I suck at updating this blog, as I can't ever think of things worth writing unless something hilarious or maddening happens to me. I'm ultra laid back and that probably doesn't help, since nothing really winds me up.
I have a theory that you have to be one (or many) of a number of different annoying personality types to keep these damn things updated a lot, because everything would bother you. If you update your blog on a daily basis you might be one or more of the following things (answers include, but are not limited to everything I could think of at this time):
Tightwad
Anal Retentive
Bitch
High strung
Artist/Musician
Traveling
Drunk
Soldiering
Angsty
Emo
Lame
Rebellious
Lovey Dovey
Unstable
Emotional wreck
Divorced
Divorcing
Cheating
Being cheated on
Whore
Waiter/Server
Attention Whore
Etc.
Anyhow, I wouldn't say I'm totally outside that list, but I also can't think of anything to write about, so:
I am calling on everyone that reads this blog to leave a comment with a suggestion on something that I can write about. I don't care if it is a single word, that’s enough to make my mind work. DO IT! I give my solemn vow I shall write about everything anyone leaves a comment about.
Let the Writers Block Crumbling begin.
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
Sunday, February 04, 2007
So a water main broke on the street in front of my house..
Notice How I said "my house is safe, so far" well I spoke to soon, my basement is le flood. It sucks huge.
I better get paid back on the pronto.
Thursday, February 01, 2007
Evesdroppings fun times on a Wednesday Night.
Sitting at Don Cherries in Sarnia, enjoying a very very below average meal, which thankfully was accompanied by average wine that was very very cold. In walks one of what I can describe only as a good old boy. Gruff, blue collar, with a face that looked like it was nearing retirement, but probably wasn't.
He sits, and mulls over the paper for a while, until his friends, a couple more good ol' boys, swagger in and plop down hard with some exaggerated, and what I can only imagine were very firm, handshakes and hellos.
They seemed to be settling in for a stereotypical boys night out: A few beers while watching the hockey game that was playing on all the screens. All of them except the one in my little booth. I was watching, here it comes, Everybody loves Raymond, HA! No, that's a lie. I actually I had the Raps on, for a few minutes, until my food came, then I focused on the wine, and the old boys conversation.
They began to rhyme off their drinks, One had a coffee, the other had a milk, and the other one, well he just settled in for a hot cup of tea. Since my first judgement of the book by it's cover proved totally incorrect, I went with the next available option. I sensed a southern drawl from one of them. No drinking? Southern Drawl? Had to be Christ freaks...
That lasted about 4 seconds until they started talking about "boys at work dickin'" which I can only assume meant people being lazy by the gist of the rest of the conversation..... At least I hope that's what they meant. Their waitress gets back and interrupts all their fun talking aboutdickin boys and such, and takes their orders.
They all got 6 oz. new yorkers and fries with gravy.. no surprises there, at least that didn't interfere with my ability to judge them... Except what I just said a total fucking lie and they all got salads with dressing on the side! These were burly muthafuckers here, I donno how long they've been eating salads with f'n dressing on the f'n side, but they need to try something else, cause that's shit wasn't working!
I was just downright confused and flustered by that point, and I'm not blaming the 4 glasses of wine I had either. Damn people and their making me questions my stereotypes,what are they thinking!? Then they started up again, talking about, "Boom Boomin' down to fuckin' London, and fuckin boom boomin down ta Guelph and boom boomin all the way back up through" I'm going out on a limb and thinking that "boom boomin" meant hauling loads, aka driving a transport truck. That is what I HOPE it meant.
All the talk about Dickin' boys and Boom Boomin' and at least 4 glasses of the vino had my mind running a little wild I'll admit, I just wasn't sure what to think. Then the best part happens, the three dudes start totally making out, in the middle of Don Fuckin' Cherries, and no one even pays attention to them. It's like this happens all the time here in Sarnia, as it is so very known to be very liberal and pro gay rights, just like no one in Sarnia listens to country or works in the oil or chemical industries.
Okay, that whole part about the making out was a lie, I left before that happened, but honestly, tea, milk and salads with side dressing, three hyperbole macho men, in Don Cherries sports grill? I don't think it's possible they DIDN'T make out. That was the next logical step in that twilight zone of a scene.
He sits, and mulls over the paper for a while, until his friends, a couple more good ol' boys, swagger in and plop down hard with some exaggerated, and what I can only imagine were very firm, handshakes and hellos.
They seemed to be settling in for a stereotypical boys night out: A few beers while watching the hockey game that was playing on all the screens. All of them except the one in my little booth. I was watching, here it comes, Everybody loves Raymond, HA! No, that's a lie. I actually I had the Raps on, for a few minutes, until my food came, then I focused on the wine, and the old boys conversation.
They began to rhyme off their drinks, One had a coffee, the other had a milk, and the other one, well he just settled in for a hot cup of tea. Since my first judgement of the book by it's cover proved totally incorrect, I went with the next available option. I sensed a southern drawl from one of them. No drinking? Southern Drawl? Had to be Christ freaks...
That lasted about 4 seconds until they started talking about "boys at work dickin'" which I can only assume meant people being lazy by the gist of the rest of the conversation..... At least I hope that's what they meant. Their waitress gets back and interrupts all their fun talking aboutdickin boys and such, and takes their orders.
They all got 6 oz. new yorkers and fries with gravy.. no surprises there, at least that didn't interfere with my ability to judge them... Except what I just said a total fucking lie and they all got salads with dressing on the side! These were burly muthafuckers here, I donno how long they've been eating salads with f'n dressing on the f'n side, but they need to try something else, cause that's shit wasn't working!
I was just downright confused and flustered by that point, and I'm not blaming the 4 glasses of wine I had either. Damn people and their making me questions my stereotypes,what are they thinking!? Then they started up again, talking about, "Boom Boomin' down to fuckin' London, and fuckin boom boomin down ta Guelph and boom boomin all the way back up through" I'm going out on a limb and thinking that "boom boomin" meant hauling loads, aka driving a transport truck. That is what I HOPE it meant.
All the talk about Dickin' boys and Boom Boomin' and at least 4 glasses of the vino had my mind running a little wild I'll admit, I just wasn't sure what to think. Then the best part happens, the three dudes start totally making out, in the middle of Don Fuckin' Cherries, and no one even pays attention to them. It's like this happens all the time here in Sarnia, as it is so very known to be very liberal and pro gay rights, just like no one in Sarnia listens to country or works in the oil or chemical industries.
Okay, that whole part about the making out was a lie, I left before that happened, but honestly, tea, milk and salads with side dressing, three hyperbole macho men, in Don Cherries sports grill? I don't think it's possible they DIDN'T make out. That was the next logical step in that twilight zone of a scene.
Tuesday, January 30, 2007
If I can make this interesting enough to read, I must be doing something right.
They say being an outside salesman is the loneliest Job in the world. Tomorrow I have to head on one of the very few trips I take for work that require me to stay overnight somewhere that isn't my home. I'm not a fan of these trips, so it is good they aren't frequent.
There are many people that spend most of their working lives living out of suitcases, in motels and hotels. Sleeping in freshly cleaned sheets every night, in a bed made by a stranger, surviving on restaurant food and take away coffee made by people they'll never meet. Never being able to smell the pillow next to them before they drift off into dreams Publish of the times that scent takes them too. I don't think I could live like that, but I admire those that can do it and keep their sanity.
There are good things too, like those moments that can only happen when you aren't with anyone else. When you have nothing to do but really focus on your surroundings, and the people within them. I cherish those more then I dread the hours surrounding them.
The old couple, having breakfast in the early am, who never say a word to each other all meal, but somehow know exactly when the other needs a new section of the paper, and pass it, like a perfectly choreographed dance across the table as the other passes one back.
Couples out for lunch, new and long established, sometimes forming right before your eyes. The business people, tight collared, trying to say just enough, but not too much, trying to please everyone, but not be overzealous. Then there are the other "business" lunches, where the tension is always quite obviously of a different breed.
There are the dinners with many friends, but I especially watch those old and loyal, and imagine being a part of 40 years from now. I picture us all replacing those weathered faces creased with deep smile lines seated around those tables, and think about how lucky I am, and will be even many years down the road.
I also watch those other business men, eating quietly, quickly and usually far too much, staring only at their plates. I wonder if time and routine has robbed them of the gift of observation, or if they ever had it at all. I wonder if they listen like I look, and hope they do, otherwise, it would be the loneliest job in the world.
There are many people that spend most of their working lives living out of suitcases, in motels and hotels. Sleeping in freshly cleaned sheets every night, in a bed made by a stranger, surviving on restaurant food and take away coffee made by people they'll never meet. Never being able to smell the pillow next to them before they drift off into dreams Publish of the times that scent takes them too. I don't think I could live like that, but I admire those that can do it and keep their sanity.
There are good things too, like those moments that can only happen when you aren't with anyone else. When you have nothing to do but really focus on your surroundings, and the people within them. I cherish those more then I dread the hours surrounding them.
The old couple, having breakfast in the early am, who never say a word to each other all meal, but somehow know exactly when the other needs a new section of the paper, and pass it, like a perfectly choreographed dance across the table as the other passes one back.
Couples out for lunch, new and long established, sometimes forming right before your eyes. The business people, tight collared, trying to say just enough, but not too much, trying to please everyone, but not be overzealous. Then there are the other "business" lunches, where the tension is always quite obviously of a different breed.
There are the dinners with many friends, but I especially watch those old and loyal, and imagine being a part of 40 years from now. I picture us all replacing those weathered faces creased with deep smile lines seated around those tables, and think about how lucky I am, and will be even many years down the road.
I also watch those other business men, eating quietly, quickly and usually far too much, staring only at their plates. I wonder if time and routine has robbed them of the gift of observation, or if they ever had it at all. I wonder if they listen like I look, and hope they do, otherwise, it would be the loneliest job in the world.
Monday, January 29, 2007
Our farewells are just see you laters.
So many times in the past I've had to say farewell, and a few unfortunate times I knew it was really goodbye. It never got any easier.
I can't really pinpoint the proper word for it, but I know the first time I felt it was the last few days before we all left for college and university, the first time the posse was ever going to be forced apart for any real length of time.
Everyone told me that this was where things would change; We'd make new friends and drift into different paths. Like most people do, I argued profusely on the contrary, if there was anything I was certain of, it was that would never happen.
College came and went, and we all reunited that summer. Things were the same as before, and I was relieved that, so far, everyone was wrong. Then came time for people to return to school, and there it was, strong as the first time, that feeling again.
Most people went back to their studies, I went to work, and a few months later, I left for Europe. that feeling was the same, so was the intensity. I wished every single time it would get a little easier.
In Europe, I met some very beautiful people. People I cared for immensely, people I fell in love with, and those I felt like I'd know forever. In every case I had to say farewell, and in every case, that feeling, was there.
I remember it felt like a sickness, and in the midst of it, you wanted nothing more then for it to end. Now, years later, I look back on it and miss it in a kind of masochistic way. It isn't often you feel as alive and emotionally aware as you do when your vulnerable, and recently alone.
More years passed and more farewells occurred, and the feeling still didn’t change; until this weekend. I'm 26, I've been through travel and school, and work, and the rest of the posse has too, but we're just as tight as that last summer before high school. We just had another going away party, this one for Dave. He's headed back to Aussi for a while. That feeling? It isn't there!
You see, we've all left, often a few times, and we always come back. It doesn't matter where we are in the present, because we all know that eventually, we'll end up together again. Wherever we are together will always be where we belong.
There’s no need for farewells anymore, the posse has “see you laters”.
I can't really pinpoint the proper word for it, but I know the first time I felt it was the last few days before we all left for college and university, the first time the posse was ever going to be forced apart for any real length of time.
Everyone told me that this was where things would change; We'd make new friends and drift into different paths. Like most people do, I argued profusely on the contrary, if there was anything I was certain of, it was that would never happen.
College came and went, and we all reunited that summer. Things were the same as before, and I was relieved that, so far, everyone was wrong. Then came time for people to return to school, and there it was, strong as the first time, that feeling again.
Most people went back to their studies, I went to work, and a few months later, I left for Europe. that feeling was the same, so was the intensity. I wished every single time it would get a little easier.
In Europe, I met some very beautiful people. People I cared for immensely, people I fell in love with, and those I felt like I'd know forever. In every case I had to say farewell, and in every case, that feeling, was there.
I remember it felt like a sickness, and in the midst of it, you wanted nothing more then for it to end. Now, years later, I look back on it and miss it in a kind of masochistic way. It isn't often you feel as alive and emotionally aware as you do when your vulnerable, and recently alone.
More years passed and more farewells occurred, and the feeling still didn’t change; until this weekend. I'm 26, I've been through travel and school, and work, and the rest of the posse has too, but we're just as tight as that last summer before high school. We just had another going away party, this one for Dave. He's headed back to Aussi for a while. That feeling? It isn't there!
You see, we've all left, often a few times, and we always come back. It doesn't matter where we are in the present, because we all know that eventually, we'll end up together again. Wherever we are together will always be where we belong.
There’s no need for farewells anymore, the posse has “see you laters”.
Friday, January 12, 2007
Wow, this is some funny shit.
Here another little ditty I stole from a website I read. Its hillarious as hell. I know, I'm a lazy prick, but seriously, this is going to make you laugh, and I can't promise I would.
10AM Rob Schneider? Is That You?
Customer: Can you draw something on the cake for me?
Employee: Sure, what do you want on it?
Customer: A dick.
Employee: I can do you one better. We've got these chocolate-covered bananas, and chocolate-covered cookie dough balls. I can put an edible, chocolate-covered dick and balls on your cake.
Customer: Fucking awesome!
Manager, walking in: Uh, what are you doing?
Employee: Making a dick cake.
Manager: Woo! Makin' a dick cake!
Ben & Jerry's, East Village
New York, New York
Overheard by: Sam
The link to the website I got it from, as well as its partner sites are as follow:
10AM Rob Schneider? Is That You?
Customer: Can you draw something on the cake for me?
Employee: Sure, what do you want on it?
Customer: A dick.
Employee: I can do you one better. We've got these chocolate-covered bananas, and chocolate-covered cookie dough balls. I can put an edible, chocolate-covered dick and balls on your cake.
Customer: Fucking awesome!
Manager, walking in: Uh, what are you doing?
Employee: Making a dick cake.
Manager: Woo! Makin' a dick cake!
Ben & Jerry's, East Village
New York, New York
Overheard by: Sam
The link to the website I got it from, as well as its partner sites are as follow:
Monday, January 08, 2007
"Friend Record"
I came across this video today:
The memories of the real deal came rushing back. The whistling s's of Grandma Gussie and the oh so scary "Friend Record". Who are you a friend of, Mr. Record? HMMM? Could it be, ohh I don't know...... the devil?
I remember all those times, you'd sneak on the TV smashing those wooden spoons together, wobbling menacingly back and forth like a homeless drunk, busking with whatever was there. This in turn would cause my childhood self to panic and rush, petrified, to try and turn you off, ruining yet another otherwise entertaining episode of Size Small. If I saw you, or anyone dressed like you today, I'd steal those god damned wooded spoons and beat you. I'd beat you right in your big stupid record face.
The memories of the real deal came rushing back. The whistling s's of Grandma Gussie and the oh so scary "Friend Record". Who are you a friend of, Mr. Record? HMMM? Could it be, ohh I don't know...... the devil?
I remember all those times, you'd sneak on the TV smashing those wooden spoons together, wobbling menacingly back and forth like a homeless drunk, busking with whatever was there. This in turn would cause my childhood self to panic and rush, petrified, to try and turn you off, ruining yet another otherwise entertaining episode of Size Small. If I saw you, or anyone dressed like you today, I'd steal those god damned wooded spoons and beat you. I'd beat you right in your big stupid record face.
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