Roommates Gone By

I work with an entire staff of women.
There are several attractive co-workers.
And the cosmic balance remains...intact.
Presently they're probably talking about 'how gangly the new guy is.'
I spent yesterday watching the owner's sister froth milk.
I made smoothies.
So far I have had to make awkward conversation with Michael Colins.
This list will increase before the summer's out.
I can drink as much coffee as I want while I'm working.
I wonder if I can eat the sandwhiches.

Mavis dropped by last night.
He hates being called that, but it's hard to call him anything else.
He entered my home in a flourish at about 10pm with five of a six-pack of beer.
He immediately took a butter knife from the cutlery drawer, punctured one of the cans, and shotgunned a beer.
At least he did it over the garbage can.

I had a sexually-oriented dream last night starring Melanie Walker.
Of course, I didn't actually have sex with her in the dream.
I just thought about it.
No offense to her (well, some offense to her), but I think it's time I fandangle a girlfriend.
I'm off to the bus station.

First Job. Second Cup. (Third Wheel).

I've been hired.
On the spot, as it were.
They gave me a t-shirt, and I left the establishment and walked around upstairs before realizing that I'd forgotten the t-shirt.
I'm attracted to the owner's daughter.
Not a good sign.
I start tomorrow.
I expect many scaldings, but that's nothing I didn't experience while cooking.
Lobsters don't actually scream when you boil them.
Their carapace does.

'You Forgot the Beegees!'

I occaisonally inhale ablums.

And a month (or more) will go by in which I can't stop listening to them.

Some examples (the pictures are all different sizes. Whatever. Don't draw attention to it):

And now, oddly, this one.
Odd because I've owned the album for over a year now.
Alright. Word. That's it.
Here's a clip.

'Medium's Fine'

I set my laundry dryer to 'Air Fluff' for the hell of it today.
I'm not sure it was a wise choice.

McDonald's still has the best drive-thru setup.
Lifeless box, order, first window, pay, second window, food and a hollow thank you, drive-thru.
It's the most time effecient.
The Tim Horton's on Newfoundland Drive takes forever.
Don't go there.
Besides, employee morale is a little shakey at that location.

That guy in Supersize Me only ate McDonald's for whatever it was.
A month.
I hated it when I gave up McDonald's for a while and people thought it was because of this stellar documentary.
"Oh? No McDonald's? You saw Supersize Me too, huh?"
"No, I haven't seen it, asshole. I make occaisonal decisions on my own."
But eating just one version of food for a whole month can't be good for anyone.
I'd imagine you could survive on Sheppard's Pie for thirty days, but by the end of it your body would be looking for something different.
I'm not really defending McDonald's, per se.
Their burgers are definitly made out of pigeon.
I'm just saying.
I still haven't seen it.
Did his organs really start to shut down?
What a hero.

Some Asshole's Beef

Apparently someone called me an 'asshole' when I was onstage at the comedy festival's open mic.
While I was doing my vegan bit.
I use the term 'someone' loosely because that person was, in all likelihood, a vegan themselves.
I didn't hear the comment.
I wish to Christ I had.
I would've had some fun with that.
I'm excited about it, either way.
I want enemies as much as I want fans.

A Real Corker

I almost blinded myself a few nights back.
With a champagne cork.
Technically, it's not called champagne unless it's from the wee French town of Champagne.
So, I almost blinded myself with a sparkling wine cork.
Alright, alright, I'll tell it.
I don't even have a shirt on yet.
Picture it.
Okay.
Pete, Bussey, Shandera and I decided to play some batouts in an effort to reclaim our childhood.
Peter fielded very well.
We had to stop after an hour because we were all too winded.
And Peter had seriously injured his elbow for the day.
I can't really remember what it was like when we played behind Ascension Collegiate at the age of 12.
But I think it used to go smoother.
By 'smoother' I mean that we played for longer.
It was probably less organized, since there would inevitably be an argument about point scoring.
"25!"
"Dat wasn't even movin'!"
"Yes it was! It was still rollin'! I got 125 now!"
"You got 100!"
"No, I got 125!"
"I'm da batter! I'm the ref for points!"
And so on.
The end result would be Dennis and Peter pushing one another until Peter got a nosebleed.
Then he'd throw his glove as Dennis ran away.
"Ya frigger!"

What was I talking about?
Oh yeah!
Sparkling wine cork.
We left batouts to buy beer.
I settled on bottles of champagne in the liquor store because I didn't want beer and I didn't want not beer either.
Fast-forward to Shandera's.
I'm engaged in a frank discussion with Pete and Bussey.
I'm unwrapping the foil.
I twist off and throw aside the little wire guard they put on the cork.
The bottle is positioned between my thighs.
Without warning, there's a loud POP and my glasses are on the floor, and I don't know what has happened.
Everyone's bewildered.
I'm aware that I have just been involved in a 'close call.'
The cork inexplicably ejected itself from the bottle.
Which was pointed haphazardly towards my face.
The cork didn't hit my glasses, but instead lifted them off of my face.
The cork moved with enough force to hit the ceiling (I think).
The others marveled afterwards at how they had never seen a champagne cork 'do that before.'
I knew it was just a matter of time.
Imagine if it had hit me in the throat.
That would've been a treat.
I was very mindful when opening the second.

Win a Few Lose a Few

This is an unfortunate conclusion to my somewhat comedic week.
Though I imagine it's more unfortunate for the Carlin family.

My Idea

He wore the Ugg boots.

Brotherly Shove

My male compatriots and I are playing some batouts today.
That's how you have to say it. All one word.
Jon Woodman's not around, which is fortunate for Jon Woodman.
I once aided him in sustaining injury during a game of batouts.
I was very apologetic.
Which didn't interest him at the time, as he kept insisting I, 'Get the fuck away, Warford!'
He probably had in coming.

My brother Brian comes home in a few days.
He's bringing the dogs.
My mother gave up on getting our names straight quite some time ago.
In our daily routine it was entirely commonplace to hear mom say things like:
"Hand me the scissors Colin, Brian, Paul, whatever your name is."
That was a catch phrase of mom's: "Whatever your name is."
You know how some kids have to deal with bullies in school?
Whiny pussies.
All you have to do is tattle on bullies.
My bully shared my DNA and my bedroom.
And mom was uninterested in my tattling most of the time because she was focusing too hard on trying to cook a meal that all of us would eat.
When Brian is pleasant to me these days, I'm usually trying to figure out what his angle is.

I was only stuffed into a locker once in my academic lifetime (believe it or not).
Brian did it.

My mother once got pizza for us.
This never happened. My mother is and was relatively frugal.
Brian draped a blanket over me, and then wrapped me up in an electrical cord.
He then left me like that, bound and unable to see, in the rec room.
He went upstairs, telling my mother that I was at Robert's.
By the time I was found all of the pizza was gone.
If you don't have brothers I don't know how to describe it.

I wonder if I'll get stuffed into more lockers if I become a teacher...

Fuzzy Cordless Mics

I was awake before noon twice this week.
I had a comedy workshop. Whatever that is.
I was apprehensive about the whole thing, but when I showed up I saw there were pastries.
So, I was okay after that.
It was put off by a funny man I met named Al Rae.
In the pictures I could find he sort of looks like a magician's assistant.
He doesn't really look like that now.
He sort of looks like a computer technician.
He used to be in a duo called Al and George.
Now he's the head writer for this show.
Which I haven't watched. But will now.
I had to do a writing exercise that involved a newspaper and a woman with absolutely hideous, hideous feet.
Not everything about summer is sunshine, if you get me.
The culmination of this was an open mic that happened last night.
I wore my dad's suit.
I killed.
Mark Critch was there, and I was like, 'Hey Mark! You're awesome man, I think you're awesome!'
And he was like, 'Let's get a seat in the back.'
But he wasn't saying it to me. He was saying it to some person he was with.
I'm about to go get a recording from the CBC.
I have to sign a waver.
I'll try to muster the energy to get Peter Russell to help me upload it.
Upload it for me.
Whatever.

Alright. I don't feel into the blog yet.
I'm gonna bomb some crystal meth.
I'll be back.

A Good Day

And people say to do things before the deadline...
I got into Education for MUN today.
That is to say I found out about it today.
They actually mailed me about it a while ago.
I dislike checking the mail.
The mail rarely contains good news.
The mail contains flyers.
The mail contains sealed envelopes with my name clearly visible in the little pexiglass envelope window.
My least favourite kind of envelopes.

I have to go to a comedy workshop tomorrow morning.
I'm not sure how many workshops I have been to in the past, but I know that they usually involve free coffee and nametags.
So I'm in.
I plan to sit through about 45 minutes of it, then get up from my chair with a scrape, saying:
"Fuck this! I don't need you people!"
Because confidence is very important in this industry.
That's what they respect.
They respect confidence.

An open mic will go down on Thursday night after two days of this shoppery.
I get 5 minutes.
What bits should I do?

Birds & Bees

I realized today, whilst soaping crevices, that I've never actually had sex in a shower.
I've also never had sex on a boat.
It's a sunny one out there today in St. Whadya call it?
I hope everyone is having sex with someone.

How's that for a sign-off?

"I'll Tell Ya When You're Older"

I'm getting close to perfecting Kraft Dinner.
You'll all soon be eating it my way.
If I was a dictator I'd make everyone eat what I eat.
But the peasants would love me because everyone enjoys toutons from time to time.
Same goes for tuna wraps.
I'd try to distribute grain as evenly as possible.
I'd be the dictator everyone wants at a party.
But if the natives ever started talking land reforms I'd be considerably less lovable.

It's Saturday.
Colin, his other one, mom and dad and I.
We're in Jungle Jims.
I've noticed that all of the female waitresses who work at Jungle Jims are shaped the same way.
Round, but not necessarily pear-shaped.
Maybe it's a fitting issue with those shorts they have to wear.
H'anyway.
There's this loud table of boring looking women.
They're drinking because the heavy one at the head of the table is getting married.
So says the veil.
And they're getting wasted to celebrate.
I tell my dinner compadres that women have far grosser bachelorette parties.
They involve all sorts of implements and dildos, while men just go to a strip club.
And my mother says:
"What's dildos?"
I had to leave the table for a minute.
My mother later admitted that she knew the difference, and she was, in fact, messing with me.
"I knew what they were. I just wanted to see your reaction."
I told her I didn't want to hear about it.
My mom and I disagree on a great deal.
Sometimes, however, she floors me with how similar we are.

...
It's something to hear your mother ask; "What's dildos."
Trust me.

You Could Take Someone's Eye Out

You wouldn't think it, but I'm actually quite good at flicking beer caps the way that people do.
I'm even relatively accurate.
Bring me to your parties!

I have an interview at CD Plus in a few moments.
Pia and I were born ready.
Well, I was born ready.
She was stitched ready.

It's a Living...

I'm standing in line to buy coffee at Starbucks.
I'm off of Jo Boss lately.
The girl with the bum quit.
I vowed to ask her out the next time I saw her, and I haven't seen her since.
I wouldn't have done it anyway.
Now the location in da mall is full of dudes.
Fuck that.
If I want to buy coffee from guys I'll start getting it in gas stations.
No, you follow the women.
Like elk migration.
H'anyway. What was I talking about?
Oh yes!
So, I'm standing in line, and I see this female in front of me wearing a MUN jacket.
There's a MUN jacket for every program that MUN has.
Hers says 'Cultural Anthropology.'
And I think to myself:
Do you really want to advertise that you're studying Cultural Anthropology?

Gonesole

My Xbox 360 fucked up today.
This will make my game reviews much more difficult to accomplish.
I have to mail it to them.
I miss systems that you could fix by forcefully blowing into them.
I miss when you played games by pressing buttons, rather than moving your body around.
It's a fad, you know.
When the Nintendo first came out, parents used to play Mario with their kids.
Eventually they were blaming it for all of the family's problems.
It'll happen again.

"She's completely hairless, like those cats?"

This was a few months ago.
Colin and I were discussing with his other one the notion of getting a cat.
Colin hates everything.
You should see him around dogs and infants.
But he likes cats.
Because cats are the assholes of the domesticated animal world, and Colin is the asshole of the domesticated human world.
So, he knew specifics as to what he wanted and didn't want.
"We should get a nice Persian."
"I don't care what it is," I replied. "As long as it's not one of those hairless fuckers.
They look like a dick with a tail."
I just think it's one of my better burns...
eDit: Ten bucks to anyone who can tell me what the title quote is from.

No Sex in the City

Ah, humanity.
Here I am.
I've been missing, I know.
I wish I had a bunch of tripe to regale you with but I'm actually a few quarts low.
There was a margarita party in my home on Saturday past.
It was underwhelming.
Colin was the one who threw it, really, and though I wanted his friends to show up, his co-workers did instead.
I dislike co-workers from a Staples location on general principal.
But looking beyond my rules of general principal I discovered that they were actually dweebs.
No one uses that word enough; dweeb.
These guys earned it.
Luckily, Pete, Shandera and Christa came by.
Pete passed out on my couch.
He bought me breakfast.
I got this yogurt thing from Cora's that, when placed before me, I realized looked exactly like the one pictured in the menu.
Had I known this was going to be the case, I wouldn't have ordered it.
Because it was obnoxious.
If all of the breakfast choices from Cora's were people at a party, my yogurt thing* would have been the loud, overbearing asshole that nobody likes.

I spent yesterday with George and Bill.
As far as I can gather, the pair of them want to make me a famous comic man.
Which I'm okay with.
I wish they didn't make me mow their lawns and clean out their sheds, though.
It was nice to get outside for once, but the work felt counter-productive.
We (actually) moved a bed for Ruby.
Ruby can't hear well.
But she's quite charming.
I once wrote an article for The Athenaeum in which I interviewed people on campus at Acadia who had pets.
And one couple had a deaf ferret.
Same thing.

I'm not having sex with anything.
No one is paying me anything.
Maybe I should...combine the two problems?
No, I shouldn't.
I'd be happy if even just one of the two came along in the next little while.
You can use your VISA card to buy hookers.
Well, not buy them like slaves.
Just buy them for a little bit.

I did two sets on Sunday.
Mostly cause the first one kinda stunk.
The second one didn't, but it also didn't happen until around 1:30am.
Cliff came and brought down the house.
But when you do it at 1 in the morning on a Sunday, there isn't much of a house left to dismantle.
Nonetheless...

Matthew Esteves has proposed that we associate with one another outside of the Victory walls.
I plan to go for it.
Mostly because he's even squirrelier than I am.
And I need someone like that to stand next to me in dimly-lit bars.
He will do.
I can't get Tim to go out of doors.

Sarah Turpin comes back in one of the J months.
I mentioned her to George and Bill.
Now I have mentioned it to you.
And now I'm leaving.
I'll try not to take so long before my next visit, though.

*Bottom left in the picture.

A Total Lack of Molars

If I ever chose to give it a try, I think I'd be quite bad at performing felatio.
Because I gag on my toothbrush almost every day while cleaning the way-backs.

9 to Fine

Oh, humans.
How are you all?
Are you missing me?
Many people do.
Scattered across the globe there are people saying 'Paul/Screech/Warford/Paulie? Yeah, I remember him.
That guy was a dick.'
And now the dick's here. To talk to you.

Alright, so I interviewed Mike MacDonald on Saturday.
Which I, of course, almost slept through.
I sleep through nothing. Nothing!
I'm the whiniest insomniac there is, everyone knows this.
I slept through two phone calls, Colin and his loud girlfriend leaving for work, and a pair of men hauling away a garbage box immediately adjacent our apartment.
Elling left a phone message.
Well, two.
I drove down in a thundershower, how dramatic is that?
Yeah, I know.
Pretty dramatic.

For those curious, he was very cordial and not at all jerkish.
Yes, he was funny for a lot of it.
About three quarters through the interview I had told him I did standup myself, and I just started treating him like a workshop, asking his advice on various shit.
It went smoothly from there.
He has three pairs of Ugg boots (we know I'm not a fan).
One pair he only wears onstage.
I asked him to wear them when he's here in St. John's.
Cross your fingers.
We talked about Lisa Lampenelli*.

I picked up Tim Ronan yesterday whilst I was driving down Elizabeth Avenue.
Although he sort of blended in with the grass and trees that were around him.
But when it comes to picking out fuzzy beards and receding hairlines, no one's better than me.
I drove him to the mall.
I made him buy me coffee.

Saturday will see the first-ever party that Colin has thrown in about a year.
And we're having margaritas.
Es Playtime!
I didn't come up with that. Rockstar Studios did.

I've been absent lately cause I've been miserable because I'm looking for a job.
I'll be straight with you.
I just don't want one.
Is that so bad?
I mean, I want one, or I need one.
Groceries, and rent, and VISA payments and blah blah blah.
But that doesn't mean I have to be excited about it.
I'm not.
I might get on at the CD Plus in the mall.
A very risky move with my mentality these days; getting a job in the food court.
In Da Mall.
But I need a job.
And a music discount is a music discount, however you slice it.
Alright, that's it. I'm sick of writing shit.
Are we into summer yet? Has that happened?

*She's intensely crass, so watch it those of you with a heart murmor.