My Brothers' Keeper

It's my father's birthday today.
He didn't give birth to me.
Mom did that.
But he was the next most-important person in the process.
Well, that may have been the doctor, actually.
But he was on the podium, for sure.
Imagine if the doctor was the father.
I would have gotten better grades in school, probably.
Dad was never too hot with English in school.
In fact, he was terrible at it.
He once failed an English course, did it in the summer, and wrote the make-up.
And he scored one point lower in that than he did in the original course.
It's neat that he's bad at English.
Makes it easier for me to impress him.
Which is an assett.
God knows I won't do it by using his drill press.

What's in a Name?

When planes crash into the water, the flight attendants are the only ones who know how to inflate their life vests.

We were travelling out of The Goulds the first time I discussed Avril with Bussey.
Me: Her birthday's in April.
Bussey: I see.
...
Bussey: That'd be like if your name was Février.
Me: I suppose it would be.
...
Me: My life would have been a lot rougher if my name was Février.
I don't think I could have avoided homosexuality if my name was Février.
'Oh shit guys, here comes Février. On his roller skates.'

These are the sorts of conversations Bussey and I have.
Bussey and I also communicate solely in television quotations sometimes.
We developed the art form around his father's pool table.
I know it must seem odd to some people.
But we're actually communicating when we do it.
I had to explain all of this to Avril.
Because sometimes a quote will come into my head, and then I'll have to say it out loud.
This occurred in her presence recently.
I do it to empty rooms sometimes.
I'd love to provide a video clip of the quote I'm talking about in this particular instance.
But Fox won't let me.
I'll bet if I wanted to upload clips of The Bachelor, however, it wouldn't be a problem.

Homer: Barney! Wake up! I've lost the baby. It's the worst thing I've ever done.
Barney: Okay, don't worry, don't worry. Y'know what I'm gonna do? I'm gonna make you...an omelet.
Homer: Just help me look!
Barney: Are you sure? I make 'em with four kinds of cheese...

"And Now the Five Day Forecast"

Sure, we're throwing up our food like the Greeks did.
But we're nowhere near their orgies.
Well, perhaps we are and we're just not videotaping them often enough.
My participation in an orgy would be reminiscent of my participation in team sports:
I'd be picked last.
"Fine, we'll take Paul. We'll just put him at the end of the batting order."

I met Avril's parents over the weekend.
Initially things were incredibly tense.
But everyone began to relax after the third round of Jager shots.
Which is, by the way, why Jager continues to be so popular.
That, and it makes five energy drinks in one night seem like a good idea.
Because of the balance.
Sort of like huffing some gas after doing an eight ball.

Speaking of drug-induced news coverage, I'm looking to get on NTV.
Now, by 'looking' I mean that I'm bothering my friends (and blog readers) by talking about something I'll likely never follow through with.
But I'd like to contact them about my Homegrown selection.
See if Larry Jay wants to sit me down.
Have a chat with Toni Marie in a men's locker room somewhere.
They broadcast stories about nans making doilies.
I believe that I should qualify.
But what would be the best way to get on there?
Avril suggested I get arrested.
It's really the best idea so far.

Birthday Suitable

I believe it's a good thing that I'm around to help Dad.
With his carpentry.
Not that I'm any assistance to him.
If anything, I'm slowing him down, probably.
But he needs someone to administer his first-aid.

It's my girl-person's birthday tomorrow.
So, I dropped by the sex shop.
And spoke to the lady in the lab coat.
I asked her what you buy someone on their birthday when you've been dating them a little over a month.
She recommended I leave the store.
On my way out, she yelled after me:
"And if you have a blog, don't put this in there!"

A New Load

When you've lived on your own as a bachelor for long enough...
...and you then move back home, you learn something about your mother:
She has a wicked dishwasher.

A Second Opinion

I'm wearing Brian's old shirt.
Because now that I'm in my parents' house, I'm once more receiving hand-me-downs.
Maybe there are some Chip and Pepper shirts coming my way.
Vaurnet shirts that finally fit.

The Shanderas are celebrating two birthdays in April.
I know this because they fed me things on Saturday.
The Shanderas have been feeding me things for years.
Whenever I entered their house I would often check their fridge.
Before verifying that Robert was actually home.
Sometimes his mom would give us pieces of ham.
And I'd eat part of mine, and then lay the other half on the coffee table.
For later.
Robert hated that.
Whenever I had medical concerns, I would consult Robert.
Because his dad was a doctor.
So it seemed perfectly rational that Robert knew what was growing on my arm.
And whether or not it was infected.
I still consult him to this day.
Though typically the problems are more sexually-oriented than before.
And does his penis ever experience this?
Sure, Robert's an engineer.
But I'm still here, aren't I?

Smallwood said to me last week that she was more or less "...finished law school now."
I read this just before I began cleaning my parents' house.
Because I'm living in it.
I don't know what her father thought of me.
But I'd be willing to bet that whatever it was, he was right.
I wore his shorts once.
Smallwood's dad's.
To go on the sea-doo.
They insisted.
I at first refused because I was afraid they'd want me to operate it.

edit: How perfect is that picture for this post?

Generation Gap

Warming lubricant has leaked all over my overnight bag.
Which sort of sounds like a code for something, I know.
But it's really just me stating a fact.
I'm at the missus' place.
She's showering while I rummage through her things.
I've been teaching.
Some more.
They wanted to win a radio contest in 9-5.
For some Justin Bieber garbage.
I don't know who he is.
Them: Y'know! Justin Bieber! He sang this song and that song!
Me: I don't know who he is. He sounds like Michael Bublé .
Them: Michael Bublé's wicked!
Me: Michael Bublé wears scarves.
So, they wanted to keep the radio on while they worked.
And call into the station when they were supposed to.
All of them had cell phones.
One of them was going to act like a dad for some reason.
I didn't really grasp it all.
Anyway, one of the girls had their head right next to the speaker.
And I accidentally leaned on the button that changed it from the radio to nothing.
Then they all exclaimed things.
So, I started pressing buttons while they yelled at me.
With me saying, "Sorry! Sorry! Hang on!"
Then I hit some other button and there was a loud burst of static.
Right in that girl's ear.
It was hilarious.
They didn't get the radio cue they were supposed to get.
Justin Bieber vomiting was the sound clip, I believe.
He looks like an asshole in this video.

Up and Chucker

Alright, running out of steam.
But I should talk about this Just For Laughs thing.
There was a showcase at the club.
Because there was a Just For Laughs rep..
Looking for contestants for their Homegrown Contest.
I would provide a link for the contest, but Googling it feels like jinxing it.
Anyway, I mentioned this back when there was more snow.
As it turns out, they chose me to represent St. John's.
Or they just chose me.
I'm not sure which it is.
So now I have to figure out what the hell to wear for that.
Like I don't have enough on my mind.
I'm trying to maintain my tough guy façade.
But it is a little nauseating.
I mean, all of those French people in one place?
And people from 'the industry.'
Which is intimidating simply because they are associated with the term 'the industry.'
I stopped caring, though, when I found out I get an 'artist pass'.
Just like a roadie.
Actually, that's almost more nauseating...

I'm just kidding, French people.
No one knows how to make me look both ways before I cross the street like you guys.

Y'know, if I was doing this for a living, I could claim all of the gross socks I buy on my taxes.
A guy can dream.

edit: can someone who did immersion translate paragraph number two into French for me?
Just to be sure the French get it.

Butterface OR "Wouldya?!"

Avril helped me realize:
Ugly Betty was only ugly until that first season started getting ratings.
Filthy TV.
Remember Temptation Island?
Exactly.
Temptation Island is a disgusting show.
Unless it's aired uncensored.
In Australia.
Then it's a great show to watch every Thursday with your roommate.
Charlie (Chaz) and I would watch it every week.
We'd eat ice cream bars and yell things at the TV.
We used to play this nifty walking game called 'Wouldya.'
It just involved objectifying women.
Which is the sort of game guys begin to play in their early twenties.
Continuing until they die.
Sometimes, if Chaz was feeling cheeky, he'd say it and nod towards an old woman.
I'd do the same thing sometimes.
But with pre-pubescent girls.

He and I lived with three other males.
That's a lot of testosterone in one house.
I wasn't contributing any.
But still.
We had a cereal box among our cardboard recycling.
That had been there long enough to not only:
Contain a spider + web, but,
Contain a spider + web that had flies in it.

If Jon got angry enough, he would give you 'The Chop.'
Which would involve chopping you with his hand.
Against your sternum.
He wouldn't give me The Chop, though.
He considered me too fragile.
Though I was nervous that day he found out I'd shaved my testicles in the upstairs bathroom.

I used to love startling Chaz.
It was really easy to do.
Sometimes I'd stand in front of the closed bathroom door.
While he showered.
So close that my nose would be touching the wood.
And I'd wait there, sometimes for five, ten minutes.
Looking back, my grades weren't as bad as they could have been.
I tried to startle Matty once while he was studying.
It was a one-time thing because he very nearly punched me in the face.
Not because I had pissed him off.
Just because Matty Blair lashes out when he's startled.
I can still remember him relieved and cautionary:
"Holy fuck, guy. I came so close to fuckin' hitting you just then."

One time we stole Josh's car to drive to the corner store.
Which was, inconveniently, not on the corner.
Josh liked his car more than he liked us.
Who'd of thought we'd end up passing him on the street?
He was drunk and it was winter.
So he wasn't as angry because we gave him a ride home.

We had some charming inside jokes, alright.
The time that Jon put Chaz through our coffee table (while drunk).
The time we threw cinamon hearts at Josh.
That time Matty Blair whipped a baby tomato at my head.
This is how hard he threw it:
When it hit the window next to me, seeds landed on my face.
I didn't care.
I was playing video games at the time.

But, sadly, after enough time passes, these people just don't seem the same to you anymore.
They get jobs.

Coriolis Effect

I lack confidence.
Except when it comes to doubting myself.

If you're a really bad driver in the Northern Hemisphere...
...are you a really good driver in the Southern Hemisphere?

This is one of those posts that only exists because of the title.

"I just called to say..."

Feist sort of looks like Natalie Webber.
Natalie Webber was the first woman I ever kissed.
Of course, she was four at the time...
And she'll never forget it!

I've got stories!

First of all, Avril, this human I was undressing, I'm still undressing.
So that's something to mention, I suppose.
We spent the weekend together eating my mother's frozen food.
At my mother's house.
Well, we'd thaw it first.
Turns out she enjoys eating Mom's groceries as much as I do.
We rented Deathproof and put Baily's in our coffee.
Dad's Baily's.
Well, not Dad's, really.
The company's at Christmas time.

When you move and flail like me, it's only rational to be wary.
I'm wary of table saws, for example.
Edges of cliffs.
I'm violently wary of edges of cliffs.
And dropping things into the toilet.
I first began wearing glasses in grade six.
I've been nervous about dropping a pair into the toilet ever since.
I had my closest toilet scare yet.
Mom's cordless phone.
I know, I know.
"Why did I have the phone in the bathroom?"
(Originally wrote this as: "Why did I have the toilet in the bathroom?")
Have you heard of Matthew Esteves?
He insists that if I need to speak to him, I have to call him from there.
And I had to call him the other day.
To tell him that he's too demanding of me.
Bounced off of the seat.
It was terrifying.
I gasped and everything.

Alright, I'm gonna break this into some other posts.
So it looks like I haven't neglected the blog as much as I actually have.



edit: Doesn't it seem like Stevie's verifying there's an audience before he starts?
This guy's a pro.

Joke's on Me

Ah, April Fool's.
My favourite pagan holiday.
Next to Lilith Fair.
The only day when you can place saran wrap over someone's toilet bowl.
And they'll end up being 'okay with it.'
I'm actually rather bad at April Fool's.
It's right up there with juggling and showing up on time for things.
I get all excited when I try to fool someone of something.
Which is why I never bang business executives.
Because they ask me if I'm under 18, and I say that I am.
But then I get all giddy and I start giggling uncontrollably.
Ever place a prank call in junior high?
Like that.

I intend to buy a Playstation 3 today.
I chose today because it'll make the anniversary easier to remember.
Actually, I bought my original Playstation on a calendar day as well.
Hallowe'en of whatever year it was.
Dad drove me into St. John's just so that I could get it.
We withdrew all of my money, since interac was beyond our stink province at the time.
And then the Skylark broke down on Prince Phillip Drive.
For any mainland readers, this is easily one of the busiest streets in town.
Dad looked over the car and decided that the alternator was 'gone.'
I didn't care at this point because I already knew this was the first step.
In God's evil plan.
To stop me from getting my Playstation.
So, some man in a cab picked us up and drove us to Canadian Tire.
We returned to the 'Lark and replaced the alternator.
But the car still wouldn't start.
Then dad determined that it was the car's battery.
Period.
So, back to Canadian Tire.
Massive Duracel.
Then the car started.
The cab driver didn't charge us anything.
We got his name so that we could thank him somehow.
Later, dad called their office and told them about the guy.
About how he had driven us around town without charging us a dime.
He wanted the driver's address.
So that Dad could send him some crab's legs.
But the office guy told us that that cab driver had been dead for years.
He crashed his Buick Skylark on Prince Philip Drive on Hallowe'en night.
In 1835.
...
...
April Fool's!
The cab driver was alive.
He might be dead now, though.
He really did drive us around without charging us.
And I got the PSX and brought it home.
And played Metal Gear Solid.
Another Hallowe'en Miracle!