Day 201
It started as another tater tot and class-type day. The only difference is that when I showed up to class the teacher wasn't there, only half of the class showed up, and the grad secretary was chasing me down the hall, handing me a sheet of paper with a number to text to win Gaga tickets. That is when I should've gone home. But, I didn't. I sat through discussion on stories I didn't understand, but it was alright seeing as the girl who doesn't know how to read Roman Numerals was there and I felt like a genius. I should bake her a cake. Anyway, in TV class my peers instead of praising my work, went on and on about how the "main character" sucked. This is fine, I needed to hear it, I am here to learn what's not working. But, what they don't tell you you need is to learn how to have enough self-control to not slap the guy next to you when he rubs your back after your mild verbal your-show-sucks beating and, in a tone like you would use to a sick 5 year old says, "Are you okay, sweetie?"
Not only was the chicken this evening amazing (except the skewer part, they are so jabby and annoying and pointless) there were garbanzo beans. The beauty of garbanzo beans in a cafeteria setting is that they have enough weight to fly, but not enough girth to be noticed by everyone or really take an eye out (unless you are awesome at throwing them). Thus, catapulting them from your spoon at the guy across the room doesn't start a total riot of dirty looks. Isn't that sad? I live in a residence where what would be considered the beginning of a food fight is frowned upon. Seriously, these people need to start living a little.
What was discussed at dinner was that my upstairs crazy South African freakish animal lover neighbor likes gin, and she agrees that we should design and erect some sort of pulley and bucket system from my window to hers. There was also mention of a tin can string outfit, and tubing that I am supposed to hook up to a gin bottle that would act as a straw for her to get a drink from. I was instructed that when I start to see vomit in the hose I should stop giving the gin. Guess, we'll need a clear hose. All of these things are great, sure, but the real reason I like her is that when I suggested we drink gin, steal toilet paper and TP the trees in our courtyard she said, "Yeah! And, let's put dishwashing liquid in the fountain. And, Oh! Oh! I know what would really piss them off is if we broke into the Japanese Tea Garden and TP'd their trees. Yah!"
Tonight I learned the most magnificent word: shart. A friend and I were walking down the street. I leaned over and said to her, "I need to fart." She said, "Okay, just make sure it isn't a shart." She then explained the obvious to me: shit + fart = shart. Luckily, I did not shart myself. For some reason though I want to tell my Dad this word, but I am a little afraid he will tell me he sharts. Hmm.
Today I looked at my facebook and found out that I was invited to 3 events in the U.S. next week, zero events in Canada, I have yet to confirm or deny the girl I hate access to being my friend or not, and I am invited to join and donate to "Stop Pit-bull Fighting." I don't know about anyone else on facebook, but I feel slightly disturbed by these things and wonder why I log in at all. Oh yeah, to post that I just learned the word "shart." Duh.
In an effort to be a cheap ass and to boycott my province's ridiculous price of cheese I refuse to buy any of it. But, here's the deal: I miss cheese. I miss cheese so much I am trying to work out the wording of a craiglist ad. "Wanted Cheese Dealer: Conversation, minimal, love for cheese mutual, non-discriminatory. Discreet."
Tip of the Day: When you look into an acquaintance's fridge and don't see anything you'd like to eat, it's time to go.
-Canadian Castaway
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