Hostile Tuesday

So, today was one of those days when if the sun wasn't out you'd hear me cursing because that was "just my luck" and if it was shining beautifully you'd hear disgruntled mumbles along the lines of "pure fuckin spite..." And do you know what the sun is doing? You should check the weather network's report... we're in for more "Clear Haze". What a bunch of oxymorons.
Why the hostility? Why the distasteful hatred toward the sun? What could the sun have possibly done to deserve this treatment? I'll tell you: It came up. Pathetic, hmm? But it couldn't just stay put, it had to rise, and here we are.
But, Erin, it's Tuesday. Isn't your hostility a day early? It sure is ladies and gents, but you can count on a hostile Wednesday as scheduled, this one just got a bit of a head start. Moreover, there might be more bitterness on Hostile Tuesdays than their later in the week counterpart. I gotta tell you, this one feels extra extra hostile. But, since it is Tuesday, and that means I'm supposed to be holding this in, let's discuss this matter of "bottling up your emotions." Sounds like fun don't it. Pros and cons? I think that will work.

Pro: People are nicer to nice people. This is fully testable, go outside with a smile and say hello to every person you see. Even if they don't want to talk to you, people generally smile back and are very polite.
Con: Who wants to talk to people anyway? People are idiots.

Pro: By being nice, you will make others feel better about themselves. A kind word does a world of good and all that junk.
Con: Other people shouldn't be able to feel better about themselves if you are feeling so miserable about yourself--it's just rude.

Pro: Maybe if you can make other people believe you're happy then you really will be...someday.
Con: Probably not. If there's something bugging you, you're going to have to face up to it.

Pro: Ignorance is bliss. Everybody will be happier if they remain in the dark about your peccadilloes and insecurities.
Con: You will spend many of your days thinking about how no one really knows the real you...sigh.

Pro: Feeling hurts. Pretending doesn't hurt as much.
Con: That tumour you developed from the stress of keeping everything inside. You know that scene on Family Guy where Lois represses something retarded about Peter, and she says, what harm can smiling do? (Or something to that effect). Well, the harm is a singing tumour.

So the debate continues--shock of a lifetime. I'm going to do a truly selfless good deed: I'm going to sit in the job search clinic for an hour and teach people how to get good jobs. Sometimes no one shows up though. The JSC is notorious for throwing those kinds of curve balls at us. If no one is there I'm going to go over my budget because the thing about working for the SDC that you can always count on is the "unpaid" part.

Teach a Cynic to Cope

Or, All the Reasons that You Should Stop Encouraging My Pitiful existence

Holy Hostile Wednesday...except that it's Thursday now. Guess what. The sentiment can last as long as I remain sober past midnight (it's the newest rule of Weinism). So, following the tradition that I have laid out in HWs of yore, I'm here to tell you that life should be so much shorter than it is--at least my life should be. So, you taught me how to cope, with such nuggets of wisdom (aphorisms, says Professor Adams) as: Dr. Rut's Rules for Coping with Modern Sexuality: Ensure your partner's comfort; no Mohawk styles for pubic hair, and many more.

Wow. Now, was that really a good idea? Did it really facilitate the sentiments that the world needs to live as peaceably as possible? Pfft. All the pacifists are dead or powerless anyway. So, I'll give you the benefit of the doubt and come up with some excellent reasons for teaching this cynic to cope:

1. You love me. Admit it. I'm lovable. You may not want to, but you can't help it.
2. By teaching me to cope as a cynic, you can still laugh at my self-deprecating jokes (Oh, goody).
3. You thrive on my sarcasm. Not to mention my overflow of spontaneous feelings. Most of those feelings aren't that fun for me. But anything to make the rest of the world a happier place...
4. You would forget to be hostile on Wednesdays without my leadership. In case you forgot why HWs are so important, you can quickly remind yourself by reading the rest of this blog. I can also sum it up in a few words: Because I like them and they end with rum. NB: I said end with rum not end with "rum". I am actually opposed to most words that end that way.
5. Your life would be so pleasant without my demeaning comments that you would be bored out of your skull. And that would hurt. Hurt is bad.
6. The book only cost one person one dollar, and was printed before I was out of diapers. Plus, it's good nighttime reading for me. Gives me a really bright outlook that leads to a wholesome night's sleep. I awaken inspired by the dawn of a new day. Actually, there is so much more to this coping business than the book, but who has the time? Not I, says the pig.

Oh, but wait. The subscript says that I'm not going to conclude that I should not be encouraged to keep breathing. You know what that means. Here are the reasons that I should just quit:

1. I always say I'm going to quit and never do. Actually, I found a book called "Quitting for Non-quitters", maybe someone should buy that for me to counteract all this coping I've been doing.
2. The world loves a loser and shuns a winner. Just think about how American Idol runner-ups do in comparison to the winners. There's no difference. Pop stars suck. But I'm still right. I'm infallible after all.
3. I always wanted to publish something post-humously. So, here's the plan: I'll write a whole bunch of insightful things, and "hide" them. Then I'll die. I'll give the directions to my hidden insights to one person who I trust more than anyone in the whole world, and that person will have them published. Got it? Good, you're that person. If you steal my insights I'll haunt the hell out of you and once I've obtained that hell from inside you I'll torture you with it. Now that's a plan.
4. It's late and I'm tired. Something tells me that should be reason enough.
5. People are worthless. That is to say, life has no meaning. We're just specks, right? Stupid, insignificant specks. Well, not according to Emerson. To him we are the centre of everything. Go, Emerson. Woot. What an idiot. Nietzsche was right-- people are pompous.
6. It's all going to end horribly. Let's get this over with as soon as possible. Actually, for the sake of saving time, I prefer the acronym: Let's get this over with ASAP. Better yet: now.
7. The big circle that isn't that big. If this makes sense, you're on your way to ruin with me. The theory of history that predominated before modernization took place and the linear progress model was adapted (holy way to oversimplify, but stick with me) suggested that history was bound to repeat itself because time was cyclical. Moreover, the social makeup was based on the same cyclical model, and the people on the bottom eventually rose to the top, so the people on the top inevitably fell to the bottom (If you want to understand this better read some Frye. He's a "good" Canadian literary theorist who says that all relevant plots are based on this movement. Most people talk about this stuff in terms of "the Wheel of Fate/Fortune". Not the game show. Don't get me started on Vanna). Well, I think that the circle of time isn't all that big, so certain people spend more time on the bottom, even if they rise to the top, especially if they started on the bottom. Literature conveniently focuses on the uprising of an oppressed group (in comedy) or the downfall of a self-righteous upperclass (in tragedy) but forgets that there tends to be a whole lot of time on either side of the span of the plot. Literature gets to forget. I can't. Either the circle isn't that big, or it's really huge so I'll always be stuck to the bottom...crushed. Poor, poor me.
8. I really want to be part of the group that proves the linear progress model is wrong. If I don't cope, I won't progress. If I don't progress then the model doesn't apply to me. If the model doesn't apply to me, then clearly the whole thing is stupid. I am the centre of everything, so I am a force to be reckoned with. I love inductive reasoning. The sky's the limit when you can reach the conclusion by any means necessary.

Convinced? Well, the final reason is the simplest to accept. Teaching me to cope means listening to me complain...at least for a few extra days. There's a strange irony in winning this one: Either you don't let me have my way and I am forced to keep on coping, or my victory is my demise. Tricky, eh? That's me. Always thinking. Way too much. Hope I didn't throw you for too much of a loop with that Frye junk. More tasteless banter to come. I'll leave you with a short poem to sum up:

Grumpty Dumpty:

Grumpty Dumpty sat on a wall

Grumpty Dumpty had a great fall

All of the day

And all through the night

He bitched!

--Courtesy of The Cynics Guide to Coping with Life. Copyright Eden Press 1987. Notorious for making the whole world feel better about the horrible gifts they've given and received.

The Rules of Weinism

These rules were created during grade 12 sociology, and presented to me as a 20th birthday gift by my second in command. Here they are, the fundamentals of my proverbial religion (oh, religions themselves CAN be proverbial):

• Dodge all Dodges.
• Wein owns life.
• Practise ultimate independance: We don't need no body to be happy! (Or basic grammar for that matter)
• Jean is wrong if she's arguing with Wein.
• Jean is second in command.
• Don't listen if you don't want to hear it...run away! Screaming obscenities! AHHHHHH!
• Welch's grape juice does taste like there's a party in my mouth and only the people I invite are allowed to come.
• One hour is "2 minutes" long by other international standards (this must be observed on Wein Day). What this means is essentially there is such thing as a long day. Every day but Wein Day is long because Wein Day is so awesome.
• If you run out of space, make more!
• Convert others to Weinism like there is no tomorrow.
• There is no tomorrow.
• All Danishes should be stabbed repeatedly with a rusty fork.
• Vector bars have an unseen magnetic attraction to Dodge vehicles.
• Saturn vehicles CAN dent! The drivers are clueless and we should avoid all contact.
• In fact, let's make an island for only Saturn and Dodge drivers, and they can hit eachother and we will be safe.
• Christmas lights are for Christmas...NOT Groundhog Day.
• Fist shaking is always necessary.
• Kyle's house should be egged once every hour.
• We are all nermal.
• Incredibly nermal.
• YOU BETTER READ THIS!

And remember, "History is like a hand holding a pen, writing itself in the books of time." Now that's deep.

I'm killing myself from the inside out, and all your fears have pushed me out.--Goo

Here Comes Trouble

As you may have noticed from past entries, I am not entirely committed to anything that I write on here. That said, if you actually expected me to follow through on my promises to rant in an organized fashion, kick yourself in the face for me. Instead of ranting about the things that I planned on ranting about, I'm going to do a complete one eighty and talk about something different. Something exciting. Something so mind-blowingly fascinating, that you will come back to this blog religiously from now on to hear more of my fabulous insights.

The only problem? I don't know what that something is yet...

So, let's play the "You Know You're in Trouble When..." game. Rivetting, I know.

YOU KNOW YOU'RE IN TROUBLE WHEN...

• You resolve to only drink Coca-Cola if it is mixed with rum.
• You start mixing your coke with rum because you wanted some coke.
• You're sitting in the Dairy Queen parking lot lamenting the fact that no one is playing with every button in your car...including the four-way flashers and the heated seats.
• You have a full-fledged panic attack over the bumper bed being too full for you to put your bumper in it. Hyperventilating and everything...
• You get worked up whenever you tell that story about the time the bumper bed was full.
• You believe that Sidekick noodles and pickles is a well-balanced meal.
• You decide to drink a rum and coke with your Sidekicks and pickles because you can't do too much good for your body in one day or it will never toughen up.
• You burst into tears in the movie theatre.
• The movie you're crying over at the movie theatre is Wedding Crashers.
• It makes you sad to know that life is more than who we are.
• You start thinking and talking in lyrics.
• People around you know the song that you are thinking and talking in. (But everything IS wrong. I know, Erin, and it's alright.)
• You went to the store for M&Ms and came back with a freezie. In January.
• You're so drunk that before going tubing you tell your dad to take it easy because you don't want to have to have your tampon surgically removed. (I had to put at least one on here that didn't apply to me. Creative, huh?)
• You have a sulk party at least once a month and the only people invited are Ben and Jerry.

So, are you in trouble? Or is it just me? Maybe the list needs to be longer. Or maybe the real problem is society's definition of trouble. Because, you know, if I changed the title of the game to "You know you're cool when" then I would actually be cool. And probably a little sarcastic. But at least I gave you something new to mull over. Just remember that boredom is the last resort of the unimaginative. And I'm nothing if I'm not imaginative. Or is it bored? Too much thinking. Let's have a coke. You bring the rum. I'm down in all my fears but I ain't crying no tears over you.

Holy Ford Phobia and the Reunion of Ranting Weinists

Did you really think that after 4 months, I'd be so broken I wouldn't have any strength left to rant? Silly kids...I won't go gentle into any nights (good, bad, or ugly). Ford fuelled my rage and I am here now to set up the schedule of rants for days to come. Bear in mine, spontaneous outbursts are fully qualified in Weinism as long as they can be related (however obscurely) to an incident taking place in, on, or around a Hostile Wednesday. Excited yet?? You better be! Here's the line-up as I see it shaping up:

• Holy Ford Phobia--First order of business is spreading the bitterness bestowed upon me by my gracious and evil ( not to mention schadenfreude) employer. With the aching hostility granted to me by the recent airing of The Corporation in my living room, we'll try to wrap that one up by the end of the day, if my head doesn't explode first.
• DQ Disasters--subtitled "Lyndsay just get a freakin job at DQ so I can have free ice cream! You could be their leader!!" Look forward to such gem-like quotes as "Mmm, Dennis, your blizzard looks like it tastes better than mine..." and "There is no way this thing is upsidedown thick."
• Road Rage--Dennis has inspired me to enroll myself in an anger management course. Or was it the scratchy feeling I have in my throat from the larangitus (how in the hell do you spell that affliction?) I developed from screaming at all those Intrepid Drunks.
• Drinking Team Disbandment--What a shameful array of pettiness and cold-hearted cruelty. Jerks.
• Fantastic Fan--An ode to 5% and laziness. (So, technically this is another Ford rant, but it needs to be a separate one, okay?)
• Blossom City Baby--Good news...General Chicken is back as the lunch special. So dry your tears, Dennis, there is hope left in the world for you yet.
• Second Cup Sass--A tale of tragic and comedic appeal--ON ICE for the love of Peter and his starving children!
• Anti-Eminem--This one's all for you, Brendan. If you actually want to see it come to fruition, tell me. Otherwise, I'm saving it for those nights you think that all we need is a good theological debate to chase our boredom blues away.
• Ad-mania must die--Holy crap, they've stooped to posting ads for auto lending on as comments for this piece of crap blog. What is the world coming to?

Without a lot of further ado (because I have nothing if I don't my ado) we'll get started on the Ford ranting.

Ford was a joke. Just one giant joke. From the time we got there until the time we left, I never stopped laughing (silently, in my heart of hearts). Jeff says it was like Groundhog Day...and it was, even more than he knows. I think I said it best in my sleepless stupor the first day they made me switch to the 6 am shift: "It's like I live at Ford. Or with Ford. Like Ford is an abusive husband and I am being beaten to an inch of my sanity by it, and I can't leave because I have no where to go. Except I don't think abusive husbands pay their wives this much. That would make them whores. Oh god, I'm Ford's whore." And most of that was silent and in my heart of hearts too where I was laughing, but it wasn't that funny then either. And you're probably terrified now. No? Well then let's continue...

Have you ever had a shock absorber drop on your head? No, but I fell through my share of unsafe beds, and got pinned between two pieces of sheet metal...Oh, the excitement.

Turns out I'm rather tired, ladies and gents. But I will say this: I am so over Ford that if Ford was the moon, I would be over it in another galaxy. I hate analogies too. Fucking apples. Fucking corporate psychopaths. Fucking movie got me so riled I'm not gonna sleep for days..."Oh, wait til the water part, that'll really piss you off."

On that note...some goo for your trouble? You and I got something but it's all and then it's nothing to meYEA...yea. And I got my defenses when it comes to your intentions for meYEA...yea. And we wake up in the breakdown of the things we never thought we could beYEA...yea. I'm not the one who broke you. I'm not the one you should fear. What have you got to move you, darling? I thought I lost you somewhere but you were never really ever there at all.

Farewell 311...

So, as the sentimental sap that I am, with just under 12 hours until my last exam of my second year, I'm tearing up over saying goodbye to people that have already left. Oh, you read it right. Jenn left this morning. I'm positive that Brenda will sneak in and out for the last time while I toil with North American immigration policies. I said goodbye to Carmen already, but plan on harassing her some more tomorrow. She ain't the only one...Of course, that brings us to our tribute to the roomies:

Well, my loves, here's some highlights from the last 8 months together:

• Sidekicks. Best invention ever.
• Touch football. What do you mean the coach is subbing for the quarterback? We don't even have a full team! You run with the ball, and I'll distract them.
• Jenn's birthday. Big plans gone mad and the interpretive dance care of Brenda, with strobe lights no less.
• The Christmas decorations. We totally needed that fireplace, and the sock would have been a nice touch. An afternoon well spent if I only say so myself. And generally, even Brenda didn't fully appreciate my creative genius in this one.
  
• Wendy's midday. Because our late nights are spent in front of the tv.
• Kitchen hopscotch. Writing on the tile seemed like the logical next move. However, writing on the fridge and screaming about a little but of Vim on your finger tip was not.
• Jenn and Carmen plan all kinds of trouble during the wee hours of the morning.
• Brenda goes to see some random concert. Upon returning she says, "How was your night?" and Erin and Jenn tell her about near death in the stairwell, the guy with the orange hat, forgotten names, lost but not lost keys, peanut butter, oranges and my favourite line of all: "I have no idea what you're talking about."
• Brenda takes Erin to boxfit. Erin starts doing the twist because she has no idea what is happening.
• The groundhogs. How could we all be watching them from our rooms at the same time? You know it happened at least once. Spooky.
• Hostile Wednesdays. The way you knew when they were coming, and stayed out of my way.
• Online games. Not to mention the competition surrounding them. Oops.

Oh, and there's more. But it's late and I am sleepy. Have fun in Essex without me next year; if that's even possible! Now I'm down in all my fears but I ain't crying no tears, over you...Mostly because I'll see you all soon.

A Post For Jean

This entry is actually dedicated to Jean, Chief Dog, and the guy across the street. I'm sorry I ain't there with you but you ain't here with me.

I was walking around campus just the other day, and a saw a yellow fire hydrant that said "Darling" on it, and I thought of you...

Remember that time we drove all over Burlington AND Hamilton yelling at the fire hydrants because they were so inconsistent? Some are red and yellow, and some are red and blue! It's madness.

I was wondering through the mall, looking in the windows of the stores, and I saw the most beautiful white gown...

Remember that time that we went to the mall and bought a disposable camera and tried on dresses that looked like wedding gowns to freak our boyfriends out? Do you remember how excited Shane was that I wanted to get married? Do you remember when the lady wanted to know what we were doing you told her we just had really bad memories?

And I was at the Dairy Queen the other night, eating a blizzard and thinking...

Remember that time we drove all over Oakville looking for the place I needed to go to get my Health Card back and we ended up across the street from a Dairy Queen? I was so exasperated by the driving ordeal that I said, "No, Jean. We can't go to Dairy Queen right now. I'll take you tomorrow." And you started to cry!

That said, here are the reasons why I love you, Jean (Note: I do not love Ugene.)

• We are two hot girls in a mustang, so we get free drinks at Second Cup.
• You introduced me to Second Cup. We were in Toronto and somebody thought caffeine was a good idea for the ride home. I was bouncing in my seat the whole ride back.
• When I sneeze you say, "That's just not safe!" regardless of whether I'm driving or not.
• You have an amazing ability to make the ordinary, extraordinary. Think: Trips to Walmart and impulse buys at the counter. I really needed that best of Friends DVD. Really.
• When I come to pick you up to go somewhere, you always get in the car and launch right into a story. You never ever say hello to me.
• You helped me nurse my ailing roommate back to health.
• You were so polite to those Rez Staffers when my roommate was ailing (and didn't know her own name, poor girl) and when they were out of earshot you screamed at me because all she needed was an orange and they should just let you give her an orange!
• You forgave me for eating the shrimp. (Now it's in writing so you can't deny it!)
• You let Shane sleep on your couch for a whole summer because he wasn't allowed to stay at my house when I was home alone. I hear you even made him breakfast. Fancy.
• You drove all the way to London to pick me up on a Thursday night because I wanted to come home. You drove 160 km/hour the whole way because that way you knew you'd get here in an hour and not have to do any math to figure that out.
• You came with me on my first trip to Toronto in my Mazda because I was afraid I'd get lost. You were absolutely no help at all, but I enjoyed the company.
• We both gave Jeff the same exact look when he offered to help me move out of rez last year. It was a cross between pure disbelief and absolute horror. What was happening to our safe, predictable world?
• When I sing Goo Goo Dolls like this : "You and I got something but it's all and then it's nothing to meYEA....yea" you don't even notice any more because you are doing the exact same thing.
• You took me to the Mandarin for Crabfest. I will make you a blanket a day if you will keep doing that.
• When I call your house I can't tell whether I'm talking to you or your mom. When it's your mom she lets me prattle on for a few minutes about last night's drunken stupor and then says, "Well, it's nice to hear from you, Erin. But Jean isn't here right now."'
• The way that you explain my behaviour to other people makes me sound so much cooler than it actually is. "When Erin's drunk you can get her to do anything! I love it. What sound does a fire truck make, Erin?" You're a loser. That ice cream made me sick.
• To you, my stories only get better with use.
• When I'm really excited about something, you are convinced it's all your doing.
• It usually is all your doing.
• You went to the movies I refused to see with Shane while I was working.
• You tell the most impossibly unbelievable stories I've ever heard. Snake? Eating a kangaroo? Pfft...yea.
• You are the second in command Weinist. If I died, you would be Wein, Jean.
• No one else on Earth understands my bitterness the way you do. You have seen it in action.
• You eventually took a picture of that bus stop ad that said "Standing up for advertising standards" as it turned yellow and got all crumpled in the bottom corner.
• When I said I wanted to listen to the elephant song from Legault's french class you found it, downloaded it, and burned it onto a CD for our road trip to London. I listened to it in the car with my Dad on the way to Ottawa. He can whistle the whole song now. "Panique! A la maison. Il y a un elephant sur mon balcon!"
• You just laughed when I took my (now X) boyfriend's best friend to the All-Stars hockey thing in Toronto instead of my (now X) boyfriend. He said he had to work
• You know exactly what I'm doing when I'm on the phone with you even though you can't see me. It's uncanny.
• The look on your face when I said Dad gave Jeff the VIP tickets to some car thing.
• That day we went into talk to my boss at Fortinos you made my life so much harder. We were pinpricks, like this, remember? The next time I worked with him, he was like, "I had no idea you were so outgoing."
• You give me Riesens to live.

Look at the size of that list...and I could go on. In fact, I came back and added to it. But Jean, the number one reason why I love you is because this entry was ALL your idea. You're so modest.

Keeping My Promises

It's time for the second installment of April destressers: stories to break the April blues.

The Big Hole
I was conscripted to painting duty all day Saturday. There was a long-winded compromise involved, but I definitely got the short end of the stick (what stick? the proverbial stick, Brenda). I followed Shane around with a handful of screws and learned that electrical work is not only boring, it takes longer when Shane's gotten into the beer. Still wanna live at Jason's student housing deal? I'll go on...

The first 24 of beer didn't last long, so Shane and I were sent on a beer run. Being the wonderful and loving girlfriend that I am, I decided that I would tag along in case he decided I should drive. (Oh, I AM that wonderful.) We got to the beer store down the road without any "major" incidents [Sidebar #2: When I learned how to drive stick, my dad sent me home at rush hour on the QEW home from Ford. I called him 45 minutes later and told him I didn't have any "major incidents" and he was thisclose to having the hardest panic attack of his life. Luckily, I'm the second born and Jeff had broken him in real good already. So I just left out the part about being stuck in third gear on the off ramp. Our little secret.] I went into Wendy's because I can use my meal card there and that delights me to no end. I bought some burgers for me and Shane, and a coke for myself since I was apparently going to spend the rest of the day painfully sober.

I know what you're thinking: where is the hole in all this? Well, let me tell you...on the way back, we got turned around a little, but I maintained my faith in my man. Surely, this was going to be yet another uneventful trip to the Beer Store. Then we found it. The biggest hole I've ever known any one to drive into. Right in front of Jason's newly built home...where they were digging for the plumbing or something. This hole was probably 5 feet in diameter and at least 4 feet deep. In we went. Luckily, Shane was going too fast for normal driveway driving, and we just went right in and right out. STRAIGHT INTO THE HOUSE. Oh, man, you wish. I hit my head and yelled like I was sure tomorrow the end would come. Shane got out and proceeded to tell every body that I drove into the hole. Now that's love.

And this is how the story ends with the fire department...
That was a long day. I got onto a pair of stilts to help paint and I almost died. But that's enough about me. We went back to Jason and Kathy's to barbeque up a late night dinner. I got to drive. That involved a bit more yelling and an extremely drunk young man standing in front of a big hole waving his arms--so I wouldn't drive it.

Jason decided that to make the evening a little more fun, we should have a fire. It was a pleasant, legal, tiny fire. (I need to emphasize the tininess of this fire because I was freezing my pants off.) But Jason's neighbour wanted none of that. She came out in her robe yelling and screaming that he had better put that fire out or she would put it out for him. Jason loved that. He brought out the hose and sat waiting for her. Instead, she called the fire department. They showed up, decked out in their hot hot fire fighting attire, and went over the regulations with us. "Yes, it's legal" they said, "but there's been a complaint made so we have no choice but to ask you to put it out." They even admired our tiny fire, but rules are rules. We were very kind and they were sympathetic.

Now, here's the best part. Jason's neighbour was waiting for them at the sidewalk, and yelling at them because they didn't do enough to prevent it from happening. After the fire department left, Jason turned to that horrible, horrible woman and said, "CAN OF WORMS."

Confused? I was. He continued, "You have NO idea what you've done. You just opened a big ol' can of worms. I'm here for 30 more days and I'm going to dedicate that month to making your life miserable. Morning, noon, and night I'll be out there cooking my breakfast, lunch, and dinner." Oh, Jason...if only it could have ended there. Kathy joined in to "back up her man" as Shane put it. I think she was just pissed off that her neighbour was a bitch. They fought for about twenty minutes, here are some of the highlights:

• "You haggly hag!"--Jason
• "You have a law degree? And what do you use it for while you sit on your butt in your house all day?" --Kathy
• "I used to work for the London Fire Department and next time, they will fine you!"--Shane
• "You're nothing but an old coot, and I'm an old coot so...you should just leave them alone."--Jason's dad
• And finally: "I only have one more thing to say to you, lady. YOU SUCK!"--Jason

Jason's dad went out back a few minutes later and yelled at the top of his lungs. It was practically perfect in every way--just like Mary Poppins. Now, if that didn't make your day I don't know what will.

Your goo send off: Living like a house on fire, what you fear is your desire. You're all I'm not; and I don't need what you ain't got. I'm blind and waiting for you.

Convert.

As Promised...

This entry is dedicated to my Jean *bamp* and the guy across the street...

As promised, I've found some new strategies for dealing with the horrid world that follows April around (I mean the month, not the reporter from Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles). What could it be? Stories about me. If these stories do not bring you any joy at all, I can do nothing for you--you're hopeless. Here goes nothing...

Erin, Brenda, and Sandra Hit the Town
Thursday night, driven by a complete and utter lack of excuses and spite directed at my lovingly controlling boyfriend, I put on a shirt that Brenda approved of, drank some wine, drank some rum, and then got in a cab for a night out. (First night out all year I might add--and just did.) Seems normal enough, right? You know me better than that I hope.

We danced. No big deal. Minus the 7 foot tall guy that I gave a weird look to who told me he was just a big teddy bear. It reminded me of a pick up line I learned in grade 8: "I lost my teddy bear, can I sleep with you instead?" No dice. It was noisy and he hit on Sandra because I'm short. Sandra gave him a run for his money while Brenda danced with some randomer that pulled out the puppy dog eyes when she didn't pay enough attention to him.

Normal enough...you know it gets better. Brenda kept bugging the DJ to play her song. I'll let you ask her what it is 'cause I don't remember. When they finally did, she and Sandra got up on the platform and danced together. I two-stepped in front of them for a few minutes, then they insisted that I join them. So, I was there, dancing away. The song ended but they didn't want to get down. I leaned against some railing and a guy came up to me and asked me if my legs were broken. I said,"Nope, but I'm embarrassed about the way I dance." He wanted to see what I had to be so embarrassed about. [Sidebar: You know that part in Clueless where they are at the party and the red haired ditz gets knocked out by the shoe? then her and Elvin dance to "Rollin' with the Homies"? I need you to picture that. If you don't, I'll re-enact this part for you later.) Can you figure out what I did? Holy "rollin' with the homies" gone wrong. That guy said he liked everything but the hand movements. The hand movements made the dance though, so after he gave me a dirty look for mentioning Clueless I set my sights on someone a little more appreciative of my unique character...

And that brings us to a section of this story I will lovingly refer to as "Serenade featuring an Interpretive Bar Stool Dance" by Erin Smith. We went upstairs, where they have live music (apparently--I was just following the other two). The man with the guitar, we will call him Randolph, was playing relatively good music, and I sang along. He was loud enough that no one was disturbed. Brenda, Sandra, and I sat quietly on our stools, listening, watching a few people dance together. That was boring. Someone decided we needed to dance. Somehow I decided we needed to perform a ballet--and did. But the night was wearing on, and my feet were getting sore, so we sat down, and I did a little ballet from my seat. Then Brenda and Sandra had this ingenious (read: horrible, mean) idea: Randolph needs to serenade Erin. They picked me up, stool and all, and put me down not 3 inches from dear Randolph's face. I didn't know what to do. So I looked him deep in the eyes and swayed along to the music (I think he was playing Pearl Jam). Eventually my swaying got boring, so I performed a brief interpretive dance with lots of arm movements--a few of them reminiscent of my earlier Clueless-esque moves.

To make everything better (or worse, I'll let you be the judge this time only), this guy saw me and decided to come chat to the girls who got me into that horrific mess. We will call this guy Dunstan (Katrina I will give you money if you know why I picked that name). Then, Sandra and Brenda picked Dunstan up, stool and all, and plopped him down beside me. We proceeded to perform a duet while dear Randolph sang on. I tried to get him to play goo but he said he didn't know any and didn't really like them. Obviously, our relationship had to end there. I truly believe it was doomed from the onset. However, Dunstan and I got along famously and I hope very hard that his parents don't cut him off so that he can obtain that Socio/Psych degree after nearly a decade of misused time. I told him you can't party all the time and expect to do well in school, and hopefully he took my wise words straight to heart.

That said, we'll have to save the other stories for next time. Here's the teaser for you: big hole, fire department, "can of worms". Even if you heard the story, it'll be worth taking a peak at because I so enjoy embellishing.

The world is full of nuts, but Wein ain't one of 'em. Convert.

Wasted Tuesdays

Sorry guys, there was no alcohol contributing to the wastedness of this Tuesday...but I gotta say, this blog is GREAT at coming between me and my reading obligations. I was just sitting here, at my desk, thinking about why media fragmentation is boring...when I thought, "MY GOD! I haven't updated my blog since I wrote about how horrible March is."
Now, let me tell you something very important: April is way worse--way way way worse. Here's why: The end is near. You are in the middle of the last week of classes, but this brings you no joy whatsoever. Why? Because once the classes are over you have to study. Really study! Personally, I have 3000 lines of Old English to memorize in translation by the 23rd. What the hell is that?? WHAT?? To make matters worse, that snow you wanted to cry over in March melted, then came back, then melted again. (Did you catch the run-on?) You don't have any tears left to cry over bad weather. Life's just that awful. Not making these things into a list is stressing me out.

What does all this mean? It means that you have no real choice besides to keep going. No choices is definitely worse than too many--regardless of what I may have told you before. (Can I tell you why the grammar in that sentence is awkward but oh so correct?? PLEASE??) So, bring me some rum and we'll have daiquiri Tuesday next week starting before noon--PoliSci is over at 10:30, and it takes about an hour to get all the ingredients working together at maximum capacity.

Other than wasted Tuesdays (literal and figurative), life strategies for dealing with April have not been fully developed at this time. But you know what goo would say: Everything's wrooooooooong...but it's alright.