I'm thinking of buying a roll of those "Hello! My name is..." stickers.
And wearing a new one every day.
There are certain stylistic things that I would like to do, and then continue to do, until I die.
Like skateboarding.
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Condoms in Vending Machines
I'm waiting at the reserve desk in the library. It's about a week ago.
And there are females. Behind the counter, I mean, fetching this and that.
Scanning things.
One of them is on lunch.
And she's giving it out. About her celery. Doesn't want her celery.
So, she asks her co-worker, who is in the midst of doling out my much-needed archaeological information on the data analysis of ceramics (can someone tell me how to eject-seat out of this class?) if she wants the celery.
"Do you want my celery?" she asks.
And the other doesn't want it.
So, I say, "I'll eat your celery."
And then I did.
That's it.
Today, I go to fetch some student grant money.
Apparently, there has been a buildup of government checks kicking around for me to collect.
When I receive official-seeming e-mails, I sometimes won't read them because I find everything official to be confusing and frightening.
So, I'm getting this check, and a student loan slave is speaking with her friend about an upcoming test.
The friend has to write some sort of garbage in an hour. And she's too frightened to eat.
The friend is listing potential foodstuffs.
"Get a sub, or some soup or something."
"Or a pita," I interject.
"Or a pita," the slave repeats, "See, we're concerned about you," she goes on to say.
Which I thought was cute.
Anyway, I get my moneys, I head out, and as I leave I say, "Good luck on your test," take a few steps, wheel about, and while walking backwards, I say, "Eat something!"
I go and do a few lines in the men's, and while I'm walking back across the skywalk (tripping balls, mind you) I see this person.
In line at Extreme Pita.
Between the money and minute interactions, it's been a satisfying day.
And there are females. Behind the counter, I mean, fetching this and that.
Scanning things.
One of them is on lunch.
And she's giving it out. About her celery. Doesn't want her celery.
So, she asks her co-worker, who is in the midst of doling out my much-needed archaeological information on the data analysis of ceramics (can someone tell me how to eject-seat out of this class?) if she wants the celery.
"Do you want my celery?" she asks.
And the other doesn't want it.
So, I say, "I'll eat your celery."
And then I did.
That's it.
Today, I go to fetch some student grant money.
Apparently, there has been a buildup of government checks kicking around for me to collect.
When I receive official-seeming e-mails, I sometimes won't read them because I find everything official to be confusing and frightening.
So, I'm getting this check, and a student loan slave is speaking with her friend about an upcoming test.
The friend has to write some sort of garbage in an hour. And she's too frightened to eat.
The friend is listing potential foodstuffs.
"Get a sub, or some soup or something."
"Or a pita," I interject.
"Or a pita," the slave repeats, "See, we're concerned about you," she goes on to say.
Which I thought was cute.
Anyway, I get my moneys, I head out, and as I leave I say, "Good luck on your test," take a few steps, wheel about, and while walking backwards, I say, "Eat something!"
I go and do a few lines in the men's, and while I'm walking back across the skywalk (tripping balls, mind you) I see this person.
In line at Extreme Pita.
Between the money and minute interactions, it's been a satisfying day.
Free Fallin'
Tomorrow I intend to finally do some skydiving.
I'd say it's about time.
I'd do it for the view. I enjoy wide, sprawling views of things.
Don't get me wrong.
It's being suspended from glorified curtains that I have issues with.
I remember at Acadia when a bunch of people went skydiving, and Crazy Dave (who wasn't even that crazy. Do we really need to have a 'crazy dave' in every social circle?) had to use his emergency chute.
And he was talking about how much fun it was, and hopefully he could save enough money to "go again this term."
Skydiving is only fun if everything's operational.
It's just that sort of passtime.
Who would ever go a second time, if they had to use their emergency chute the first time?
Of course, that fucker was crazy.
My buddy Pete also went skydiving while in Acadia. Broke his leg.
That's a skydiving accident, right there.
I told him that he got off light.
Post-landing, Pete would have sex with his girlfriend, and his cast would bang against the wall of his room.
There are certain things that simply cannot be replicated outside of a university residence.
Hawksley Workman tonight.
He still won't return my e-mails.
But wait 'til he gets a load of the candygram I sent him.
I'd say it's about time.
I'd do it for the view. I enjoy wide, sprawling views of things.
Don't get me wrong.
It's being suspended from glorified curtains that I have issues with.
I remember at Acadia when a bunch of people went skydiving, and Crazy Dave (who wasn't even that crazy. Do we really need to have a 'crazy dave' in every social circle?) had to use his emergency chute.
And he was talking about how much fun it was, and hopefully he could save enough money to "go again this term."
Skydiving is only fun if everything's operational.
It's just that sort of passtime.
Who would ever go a second time, if they had to use their emergency chute the first time?
Of course, that fucker was crazy.
My buddy Pete also went skydiving while in Acadia. Broke his leg.
That's a skydiving accident, right there.
I told him that he got off light.
Post-landing, Pete would have sex with his girlfriend, and his cast would bang against the wall of his room.
There are certain things that simply cannot be replicated outside of a university residence.
Hawksley Workman tonight.
He still won't return my e-mails.
But wait 'til he gets a load of the candygram I sent him.
Sunday, March 9, 2008
You Can Dress Us Up...
Alright.
Let's get to it, readerbase.
Stretch out the ol' legs and arms.
Everybody limber?
Neither am I.
Alright, the following thing happened:
But first! If you are going to see me within the next few days, don't read this post. The story works better in-person. This warning is especially reserved for Pete, Bussey, and Shandera.
I'll get Colin to tell you guys about it.
Everyone else outside of the St. Jiahn's perimeter, or those who cannot wait, here's the story:
Colin and I are in da mall with his new one, Charlotte (she gets a name now. She's coming along nicely, though she puts in a paltry effort when fighting for shotgun).
She's in Le Chateau, buying gear for the rapidly approaching Paddy's Day, which is the equivelant of a national holiday for Colin.
After the fact, herself said, "I've never seen two people more out of place in a store in my life."
Colin and I grow weary of EB, and so we head on over to see if Charlotte's ready to get mobile.
It's like a camoflauge, this store, all whites and pinks, and soft pastels. Beyond the entrance display racks, it's sort of hard to pick out anything.
So, he and I go inside, and immediately fuck and joke around, making a general spectacle.
Charlotte's standing in line, red-faced and giggly.
He and I subside mildly, and begin to let our eyes adjust to the interior.
Then Colin says, "I tell ya what, have a gark at buddy."
For those of you unfamiliar with the dialect, this simply means, "Get a load of that guy."
So, I look in the direction that he's gesturing.
"You should've given me a warning!" I yelled afterwards.
First of all, he's pushing forty for sure.
He's wearing a billowy pirate-type black shirt.
He has a very exaggerated and well-groomed soul patch in the form of a perfect isosoles triangle.
His hair is also pirate-like, long and teased-almost flowing.
And when I happen to look at this guy, he's standing with his hands, triumphantly, I should add, placed on his hips.
I glance this, and without reserve or hesitation, and with no control over the reflex, mind you, I immediately make this noise:
"Pffft!"
And begin to cackle with laughter.
Colin and I immediately leave the store.
I'm laughing so hard that I have to sit down.
On a bench.
Outside of the store, but likely still within earshot.
Now, some may construe this anecdote as being mean.
"What an asshole that Paul/Screech is, guys."
To which I say: you had to be there.
Another Warford family moment in which I would have paid money for Brian to be there.
It's the sort of situation that he would have added to dramatically.
Let's get to it, readerbase.
Stretch out the ol' legs and arms.
Everybody limber?
Neither am I.
Alright, the following thing happened:
But first! If you are going to see me within the next few days, don't read this post. The story works better in-person. This warning is especially reserved for Pete, Bussey, and Shandera.
I'll get Colin to tell you guys about it.
Everyone else outside of the St. Jiahn's perimeter, or those who cannot wait, here's the story:
Colin and I are in da mall with his new one, Charlotte (she gets a name now. She's coming along nicely, though she puts in a paltry effort when fighting for shotgun).
She's in Le Chateau, buying gear for the rapidly approaching Paddy's Day, which is the equivelant of a national holiday for Colin.
After the fact, herself said, "I've never seen two people more out of place in a store in my life."
Colin and I grow weary of EB, and so we head on over to see if Charlotte's ready to get mobile.
It's like a camoflauge, this store, all whites and pinks, and soft pastels. Beyond the entrance display racks, it's sort of hard to pick out anything.
So, he and I go inside, and immediately fuck and joke around, making a general spectacle.
Charlotte's standing in line, red-faced and giggly.
He and I subside mildly, and begin to let our eyes adjust to the interior.
Then Colin says, "I tell ya what, have a gark at buddy."
For those of you unfamiliar with the dialect, this simply means, "Get a load of that guy."
So, I look in the direction that he's gesturing.
"You should've given me a warning!" I yelled afterwards.
First of all, he's pushing forty for sure.
He's wearing a billowy pirate-type black shirt.
He has a very exaggerated and well-groomed soul patch in the form of a perfect isosoles triangle.
His hair is also pirate-like, long and teased-almost flowing.
And when I happen to look at this guy, he's standing with his hands, triumphantly, I should add, placed on his hips.
I glance this, and without reserve or hesitation, and with no control over the reflex, mind you, I immediately make this noise:
"Pffft!"
And begin to cackle with laughter.
Colin and I immediately leave the store.
I'm laughing so hard that I have to sit down.
On a bench.
Outside of the store, but likely still within earshot.
Now, some may construe this anecdote as being mean.
"What an asshole that Paul/Screech is, guys."
To which I say: you had to be there.
Another Warford family moment in which I would have paid money for Brian to be there.
It's the sort of situation that he would have added to dramatically.
Friday, March 7, 2008
A Show for the Deaf
Queens of the Stone Age are coming to St. John's.
So goes the murmur.
Apparently you have to win shit to see them.
I win nothing. I will not see them.
They are my favourite band.
This, in the grand scheme of things, is unfair.
Pity me (moreso than usual) and listen to this:
So goes the murmur.
Apparently you have to win shit to see them.
I win nothing. I will not see them.
They are my favourite band.
This, in the grand scheme of things, is unfair.
Pity me (moreso than usual) and listen to this:
Thursday, March 6, 2008
Pajama Pants With Rubber Ducks
It's a heavy Acadia alumni day.
Bear with me, all of you filthy ingrates who were educated elsewhere.
Speaking of which, Spence wrote me back.
I've got this Hurley t-shirt.
It has a hole in the armpit.
All of my best shirts do.
It was a t-shirt that was given to me by one Sarah Hope-Jonston.
Did I spell 'Jonston' wrong? I bet I did.
I helped her mom make a caesar salad, once.
Sarah has recently informed me that she has begun to read my blog.
She used to patiently suggest that I should maybe go to bed at an earlier time while I was in my first year.
I never did.
I'll put in a brief interjection to commemorate other late-night Eaton House people from that year: Ern, Beav, Shane, and anyone else who I may have forgotten because too much time has passed to allow my swiss cheese brain to remember you.
Anyway. I never did.
And despite that, Sarah would always wake me up and make sure I got to class.
And always so delicately, she would wake me.
Once, her roommate Terri came with her to wake me, and she threw open my door and shouted, "Screech! Wake the fuck up!"
It was less pleasant.
Sarah studied things I don't understand.
She visited me in Banff, once.
Well, more than once.
But describing this particular visit will make me seem the sweetest.
I pulled as many hotel strings as I could at the time.
To impress her, you see.
Women are often impressed with how many arangements can be made on their behalf.
This includes breakfasts. And bathrobes.
We went for a walk and I asked an older gentleman to take our picture.
Whenever she's on my arm, she makes me feel like I'm getting away with something.
Afterwards we listened to Sufjan Stevens in her car.
Then I had to take a nap.
This is the picture the geezer took:
Bear with me, all of you filthy ingrates who were educated elsewhere.
Speaking of which, Spence wrote me back.
I've got this Hurley t-shirt.
It has a hole in the armpit.
All of my best shirts do.
It was a t-shirt that was given to me by one Sarah Hope-Jonston.
Did I spell 'Jonston' wrong? I bet I did.
I helped her mom make a caesar salad, once.
Sarah has recently informed me that she has begun to read my blog.
She used to patiently suggest that I should maybe go to bed at an earlier time while I was in my first year.
I never did.
I'll put in a brief interjection to commemorate other late-night Eaton House people from that year: Ern, Beav, Shane, and anyone else who I may have forgotten because too much time has passed to allow my swiss cheese brain to remember you.
Anyway. I never did.
And despite that, Sarah would always wake me up and make sure I got to class.
And always so delicately, she would wake me.
Once, her roommate Terri came with her to wake me, and she threw open my door and shouted, "Screech! Wake the fuck up!"
It was less pleasant.
Sarah studied things I don't understand.
She visited me in Banff, once.
Well, more than once.
But describing this particular visit will make me seem the sweetest.
I pulled as many hotel strings as I could at the time.
To impress her, you see.
Women are often impressed with how many arangements can be made on their behalf.
This includes breakfasts. And bathrobes.
We went for a walk and I asked an older gentleman to take our picture.
Whenever she's on my arm, she makes me feel like I'm getting away with something.
Afterwards we listened to Sufjan Stevens in her car.
Then I had to take a nap.
This is the picture the geezer took:
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
Padawan*
Oh audience.
I'm not into it today.
I'm fatigued from top to bottom.
I really, really think I need to make some dietary substitutions in my everyday.
Example: Instead of eating nothing until 5p.m. each day, I instead eat some sort of food before 5p.m.
Chew it and swallow it. Nutrients.
All of that.
I think you loafers should start leaving more comments on my blog. My online journal.
My internet inner-mosts. That's what this is.
Do you people realize that most of you know more about my personal life over the past year than my parents do?
And I talk to my parents.
Sporadically.
If you wanna spit something about the site, don't make a comment on my facefuck wall, put it right in here.
So that you can be ostracized.
And judged.
Just as God intended.
Alright.
I've mentioned Colin's new one.
And I've outlined my compulsion to make her mildly miserable whenever she's at the apartment, and my reasoning for it.
As a sort of on-her-toes kinda exercise.
Well, here's a fresh example:
The three of us are sitting on the couch/my bed.
And she's trying to plan things.
She feels a need to create an itinerary for their evenings spent together.
I believe that once everyone in a given room is wearing pajamas, itineraries are no longer welcome.
"What do you want to do for the rest of the night?" She directs towards Colin.
He and I are focused on video games, and are trying our best not to listen.
We grew up with mom. So, we're pretty good at it.
"Do you want to watch the rest of that movie, or do you want to see if House is a re-run, or do you want to..." this goes on for a while.
When she finishes, I say, "Which one of those options puts you in the other room?"
Which she apparently didn't take a shine to.
I could tell because she got up in a bit of a huff.
"It's like a multiple choice, and I don't know the answer!" I called after her.
She slammed Colin's bedroom door. I think she was mad.
This left the two Warford brothers curiously unfazed.
*I never thought that a post title of mine would contain a Star Wars reference.
I'm not into it today.
I'm fatigued from top to bottom.
I really, really think I need to make some dietary substitutions in my everyday.
Example: Instead of eating nothing until 5p.m. each day, I instead eat some sort of food before 5p.m.
Chew it and swallow it. Nutrients.
All of that.
I think you loafers should start leaving more comments on my blog. My online journal.
My internet inner-mosts. That's what this is.
Do you people realize that most of you know more about my personal life over the past year than my parents do?
And I talk to my parents.
Sporadically.
If you wanna spit something about the site, don't make a comment on my facefuck wall, put it right in here.
So that you can be ostracized.
And judged.
Just as God intended.
Alright.
I've mentioned Colin's new one.
And I've outlined my compulsion to make her mildly miserable whenever she's at the apartment, and my reasoning for it.
As a sort of on-her-toes kinda exercise.
Well, here's a fresh example:
The three of us are sitting on the couch/my bed.
And she's trying to plan things.
She feels a need to create an itinerary for their evenings spent together.
I believe that once everyone in a given room is wearing pajamas, itineraries are no longer welcome.
"What do you want to do for the rest of the night?" She directs towards Colin.
He and I are focused on video games, and are trying our best not to listen.
We grew up with mom. So, we're pretty good at it.
"Do you want to watch the rest of that movie, or do you want to see if House is a re-run, or do you want to..." this goes on for a while.
When she finishes, I say, "Which one of those options puts you in the other room?"
Which she apparently didn't take a shine to.
I could tell because she got up in a bit of a huff.
"It's like a multiple choice, and I don't know the answer!" I called after her.
She slammed Colin's bedroom door. I think she was mad.
This left the two Warford brothers curiously unfazed.
*I never thought that a post title of mine would contain a Star Wars reference.
Friday, February 29, 2008
Not all Alexisonfire, despite Billy's Talent
Boa Tarde.
I'd love to tell you all what's what today, but I'm too fatigued.
Turkey. You all know how it is.
I thought I'd make a little post for deceased Canadian punk bands, though.
Because it makes me seem hip.
Here's The Fullblast, which was a group from...Burlington? Wherever.
I saw them play in Banff. I sang onstage with a bunch of other tight-panted fans while they played their closer.
Sorry about the shitty quality of this particular video. I couldn't find anything better.
This is Choke*, a band from Edmonton.
The ass fell out of 'er for them in...2005? Something. They're probably my favourite punk band.
Lemme ask ya something, fanbase: Do you guys actually check out these music links and gear? Do you listen to them? Are you attracted to me, would you say, in a sexual nature?
Just curious...
*'the hardest things to see...' is the best track (second one).
I'd love to tell you all what's what today, but I'm too fatigued.
Turkey. You all know how it is.
I thought I'd make a little post for deceased Canadian punk bands, though.
Because it makes me seem hip.
Here's The Fullblast, which was a group from...Burlington? Wherever.
I saw them play in Banff. I sang onstage with a bunch of other tight-panted fans while they played their closer.
Sorry about the shitty quality of this particular video. I couldn't find anything better.
This is Choke*, a band from Edmonton.
The ass fell out of 'er for them in...2005? Something. They're probably my favourite punk band.
Lemme ask ya something, fanbase: Do you guys actually check out these music links and gear? Do you listen to them? Are you attracted to me, would you say, in a sexual nature?
Just curious...
*'the hardest things to see...' is the best track (second one).
Thursday, February 28, 2008
"Jon Sobol!"
I work with Jon Sobol's cousin.
That doesn't mean much to a lot of you ingrates, but this is significant Banffery material.
Girls always wanted to have sex with him.
He was very burly.
He cooked food.
We competed for the attention of Becky White Clogs, the undisputed vixen of pastries.
TJ (I think it was TJ) once discovered a potato that bore a mystifying resemblence to a vagina.
Striking. Strikingly like a vagina.
Jon Sobol gave it arms and legs using toothpicks.
I think a baby tomato was involved somehow as well.
She's not nearly as large as he is.
I can't wait to tell Antoine.
He'll recommend I sleep with her.
But, in my experience, I find it's best not to mix sexual exploits with the workplace.
Jon Sobol mixed.
But that guy was unstoppable.
He would shout his full name, sometimes, matter-of-factly.
"Jon Sobol!"
Twan and I almost got it on shirts.
That doesn't mean much to a lot of you ingrates, but this is significant Banffery material.
Girls always wanted to have sex with him.
He was very burly.
He cooked food.
We competed for the attention of Becky White Clogs, the undisputed vixen of pastries.
TJ (I think it was TJ) once discovered a potato that bore a mystifying resemblence to a vagina.
Striking. Strikingly like a vagina.
Jon Sobol gave it arms and legs using toothpicks.
I think a baby tomato was involved somehow as well.
She's not nearly as large as he is.
I can't wait to tell Antoine.
He'll recommend I sleep with her.
But, in my experience, I find it's best not to mix sexual exploits with the workplace.
Jon Sobol mixed.
But that guy was unstoppable.
He would shout his full name, sometimes, matter-of-factly.
"Jon Sobol!"
Twan and I almost got it on shirts.
Vaudeville
I want to start wearing suspenders.
I'm at that point in my life, I think.
And for foraml events; all of the best galas and funerals, I want to start wearing bowties.
Proper ones that require tying.
I wonder how long it would take me to figure that out...
I'm at that point in my life, I think.
And for foraml events; all of the best galas and funerals, I want to start wearing bowties.
Proper ones that require tying.
I wonder how long it would take me to figure that out...
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