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.