

Tears
I cried my eyes out. It hurts to hurt the person you love most.

Ford Fun
Back at Ford this is all I can think about. I haven't heard from Shane in three days. He's working nights in Welland and he let his cell phone die so I cannot get ahold of him. My manicure chipped off Monday. I feel dirty and my feet smell really bad. I'm getting sleepy so I think I'll have a shower and go to bed.

Teach Me to Dance, Antonio

Sometimes the best times in the world come from intricate planning and a lot of money. Other times, they come from a random email and a follow up WTF phone call.

Part I. The Email

I'll be honest with you: I don't get a lot of emails. Most people either call me or decide that I'm not important enough to communicate with. Andrea is a fish of a different colour. She sends me more emails than anyone else in the whole wide world. Often, they are the products of boredom and random thoughts. This is the one I received this afternoon:

"i thought you would appreciate this
i kinda giggle every time this song comes on cuz i go aww thats me, and then go hahaha no!
"i've never been the kind to ever let my feelings show, i thought that being strong meant never losing my self control, but im just drunk enough, to let go of this pain, to hell with this pride, let it fall like rain, from these eyes, tonight i wanna cry"
i realized that i dont care and dont need to be drunk, although it helps.. maybe i just wish i had some self control over these tears, bastards."

So, I am sitting in my chair, in my basement thinking, when the heck did she write that? and trying to decide whether she was crying and depressed or actually just thought I would understand her craziness. I was going to email her back, but then I decided that I should just cut out the middle-man (aka Hotmail) and give her a phone call.

Part II: Let the Madness Begin

I will spare you the nitty gritty, but in the end, Andrea and I ended up at the mall in search of the right dress for Saturday night. We didn't find it. The mission failed. We did, however, visit my favourite place on Brant Street and talk to my favourite server at that place. He got all impatient on me because I tried to ask if Andrea wanted anything to drink. He is Dennis's friend--that makes him evil.

Well, Andrea has a rare sense of humour. She didn't order anything, but she still found a unique way to make my life difficult: she sat reading the tip jar. "Tippucino?" she says, "What the crap? THANKS A LATTE!! That's hilarious!!" And I thought she would giggle for a few minutes and then get the hell over it. God, no. I've never been so wrong in my life. She laughed until the tears started rolling and our dear friend the evil guy stuck his head out the drive thru window and says, "Are you laughing at me? Cuz if you are that's really rude!" and that set me off. So I am laughing at Andrea who is laughing at the cup while the evil one is feeling so left out. We explained to him about the cup, and I told him I was laughing at Andrea and he told me that was good because she really deserved to be laughed at.

Part III: That Calibre of Cool

We returned to my home, where we worked on my Winnie the Pooh mosaic puzzle (I'm almost done, Rory, you better get over here before it's done!) and ate Tacos with my family (except I don't think they really qualified as tacos). Then, we sat there and said to each other that we weren't sure what we should do next. I suggested a movie, and Andrea agreed that we should do that.

It was a toss-up between "The Wild" (that wants to be Madagascar but mostly fails) and "Take the Lead." In the long run, we decided that we'd let timing dictate our choice, and "Take the Lead" was on at a better time, so we went to see that. Do you know why? Because we are that calibre of cool...

Part IV: I Choose to Follow--How Brave

Do you know what that movie was about? Antonio Banderas plays a french guy teaching a bunch of poor kids how to ballroom dance. It reminded me of a story I wrote when I was like 8--everything that happened was tied to the romantic climax. Here are some of my favourite lines:

• This super white kid with red hair and freckles says to Antonio, "Yo man, we don't need no mo white bread up in here." And the girl he was referring to says, "Do you even own a mirror?"
• Antonio walks in and introduces himself as Pierre Dulane. Someone says, "Pierre doesn't sound very Spanish to me." Antonio explains, "My father was French, but my mother was Spanish. I know 6 languages and speak 5--all in a Spanish accent."

Andrea and I were so ranty after the movie that we forgot to dance in the parking lot. So we danced in the car.

Part V: Booty Call

After the movie I came down here to write this blog, when I heard the phone ring. I assumed it was for Meg. Then I heard my dad calling me from upstairs and I thought, Oh no! Shane fell off some roof or something! But when I got to the phone it was just Rory. He says, "Hi! I can't hear anything you're saying but do you want to do something. Yell so I can hear you!" And then he came over.

Rory and I went to Wendy's for JBCs and then to Ultramart for candy. After that I brought him back to my house and showed him how far we got on the puzzle. He was very impressed. We worked on the puzzle until 2 am at which time he declared, "I better get going. My mom is going to call me a home wrecker again."

And that is how I spent my Tuesday evening.

Baby Cannon

Apparently, "baby cannon" is the new "whale gynecologist" which was set to replace the original "whale biologist." And yet, for all those transformations I would bet you a fair bit of money (that I don't have) that you have NO idea what I'm talking about.

Jean told me, nay, promised me...that if I just discussed the matter with Dennis, then I'd be allowed to make a decision and she would accept it no matter what. Jean thought she was clever. Jean thought she was buying time because I told Jean that Dennis was in Vancouver for an indeterminate amount of time. Dennis came home the next day and told me at the bar that I could quit if I wanted. He said, "If you don't think that you'll need an honours degree, and you really don't want to go back to school, and if you are still going to work at Ford this summer and make more money than you'll know how to spend, then yes, you can quit school." The only condition is that I must not become a baby cannon.

And that, apparently, is the sticking point. Dennis is a renegger. He found out about the "you have to talk to Dennis first" deal and has decided that he no longer thinks it is okay for me to quit school with a three year BA. He says now, (and this is a real, uncensored quote, complete with MSN name):

Jobe - How does someone so ratty ape it so hard? says:
i never really argreed. I think you should still do honors just to keep from becoming a baby cannon

He claims that I am not tough enough to protect my uterus. I simply do not agree. Which brings me to my newest list:

REASONS THAT I HATE OTHER PEOPLE'S OPINIONS

1. I act out of spite so often that my judgement is clouded by my desire to counter them.
2. Other people get to reneg, but I am often left arguing the same side for no reason other than that I want them to agree that I am right.
3. Opinions are in many vocabularies synonomous with taste. So when I say, "I like chocolate cake" I'm told that I'm stupid because my opinion on cake is not the same as someone else's opinion on cake. In matters of taste, agreement is not essential to getting along, being happy, or otherwise avoiding throwing sharp objects at each other--but people still fight me on it: Their opinion that opinion is the same as taste is wrong.
4. I hate other people.
5. There aren't a lot of ways to argue with a dumb opinion in a mature way. My dad says, "Your brother was sad so I bought him a laptop." And I say, "Well, then perhaps you should give me some money because I'm going to be short on rent this month." And dear father says, "How in the world can I possibly do that? I just bought your brother a fricking laptop!" Tell me how to fight that. Please.
6. Opinions get written into constitutions. Tune in next week for why I hate constitutions.
7. My mother's opinion is that I'm always right. Clearly, opinions mean nothing and have no effect even when they are completely correct.
8. It is my opinion that I have a 26er of rum and a lot of coke that needs to be "taken care of as quickly as possible". It is the world's opinion that if I drink the rum then I'm an alcoholic and I will fail my exam. There is no room for compromise. What the hell. Just one glass?
9. I hate it when other people are right.
10. My own words get used against me and adopted as if the said individual coined the phrase alone. Baby cannon. I got that from Toole, why are you trying to steal it from him?
11. More than one opinion can be right at any given time. Therefore, opinions generate even more chaos.
12. There is too much chaos to begin with; we don't need opinions sticking their noses in, getting everything even more mucked up.
13. I have a hard time figuring out just what my opinion is.
14. When I find out what my opinion is I rarely agree with it.
15. My dad's opinion. Generally, he knows that I don't like to agree with him. But, it is so much more important to him that I recognize that he is right, that he no longer even attempts to keep his opinion hidden. He flails it out in the open, gives it its own parade even, and then gets hurt when I stomp up the stairs and move to London instead of Ottawa.
16. Opinions lead to dumb t-shirts that say things like, "When I want your opinion I'll give it to you."
17. When people see those dumb t-shirts they point to them and say, "Look! That t-shirt is perfect for you!" And all I really want is a t-shirt that states, "I'm full of paranoia..and hatred."
18. Opinions never lead to action. I have yet to hear anyone exclaim, "You're right, Erin! You do need a t-shirt that states that you are full of paranoia and hatred" and actually gone ahead and made one for me.
19. Other people's opinions start wars. That is number 19 for why I hate constitutions too.
20. "That is just my opinion, so you better deal with it." Alternatively, agreeing to disagree. Oh, I hate that so much.

Most of all, I really really hate it when I agree with other people's opinions. Damn you for thinking the way I do. Damn you for speaking to my rational side when all I really want is to be a little unreasonable and make ludicrous suggestions that come to nought but begin with, "So, I am quitting school forever."

Just be glad I haven't tried to quit life. You are all really bad at talking me out of things. In fact, if it was your job to talk me out of things I totally would have fired you for disagreeing with me like 2 years ago. I don't know what you disagreed with me about 2 years ago, but I bet it led me to believe I should do the opposite. And I bet the opposite was really dumb.

What I Forgot

Rory was really proud of me for telling you all about our adventures this weekend but feels that a couple of key moments were glossed over or missed completely.

I wouldn't be here, but there are some things you need to know about my life. These are the things that prove my life is a delicate balance of bitterness and desolation countered by single moments of hilarity:

1. The bookstore fiasco. After Rory and I discovered that we should never be CIBC finders, we strolled up to a bookstore on Front St. to let them know that he was no longer in need of the Neutral Milk Hotel book (because I bought it for him for Christmas). The guy seemed kind of pissy about it, but cancelled Rory's order. We took to looking around some more--we are both poor but even books that you can't afford can be entertaining when you have a few hours to kill. We were standing behind one of the service desks and we heard the guy talking to one of the women who works there, and he was telling her about how Rory came in to cancel his order and she says, "You should call him back and tell him 'Thanks for letting us know eight months later'". And it was hilarious because we were right there. She turned around and saw Rory standing there, and she smiled all dumb at him. He was a perfect gentlemen and didn't laugh in her face.
2. "She's full of just so much love...but me, I'm just full of hatred and paranoia," says The Elected singer. Rory bursts out laughing because I stand there going, "Oh my god! Me too!!" The two of us would get along great. Rory laughed at me because I wanted to be that guy's new best friend and because I was proud of being full of hatred and paranoia.
3. This one guy got up on the stage with the opening suckfest and played with them for a bit. And he was so happy that they let him do that. When The Elected came on he got so excited, he bought a Corona for Mr. hatred and paranoia. But the beer never moved. A couple times we thought it was going to get kicked over, but it just sat there, getting warm and breaking that poor man's heart.
4. Some other guy stole Mike's beer. I don't remember Mike's last name, but Rory can tell you it. He played the guitar. He says, "The local beers are a hit with the locals." And then some kid took it from him and started drinking it. They passed it around...I didn't get any and wouldn't have wanted it if anyone offered it to me.
5. The fire hydrants in Toronto are all yellow. Some of them have odd shapes. I told Rory about how Jean and I are trying to compile a scrapbook of fire hydrants and he said, "Really?" and then I gave him a lecture on listening to me. Because I'm too quick to miss his inattentiveness, the things I say are important. And he says, "Really?" and I don't know what to do with my life again. Then we discussed the problem with people who say "fuck ya" and my (over)reaction to it.
6. Twice at the bar I proved I have been too far removed from arithmetic for too long. I ordered us a couple of whiskey sours and got all angry when I got my change. "How much did he say it cost? 11 something? Why did he only give me back like 8 bucks?" and again, entering the concert, "Rory, I thought she said it was 12 dollars? She's trying to rip me off! I can't believe this she owes me another dollar!" No, no she did not. Funny how it was right around the same amount both times. Rory told me I was bad at numbers so I wasn't allowed to talk about them any more.
7. So on the train ride back to Burlington when I decided our brains weren't cut out for the crossword and moved onto the Sudoku Rory exclaimed, "Erin are you crazy? Numbers hate you today!" Crazy me. How could I forget that?
8. We attempted a crossword at some coffee shop that charged me an arm and half a leg for a square of some sort, but we couldn't remember the name of the spanish clapping deals...and everything I put in Rory was sure was wrong.
9. So we went to a new book store and Rory got all frustrated with me because he kept showing me things and I don't feign enthusiasm well enough. But we found the best book ever...fuck the knot it says, and I agree.
10. We made fun of people for running...people who run are such dorks.
11. It was so fucking cold when we got back to the train station in Burlington that we ran to the car. It was okay because there was no one around to see us and we knew full well that we looked like dorks.
12. Yes, elephant penises. Rory and I look like elephant penises when we run.

The End (?)

Look What You've Done...

You've created a sulk monster...

Rory says, you don't deserve to be miserable so you should do whatever you need to be happy. Just figure out what you want and do what you have to in order to get it. And I say, I don't want anything. My stubbornness ruined him. He quit trying and now he wants to move to New Zealand and work at HMV and not talk to any body for the rest of his life, just sit in his room and listen to music that makes him so happy he cries. I told him I'm crashing his sulk party...and he said he will pay to get me there.

Rory doesn't deserve a friend like me--I'm ruining him. I called him mid-week and asked for a huge favour: he showed up at the train station and asked me how it felt to be a quitter. Then we went and found Jean and brownies and I read the Coffee News outloud for the world to hear. And then we went to his house and I helped him make a collage and he hated my idea but pretended to love it. He inconspicuously refused to follow my plans...and got a kick ass mark.

We went to a concert on Thursday night. Shane came and picked me up in Burlington, but he had to sleep before work so I went to wandering the streets alone. At the bookstore beside the World's Biggest Bookstore, my mom's cell phone started ringing and Rory told me he'd decided to drop out of school for the rest of the day and come find me.

We lost eachother and ended up switching places. I watched the cops talk to the bum that got run over by a motorist, while Rory tried to score us some crack in Dundas Square. Some guy with a lot of winter coats tried to talk to me, and when I pretended I didn't speak English he pretended he understood what I was saying in Gibberish.

Rory and I finally got to have a drink together though, at the Horseshoe Tavern. Rory tells me that it's the kind of bar that if you sat down at the bar alone someone would ask you what your troubles are and listen better than your best friend. I decided it was the kind of bar where you keep your eyes on your drink at all times so you don't get date raped.

Friday was a sleeping bust. Shane came by around 10 and fell asleep with me again. My mom woke me up and told me that I should go get the car because Dad called to say it was ready. I got showered and watched something on tv for a bit and then found out it was a no go until 3 o'clock. So I went downstairs and passed out on the couch with a headache and my mom came and gave me blankets and juice and a pillow.

No one trusts me to drive a stick so I got to do the safety lap with my dad around Farmborough. Not much else to say in that respect. It was raining the whole way home but I lived.

Saturday I went to see Jean in Waterloo. We were supposed to go to the Maple Syrup festival and to Listowel to the yarn outlet but Dave's brakes are fucked and she had to watch them get fixed. Because, "I'll go get the propane torch" is something every person needs to remind them what it means to live.

Red Lobster for dinner. I'm sitting here being bitter that I left the leftovers on the counter at home. Maybe I'll go back and get them now that I can do that if I want to be poor.

I wrote 2000 words since I got back to London tonight. Quitting never looked more provocative. Rory told me he wants to marr a bunch of girls from bands and I went into shock because I couldn't believe his language. He meant marry and is now going to commit his week to being the absolute sweetheart. Maybe he's not as malleable as I once thought.

I need sleep, daylight savings or not...it's fucking late.

Sound Bytes

Random musings and conversations from the desk of Wein. Please note, some bytes may be paraphrased. Also, some may be completely fabricated or I may have only had them in my head.

Erin: I quit. And I'm not going back to Ford.
Respondent 1: You lie.
Erin: Fuck you. I was going to write my essay and only half quit but now I have to prove you wrong. So when I fail it will be all your fault.

And the blame I lay will be fierce.

Erin: My tequila line is better.
Respondent 2: But when life give you lemons you should bust out the tequila and salt.
Erin: No, when life gives you lemons you should squeeze the juice into your super soaker and squirt people in the eyes with it.
Respondent 2: Very clever.
Erin: Yes, I take my life with a grain of salt.
Respondent 2: Is that so?
Erin: And a slice of lime.
Erin: And a shot of tequila.
Respondent 2: Now that makes sense.
Erin: It is my motto. That and Fuck Hakuna Matata.
Respondent 2: Because there are always worries.
Erin: Because timon and pumbaa are degenerates who dont know anything about themselves or their true feelings.

Poor Timon and Pumbaa...You know that the world thinks you are falling apart when :

Erin: No my way is funnier.
Respondent 2.1: Of course it is because you are the funniest.

Or:

Erin: Can you fix me?
Respondent 3: Hand me a wrench.
Erin: To hit me with?
Respondent 3: No to tighten up your legs.
Erin: Did you just call me loose?

And finally,

Erin: Well, since you have no love for my butt and my bitterness will either kill me or itself so soon you will have no reason to like me.
Respondent 3: No I like you because you're the smartest person in the world and you're funny as hell.

And no night would be complete without a phone call from Jean, ahem, un/respondent 4:

Erin: So ya, I'm having a really bad day.
Un/Respondent 4: MOM the information is on the back of the package. You should take Benedryl, not Advil if you are itchy.
Erin: No one seems to be listening to me...
Un/Respondent 4: I'm telling you it's right there. You can have the advil if you like. Take two if you think they will help.
Erin: And I just feel really down.
Un/Respondent 4: I'm in NURSING I know what kind of meds you should take...
Erin: I think I'm going to flop with this presentation tomorrow.
Un/Respondent 4: Did I tell you that I got perfect on my psych paper?
Erin: Who is paying the bill for this call?
Un/Respondent 4: Haha, that's what my mom just said. I told her not to worry; you're picking up the tab for this one.


And yet, the best call of the night is to kill that evil bitch by making her drink Draino. The world is a bad influence on me. I'm going to watch the 1:30 version of the Daily Show and then I'm going to finish up my essay and practise my presentation. Because if there is one thing I am really bad at in this world, it is failing. If there are two, it is quitting. Manic March is almost over...as good a time as any to rediscover the wonders of Weinism. Convert. Cuz tonight's the night the world just won't end...again.

8 Minute Rant

The end is near...let's pray I make it there.

• Eight minutes becomes six in the blink of an eye. I have 6 minutes before I should be at the clinic.
• Rory never came. My heart broke twice. And that is why I died.
• Give a little bit of your love to me.
• I have a 3000 word paper due tomorrow and apparently Eileen is coming to MY house to work on the project. What the hell?? How did that happen?
• I hope she trips on one of the many bras that are littering my floor.
• I hope I don't trip on any of them though.
• Damn I need to do some laundry.
• I am hungry.
• And late.
• You make me complete.
• Apparently my two best features are my bitterness and my butt--don't I sound like a fascinating individual.
• Alycia is on the list. She tried to make me sing bitter days at a party when I didn't even have a drink in my hand.
• It cost me 13 dollars to get home on Friday.
• Scott and I consumed a lot of beer.
• And ice cream.
• Fuck I'm really late.
• Convert.

Tapping Hunt: The Rewrite

If you would like to see the "original" first hand account of this story visit http://randommidnightthought.blogspot.com . Thanks to Jean for making my life crazy enough to have something worth writing every day--like it or not.

Jean and I were awesome kids. When we were in grade 12, the teachers adored us (mostly because I was wonderful and Jean knew me--if I could accept her, then they must follow suit). If we had one shortcoming it was our mutual hatred for TAP. The Teacher Assistantship program was a waste of time; by grade 12, I had forgotten who my TAP teacher was (and I think it might have just been my normal first period teacher).

Living life on the edge, Jean and I generally met up after first period for awesome-fun ditching. We never really got caught because I handled all inquiries: "What are you girls doing in the hallway, shouldn't you be in TAP?" reply: "We are on our way right now. We don't have first period and we're running a little late because we forgot it was Thursday." But, somewhere along the lines our wires got crossed and when an "angry" Mr. Hunt stuck his head out of his TAP class and saw Jean and I dawdling along, things got messy.

Jean and I are hyper young women. We were in search of chocolate milk, or perhaps popsicles. Jean was probably ranting about something and I was probably responding by nodding while thinking about something else. I had said to Jean, "I think I did pretty well on that Calculus test." Jean said, "I'll Calculus you."

Erin: "I want some chocolate milk."
Jean: "I'll milk you."
Erin: "You will not I'll kill you if you touch my boobs!"
Jean: "I'll boob you."

And so on...

So, dear Mr. Hunt, only doing his job was astonished to find his reprimand--"Girls, why aren't you in TAP?"--responded to as such: "I'll TAP YOU HUNT!" Followed by Jean turning beet red and heading for the hills (or some other place to hide). I stood there laughing until I could stand up again, and then just looked at Hunt and strolled off...very calm, very cool, very collected.

And that is the truth of the matter.

Jean made me stay up until 3 in the AM last night finishing a puzzle...and she wasn't even there. Some friend huh? I love you Jean (Note to self...you know the drill).

I'm Dead Again...

In case you thought my heart could take it...here's proof that just breaking a promise inadvertantly is enough to kill me--twice.




















At least Rory recognizes how much grief he's causing me...soo lonely here all alone.

I'm Dead

This is how much Rory hates me...



Enough to kill me.

There aren't enough exclamation points in the world!

FYI: While I'm writing this I'm bawling my eyes out (no, not balling, as in with a melon baller). I'm crying because Jean wants me to.

Top Ten Reasons to Cry until Your Eyes Bleed:

1. Your best friend is moving a quarter of the way to London but in the direction of Milton.
2. Your best friend has the worst math skills on the face of the planet.
3. Last summer was the last summer but this summer was supposed to be. Now the past is becoming the future and there is no way you could have known but you should have known so that you could have appreciated it better!!
4. You are growing up and will have to get a job!!
5. Someone talked you into dancing to bootylicious on a table!
6. Rory ditched you!!!
7. 6000 words in less than 48 hours!!!
8. You can't go home and have a crochet party and eat chocolate fondue and watch Hope Floats or Shrek because you have to write essays!!!!!!!
9. You went to Mary Maxim without your best friend and she still loves you but she's moving away!! and she is NOT moving closer to Listowel or closer to Paris!!
10. Jean called you so that you would have a meltdown when you had too much work to do because that is the meanest thing she could think up but she's not mean she's just sad because you were supposed to make everything okay when Dave went to basic training but now she will be too far away to console!!!

WHAT THE HELL?!?

The world is ending. It's all over now. I'm going to go cry some more.

R to the Power of T

Rob Thomas sings, "What if I could hold you till I feel you move inside of me?" And the crowd goes, "OOOOOooooooooooooooooooooh." Erin claims, "That is also sexual." Jean says, "You should listen to her. She's a whale biologist." And this is why Erin and Jean shouldn't be allowed in public places...

For Valentine's Days Shane bought me tickets to see Rob Thomas. It was supposed to be a lovely, romantic evening for the two of us. He got put on nights, so he couldn't take me. Jean loves things that I love so she said she would come and that David could drive me back to London the same night. Good plan. Almost.

It cost 4 dollars for two small pops. We figured there were refills, but didn't want to hang on to the cups, so we came up with a plan to just pick our cups out of the trash when we got thirsty again. And, love, that is just the beginning.

The opening act was Anna something. She was okay, but wore ugly clothes. Jean and I kept looking at eachother, asking, "Are those words? Is she singing in English?" And it was awesome because we had the same thoughts. As it turns out, if you know the song she's singing then it's easier to tell if she's saying real words or not.

Robert came on around 9 o'clock. He played some interesting songs. Apparently, he likes the songs he wrote when he was with MB20 but only if he gets to sing them crazy and abnormally. I barely recognized Bent and The Difference (aka the Boulevard song) was too fast.

There was this girl a couple rows up from us and I was pretty sure she was on some sort of nasty drug. She just seemed extra stupid. And the world is relatively dumb to begin with. I will show you my impression of her if you'd like. It's really good.

Jean and I like contraversy, so we really wanted to start a fight. We were all set to just start yelling at someone and then take a swing at them but miss and hit the person two rows ahead of us and then blame it on the person we were yelling at. It was a good plan, but we have short arms so there was no way we'd be able to reach that far. So Jean says, I'll just throw my shoe then.

And that is how it started. I said, "Okay. But let's wait until the concert is almost over." An hour later we re-evaluated the plan and realized that short of pretending to have a peg leg, if Jean threw her shoe she'd get caught because she would be the only person trying to leave with only one shoe on. She sat and mulled for a few minutes and then agreed that it was probably a good idea. Then she says, "Can I see your boot for a second? I just want to see what size it is."

The only thing that could possibly top that was our rendition of Smooth with air guitar. Santana wasn't there so the song didn't sound right, so we added the guitar noises ourselves. I'm actually surprised that we didn't create a riot with that...but RT fans are evidently mellow or on drugs.

The rest of the weekend was good. Rory made me laugh something wonderful. Hanging his head out the window of the freestyle he announced that he never wants to turn 19 again. And I don't blame him one bit.

Bitter Days

NB: Before you read this, remind yourself how much I love the goos. I am not in any way making fun of them. I just found their song a little too cheery for Hostile Wednesdays--so I rewrote it to suit my needs. It's supposed to be funny, not mean. Like your face.

And I’ll tell you what I want this year
And I’ll try and make it painfully clear
Just a chance that maybe you’ll have
Bitter days (like I dooooooo [a la Lisa Loeb, I saw her a goos concert so she’s in])
Because I don’t have any boxes
And I need some string
To hang myself and store my things
There’s no desire or love, only another bitter day.

So take these words
They are pretty worthless
When no body is forgiven now
Cuz tonight the night still won’t end again.

You find it sitting in your living room
When you’ve wrapped yourself in all that gloom
There’s not faith nor trust nor peace--there’s only doom.

And the one poor child that would save this world
Knows there’s ten million more who probably could
But won’t because no one believes in God any more (as if I doooo…[again a la Lisa Loeb])

So take these words
They are pretty worthless
When no body is forgiven now
Cuz tonight’s the night still won’t end again.

I wish everyone was loved tonight
But I hate them all out of spite
And it’s all because of all these bitter days

So take these words
They are pretty worthless
When no body is forgiven now
Cuz tonight’s the night still won’t end again.
And the morning may not ever come again.

Wasn't that fun? I will give you some of the real lyrics so that you understand why it's funny not mean. "And you ask me what I want this year, and I try to make this kind and clear: Just a chance that maybe we'll find better days. So take these words, and scream outloud, because everyone is forgiven now. Tonight's the night the world begins again...I wish everyone was loved tonight and somehow end this endless fight. Just a chance that maybe we'll find better days." You can hear it at www.googoodolls.com if you want to sing either version to make yourself feel better on Hostile Wednesday.

All the Things that I have Done

Andrea has me thinking in song lyrics again. Not that she usually makes me think in song lyrics, that she has this time and I am doing it again, in that I do it fairly often. Understand?

This is a picture of University College at sunset. It was the picture of the week posted by some Western expatriate (in that he transferred to U of T). I love to see pretty pictures of my school. I believe it makes the rest of the world jealous. People who visit don't understand why I go to a castle to learn about Modern Drama. There is this really pretty lecture hall in University College called Conron Hall with stained glass windows and everything. I was supposed to have a class in it first year but the prof didn't like the acoustics.

Here is a better picture of it in daylight. I guess it does look like a castle. Professor Zeitz tells me that from the steps you get a prospect view of the lower part of campus. I tell her that I don't know what that means, and she gives me a lecture on 18th-century gardens.

This is where we ended up instead. I know that the picture is pretty impressive, but Middlesex College Room 110 smells like sweaty socks.

I am showing you these pictures so that you can gain some insight into how I spend my days. You can't tell as much from the first picture, but in the second you can see the hill I walk up and down most days of the week. The first picture is important because I used it in my desktop publishing project, which (by the way) I'm almost finished. The last one is black and white. It is monochromatic. Like me. I will give you all the money in my top drawer if you can tell me what I might possibly mean by that.

For those of you that think I've been neglecting my blogging responsibilities and not bringing you the usual delights you are so used to, you should go see Andrea's blog http://ohtheblogness.blogspot.com and check out the comments. I've been busy.

Andrea and I are making a list of songs that don't make us cry (it is surprisingly long) and we're going to burn it onto a cd so we can sit around and listen to it while we drink daiquiris. If any of you have a burner you'd be willing to let us use for this purpose, please let me know.

The wounds inflicted by my rejection from English 298E are finally starting to heal. Actually, I barely know they're there because I have so much reading and writing to do that I don't have much time to think about it.

Ford apps came out today. I'm going to try to have mine in by Friday. My father is making sure I understand the importance of getting it in early. Jeff is still off school though, and I'm pretty sure he's not getting that lecture. Isn't it fun to be the least favourite?

Dennis was asking about the cost of leasing a Fusion this summer. He can't afford it but we worked out a plan. He can share mine with me and Jeff and Meaghan. I just think it would be truly wonderful to tell Meg that she can't use it because Dennis needs it in Barrie. And then I can be evil. Everything that ends with me being evil is worthwhile.

Check out the title of this American Lit paper I want to write: "Huckleberry Finn--Cross- Dresser: How Deceit Reveals the Truth about Gender Performance and Construction". I bet you can't wait. I know I can't.

That's all the news for now ladies and gents. Have a good evening and don't forget it's hostile Wednesday tomorrow. Bus drivers beware. Convert tonight.

257 Weeks

You could be waiting for a day that won't come. And you could be so much more than you've become. But I have found my feet 257 weeks, and you could be waiting for a day that won't come. And it's SO sad, you're so good and I'm so bad--but you won't see me wasting the best thing I've ever had. And it's such a shame that I can't tell you anything...

Some days, I love Nine Days. For those of you who are mathematically challenged, 257 weeks is just short of 5 years. So, let us make a list of things that you or I or the whole world may have been waiting close to 257 weeks to happen:

1. George W. Bush to say something remotely intelligent. Sorry, it's out of the way now. We can move on.
2. School to be out forever.
3. The snow to melt.
4. Your heart to melt that it might know the warmth I exude.
5. The end of the world.
6. The list of readings to get smaller.
7. The essays to at least stop piling up.

If you're waiting for these things, you could be waiting for a day that won't come. Maybe not. Sometimes it feels that way though. I am keen on short sentences. Today.

Well, you could be so much more than you've become. What could you be?

• Intuitive. That is Kennedy's contribution for the day. He says, "A tractor trailer tries to go under a bridge that is too low [IDIOT! says I]. It gets stuck. So all these engineers and other truck drivers and business people stuck in traffic stand around and try to figure out how to get the truck out from under the bridge. Finally, a little boy suggests they let the air out of the tires so that the truck will be low enough to move from under the bridge." Intuition...the fourth out of five aspects of creativity.
• Asleep. Being asleep always seems better than being awake. There is a pillow where you sleep...and dreams are more interesting than real life.
• Working on something important--like one of those many essays. But nooo, you're stuck in DTP trying to find something long enough to hang yourself with.
• Finishing my Gwynne Dyer book so that I can have it back. But only if you're Brendan.
• Rich. But then you wouldn't be very happy. Money can't buy happiness. I used to play a song like that on the piano. I hated it.

So, with all that...I suppose it's time for a life update.

I didn't get into the creative writing class next year. Nor did I make it onto the waiting list. They had a record of 110 submissionsm and only 24 made it. I was not in that 24 and never will be. That's okay though. Katrina has my reasoning for not even wanting to be in that stupid class all worked out. Western is too conservative, I believe, is the angle she takes.

I read 500 pages on the weekend. I am behind by 250 still. 67%. Ouch.

A male ponytail is actually called ponis. I kid you not. Kennedy told me. He never lies.

Shane is back on nights. Ew nights. That means that if I see him, he will be sleeping. And if I don't see him, he probably won't notice.

I'm supposed to go see Rob Thomas at Hamilton Place on Saturday. Shane is supposed to work. Nothing is fun alone. I plan on stealing Jean for my purposes.

And the most exciting news of the day...(this is a drum roll)...I found the sheet music for Better Days. Buy it for me. I will owe you my life.

...You won't hear me, still you endear me now.