I'm Good, I'm Gone

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!

Soooo...Would A Male Version Of Hooters Be Called Moose Knuckles?

Hello to the handful of people who read this pile o' crap. My apologies for the lack of an update yesterday. I've been trying to do at least one update a day, but I decided yesterday to write for Zombie Forecast, the other blog I do that I never bother paying any attention to because I am a lazy motherfucker. It's pretty much the Jan Brady of my blogging. You can find the new article here, if you have any interest at all in the undead (which, if you don't, shame).

Anyways, for those wondering what in the fuck the headline is about, well, the whole thing started a couple days ago when the good folks at Quizlaw posted an article about how Hooters was being sued by a bunch of guys for discrimination. Apparently, Hooters only hires girls with giganto titties. Who knew?

The following day, My Salty Lovemaster (no, not that one, the other one) posted a link to something called the Ballbra (seen below), which is like underwear for men who are so fucking stupid, they are in-fucking-capable of whiping it out like a normal person.

Yes, that is a serious product. Honestly, that shit ranks right up there with Snuggies and Chia Pets on the long list of "Shit That If You Buy I Will Try To Hate You To Death". Seriously, just buy regular people undies. Or just don't wear anything underneath there. That's also a pretty fucking good option.

Anyways, point is The Hooters Law Suit plus The Ballbra allowed Courtney to throw down the glove, asking for a male-version of Hooters. And since I can't resist a challenge, or an excuse to get massively drunk and take off all my clothes, I met her challenge.

Soooooo...Anybody got any ideas? 'Cause I got nothing.

Yeah, I probably should have thought that through before opening my trap. The only business experience I have to my name is pretty much a semester of Commerce (only three more to go. Weeeeeeeeee). So, yeah. If y'all have like any ideas, please say something, because I have no idea what the fuck I'm doing.

Although that's how it is for most cases, so why should this be any different?

And don't think I've forgotten the Pajibette calendar. Seriously, I'm still racking my tiny little brain trying to figure out how something like this would work. Once again, one semester Commerce, no idea what the fuck I'm doing, Yappidy-yappidy-yappidy-blah-blah-blah.

Also, a quick aside here, but I'm gonna be retooling the blog layout and colour scheme soon(ish). You know, maybe move the sidebar around, find a better place for the jukebox, and I definitely need to work on the colour scheme, since I realised a month ago (about a week after I changed the colours I think) that it was pretty much the same one that TK has. So I need to work on that. No earth tones though. I fucking DESPISE the shit out of earth tones. And I might change the banner pic to something more suitable. Kahlua's gonna be a year old on Valentine's Day, so I figure I might need to update that one soon. Either a new picture of her, or maybe on of Snowball.

Yes, Kahlua was born on Valentine's Day. Which gives me something to do on V-Day besides eat pity chocolate and secretly wish all the couples around me would drop dead of the herp. Fuck off, I'm bitter.

You're Not Made Of Tuesday!

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.

We Interrupt Your Regularly Scheduled Ennui To Bring You This Important Announcement

I passed my fucking Cal test! Yay!

For those of you who can't see it, that's a 61.7% there on the sheet. This is awesome for two reasons. A)This is the first Cal test that I didn't fail, and B)there is now a decent chance that I won't totally fail Cal. Theoretically, anyways. Basically, thanks to the Quebec government, if someone gets over 50% in Cal but is still failing, their term mark will be considered null and void, and the mark you get on your finals will be considered your total.

This means I have two options right now:

1. Now that I have some momentum, get the mark up over 60%, and actually start trying.

2. Coast with a mark between 50 and 60, then just study the crap out of my finals.

Right now, I'm leaning towards the latter. But for now, I'm busy doing my naked happy dance. In case you're wondering, no, this isn't a cute euphamism for masturbation, this is simply a dance I do when I'm happy and naked.

And on a completely random note, I finally got off my lazy ass and gave Pierre his b-day present. In all fairness, he was off in New York last week, so it's not like I'm gonna drive all the way down to New York to give him a gift. Anyways, I went against my "No Gift Certificats" rule and bought him one, if only because he lacks any trace of subtelty when it comes to stuff like this, and pretty much blatantly said that he wanted one. The only problem with this is that the woman writing it out asked for his name. His REAL name. Which I don't know. So I just gave her his stage name.

Yup, I'm an idiot. That is all.