this is my dull life. this is my dull life on drugs. this is a haiku.

Monday, May 23, 2005

The long weekend routine

So I've been drinking the last few nights... On Friday I gave Martin a call and he was over at Barker's playing poker so I headed out over there, which was a good time cause I got to see a few people who I wouldn't normally call up to hang out, but I still love to see em'(ie. Barker, Tara, Rob and clearly Martin). So the plan was to head downtown and go to Konfusion, and you all know what that means. DANCING! Yeah... and you all know how I feel about that. ONLY WITH DUBIOUS QUANITIES OF LIQUOR! Wasn't in the mood for it that night, so I devised a plan which involved me spraining my ankle while walking out Barker's door on the way to the cab. Listen: I'm a thinker. Don't try to pull any of this "let's dance" stuff with me, cause I know how to get out of it. All I have to do is close my eyes and start walking. Hey, I'm so pro that sometimes I don't even have to close my eyes. All I have to do is walk. Yeah.. you're jealous. So while everyone was inside dancing, I was out on the street with my cell talking to some folks from home, which is always good! And I think I called Mackenzie too, though I'm not sure... Anyway! Spent the night fully dressed on a pull-out couch, woke up at 8 am, and then stumbled home. La fin.

And Saturday was oh-so-boring for the daytime portion. I just sat around doing nothing (since Bert is home for the weekend) and watching TV. Actually the highlight of my day was when I was doing dishes and I had all the utensils in my "My Beer" glass beside the sink. I hear this loud crack sound and look to the left of the sink. Nothing happens for a sec so I start to wonder what's going on, but then the liquid-holding part of the beer glass just tips over while the base remains in it's previous position. I guess all the shit in the glass was too topheavy. OK, I know I'm hurtin for stories, but can you think of a more exciting dishwashing story? I didn't think so. Actually, I took a picture of the glass after it fell over. Maybe I'll print it off and frame it...

So that night Pete and I went along with Karen (his girlfriend) to one of her friends' house's for a party. It was a little quiet but it was still fun and I met some people and learned some names before prompty forgotting them again... maybe... Chris and... Wes? uh-unno... We all went downtown and met up with a bunch of residence folk, and then it all went fuzzy... I woke up sitting in the middle of my couch at 6am with Bert's guitar in my lap. The best I can guess is that I got home and decided that this was the opportune time to learn to play an instrument. Ever head of how you rememeber drunken experiences better after you're back in that state? Maybe the next time I get loaded, I'll be able to play Smoke on the Water... that'd be cool. Bitchin' even.

And now, a reply to this:
Hi Patrick C_______,
I read your blog and find it most entertaining, however keep in mind that I am in Spaniard's Bay with no job and I watch Oprah all day. I'm so bored. . Therefore I insist that you say hi to me in your next post. Even if you don't remember me and think that I am a freaky SOB that reads about your life.
Amy Peddle | 05.21.05 - 12:50 am

Amy Elizabeth Peddle - Ok, I just made up the middle name, but I figured if we were on a full name basis here, I might as well go all out! I am sorry to hear that you're in S.Bay and also that you watch Oprah. Unless it is the giveaway show. Free stuff is wicked, though Oprah is not. And don't worry -- I remember you! You were Robyn's roommate, and I definitely don't think you're an SOB. Oops, almost forgot: "Hi Amy!"

Sooooo tired! Time for bed so I can wake up and go to work the morrow... I'm taking Wednesday of instead... and oh yeah, next post I'm definitely doing a diagram, cause this blog has been sorely lacking in the diagram department as of late.

PS - Not sure if I posted this already, so I'll just do it again. It's called The Picture of Everything. Pretty self-explanatory. It's sooooo massive...
Bah... TFB! Psssst... that's cool-kid slang for "Time For Bed". I'm outtie