Here’s an update.
Scratched my crotch in front of a woman exiting church.
Read a Time article about Obama’s golf game.
Got into a heated discussion in Goodwill with a child about the importance of using coasters.
Almost bought a file cabinet, not for files but for my pants.
Reassured myself that pizza and soda is the best combination of any two things.
Pined over this, bought this and this instead.
Discovered 16 oz. Izze bottles!
Paid for, then lost a package of tortillas.
Now it’s time to sleep.
Ashlinn is in LA for the week. In the past 24 hours I broke the washing machine, burned my pants with the iron, barfed up a banana and half a mango, forgot to eat lunch and dinner, filled the apartment with lumber, accidentally watched two hours of CSI: Miami and gave myself a fat lip while chasing a very angry moth.
Only 144 hours until she returns.
Listen up, it’s storytime.
Growing up in western Maine was great. There were countless miles of rivers to swim, tons of mountains to snowboard and cheap candy at your local Dead River convenience store. An often overlooked aspect of western Maine is it’s close proximity to the great country of Canada, also known as “get drunk when you’re eighteen-ada.”
February 2005, the summer of love, Pat, Seth and I are in Montreal. I’m driving and they’re beyond wasted. (Side note; if you don’t read the whole story you won’t realize that I’m not trying to make drinking look cool.) We are about to head home, when Seth speaks up from the backseat. “I think they’re trying to flag us down.” Sure as shit, a car of four hot girls has pulled up next to us. They’re pointing us towards a parking lot. We pull in and I am quickly reminded of day one of a communication class I took in college. (Warning: Story within a story.) The teacher bursts into the classroom screaming German at us. It was loud, scary and perfectly represented his first point. You can’t communicate if you’re not speaking the same language.
Back to Canada, the girls are speaking French and we’re still having a hard time with the English language.
You would think that screaming “we want to give you kisses” while pointing to your lips would make sense to them. Nay. After a few minutes of failed communication, we left. Empty handed. Defeated. Cock blocked by our own global ignorance.
We rode in silence for a few miles, I mean, kilometers. The silence was broken when Seth drunkenly spoke up again.
“Wait, I know French.”
Sorry I haven’t posted for a while, I’ve been a little busy playing with my new Xbox 360 and fighting with homeless guys. That’s right! I bought an Xbox. It was a birthday present for myself. Thanks to all who wished me a happy birthday, that was real cool of you!
As for the homeless guy, I was skating at the Ballard Bowl and got tangled up in this crazy fight between 2 homeless guys and a homeless woman. Needless to say, I was fighting on the side of justice and in defense of the woman, and the only injury that seemed to result was one of the guys pissing his pants and probably a horse throat due to yelling. After that I lost to a guy in a game of S-K-A-T-E. All in a day’s work I guess.
P.S. Mom, I promise I’ll never intentionally get into a fight with homeless people again.
Hey, I’m on Failblog! That probably makes me the most famous person you know! Click this link, I’m in the bottom picture…Don’t see me? That’s my black and red backpack on the right. HA! Failblog hosted a get-together at King’s Hardware in Ballard, which is just across the bridge from where I live. They have skeeball and a burger with peanut butter and bacon on it!