me- "If I won lotto 6-49 i sure as HELL wouldn't ride a gay-ass horse like that across a desert."
mandy- "no. I'd want a manly horse, who knows how to fuck a lady!"
her boyfriend, as usual, did not find it terribly amusing.
i have moved in with my new roommate, a belly-dancing teacher and part-time waitress at the dime. She had several interesting insights about various protocols in which to approach a VIP section while wielding a plate of drinks. Where to set them down? On the lap in question? Give it to the dancer? Linger awkwardly, while the stripper gets the dude to 'hold her towel'? Because everything is coated in pleather and smells mildly of jizz, these towels are a necessity.
the best part of my new place, is that my facebook obsession, JL, lives RIGHT ACROSS THE STREET. i was wondering who was waking up the entire neighborhood every few nights with screeching domestic antics and followed by wild proclamations of love hours later...night after night. then i put it together- the large english bulldog incessantly barking on their stoop was the same dog featured prominently in her photos... then i saw the wonderwoman herself saunter out in her hotpants to smoke a dart and shout into the phone; "you fuckin left them here alone you asshole?! get your fucking shit outtta my house!"
there is no need for a continued facebook account anymore. as soon as the pogey starts pouring in my descent will be complete.
Camille feels like shit, so um I'm spending the weekend in bed. This is all prep for next week when I start my "NO CRAP" ban on foods and vices.
My dog Sasha has a real penchant for digging and hauling rocks around. Maybe I can spin this into a Fednor-funded small business venture as I will be fully unemployed in two weeks. Travel was suggested to me, EI has been strongly recommended. I am not opposed to moving and I am not opposed to staying. I found a new roommate for September 1st. Funny that the first time I met her was in a life drawing class, and she was the nude model. At one time I had naked pictures of her all over my living room. So no major surprises there. Hopefully she can tolerate my increasingly short fuse (I kicked the shit out of my drying rack this morning, in a fit of pre-menstrual rage. This is the last time I buy ANYTHING at Walmart. Unless there is a sale on those vibrating massager things again).
"Don: hey iwas wondering if i could get cell phone charger n watch back the 95 bucks u owe would be nice too
JL: it would be nice not to air my laundry online tooo.....grow up.....n by the way nexted time ur gonna be a coward n jus drop my cds off in the rain on the stairs at least put them in the porch....tks!!!
JL went from being "in a relationship" to "single."
omg....is every fukn guy i get mixed up with a fukn goof....i wish i was a man so i can go fuk myself!!!!!
FUK IT HURTS TO BE SO GOOD LOOKING....WELL IT HURTS TO SEE THE LOOK IN PPLS FACES NOING THAT THEY CAN NEVER BE AS AWSOME AS ME...TEE HEE....
WHY IS IT THAT EVERY TIME I TRY N BE NICE PPL SHIT ON ME....NO WONDER IM A FUKN BITCH....N IM PROUD OF IT!!
JL went from being "in a relationship" to "single."WOW U THINK YOU KNOW SUMONE....LIE LIE N LIE SUM MORE...PRETTY SOON KARMA IS KNOCKING AT UR DOOR....
"We got to see a bear...and a fox....and a pig with his little piglet..."
~Adam
I may as well work doubles every day, because every attempt at 'staycationing' inevitably bombs. Like our disappointing trip to America, a simple trip to an isolated beach proved much the same.
I ducked out of work early with my brother & Adam, picked up an economical case of Maclay's beer and some Mennonite summer sausage & headed for a beach in the middle of nowhere. I knew there wouldn't be anyone there as I had enumerated for the Census there one year. The area is scattered with random derelicts and draft dodgers and the occasional former SS officer (probably). The job (census) was, in fact, so terrible that I willed myself to break my leg.
Anyhow, there were a few people on the beach. Adam cracked a beer and Dave took a sip. I put our towels and stuff on the sand and out of the corner of my eye see a cop in full uniform and some sort of Lackey wearing little khaki shorts tromping officiously behind him. I turned on my heel and headed back to where the guys were unloading the car.
"Dave. Hide that beer. Just put it behind the car. Like, now. Cops coming."
"Huh?...uh...." (walks around the car toward me) "Here. You take it." (puts open beer in my hand)
"What? DAVID, what do you want me to do with it..."
(walking away) "...i dunno. Drink it?"
Immediately the cops are standing in front of me.
Cop: And how are WEEE to day folks? Is this your vehicle?
Me: Yes... we are just, you know, going to go for a swim...
Cop: And you know that it is illegal to have open alcohol on a public beach?
Me: Really? Oh then, we didn't realize...(I pour out contents of drink)
Cop: I didn't TELL you to pour it out.
Me: Oh, right, well, we can't drink it anyway, right?
Cop: So I'm going to charge you ma'am. You can decide amongst yourselves if you want to help her pay for the ticket. I may decide to ticket the rest of you. Give me your ID's
The lackey eagerly collected our ID's, relishing the ridiculous domination of the cop. They made us collect all the bottles and count them, preaching at us about responsibility all the while. I got a $125 fine for merely having an open alcohol container outside. I didn't even get to take a sip.
"God, I'm so depressed. Kinda makes me want to...finish off the rest of that case..."
Another man at the beach came over and asked us what was going on. Apparently the cops have been frequenting these beaches on a daily basis, and even charged some lady 1500 bucks for driving her four-wheeler 10 yards to the beach without a helmet.
The problem with living in rural Ontario is that noone has anything better to do with their time than gossip and form asinine liquor laws (why not just have restrictions on drunkenness and littering?)
This of course isn't my first brush with the law, and likely won't be the last.
"He's a big bastard of a guy, and we couldn't wait around for him to sober up, so I got him to climb on the back of my ATV and I said "get your big monkey paws around me, you bastard, and don't fucking fall asleep". (Picturing this man riding clutching Rocky's waist is an incredible visual). Sure enough, he passes right out and flops onto my shoulder, snoring away. Then he wakes up with a snort...
"uRRRgghh...Roaaw...Rocky?"
"What is it Hank?!?"
"Ugh...I just barfed...out my rear-end."
That guy! We still had 2 km left to go, through the fuckin swamp. And this idiot, shitted all over. Well we finally got to camp and all I can say is...THANK GOD FOR BABY WIPES."
I lived with Chris, the soft-spoken actor, for several years. He was generally pretty great and had a penchant for building recumbent bicycles out of broken hockey sticks on our living room floor. He had a revolving door of nubile young girlfriends whom he would pick-up using his "method acting/emotional maturity/eco-warrior" game. It worked really well on models and actresses and hippies. I still remember him talking about getting rid of his girlfriend, some fresh-faced actress from the east coast. He was sitting cross-legged and wearing his cycling unitard while eating mueslix. Soy milk dripped down his chin; "I mean, I like her. But she's just too...I don't know...Quirky."
Our apartment was on a main city street in Toronto and we had a steady succession of roommates who were (with the exception of Damien) awful. Shannon was the first. She was constantly having loud BDSM sex with her flimsy boyfriend who weighed at least 100 lbs less than her. From what we could hear, she was the dom. She stomped around in high heels constantly and sounded exactly like a clydesdale. She kept her boyfriend holed up in her room, terrified. I saw him once as he fled into the bathroom.
Julie was in next. She had a pile of greasy dreadlocks and wild conspiracy theories about everything. These hysterical accusations usually came on the tail end of a nitrous bender. Suddenly, Chris was out to secretly evict her and all guys just wanted her for her "clothing design abilities". She would proselytize in her annoying hippie way about my emotional state;
"I know what YOUR problem is. Your chakras, they're so unbalanced. Here, sleep next to this amethyst, and if that doesn't help I think you should do some (nitrous) balloons."
Kay was next. Chris was extraordinarily cheap and couldn't possibly pass up the prospect of a few week's rent money until we could find someone reasonably sane."I think I found a great new roommate. She is a little bit older but seems really fun. She's a children's entertainer!'
"Children's entertainer" really means part-time telemarketer, full-time batshit crazy. Even though I would pass her in the hallway constantly, whenever we got to the front door she would look me up and down and say "do I KNOW you?!" and then quickly open the door and lock it behind her. I'd just open the door with my own key.
One night I was awokened by the blissful strains of someone retching in the bathroom.
"Are you alright in there?"
(Kay) "ECkkk..I'm purging. I had a cleanse tonight. Get the hell away from me."
"Uh, OK.
I went downstairs to see the carnage. Various pots of oatmeal, partially boiled rice on the stove, and all the eggs had been emptied out into a juice carafe. Their shells had been placed carefully back into the carton, and she'd marked each broken shell with a capital letter "K".
"Chris...we have to talk about Kay. She was eating everything in the kitchen last night and puking all over the bathroom. Also, I think she has a rabbit holed up in her room. It stinks in here."
"I know. She hasn't paid her rent yet. I'm going to talk to her."
He approached Kay about the rent due (4 weeks not paid). He mentioned it politely, saying "whenever you get the money together, it would be great if you could just get me a cheque."
That evening she left a series of rambling messages on the answering machine.
"You have NO RIGHT to order me around...I am justified by my mere presence of being on this earth, all these demands, intrinsically...they have no idea how I am. I know what you're up to. You call me, yelling at me, that is harrassment, I will sue you. I will have you arrested. You have no power over me. Even though you want to turn me into some sort of Lupus sacrifice, I won't have you burn me at the stake..."
This went on for 20 minutes. The answering machine tape actually ran out. I have no idea what a "lupus" sacrifice is, but wolf images spring to mind. The next morning I went downstairs for breakfast. She was at the table, eating my cereal. When she saw me she pulled her bowl closer and shielded it with one arm.
"You don't live here. Get out. GET OUT."
"Uh...Kay. You know I live here. I've met you at least 12 times."
I start to pour my own bowl of cereal.
"Are you going to put barbecue sauce on that?"
"Probably not."
"Well if you were Chinese you would. Because you know what they do there?
"No Kay. What do they do in China?"
"They distribute barbecue sauce for free to all the people. So that when they kill their first born children, they can eat them. They all eat their first born children in China."
"Great."
Unsuccessful in our attempts to kick her out, one day I came home to see Chris changing the lock. He had forgotten to get some sort of tool so he said "I'll be right back. Just blockade the door if she comes back."
Seconds after he left I heard her clomping up the stairs. I quickly grabbed my art history textbook and a broom and wedged the door shut. She started charging the door, using her corpulent body as a battering ram.
"I KNOW you're in there, you little bitch. Now OPEN THIS DOOR."
"No Kay. I'm calling the police now. You need to calm down."
When the police showed up to escort her out, she grabbed her poor emaciated rabbit and shook her fist at us.
"You will regret you ever let me go!"
Grandma-You get home now. You said you'd be home by 11. You're coming with me.
Dude- But ..you said I could stay out for Canada Day. C'mon! Just let me stay out for a while longer. I never get to go out.
Grandma- I'm concerned about you. You'd better get home.
Dude- Just a few more minutes
*Grandma then leaves in a huff
I thought that was sort of bizarre but continued making drinks until I overheard the following later on. This between the 30-something dude and one of my grizzled regulars, Phil, a contractor who was quite lit up at this point. They had met each other minutes before.
Phil- The point is you deserve to be treated like shit because YOU ARE SHIT and involving your family like this just ruins everyone's Canada Day and I don't care about your excuses
Dude- I know but I just wanted to come out, you don't know what its like to be me..
Phil- I don't give a flying fuck. The point is, Canada Day is MY HOLIDAY (phil is being totally facetious at this point) And you ruined it by shitting on your own family. When your grandmother shows up to a bar, you have a PROBLEM. Idiot.
Dude- Oh Phil, I know, I just...just wanted to enjoy this... Canada Day.
What the hell?! When did "Canada Day" supercede birthdays, weddings, funerals, Christmas and every other life changing event? To break it up I turned off the music and started chanting and banging my fists on the bar;
CANA-DUH! CANA-DUH! CANA-DUH!
Phil started clapping along like a bemused chimpanzee and I managed to quell the emotional tide that Canada Day festivities produced.
Cinders @ the Globe was kind enough to let me do another illustration. This time, the difficult to portray concept of CFS.
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