I just realized that my birthday is right around the corner. That's right. In next few days my blog turns one year old.
Happy Birthday, Ramdon.
Big thanks to EliseArt for providing illustrations.
Sunday, April 24, 2011
Thursday, April 14, 2011
Your filter is like a chain-link fence and your thoughts are ants.
I recently did something that I hadn't done in years and years. I went ice skating! It was the most exhilarating experience ever.
K stumbled upon ice skating information on the internet one day and remembered that I said I wanted to go awhile before. We normally meet up for a walk on Thursdays at 7pm and a loonie skate was happening at exactly that time, in a place that is exactly halfway between our houses. It was meant to be.
She got excited and wrote a message on my Facebook wall; another friend of ours saw this message and not-so-subtly mentioned that he would love to go too. He made a big production about it being 20 years since he skated and he was concerned about whether or not he could still do it. I was concerned too. That's pretty much exactly how I was feeling and for that very reason.
We eagerly waited for the rink to open up and then for all the crazy kids (who we knew would be better than us) to go first. Brandon was the first one of us on the ice. He shot off like a rocket: spinning and twirling and speeding away. It was K's turn next, and then mine. I was much less successful than Brandon; apparently he skated a lot more than me as a child.
I was pretty much confined to the boards within 3 feet of the opening. I was going nowhere. Fast.
The young first-aid skater girl recognized my plight immediately. "First time skating?", she asked. "No, it's just been a really long time!", I replied. She suggested I go to the skate shop and pick up a helmet "just in case". I was less than enthused to be sporting a helmet, plus that would require me to 'skate' the 3 feet back to the entrance. She recognized my plight immediately. "Or else I can bring you bars?", she suggested.
She brought me a set of bars. I have to admit I was a little worried about taking my hand off the boards long enough to reach out and grab the bars. But I didn't want to look like a giant pussy, so I tried to do it, while looking as confident as a 30 year old can after having asked for a set of kiddy-bars.
Once I got on the bars, skating was no issue. I started skating away, all fast-like and super-pro.
I was making pretty good progress. And then a small child skated out in front of me. All I could do was squeak and swerve around her. Good thing I drive, otherwise, one or more of us would have gotten hurt (probably me).
After a lap or two (or three) I was confident enough to ditch the bars and skate on my own. It was exhilarating. (And I thought it was fun with the bars...) I was skating around with my shit-eating-grin on my face, laughing and having a grand-old time.
Every 37 seconds I would almost fall and then I would laugh, which would cause me to almost fall again. I'd have to spend some time with the boards to re-group before continuing again.
Eventually, 37 seconds became one minute; and one minute became half a lap. Eventually, I became cocky and over-confident in my skating abilities. Also, I was probably high from not getting enough oxygen to my brain because I was laughing so much. This cockiness lead to my demise. I bailed. Fully. Right on my ass. Out of nowhere.
It hurt. But I managed to get back up without too much difficulty and skated to the boards where I laughed some more.
My tailbone hurt for days.
I went back the following week and didn't need the bars and didn't fall down. It was still just as exhilarating. We decided that we'd skate every Thursday and we were going to buy skates and everything.
Then I was at work one Thursday and said "HEY! Guess what I'm doing tonight!?!?". After people guessed incorrectly, I started skating around and said "Ice skating!!!". A friend looked at me and said "Aren't they closed for the season?!". I said "What season?!". Turns out, they closed the Sunday before and there was no skating that night. It was the worst Thursday ever.
Big thanks to EliseArt for providing illustrations.
K stumbled upon ice skating information on the internet one day and remembered that I said I wanted to go awhile before. We normally meet up for a walk on Thursdays at 7pm and a loonie skate was happening at exactly that time, in a place that is exactly halfway between our houses. It was meant to be.
She got excited and wrote a message on my Facebook wall; another friend of ours saw this message and not-so-subtly mentioned that he would love to go too. He made a big production about it being 20 years since he skated and he was concerned about whether or not he could still do it. I was concerned too. That's pretty much exactly how I was feeling and for that very reason.
We eagerly waited for the rink to open up and then for all the crazy kids (who we knew would be better than us) to go first. Brandon was the first one of us on the ice. He shot off like a rocket: spinning and twirling and speeding away. It was K's turn next, and then mine. I was much less successful than Brandon; apparently he skated a lot more than me as a child.
I was pretty much confined to the boards within 3 feet of the opening. I was going nowhere. Fast.
The young first-aid skater girl recognized my plight immediately. "First time skating?", she asked. "No, it's just been a really long time!", I replied. She suggested I go to the skate shop and pick up a helmet "just in case". I was less than enthused to be sporting a helmet, plus that would require me to 'skate' the 3 feet back to the entrance. She recognized my plight immediately. "Or else I can bring you bars?", she suggested.
She brought me a set of bars. I have to admit I was a little worried about taking my hand off the boards long enough to reach out and grab the bars. But I didn't want to look like a giant pussy, so I tried to do it, while looking as confident as a 30 year old can after having asked for a set of kiddy-bars.
Once I got on the bars, skating was no issue. I started skating away, all fast-like and super-pro.
I was making pretty good progress. And then a small child skated out in front of me. All I could do was squeak and swerve around her. Good thing I drive, otherwise, one or more of us would have gotten hurt (probably me).
After a lap or two (or three) I was confident enough to ditch the bars and skate on my own. It was exhilarating. (And I thought it was fun with the bars...) I was skating around with my shit-eating-grin on my face, laughing and having a grand-old time.
Every 37 seconds I would almost fall and then I would laugh, which would cause me to almost fall again. I'd have to spend some time with the boards to re-group before continuing again.
Eventually, 37 seconds became one minute; and one minute became half a lap. Eventually, I became cocky and over-confident in my skating abilities. Also, I was probably high from not getting enough oxygen to my brain because I was laughing so much. This cockiness lead to my demise. I bailed. Fully. Right on my ass. Out of nowhere.
It hurt. But I managed to get back up without too much difficulty and skated to the boards where I laughed some more.
My tailbone hurt for days.
I went back the following week and didn't need the bars and didn't fall down. It was still just as exhilarating. We decided that we'd skate every Thursday and we were going to buy skates and everything.
Then I was at work one Thursday and said "HEY! Guess what I'm doing tonight!?!?". After people guessed incorrectly, I started skating around and said "Ice skating!!!". A friend looked at me and said "Aren't they closed for the season?!". I said "What season?!". Turns out, they closed the Sunday before and there was no skating that night. It was the worst Thursday ever.
Big thanks to EliseArt for providing illustrations.
Thursday, April 7, 2011
I must have homework to do...
Here's a little glimpse into the ridiculous ramdon-ness that I call life...
Jan 30th
EliseArt sends me & Gorm an email with a picture of an ewok. (That's not all... it gets much more ramdon). She purchased a drawing tablet and the following conversation between me & Gorm ensued:
Feb 5th
Gorm: Yes, people emailing my hotmail are more privileged as I respond more than once a week normally.Me: Well, aren't they a lucky bunch then!
Gorm: And now, so are you!
Feb 6th
Me: Woo - hooo!! I'm special, just like everyone else!Gorm: "Which is just another way to say - nobody is" -The Incredibles
Feb 7th
Me: "D'Oh!" - The SimpsonsFeb 8th
Gorm: "Ha Ha!" -Nelson Muntz, The SimpsonsMe: "I think he's really hurt" - Milhouse Van Houten, The Simpsons
Gorm: "Why...why was I programmed to feel pain?" - Linguo, The Simpsons
Feb 9th
Me: "This hurts more than it looks" - Homer Simpson - The Simpsons
It's been going on like this ever since. We've, literally, been emailing Simpson quotes back and forth for months now. Holy fuck. And since Mar 22nd we've been on a single episode - Lisa The Vegetarian. We've dropped the quotations and stopped ending everything with "Person Who Said It, The Simpsons" so now it has taken on a structure of that of a screenplay (much like the above).
It doesn't happen everyday, but whenever I get one of these emails it's pretty much the highlight of that day for me. It makes me ridiculously happy. I love every bit of it. I love seeing what quote he uses and I love the scenes that play in my head as I relive the episode for myself and I love having to come up with my own quote.
It's so ridiculous, I just had to share. And you know how gmail starts a new conversation after 100 replies? No? Really? You don't? Well it does. And now we're on our second conversation.
No amount of windshield washer fluid would get that off.
My upstairs people are really loud. Particularly the upstairs lady - she walks like an elephant. Actually, I think elephants would walk way quieter because they have those cushy pads on the bottoms of their feet. She does not.
When I first moved in here, my landlord (during the interview) gave me the heads up that the upstairs lady is a particularly heavy walker. I said that it was okay because my mother is also a particularly heavy walker and I lived with that for 19 years, so how bad could it be? Turns out, really bad.
I have the ability to tune things out, or zone out, if you will. And this worked for the first while that I lived here. After that, I started becoming increasingly agitated by her presence. I would yell things through the floor at her, congratulating her on her ability to annoy the fuck out of me. I knew this behaviour would ultimately lead to my demise, or jail time when I went postal and murdered her, so I forced myself to reign in the negative energy and use it towards something productive.
I managed to keep this up for some time. I hardly noticed when she walked around her bedroom (directly above my head) for an hour and a half on Sunday morning, in high heels. Even though I 'hardly noticed' I started acting out spitefully.
I started playing guitar, loudly, at all hours of the night. Listening to loud music whenever the hell I felt like. And singing loudly, off-key, to the most annoying songs I knew. At some points, even I hated myself and yet that satisfied me enough to keep at it.
Eventually, I got complaints. She would come down and tell me that I'm far too loud. I decided that these uses of my energy wouldn't really be 'productive' if I got evicted; I reigned it in once again.
I recently got a phone call from my landlord; his voicemail said for me to call him because he had something to tell me. Being near the end of the month, I anticipated him telling me he sold the house and I have to move. I was a bit nervous. Turns out, Loud and Louder gave their notice and they're moving out. I'm pretty happy.
I drop my rent off with my landlords cousin every month (they live where my landlord used to live). When I dropped it off, Cousin D asked me if I had heard the news. We start chatting about it a bit (how did I find out, when did I hear, what do I think).
Anyway, at one point, I told Cousin D that they complained to me about being too loud. The look on her face was priceless; she couldn't believe it (pot-kettle-black, much?). So anyway, the point of this post is to say that now that I see the light at the end of the tunnel, she is annoying the fuck out of me again. I'm yelling through the floor and it's only a matter of time before I start playing guitar at midnight, blasting music and singing badly. It's going to be a fun three weeks. Take that, Stompy!
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