Let Me Check My Calendar (Girls)

Teaching again today.
Teaching again tomorrow.
I'd be depressed about it.
But I combat this by concentrating on how many cardigans I'll be able to afford.

I thought I was going to be able to finally attend my first burlesque show.
Call me old-fashioned.
But spending a moderate amount of money to watch girls-next-door shimmy about in lingere on a well-lit stage...
...That's just a good night out.
But I can't watch the underwear women because I have to do comedy for firemen the same evening.
Another of my classic scheduling conflicts.

Holy shit.
I'm very attracted to a Student Jeopardy contestant.
Either because of her shirt, her haircut, or the fact that she's in last place.
Cosi is a stupid name, though.
Still, she's far more a looker than that computer plain-and-tall.

Dressed for Success

I taught today.
I took over another teacher's lunch duty.
Because, I can only assume, they didn't want to do it.
It was outside.
By myself, apart from a group of four guys.
Approaching them, I asked if they were doing anything bad.
We talked about whatever it is that grade nines talk about.
And this somehow resulted in one of them asking, "Why, do you live with your parents?"
And when I realized that, yes, I did, I couldn't think of anything to say to them any more.

I ate Mary Brown's in the Village Mall food court recently.
While wearing a suit.
And while I stood in line, trying not to inhale too deeply, I realized something:
If you hang around in a food court all day while wearing a suit, women will begin to assume you're successful.
I wouldn't even need a briefcase.
Even better - I don't need one because someone else must be carrying it for me.
"This guy doesn't even need a briefcase!
Who cares about his personality!?"
But, then I thought I might just end up being mistaken for a guy who works at Tip Top.
Which is where the suit was purchased from.
But I had to get this suit, you don't even understand.
Like butter!
It was as well the guy was fitting me for pyjamas.
I meant to buy some shirts and ties because I was doing my education degree.
Which, logically speaking, meant I would have a job soon.
Which meant that I wanted shirts and ties and pantses for Christmas.
Because boring people have jobs and this is what boring people buy.
So, I was supposed to get a smammering.
A smammering of items.
But this suit was on some sort of suit deal and the dude knew how to sell suits.
And when I put it on...
Butter!
I had to buy it then.
Well, my mom.
My mom had to buy it.
I live with her.

I Like Those Odds

For those who are counting, you and I know that the number of women whom I have bedded.
Currently. On this planet.
Is small.
But!
Of that quantity, two of them have a birthday on the same day.
This one.
So, I guess the only question left to ask is this:
Is today...your birthday?

We hope you live to be a hundred, ladies.
May your memories of me be spotty and exaggerated.

edit: Facefuck lied to me (as it does all of you).
Only one sex person had her birthday on this day.
But still.
It's something to think about.

Best In Show

When the dog show comes on TV, and your father settles in and asks you to turn up the TV...
...You can't start playing video games.
'Family' is another word for 'sacrifice'.
Having paid for all of my post-secondary education, this is a lesson my dad already knows.
There's something funny about watching someone in formal wear jogging with a dog.

I wonder how many treats it takes to teach a dog to remain nonchalant while a middle-aged woman cups their balls.

So Long, And Thanks For All The Shoes

I'm single once more is what I'm trying to say.

Love Lost

Well, Cupid has shined up the ol' crossbow, and pinned the cherub diaper.
And now he is off!
Delivering presents to little boys and girls all over the world.
He even brings them to kids in Africa!
Now, I understand that he lubes himself up with KY, and slips down your chimney.
But what I don't understand is how he visits children who don't have fireplaces.
The duplex children.
The children in duplexes.
How does he get to them?
Breaks out the window of the back door with a rock, I guess.
It's not forced entry if you're leaving stuff instead of taking stuff.

So have you picked up your bouqets?
Your costumed jewels?
What an occasion.
You'd figure Valentine's would have went out with the radio serials.
Women agree to do sexually popular things that they wouldn't otherwise do.
As long as their men are willing to act like legimately romantic, compassionate individuals for a ocuple of hours.
It's tough to pick a winner with this holiday.
Holiday.
Scoff.
What a load.
Nobody gets a day off for it, and stores keep regular shopping hours.
It's penance, is what it is. It's not a holiday.
But it's nohing in particular for me.
Not this year, anyway.
And though I wouldn't have had to clambor over any heart-shaped hoops regardless, I'm still quite sad to say so.

But you folks get out there.
Enjoy your dinners at Montana's, and the subsequent facials that will go with it.

Class Clown

Which yearbook award would you be most embarassed to receive:
'Best Dressed' in the 70s?
'Best Hair' in the 80s?
Or 'Most School Spirit' in the 90s?
We didn't have such awards in our Ascension Collegiate yearbook.
They needed the additional pages to showcase students at the prom with their quads and skidoos.

I have a new favourite activity at meal time:
Watching Dad eat canned papayas.

I forgot to tell you that I rocked that show in Mount Pearl.
Frosty Festival.
The night that turned it all around for me.
We all rocked it, in fact.
I'm crossing my fingers to get my hands on some video footage.
If so, you'll be the first to know.
You'd be the second to know, if I had a proper agent.
The night was not without its press, however.
Observe.
Now I just have to sit back and wait for Brigus to invite me to the Blueberry Festival.

Tiresiasity OR Warford the Oracle

If I was ever suddenly struck blind ("I'll light the sparklers, guys!"), I'll tell you what I'd do:
Bang into things; fall down stairs.
After that, I'd begin prophesying things all of the time.
Because blind people in all epic poems tend to know a little more than those with working rods and cones.
It's the same principle, but I won't be so keen on announcing people's doom.
No one likes a sour puss.
"Warford sure has been a negative Nancy since he lost his vision."
I'll already be unable to watch foreign films since I can't read the subtitles.
I don't need my friends ditching me to hang out with fun, sighted people as well.
Anyway.
Yes.
Prophesying.
Not the stock market, or who's going to play in the new Hardy Boys movie.
But individual prophesies for people that I know.
Declaring that they're going to win free bags of chips if they send in enough Kool-Aid points.
And that their car's radiator is going to need replacement in 2017.
Stuff like that.
The way I "see" it, I keep making predictions, I'm bound to hit on one eventually.
Then, see, I'm a blind person with a gimmick.
People really like that sort of thing.
Just ask Jeff Healey.

No Dance in Hell

Alright.
Where were we?
The Fraser party?
Was that it?
The boat house?
You were perched atop the jet ski.
I was afraid of falling into the water.
I believe that's where we were.
Then you said that you had to study for an exam that you forgot you had.
And you paddled away from me.
You said you'd be back, but you have yet to return to me.
Maybe you went over the falls in your little boat.
And to that I say...good riddance!


Here's the fabled post of yore that I was talking about.
Written February 3rd, 2011.
Big Bite Pizza (Bay Roberts location):

I'm in Big Bite Pizza right now.
Amanda Flip is working here.
I had a very profound crush on Amanda Flip while in grade whatever.
Star-crossed as we were, she attended another school.
But I would see her when I went to Shearstown dances with Shandera.
Her boyfriend got all of the slow dances with her, but I got the fast ones!
When "Oh What A Night" comes on, who do you suppose she thinks of?
She used to hold private correspondence with me at this time.
Intricately folded and horribly written, I kept these keepsakes in my Ninja Turtles fanny pack.
I'd love to find those letters now.
And the fanny pack, for that matter.

Today is Not Your Day

Alright.
Okay.
Alright.
Let's not make a big thing out of this.
It's my birthday today, but so what?
Let's not...y'know?
Let's not all send me photos of your breasts.
There's no need to make this day more special than it already is.
I'm a gin or two in, so this is all I'm going to write.
I had a post already written and ready to go.
But now you have to wait until tomorrow to read it.
Because it's my party now.
At my mom and dad's house.
There's banners and everything!
So yes.
Tomorrow.
The post is about Amanda Flip.
She'll likely age well. She looks like she'll age well.

Natural Suggestion

One day I'm going to look up the doctor who delivered me.
And I'm going to write him a letter saying:
"Nice catch."

Myself and Turpin and what's his name went by Jungle Jim's last night.
It was awful.
I ate the rice too fast and it plimmed up inside of me.
Whatever that means.
It's something that mom claims rice does.
Usually dad is the one who makes up his own words.
Anyway.
Chris Holmes was in the booth next to us.
Which was wild.
I haven't seen Chris Holmes in a really long time.
He reminisced about the time that he was at Shandera's birthday.
And he began putting his pool cue through the ceiling.
Which is why I hadn't seen him in a really long time.
At another of Shandera's birthday parties, I almost killed Chris Holmes.
We were in the McDonald's caboose, and I said something funny just as Chris was swallowing some cheeseburger.
And he began choking on it.
Laughing and choking and sputtering burger flecks.
His face was purple, and I thought, "This guy is gonna die right in front of me."
I was pre-pubescent (what else is new?) and terrified.
But he worked it down.
And now he has a wife and a little wee Chris Holmes.

Everyone in Egypt needs to take a chill pill.
Humans are so great at inventing salad dressings and lubricants.
But we'll never stop our playground rackets with one another.
Cause one group wants to control the slide.
Another the monkey bars.
And they simply can't figure out that if they all shared this stuff, they could all relax.
Enjoy the slide. Enjoy the bars.
Then their only concern would be keeping the dirty people (homeless) from using it.
Which is always the easiest group to isolate.
If we bred selectively, jerkoffs would never end up running countries.
Because they'd be extinct.
We'd just keep a couple of their petrified skulls, labeled and under glass, in our museums.
HOMO ERECTUS
CRO-MAGNON
DUDES WHO WORE THEIR SUNGLASSES BACKWARDS
Nothing says, 'moving forward' like a little sterilization.
Every other species practices this.
If you don't have the plumage.
If you can't lock the horns.
If you don't have the most swollen gonad.
If you can't walk past a payphone without jamming gum in the coin slot.
You don't get to fuck anything.
Not everyone deserves a little Chris Holmes.
This has nothing to do with Egypt, of course.
...Or does it?

Fall on Your Knees

A new question of the week:
If you were in some sort of a pact in which you had to keep taking acid until you began to worship something, what do you suppose it would be?
Turpin said that she would likely begin worhsiping trees.
Or her fridge (what a fatty!).
For myself, I would probably end up worshiping something that impressed me a great deal.
A neon sign of some sort, for example.
Or one of those clothes dryers that you can see into.