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!
Tuesday, October 24, 2006
Tuesday, October 17, 2006
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
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.
Tuesday, October 10, 2006
21 Things that Baffle My Small Brain
Please explain them to me!!
- Shakespeare's Coriolanus. Why is it allowed? Why is it so boring? Why does anyone even pretend to like it.
- 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?
- 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.
- 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.
- The chutnification of history in Midnight's Children.
- Do I care about the chutnification of history in Midnight's Children?
- What would Nietzsche have to say about all of this? He already told me God is dead, but he told me nothing about chutney!
- How can an apology ever be proceeded by a "but"?
- What in the heck is wrong with my tummy? I think I'm going to be sick again...
- 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?
- 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?
- 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?
- Why are the things that taste so good, the one's I'm not supposed to eat?
- Why 17 is minor, and 18 major--but not major enough to know how to handle booze.
- Why was the 5 hour yarn event such a flop?
- Why haven't I taken down the poster for the 5 hour yarn event?
- Little Miss Sunshine is the best movie ever. Why isn't everyone watching it all the time?
- Jackass 2. Moreover, leeches attached to eyeballs and snake bitten, sock covered penises. Why is that so hilarious? I almost peed.
- Anyone who has seen Jackass 2 more than once. You're sick.
- Why I'm writing a blog instead of reading.
- 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.
Tuesday, September 26, 2006
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.
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.
- 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.
- 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).
- 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?
- 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.)
- 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. ]
- 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.
- 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.
- 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.
- Long walks on the beach, and across the scary bridge, and to the wrong lighthouse.
- 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.
- Rory does. He just likes to keep it a secret. And I know you secretly want to be like Rory.
- The lime they put in rye and gingers and rum and cokes. So delicious.
- The look on poor Burns' face when I buy everyone but him a shot by accident.
- Free shots.
- Open bar.
- You're lonely.
- You turned 19.
- You turned 19 two and a half years ago.
- 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.
- You aren't 19 yet but you want to prepare your tolerance for the birthday celebration.
- You are trying to raise your tolerance.
- You secretly hate your liver.
- Good excuse to hypnotize people.
- Good excuse to go down stairs on your buttocks.
- You want to get dressed up and go out.
- You want to sit at home in your pajamas.
- Your nipples are bleeding and someone is laughing at you: drunk you is allowed to punch that person square in the gut.
- You're tired of driving.
- You're tired of listening.
- You feel like talking (a lot).
- It's been a while since you told a good "...and then I destroyed BK Lounge" story.
- The pink panther dance.
- You're hungry but all you have is beer.
- It will make you forget that you're hungry.
- You feel like you have WAY too much money.
- You feel like your significant other has more money than you.
- Baby cannon prevention.
- Drunk you is the only one anyone loves.
- It's been a while since you showed a stranger (or friend) your boobs.
- Tearful conversations that make you laugh when you wake up.
- The day after your hangover you feel fantastic.
Monday, September 18, 2006
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)
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)
- "I hate other people
- I act out of spite so my judgment is clouded by my desire to counter them.
- Opinions generate chaos.
- 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:
- We could be day time drunks. That's what Rory wants to do because then we'd never get anything done.
- 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.
- A thesis: hello! Forty pages dedicated soley to my very own brand of pure genius (not whale anatomy, mind you).
- 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.
- Signed Goo memorabilia. Delivered upon the completion of my four year degree. I love it when I make Jean sign her promises.
- Graduation, I guess.
- 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.
- I'm not happy but I'm funny--just wait til I'm not funny but I'm happy. Well fuck.
- MIT will make me pull out all of my hair by December.
- I'll have a fun time dressing for the royal ball with no hair to put up.
- 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...)
- You might die (I kind of hope so...)
- Defenetring things isn't hostile if they land on your balcony. True story.
- 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.
- 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!)
- Maybe we'll both die (that would be sweet).
- Future converts join the club. Weinism isn't going any where.
- Rory gives up all hope on me when I finally kick my bitter addiction.
- I get bitter because I miss Rory.
- 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.
Wednesday, September 06, 2006
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:
Ten things I learned today. A la maniere de Wallace Stevens...a la maniere de GEC:
- 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.
- 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.
- I could be in love with you: but you're always too fucking far away.
- You could be in love with anyone.
- Positive thinking: I'm positive--the worst is yet to come. You're positive--this is as bad as it could ever get.
- 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".
- I'm closer to where I started: She told me that song lyrics are a wealth of inspiration, looking seriously thoughtful...and seriously hammered.
- You're farther away than ever before: I'll never be the same again because of your dewy eyes and hyperbole.
- 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.
- 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.
Wednesday, July 26, 2006
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).
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).
- "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.
- 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.
- 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.
- 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.
- 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.
- 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.
- 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?
- 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???
- 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.
- 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.
Wednesday, July 12, 2006
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.
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.
Thursday, June 22, 2006
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.
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.
Sunday, June 11, 2006
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:
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:
- 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.
- *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.
- 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.
- 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.
- 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.
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