As if you need another reason to think that I am, in fact, a total retard, I have officially crossed the one-year threshold for blogging without even noticing. That's right: Notes on Bar Napkins is officially a year old. Well, technically, it's a year and two days old, but only ass-hats count days, so fuck that shit in the ear.
Anyways, one year, two days, 278 posts, six jobs, two heartbreaks, four porn scenes, thirty-eight followers, one high school diploma and two tattoos later, what have I learned? Well, I'm not really sure. I'm sure as hell not the same person I was a year ago, that's to be sure. I've grown a thicker skin, my brain has sharpened, yet on the inside I'm still soft, warm and gooey. Kinda like a Cadbury Cream Egg, only not delicious.
Well, for now, I'm just gonna keep on truckin'. Granted, I still have no idea what I'm doing, I currently have zero porn studios knocking at my door asking for a scene, and I'm still trying to mend my relationship with my family, but I'm gonna keep trying. Who knows? Maybe eventually I'll figure things out.
So today I spent the day at the clinic getting tested for every conceivable STI I could think of. I'm not exactly a veteran when it comes to this, so it was more or less a day of taking various stabs in the dark.
After reading through various seven-year old copies of O Magazine, I got called in and took the mandatory questionnaire to see how risky I was. I'm glad to report, I'm what is classified as Low-Risk. For the record, I've never had bareback sex or taken any drugs (cigarettes don't count), so this was kind of a given. Still, hooray for condoms (And on a related note: Choke on it, Barebackers)! First up was the urine test for syphilis and chlamydia. I've never actually had to take a urine test before, since I've never exactly been a very active person in any way, shape or form, so as you would expect, I fucked that up royally. I won't go into details, but let's just say I'm really not too great when it comes to taking one.
Next was the HIV blood test. I'm not exactly one of those people that's scared off by needles, but yeah, can't say I'm too thrilled by them either. All I can say is, WOW that's a lot of blood that comes out of you in so short a time.
After that it was off for a physical where I first found out that you could get chlamydia in the mouth. I mean, yes, I knew you could get herpes up there, but the clap? Jeebus H. I also found out that they make condoms specifically for this purpose, a product I can't really say I've ever seen before. While I'm a big believer in protected sex, I have to say, it seems a little...excessive. Mind you, there is no way in hell I'd ever let some guy fire one off in my mouth, but still, I would be lying if I said I won't think twice about oral next time.
With this new revelation handy, I decided to take what is referred to as a "Throat Culture". Basically, they grab a swab an dab it around the back of your throat. Kind unpleasant in a very "Okay, feel like I'm gonna puke" sorta way, but I was just a tiny bit freaked about that little ol' nugget of info.
Anyways, now begins the waiting period of two to three weeks while I wait for the results. I mean, I feel really healthy and all, but still, you never know. Anyways, just gonna shut up now before my neurosis goes into overdrive and I go all hypochondriac. For now, here's a super bitchin' mashup of the top 25 songs of 2008. Cheers!
I'm pretty sure I'm about to puke right now. Don't worry, I'm not sick or anything, I'm just excited. And nervous. I won't go into too many details here, because I want to keep it a secret until it officially happens, but right, all I'll say is that I just agreed to do something pretty big, all things considered. Right now, I'm excited and thrilled and pretty fucking terrified all at once. I'm shaking like a leaf and I'm pretty sure I'm about to puke. Strange how good that feels all things considered. Yay! I think...
Anyways, moving on, I'm still working on bulking up so that I can go from being two-dimensional to three. Or four if you buy into that whole "Time as a dimension" thing. Whatever. Anyways, I had a Weight Training class at eight this morning, so I managed to get a decent workout. Yes, I have a class at 8 in the morning. Why? Because I suck at making schedules, that's why.
Anyways, I managed to do a shitload of bicep dumbbell curls. I felt pretty good about myself until I looked over and saw what appeared to be a small mountain lifting weights beside me. Then I realized that it was an actual fucking person. Who knew?
I didn't actually get his name, mostly because I was afraid that if I got within arms reach of him, he would eat me. Let's just call him "The Physical Manifestation of Everything I Hate About My Body". Or Manny for short. Manny's a nice name.
Anyways, Manny was roughly my height, and about twice as big as I was. He was also doing curls using 60 pound weights, while I was doing 15 pound weights. While he beat me physical strength, I'm pretty sure I totally owned him in the Self-Loathing department. Jeremy: 1, Manny: 0. So suck on that!
Anyways, I am now seriously reconsidering my diet. Sure, my boobies are starting to fill out a little bit, but still, my muscles are still woefully small. If anyone can point me in the direction of some seriously cheap-o roids, it would be gratefully appreciated.
Anyways, to play you out, here's a video I like to call "Witef is Wrong with Japanese People?" Cheers!
Okay, so today I realized that (A) I have a marketing test tomorrow, and (B) I still hadn't bought the friggin' book yet. Balls. Anyways, I bought a cup of Tim Hortons on my way in and ran to the bookstore so I could spend the equivalent of a second mortgage on a book I would only use for about four months.
Anyways, it doesn't really help that the damn thing is organized into what can really only be defined as the clusterfuck to end all clusterfucks. Apparently, they managed to score the same interior designer who thought up every single ring of hell. Dante himself would probably have gone apeshit in this place.
After about 20 minutes of searching, I finally found the book I was looking for on a pile in the english section. Yup, English. Honestly, it's as if they just said "Fuck it" and threw an active grenade into a book warehouse. But whatevs. The moment I picked it up, this crazy bitch comes running at me screaming "NO COFFEE IN THE BOOKSTORE!"
I probably would have laughed if I wasn't in complete shock. The way the bitch came at me, you'd think I was waving around a couple of loaded AK-47s like a pair of very deadly pom-poms and declaring Jihad on overpriced books.
But of course, Crazy Book Lady looked like she was a couple dicks short of a gangbang, so I gave her the same soothing voice I use when talking to people who are clearly off their shit. "Okay, sorry, I'm just...gonna go pay for this book. Okay? Okay." I proceeded to back off whilst she gave me crazy eyes that seemed to indicate that I would be shanked if I didn't get my flat ass out of their.
Also, on a completely unrelated note, it was Kahlua's first birthday a couple days ago. Therefore, here some gratuitous pics of my little baby girl. Cheers! Also, Hello to new follower Lord Thundercox. BEST. NAME. EVER.
Preemptive Confession Time, I suppose. Thanks to Prisco’s review, I recently finished off Diablo Cody’s Candy Girl. For those of you not following the Cannonball Run, it’s basically a memoir of Cody’s years spent stripping. Not only is it hysterically funny, but it got me thinking. Considering that I’ve been working at my dead-end job to the tune of three years now, I’m starting to think that it may be time for a career.
If you asked me a few years ago if I would ever consider the whole stripping thing, I probably would have eye-balled you as if you were wearing a tinfoil hat. But now? Well...I’m a little more open to the idea. Considering all the well-adjusted sex-making people I’ve met this past year, I’m beginning to think that maybe it wouldn’t be the worst job in the world.
In order to better analyze the situation, I went through all the pros and cons that comes with stripping. Yes, I really am so over-analytical and neurotic that I will apply a scientific method to a possible career as a go-go boy. Shazbot. Alright, on the Pro side of things, it would for shizz be a financial step up from my current paycheck, which couldn’t sink any lower if they handed me an IOU instead. Not to mention the fact that I’d be getting paid to take off my clothes, something I usually do for free. After all, why give away the milk for free when you can sell the cow? There’s also the matter of having co-workers that aren’t either old or brain dead, as well as the pretty bitchin’ benefit of possibly being able to drink on the job.
On the Con side, there’s the matter of hiding my new career from pretty much my entire family, which, I imagine, would probably be a bitch to pull off. It also doesn’t help that I’m not exactly sex on a bun. My Canadian-with-Irish-genes skin is so pale it borders on translucent, and I have all the grace, poise and rhythm of a shit-faced giraffe on stilts, so as you can imagine, I’m a pretty shit dancer. Plus, I’d probably have to do it to some bullshit house-electro-song-thing that sounds like a toaster having angry sex with a blender.
I’m not really sure whether the fact that I would be working alongside some pretty smoking guys counts as a pro or a con. I mean, on the pro side, there’s the fact that I get to work with eye candy, but on the con side, I disappear when I turn sideways, so putting me up next to them would be like putting a deli slice of roast beef up against a steak. So it’s a toss-up.
So the score so far: Pro
• Mad bankage on my part • A whole lotta fun • I get paid to be naked • I get to work with hot guys • No crappy co-workers • On the job boozin’! (Possibly)
Con
• Explaining it to the family • I’m pale and skinny; I am the anti-sexy • I can’t dance either. Bummer. • Toasters having sex with blenders
Next step I usually take is to try and figure out a way to remedy the cons. In this case:
Anti-Cons
• They’ll get over it • That’s why Godtopus invented tanning salons and steroids • Nope, I won’t ever be able to dance. But somehow, I doubt a bunch of horned up drunks will mind. • If I go down on the DJ, I can probably convince him to play some Metric.
So then it’s more or less decided. I’ll give myself until March Break to bulk up and tan myself until I look like an overdone ham, then...Ummmm...beats the fuck outta me, really. I guess I can crash at my cousin’s place for a while whilst I figure out what sort of bullshit I can feed to my parents for now. Oh well, I missed out on my opportunity to be bad in high school. I have a lot of catching up to do. Although if anybody has some tips on how to not be a shitty dancer, that would be just fucking peachey.
I don't know if I've said this before, but at the restaurant where I work, Sundays seems to be the day where all of the dumbest people in the city descend up on us like some swarm of hungry, indecisive and very incredibly stupid zombies. Why I continue to work Sundays is beyond me.
Oh, wait, yeah, it's because I'm broke. Now I remember.
I also happen to work with two of my friends, who are both super chill and completely and utterly fucking useless. But still, it's impossible to work alone at take out, so I take what I can get, really. Unfortunately, it was Kelsie's birthday the last weekend of January, so she decided to take that weekend off, as well as the one that just passed. Awesome.
I wouldn't really mind this, is Kayla didn't call in, saying she couldn't come in because she had "Homework" (Read: A Hangover). So of course, I had to suck it up and work an entire shift alone. AND, just to top it all of, we got all of 36 orders in the space of three hours, which for a real restaurant, is pure unadulterated hell.
Take for instance, the one motherfucker who took ten goddamn minutes to decided between Chicken and Ribs, while there were three other orders I had to pack. I'm sorry, but it's Chicken and Ribs here people. It's not like I'm holding your wife and kids at gunpoint and making you decide who lives, here.
Today, I met up with Kayla and asked her how her homework turned out, and was met with the blank-eyed stare I usually get when I ask her about Quantum Physics. As I guessed, she had no homework. Only a headache. Whoopee. I bottled up the frustration and listened yet again as she regaled me with the story of her booze-filled weekend.
One thing you should probably know about me is that while I paint on a happy face when it happens, I really don't take being stood-up well. Mostly because I find it one of the most insulting things you can do to me. What, do you think I don't have any plans of my own? That I just wait by the phone waiting for Oh-So-Wonderful You to call me up and have me push aside everything I'm doing because you need me to drive you from point A to point B because you're so smashed out of your mind to walk a couple blocks?
But whatever, I'm use to it by now. In high school, while everyone was out having fun and having lives, I was off running errands and shit like that. I should just tattoo "Plan B" on my forehead and drop the formalities. I am constant Designated Driver. Awesome. The best part is, that when I finally do start having some fun with my life soon, it probably won't go over too well with them. But fuck it, I've got some fun to catch up on.
So, today is the day that I've been waiting for since sometime in November: I saw Coraline. Bitchin'! What was not so bitching was that, much like adventure to see Wall-E, I've come out of it feeling pretty stabby towards the film-going public.
I probably should have seen this coming at the box office line. I was standing behind two girls, who, just when they got to the front, were immediately joined by a seven-pack trollop of skanklets. A bit harsh, but when you're wearing a skirt that looks like it could be used as a belt in February, all I can say is, get the cash up front. While I didn't so much mind the fact that they seemed to shop exclusively in the jailbait section of American Apparel, they then proceeded to take a full five minutes to count how many of them were in their group.
Once I found my seat for Coraline, and after buying a Diet Pepsi roughly the size of a Volkswagen Beetle, the Roving Hoard of Mini-Hoes set up shop behind me (in the middle of an empty theatre), and began furiously texting and giggling at frequencies that set off dogs and car alarms within a five-mile radius.
It was half-way through the previews that the bitch behind me decided to kick up her heels, planting the size 8 sole of an Aldo boot into the back of my head. I refuse to be donkey punched when some guy is ramming me from behind, so you can imagine how I took get donkey kicked by a hooker with a grade 9 education and braces.
I took ten seconds to calm myself down, remind myself that they were still kids, and that a dignified person would not stoop to screaming obscenities in the middle of a theater.
Then I remembered that I had no dignity.
It was at the point that I got up, turned around, and screamed "FUCK YOU, YA MISERABLE LITTLE BITCH!". I then hauled ass ten rows down, and resumed my viewing experience. The group of Lolita wannabes didn't say a thing for the rest of the movie (Which, by the way, WAS FUCKING INCREDIBLE).
Afterward, I ran across the street to work, which was rather quiet for a Saturday, but who am I to bitch here? It's been pretty quiet thanks to all the snow. On Friday, I actually counted how many licks it takes to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop, which is approximately 560, give or take a few licks. Sure, some owls may say it's three, but who are you going to believe: Me, or some fucking cartoon bird?
To stave off the boredom, I brought along a couple books from my current pile. Today's reading consisted of Diablo Cody's Candy Girl, and the swimsuit issue of Out Magazine (the latter of which I really do read for the articles; the speedo-clad models are just a very sexy bonus). As you can see, not exactly family friendly.
While I was off in the kitchen, packing assorted pieces of roasted livestock, a group of eight year-olds from a party wandered behind the take-out counter and began rummaging through my book bag. When I got back, I was treated to a verbal tirade from a very angry mother whose son had wandered into my PG-13 selection. I retaliated with the fact that it wasn't exactly my fault that she didn't teach her precious little klepto-kid not rummage through other people's belongings. Her rebuttal consisted of her squawking like a highly-insulted chicken. Fact of the matter is, if you don't teach your kids not to go through other people's personal shit, they deserve an eyeful of Lycra-bound cock.
There are very few ways that I enjoy being woken in the morning. So you can imagine how absolutely thrilled I was when, at six in the morning, my baby Kahlua (That would be her up in the header, about a year ago) ran into my room and proceeded to run around like someone was dangling a Dentabone in front of her. Over the course of her running, she somehow managed to strip the bottom most sheet off my bed. I got up to go put it back on, when wouldn't you know it, she tackles me directly in the face. As I said, there are very few ways that I enjoy being woken. Taking thirty-something pounds of puppy to the bridge of my nose isn't really one of them.
In order to keep myself from punting her like a furry, brown football, I took her outside to pee. This isn't as easy as it sounds, since the snow here is currently up to my belly button, so whenever Kahlua goes out into the front yard to do her thing, she sinks down until all you can see is a little brown patch moving in a sea of white snow. Yeah, so if you receive less than three feet of snow, or you live in a city where sky scrapers and constant traffic makes it impossible for snow to actually stick, allow me to inform you that the sympathy well is dry as bone.
Anyways, the moment I let her out, she proceeded to do a disturbingly elegant swan dive into the snow (considering that she's a dog, anyways). She made a beeline into the middle of a six-foot tall snow bank. Ten seconds and a foot of dug-up snow later, Kahlua came walking (kinda) back with something in her mouth and dropped it at my mouth. I looked down and realized that she had found Jon's wallet. Apparently, last week, Jon lost his wallet during a snow storm, and one of the city's snow plows must have blown it into out front yard. I'm seriously considering putting Kahlua into a class for those dogs that sniff out drugs at the airport.
Today was my Mom's birthday, and as much as we don't always see eye to eye, I really do love her and I think the world of her. So Happy Birthday Mom. I look forward to many more years of laughing, crying, arguing, drinking. And I'll be loving every minute of it.
Okay, so things started off kinda weird today. Since my first class today is actually online, I had to catch the bus for my *NEW* first class. Anyways, hopped on the bus, found myself a seat, and five seconds later, guess who's sitting in across from me?
Andrew. Yay?
It's never pleasant coming face to face with your past, and it's even less pleasant when you do it literally. Thankfully, I haven't shaved in a couple weeks, so he didn't really recognize me. Anyways, I had to options:
1) Say hi, make friendly small talk, move on with my life
2) Open up my copy of Fluke, hide behind it, pretend I didn't see him
You can pretty much guess which one I went with, huh? The weird thing is, once I got off the bus, I felt pretty good, like I was over all my stupidity. I felt pretty good about myself, really.
Then I tripped on the stairs and face planted.
If my clumsiness is any indication, I guess I'm still not quite over him. But, you know, I'm getting there. I think. I mean, as much as I hope I'll eventually look at him and wonder what I ever saw in him like Stacey said, I don't really want to. I'm not sure what I felt, but at least it was something, and it meant something. Or maybe I'm just reading too much into this, who knows? I'll figure it out eventually.
But my clumsiness doesn't end there. About ten minutes later, I was picking up some coffee before class and walking out the front door of the shop when the door closed on one of my bag straps. I immediately snapped whiplashed backwards, smacked the back of my head against the door and managed to embarrass myself not only to those inside, but those outside too. Needless to say, I'm going to Second Cup from now on.
After my first class, I decided to swing by the Apple Store to pick up a new set of ear buds, since the left one decided to conk out on me. This is pretty much the first time I ever went here, so I didn't really know what I was in for. All I can say is, Apple Store employees are some of the most miserable fucking people EVER. At least, the fucker I got. Seriously, I was looking for the ear phones on the big ol' wall of accessories when this guy came over and asked me in the most exhaustive tone ever "Can I HELP you?"
So I just told him I was looking for the ear buds, and he made this big show of pointing them out, and then bringing them over to the register. You'd think with the sheer amount of ennui he put into it, I had just walked in and asked him to build me a custom Mac from scratch using paper clips and tape. Seriously, get over yourself. It's Apple for fuck's sake, let it go.
And just to cap off my day of fuckery most foul, on the way home from class, I got a call from Granny Chick. As the resident baker of the family, I'm the one she goes to when she needs cookies. Anyways, since there really isn't a good way to make this sound not completely crazy, here's the general conversation we had.
Me: Hello?
Granny Chick: Hello, Jeremy! How are you?
Me: Can't complain, you?
GC: Oh I'm fine, thank you. Now, I need you to do me a small favour.
Me: Oh, sure thing. What do ya need?
GC: Oh, you're a good lad, Jeremy. I was wondering if you could make some cookies for my hooker party.
Me: (Momentary pause to process what my 80-year old grandmother just said) I'm sorry, you're what?
GC: My hooker party. I'm having some friends over this weekend, and we're going to be hooking rugs.
Me: Oooooh. Yeah, you probably could have picked your words a little better there, Grandma.
Oh, how I love my 80-year old Hooker Grandma. Anyways, I'll play you out with this fucking awesome video for The New Pornographers' "Mutiny, I Promise You". Cheers!
Alrighty, sorry about the totally sporadic updating as of late. But thankfully, we now have internet at the new house finally works! I mean sure, the fucker had to come on like the last day I was at Mom's house, but hey, never look a gift horse in the mouth. And thank you all for the comments. I read them all, and I always appreciate your thoughts.
Since it's almost December, we put the Chritmas Tree up yesterday. And by "We", I mean "me". Oh, who the fuck am I kidding, I loved it. I love Christmas, and if that means spending three hours decorating a fake tree, so be it. Next up: anatomically correct gingerbread cookies! Any excuse to pipe icing schlongs on to baked goods, really.
And in the spirit of Christmas, I went to see Four Christmases. Yes, I'm fully aware what Dustin said about it, but I love Christmas movies. And Dustin was right, it did suck. I mean, they're all competent actors, but the script was just so fucking boring and trite, it pained me.
It wasn't so much funny as it was kinda terrifying. Not so much "killer with a bloody knife" scary, more of a "This is what your life will look like" kind of scary. I'm really not looking forward to the day where I will have to bring a boyfriend back home, really.
Finally, I find this pretty fucking amazing. Imagine taking all those annoying mainstream songs you hear about fifty-bajillion times mashed together, and you get Dj Earworm. Seriously, even if you hate all of these songs, this will get your musical rocks off.
Well, it's official: We've moved into our new house. Yay for us! It really is a beautiful house...I think. I can't really see it under the small mountain of boxes we've buried it under. Oh well, I'm sure once we have everything sorted out, I'll be able to appreciate all the various shades of beige my mother has decided to paint it.
And what better way to commemorate then by having an impromptu tectonic dance off?* For those of you not entirely sure, tectonic is a form of dancing that looks like the illegitimate crack-baby of the macarena and vogue. I can honestly say I've never seen a douchier form of dance. Literal douche kits aren't as douchey as the tectonic. The worst part about all of this? Both my brother and my cousin are apparently very good at it. Behold, the douchosity.
See what I mean? Well, both my brother and my cousin decided to have some sort of douche-off amid the cardboard orgy that is our future living room. For those wondering who won, there are no winners in a tectonic dance off, only embarassed relatives.
*The answer to this is FUCKING ANYTHING ELSE. Just in case you were wondering
Alright, so, it's totally official: We are moving out of our old house and heading up the street for a fresh new hell in two days. Awesome. For those who need to catch up, this means sharing a room with Jonathan, living with my mom's boyfriend, as well as his mom, and living right next door to my first crush (which, coincidently, did not end well at all, really). And the cherry on top? NO INTERNET FOR A WEEK.
This is beyond bad for me. I mean my Godtopus, I am borderline addicted to the internet. Well, maybe not borderline, but whatever. Do you have any idea what I'm like without it? Here's a basic example.
Yup. I go just a weeeeeeee bit crazy. So for the next week, I'll be updating entirely from my College Library. Swell.
Okay, totally random post today. Mostly because I have no energy to crap out another list. Terribly sorry. And for the record Stacey, Zac Efron is apparently very popular with both the teenybopper girls and the gays. This both confuses and saddens me, since he has the sex appeal of a pair of salt and pepper shakers that your grandmother owns.
Now, first off, I don't want to alarm anyone, but we learned something completely new in Calculus today and...well...I actually completely understood what the fuck she was talking about. EVERYBODY PANIC!
Seriously? What the crap? I feel like the entire universe is collapsing on itself. I mean, I suck at Cal, I suck it HARD. How the fuck am I actually doing well at something? This is just strange and confusing.
On another happy note, my CD drive on my laptop, after weeks of shaking, poking, praying, hitting, beating, inappropriate touching, curbing, kicking, punching, biting, teabagging, begging, scratching, pleading and headbutting, finally works again! No idea why I'm telling you this, just figured I might as well.
And also, some more good news. I'm trying desperately to move out of my parents house right now, since me and my mother are currently engaged in some sort of domestic cold war with one another, and it's getting kind of embarrassing now that I'm actually starting to develop a social life, and I have to explain that I live with my mother. Thankfully, my cousin has her own place, and since we seem to function on the same wavelength, I'm going over tomorrow, and if I manage to show her how helpful I can be, I may just be able to come in as a roommate. In due time people. If worse comes to worse, I'll just put an ad on Craigslist or something for anybody looking for a roommate.
My Dad is gone for the weekend, down to some beach in Florida with the girlfriend he cheated on his old girlfriend with (whom, coincidentally, he cheated on his old-old girlfriend with). So I've been home alone all weekend. This really is the first time I've ever had a house to myself, and I have to say, it's a double edged sword. It's fun to have my own freedom, but I just kinda wish I had someone to share said freedom with. I mean, what good is ordering a pizza and eating it in a hot tub if you're the only one?
Okay, moving right along here. My tattoo, though wonderfully sexy and (as many of you have called it) badass as it may be, itches like a badmothershutyourmouth. Right now, I just got out of the shower, so not only is it scabbing, it's also wet scabbing. I feel wonderfully sexy right now.
Oh, did I also mention that I have four assigments due this week? I got one each for Macro, Psych, Business and Phys Ed. Yes, even Phys Ed. Who the crap gives out assigments in Phys Ed? Fuck that shit. I've decided to put all of them off until the last minute. I think I might actually skip my Macro class on Monday. I mean, why bother? She never takes attendance, and it's at 8:30 in the fucking morning. Why the fuck not, huh?
Yes, I am slightly drunk right now. That is neither here nor there.
Anyways, one shiny little silver lining to my alcohol induced cloud of gloom? Last night I ordered a pepperoni pan pizza, a bottle of diet Pepsi, and watched a Scream Marathon until three in the morning, when I fell asleep. Not really sure why, but that alone made me happier than I've been since school started.
Anyways, see y'all later!
UPDATE!
When back to my Mother's house last night, and we had a bt of a blowup. Apparently, she thinks I was lying about why I was at Dad's house (to look after the dog), and that I went there because I find her and the rest of the family to be emotionally and physically exhausting. Unfortunately for her, I actually really do. I probably shouldn't have said this to her face, nor should I have called her Manipulative or controlling. Unfortunayely, since I really didn't want to go to Dad's since someone else is housesitting there, I sprent the night sleeping in my car. Awesome. Anybody need a roommate?
So, two months into my courses, and only one more month to go. And did I mention I'm currently holding up a 43 average in Calculus 1? Woohoo! Schoolin' done taught me real good-like! Ugh, reason #417 why I give you full permission to shoot me in the face if I ever refer to High School as "the best years of my life".
Anyways, that mark only comes from the one test we did so far, so there's a silver lining to all of this. Two, actually. The first is that I have a test tomorrow, and I'm feeling cautiously optimistic that I won't completely fail. Second is that, worst case scenario, if I get between 50 and 60% in the term, they automatically discount my term mark and count my exam mark as my final grade. So at least I have that going for me.
So this is for the Cal failers up in this bitch. Wooooo! REPRESENT!
In life-that-isn't-school news, the move continues on. Right now, we're working on painting all the walls to something that isn't eggshell white. Unfortunately, my mother the interior designer is big on earth tones, which sounds nice on paper, but roughly translates into "Beige, Beige, and more Beige...Oh, I'm sorry, TAUPE". God forbid we should add a little colour to the mundanity that is our new house.
Though I can't really complain. My father is on the other end of the spectrum, and believes that each room should be painted in the gaudiest shade of primary colour available and arranged so that one room pretty much clusterfucks with the one next to it. The result is one large eye-fuck, and I wouldn't wish it on anyone.
Lastly, I'd like to say hi to my new follower, Sandman. Hi!
Alrighty, so today we started trying to move our many boxes of crap out of the basement and into the new house, where, presumably, they will sit in their boxes, unused and unloved. Oh, the ennui of it all.
Can't say a whole lot happened. I woke up at 8:30 in the fucking morning, after spending an entire night handing fistfuls of, *ahem*, "fun-sized" (a term I use loosely) candies out to kids. We loaded the entire contents of our basement into out cars, brought it up the street, and threw it in the garage. And then I had to wait in a completely empty house until the guys came for with out washer/dryer. I spent four friggin hours waiting for them to show up, which isn't too bad considering that I brought the second season of 30 Rock with me. Tina Fey, on the off chance your out there reading this piece of shit, I love you, and I want to have your babies.
Doe that make sense? No, it doesn't. But I want it.
I also got to meet my kinda-sorta-unofficial-stepcousins for the first time, and they are TOTS adorable. Seriously, they're like six and four years old, and oh are they ever cute.
And in case your wondering, no Andrew. I was kind of forced to stay in the house for the entire day, and even then, I really wasn't exactly in the mood to go through the whole "Oh, I'm so heartbroken and emo WAHHHHHHHH" bit again. Maybe sometime next week, when I have the time/money/emotional strength for this shit.
Bah. Bah I say. For now, I just finished watching a live performance from Feist on Bravo, and now I'm going t go running for a lil bit. I just bought albums from Girl Talk, Pink and Sam Sparro, and I also downloaded a crapton of free music from Erik's blog, so thank Godtopus, I now have a pretty solid exercise playlist. My legs are going to hate me after this, but seriously, who needs legs anyways?
Yup, another complaint post here. I'm sorry, but as of late, I've been given plenty to complain about here. As in, we're moving again for the second time in a year. Yup, I'm currently knee deep in the suck over here. The house isn't bad, but since the housing market is currently in a state of utter fuck-uppery, the only way we can afford living there is to have my Mother's-boyfriend's-mother move in with us.
Oh, and you all remember Andrew, right? He left, I got all weepy and Emo for like a month? Well, we're next-door neihbours now.
Can you FUCKING believe it?
To be completely honest with you guys here, I'm honestly completely confused as to how I feel right now. I mean, I feel ecstatically happy right now, but at the same time, I have this feeling in the pit of my stomach that feels like something bad's about to happen. Anyways, y'all better prepare for many a weepy, rambling blog posts while I try to figure it out. Consider yourselves warned here.
Anyways, now for something upbeat here. Last night was my brother's birthday party, so we celebrated the only way we know how: Binge Drinking and Keg Stands. I actually did my first ever keg stand last night, and I didn't even throw up. Go me! The only bummer about all this is that when I was lifting a guy up, I got kicked in the eye, and I now have a decently-sized bruise over my eye. And also, my dad drove came home drunk, which I wouldn't totally mind if it wasn't for the fact that he was the one driving. Yeah, my Dad drunk and drove. How the fuck I turned out relatively normal is beyond me.
Well, what a weekend it's been. To the canadians who read this, hope you had a Happy Thanksgiving! And to the americans, Happy (*snort*) Columbus Day (*snicker*). Anyways, let's go through my weekend, shall we?
Well first off was Pierre's release party for "One Night With Pierre Fitch" at the Skye Restobar. Mind you, I just finished my midterms, so I hadn't had a drink in damn near FOREVER. So to make up for lost time, I decided to get drunk off my ass in the first, oh, say, twenty minutes. One cosmo, two Coke and Rums, Three Jack and Cokes, and one mysterious shot Pierre gave me. I'm stil not sure what was in it, but really, who cares? Anyways, Jeremy Hall showed up, and after getting off the guys from mancandy.com, I stumbled over to introduce myself. All I can say is, THANK GOD for Jeremy Hall, who kept me from falling face first on the floor and who bought me a red bull.
And we kinda made out.
Yeah.
I wasn't going to tell you guys, mostly because I try not kiss and tell, but Pierre kinda let it slip already. Not that I mind, of course. What can I say? I went downstairs to the bathroom, and he was upstairs making sure I was alright and I didn't pass out in the bathroom. Then he pulled me over behind the curtains, and well...
That's all you fuckers are getting. Sorry, but I'm not going into detail. All I can say is, Jeremy was a complete gentleman, and he was incredibly sweet to me.
The day after that was Mom's Thanksgiving, which I had to weather with a pounding headache, and the day after that was Dad's birthday/Thanksgiving. Of course, once again, I was the only one who bothered getting him a gift, so of course, they all signed the card. I mean my God, you know when it is, would it kill you to pick up something? ANYTHING?! Jeebus, we've been doing this for almost twenty years now, and not ONCE have they ever picked up a birthday gift for EITHER parent. Yeesh, what these three would do without me is completely beyond me.
Anyways, that's my weekend. If I can find any pics from the party, I'll steal them and put them up here. Lates, bitches!
(P.S., Matt the Great has another interview up from Roman Heart, which you can read Here. Actually, he sent the questions last night, and Roman answered the day after. Quick huh? Thanks Roman!)
On Sunday, the cutest and most annoyingly perfect gay couple ever, RobandMatt, came down for the weekend and got to stay the weekend with Pierre. Anyways, I told them I'd meet with them on Sunday, and then found out they were bringing Pierre along. So anyways, first we met for some brunch, which looked Delicious. I say "looked" because I really only had a cup of coffee. And before you ask, no, I am not back on the Rexy Train, I just ate before I met them. And I really did want that cup of coffee. Thanks to school, I need about three just to get me through the day.
After that, we went down to Old Montreal for a horse carriage ride. This sounds innocent enough, but unfortunately, Pierre's heading down to Folsom on Friday, so he decided it would be fun to scar me for life by showing me THIS.
(Warning: There are some things you just can't unsee. This is one of them)
Pierre is one of the nicest people I've ever met, but seriously? Why? WHY?!?!
So imagine going around in a horse carriage ride with THAT looming over your head.
And yes, that carriage is pink. You gonna start something? And I just realised this, but there's some ass-hat in the background hording in on our pic. Douchewaffle.
Afterwards, we went over to Pierre's house to watch some crappy Canadian TV and some more psychological scarring (Seriously, thanks a whole freaking bunch Pierre, ya big sexy jerkface). I also got to meet his dogs, Candy and Daphnee who are THE CUTEST THINGS EVER! Oh my God, I loved them. And his cat too. I'm usually not a cat person, but this one was just absolutely adorable.
We checked out some more youtube vids of people with weird tattoos and piercings, with Matt, Rob and Pierre switching between hysterical bouts of laughter to almost blowing chunks, while I watched between my fingers. We went out to eat again, took a couple pics for M&R's facebook, and then did a lil dry humping.
This is easily the greatest moment of my life right here. (and in case you're wondering, Pierre's on top, Rob's in the middle, and that's me on the bottom. I fucking LOVE my life right now.)
So yeah, that was how Sunday went. It was pretty cool, because Pierre is so nice, that after a while, I almost forgot that (A) he was a porn star, and (B) I was a mere pedestrian. Although there were the occasional reminders (Cindy, P's cat, seems to enjoy napping on copies of his DVD, One Night With Pierre Fitch).
Anyways, Happy Fifth Anniversary to MattandRob. You two are so cute together, you make me hate the world a little less. And Pierre, thank you for one of the best Sundays I've had in a while (Read: since classes started). And also, thank you for not suing for blatantly stealing pictures from your blog. Consider it retribution for the psychological damage you caused by showing me leather ponies.
Hello, I'm Jeremy Feist, and I have no idea what the fuck I'm doing. For now, I'm juggling my family, my life, and my new career as the world's most unlikely gay porn star. It's complicated.
