Hold. Fast.

I had intended to get bloodwork done today.
Not because I enjoy it, necessarily.
I just want to determine whether or not I have AIDS.
Or HIV.
Which, though it may not look it, actually spells AIDS.
I was just about to leave when I read over the little bloodwork checklist.
And I saw where Robert's dad had written, '12-hour fast.'
I just finished eating cheese.
Thinking to myself, "I'm gonna want something in my stomach before I go down there."
Tomorrow.
Maybe I'll pull it off tomorrow.

Don'd On Me

March is almost over, and I don't know how that's possible.
Were you guys around for March?
Where was I during March?

Imagine sitting next to Robin Williams on a long bus trip.

I have two separate phone numbers listed in my phone
With the name: Don.
One Don is my old landlord.
Who was a lovely man, but I have no reason to call him anymore.
But I can't delete his number because I don't know which 'Don' he is.
And I have no idea who the other Don is.
Oh, I literally just figured it out.
But the post is (mildly) funnier if I don't know who he is.
So, let's act like I'm as unaware as I typically am.
Nevermind.
It's ruined.
Yet another punchline foiled by my diamond-encrusted memory.

So I taught on Friday.
I went to look at tarantulas and ants on Thursday.
Taught on Friday.
I actually had a student call me 'goofy' while I was standing right in front of them.
While walking around the grade 9 class, I overhear:
"...he's kinda goofy lookin.'"
I wouldn't have known the difference.
Until her friend said, "He's standing right there."
So...
"I'm sorry, did you...did you just call me 'goofy' while I'm standing right in front of you?"
She's laughing with her head down the whole time.
I'm far more accustomed to being humiliated than she is.
It's embarrassing for her, and that makes it A) okay, and B) fun.
"I'm used to people calling me goofy, but at least do it when I'm not in ear shot.
Please. That's just common courtesy."
I also caught a grade 8 student calling me "that nerdy teacher."
(I really did)
But that's another story.

Remember when soap was good enough?
I remember when soap was good enough.
You might have been playing with your buddies at the dump.
Or rolling around in the chicken gizzards outside of the poultry factory.
When you got home, you washed your hands with soap (only because Mom made you).
And then you were fine.
Lick the rib sauce off of your fingers.
You washed your hands with soap.
Remember that?

Paisan

I had a lovely weekend with Sandra Bantalligni and Tony Venditti.
Italian names stress me out because I know that some of the letters are silent.
I'm just not sure which ones.
Also, 'i' can make a bunch of different sounds.
And there's always so many of them in Italian names.
Anyway, besides the culture shock, the shows were cool.
I'm going to take all of the rubies and sapphires I was paid with so that I can buy some Ritz crackers.

I wrote these while I was unable to nap in the 'green room':

Many children weeping
Intestines; broken canines
Raining cats and dogs

Pedigree dog food
Formally ground up horse parts
Mocking the food chain


I suppose these were inspired by the pet supply shop next door.

Oh. Meaghan Whelan came to the show on Saturday.
She sat in a booth.
I'm mentioning this because she reads the blog.
And now there's a stray endorphin or two floating around in her brain
Because she's seeing her name in print.
Which everyone enjoys.
Except for escaped convicts, I suppose.
Actually, perhaps they enjoy it the most.
Anyway, this could be you, too!
Only costs about twenty bucks, plus whatever drinks you happen to have at the show.

Off My Chest

You know, you really don't realize how much chest hair you have until you run your fingers through it while you wait for the drier to finish its' cycle.

Apprenticeship

Living with Bussey and Miranda has concluded.
At least, for now.
I learned a great deal of adult things while living with them.
For example, Air Miles don't translate into actual miles.
It's a point system.
Sort of like Weight Watchers.
Also, RRSP's are not a sort of lottery for old people.
Which is what I had always assumed.
I still don't know what the letters stand for, though.
And I learned that you can do things on time occasionally.
And that's okay.
Finally, I learned that Dave's Chicken and Wing Sauce needs a better advertising campaign.
Frank's Red Hot is for adolescents.

I don't follow Internet and Youtube fads.
For the same reason that I don't jerk off onto my Pog.

If you know the song, this cover is fantastic:

Drunk on Power

Like the new colour?
Too bad!
I'm the only one who knows the password!

Home Tweet Home

I know I said that I was just 'going for cigarettes'.
And that that was over a week ago.
But before you hurl the lamp at me.
The saucers, the fire extinguisher, hear me out.
I was removed from internet contact during my final week in Harbour Breton.
I'm not there now.
I'm in my parents' rec room.
I was born here. I'll die here.
So, there's that.
Then I had my obligatory rummage through dad's liquor cabinet.
I was hammered for a couple of days, and I'm only bouncing back now.
So put the lamp back on the end table.
It's the touch lamp I got your for your birthday.
Remember?
I got the day wrong, and you said, "I don't want your fuckin' touch lamp."
So I sat outside and plugged it into the house and kept touching it.
Until you let me back in.
Remember?
We can get past this.

Starting now.
Lose your driver's license and wife.
It's St. Paddy's Day.

So I'm making small talk and dressing nice in the schools I grew up in.
The teachers get older and balder, but I'm still Mike's youngest.
I don't know if they're going to call me or not.
If they do, it will no doubt catch me off-guard.
Not much of an accomplishment, really.
The calendar catches me off-guard on a regular basis.
Days of the week.

I have a show at Yuk's this weekend.
And for once I'm advertising myself.
Somewhat.
Oh!
Speaking of which.
I joined Twitter today.
I still feel like taking a shower after I say it, but I guess that will pass.
I checked their frequently asked questions to find out when it will pass.
But there was nothing there.
I joined primarily to track video game developers.
But if I can figure out how to integrate this into the blog somehow, I might.
Anyone know how I might go about doing that?
Peter's drunk for the Doha Paddy's Day celebrations.
So we'll ask him later.

You're officially an adult the first time that you say to yourself:
"Oh shit, I just swept that!"
A salary has nothing to do with it.

Alright.
I'm going to go pinch some people not wearing green.
Only day you can get away with it.

A Losing Battle

Run away from home.
It's Friday.

So I've been absent for a week.
I was in the Galapagos for a while.
Riding the turtles.
Cataloging the finches.
But I'm back now.
With many new and exotic pets (my favourite sort).
Which my mother will most likely disapprove of.

My mother and I were having a discussion recently.
Christa had nearly been accosted by a Jehova's Witness, you see.
So mom and I were talking about religiosity.
And the tendency of religious people to get married while extremely young.
"Because they want to have sex with one another.
But they're not allowed to until they get married.
So they get married when they're like, eighteen, so they don't have to wait anymore.
No matter what a religion says mom, people are gonna want to have sex with each other.
You can't fight instinct."
"Well, young people don't seem to be fighting very hard."
My mother.
Two points.

My trip to Halifax was relatively rad.
I drank beer at a blues bar with Scott Pickup.
That was Thursday.
The weekend could only get better after that.
I watched a xylophone soloist.
He wore a sport jacket and played that song from The Wedding Singer.
Not that one.
I ate a great deal of seafood and ogled hotel staff.
I went card shopping with Derek Seguin.
And we watched the hockey game.
He'd shout things whenever Canada scored.
We smoked in the hotel room and I acted like I wasn't nervous about it.
As a Frenchman and a Newfie walking into a bar, we were very close to being a joke's setup.
Here's a clip of him. Though he's not hairy enough in it.

Hold My Calls

I bet that the day you learn that you're allergic to shellfish is a memorable one.
Sort of like the day you learn that you can't drive while you're drunk.
At least, not very well.

I'm in a hotel...hovel.
There's a computer nook and I'm in the computer nook.
But the lighting makes me feel like I'm on a train car.
And the temperature is at the exact degree when you typically think to yourself:
"Maybe I should open a window."
So. Hovel.
But I have other things to talk about.

You'd better sit down!
I kissed a girl recently.
A concious one.
She has been mentioned in the blog as of late.
I accidently left my phone in her car.
Which is a fitting introduction, really.

The fancier the bus, the more likely you'll find carpet on its ceiling.
I still manage to spill stuff on it.

Do you know why you enjoy following the lives of celebrities?
It's because your own friends are boring.

Though I believed I was performing in Halifax last night, I did not.
Yet another scenario where the joke's on me.
Generally when the joke's on me, a swimming pool is involved somehow.
The Halifax club had their Just For Laughs showcase last night.
Which was a great oppurtunity for me to sit by myself.
And explain to my friends why they wouldn't be watching me perform.
On the bright side, I had an oppurtunity to make eyes at Scott Pickup's girlfriend.
I hadn't seen him in five years.
He has more veneers than he used to.

My Probable Fate

Two of my ex-girflriends have a birthday today.
Coincidence?
I think so.
But you never know.
Perhaps I'm meant to dissatisfy women born on this day.
So look out Molly Ringwald and Vanna White.
Now that would be a ménage à trois worth videotaping and leaking to the internet.

I had a chaperoned date last week.
Which was very lovely.
Shandera dropped me off at the locale.
And when he was ready to drive me home, he texted.
She's more well-read than me.
I enjoy that in a woman.
She also wears those glasses that I like.
And when she knows that tea costs the same, no matter the size, she gets the large.
So obviously she has a good head on her shoulders.
Which is where it's supposed to be.
So that's complimentary.

I had a marriage proposal all lined up for Turpin, you know.
It really is quite perfect.
So I'll likely save it for whichever ex-con I plan to marry.
My great fear is that they won't get it.
Even though Peter took a bullet for me, I have dreams sometimes.
That Turpin will steal me away.
To do her washing and listen to her drone on and on about cookware.

Speaking of overcrowded prisons.
What happened to public executions?
There wouldn't be nearly as much film piracy if we had a guillotine set up in front of the mall.
'Piracy' is too flattering a term for what they do, by the way.
Historically speaking, pirates are nearly as admirable a crime syndicate as the mob.
'At-home shoplifting'.
That's what film piracy should be called.
Let's put these wusses in their place.

Serving convicts should be required to read Robert Munsch books to one another.
Before lights out.
Each and every night.
No one is going to whittle their toothbrush into a shiv and then stab their roommate with it.
Not if that roommate just finished reading them Murmel Murmel Murmel.

The Last Supper (for a little while)

If we didn't have the colours pink and blue...
We wouldn't know who owned what toothbrush.

I wish all women were psychiatrists.
You can be honest with your psychiatrist.
I could easily say, "I find you very attractive" to a psychiatrist.
Then she could frankly explain how I'm not her type.

So, it's pancake day.
For those of you who are satanists or Mormons, it's a Christian thing.
You see, Jesus went into the dessert for 40 days and 40 nights.
And on the eve of his departure he realized he still had a box of Bisquick in the cupboard
(the cupboards, of course, he made himself).
Before he served the stacks to his disciples, Jesus filled them with nails and bits of yarn.
Because Jesus loved a practical joke.
Especially those that involved spoiling food.
He could always whip up more.
That's why he and his buddies were always chilling at the beach with baskets of fish.