Designing your house to look totally freaky is cool I guess.

Norm MacDonald was great live. I'd see him a hundred times.

Thank to Dan, for showing me this.

Won't you be my neighbour?

Of course, we have the blandest network in range.

Just now as I was about to gather my clothes from the laundry room, I stepped out of my apartment and gasped. "RICO!" I scolded, as the cat bounded back down the hall to greet me. How the hell did he get out of my place? A girl appeared in the hall walking toward me with a smile, and it hit me.

Those familiar white sock paws, that tabby fur and rascally appearance... it wasn't Rico at all. It was the cat across the hall who looks exactly like him come out to accompany his owner while she took down the garbage.

There is no distinguishing feature for that cat from mine, other than the different owner. About a year ago, the twin cats met in the hall and simply looked at each other in amazement. I wonder how many other cats look EXACTLY like mine.

Lions, Monkeys, and Marijuana

This is the greatest story to hit the Welland Tribune in years. I guess I was right when I was one of 500 locals to have spotted (heh) a jaguar in the past 10 years! This needs to make international news.

The Elevator Times

Just now on the way up from the laundry room, I held the elevator for a couple of weirdos.

"Laundry day, eh?" said the girl, looking at the basket I held in my hands.
"Yep... best day of the week," I mused.
"Yeaaaah!" said the girl. "Get ya clean clothes, go out 'n party??"
"...you got it."

My neighbours know me so well.

Not a creature was stirring, not even a ...

I dedicate this poem to the lowly critter we caught trying to steal hubcaps from a vehicle in the driveway last night. He left at the scene (1) a screwdriver, (2) the hubcap he meant to take with him, (3) a freshly picked tomato from the garden, and (4) a sullied reputation.

And Miklos in his kerchief (or the bathroom) and I in my cap (or PJs),
We'd just settled down (or were about to) for a long summer's nap (or sleep);
When out of the yard, there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter;
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash;
The sensor-light on the garage that we know,
Gave the lustre of mid-day to all things below;
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a dirty little boy, who was trembling with fear;

His eyes -- how they shifted! his hair, little there-y!
His cheeks were so greasy, his eyes two red cherries!
His thin little lips were beginning to quiver,
Too young for a beard, no description to deliver;
The screwdriver, yellow, he dropped in his fright,
And the hubcap that fell lay there still in the night;
He was skinny and wimpy with the face of a chimp,
A tomato, he'd picked from the garden, that shrimp.

So down, down we dashed to the driveway below,
Miklos yelled "Hey, get up!" to the dumb shmoe;
The boy crouched behind ye olde pickup truck,
In his haste and noise, had just run out of luck;
But the boy popped up quickly, and ran for his life;
I would have too, Miklos has a sweet knife;
The cops they were called, and we all just giggled;
Chuckling about the hubcap and tomizzle;
So if Welland's your home and you're stealing our caps,
We hope you enjoy the unripened tomates.

(You had to be there) AKA (For my own memory's sake)

• Hidden and periodically updated notes; I did a similar "Note to Self" type memo when I was 8; I found it when I was around 15 and laughed at how ghey I was.
  
• "It smells like a pencil..."
• "What kind of tree is that?" "A weed maple."
• "Hey, Larry David! Can you sign my arm?" *Randy signs arm 'RANDY', shrugs and walks away*

Better get to bed. Work in the morning again. Ugh. Life.

I Can't Believe it's Not Tetanus!

Funkalicious!

I have this tendency to laugh like hell when I'm in high-drama situations. And not a nervous giggly laugh. More like a haughty and amused laugh of adrenaline, accompanied by a large and overbearing smile which is probably scary and/or confusing to those around me.

Honestly, I'm sure I prefer it to the other options people face -- panic attacks, fainting, rage leading to violence, utopian bliss, nausea, heartburn, indigestion -- I'm just not quite sure where I came to develop this sort of reaction. Do you know anyone else who does this? I sure can't think of anyone who does it who isn't drinking.

China's not the same as Chinatown

It's COLD. What is happening here! /mild freak-out

A fat, dirty, slimebucketly man stole a Toblerone chocolate bar tonight at my store when he thought no one was looking. But I was looking. I was looking as he lifted the back of his unwashed windbreaker jacket and shoved the prism-shaped carton into the ass-crack of his filthy jeans. This was a chocolate bar his debit had declined moments earlier. He then walked up when he felt the coast was clear, and actually paid for a second chocolate bar, half cash, half debit.

Turns out he gets all his prescriptions filled at our store. We have his name, his number, and his address if we ever want to break into his rained-on, moldy cardboard box and steal, like, a half-eaten worm from him or something.

PS, I'm sure this guy was not actually homeless; I just keep thinking of him as Christopher Lloyd's character in the '90s movie version of Dennis the Menace. Because he was a greasebag who is in his mid 40s, stealing chocolate bars.

The Smell & the Wolverine

Nik says:
SPEAKING of smell
sweet jesus
that guy at X-Men Wolverine tonight?
fuck my life!
this guy looked like he was straight out of a Dungeons and Dragons match
dan says:
Who would think a comic book guy would have B.O.?!
Nik says:
HAD A GIRLFRIEND, so there's officially now hope for EVERYBODY
and every time a laugh was had, a foul odour of sweaty feet, b.o., and general filth would waft its awful way in our direction
it got to the point where we bought popcorn to try and fill our noses with some other smell
and after the popcorn was gone, I just took off my sweater and held the sleeve over my nose.
dan says:
hahaha
Nik says:
but yeah, lol @ comic book guy

Carpus Maximus

I was standing at the gas pump at 7-Eleven just now, noticing my transaction was only up to about $3 when I'd been standing there for about as many minutes. An old man staggered out of the store and walked toward his car, looking at me rather suspiciously, as if to want to ask something. I said to him, "Did you find the pump was really slow?"

Suddenly, gas station chaos ensued. Voices from behind every pump started cursing the crawling rate of gasoline flow.

"It was just creeping along..."
"Fuck! It's way too slow!"
"I'll be here 'til Sweet Ruby Tuesday waiting for this one to fill up!"
"Jesus Christ! Once I get to $10, I'm leaving!"
And from me: "Well, $9 should be enough to get me home."

Thank god it wasn't just me. For a brief moment in time I was beginning to question my gas-pumping abilities.

Just goes to show. It only takes one a-hole.

Rebel L

Hey,

I'm supposed to get up at like... oh, I dunno, 9am and shower and proceed working on my macadamia academic assignment thing, but man. It's just not feeling like bedtime yet. Sure, my eyelids are like 10 pound weights (and in eyelid weight, that's like benching a small elephant), but I feel like there's just so much to catch up on. Like uploading some new photos for once, and linking you to Miklos.ca because we got to try out a 20mm lens his friend Bob graciously allowed him to borrow (all of those pictures are on Miki's site, none are on mine; sry!). So much fun.

I officially 'launched' this blog last week after 2 years, in accordance with the "Who Gives a F&#$ Anymore" law I recently passed with regards to who reads my writing. It was a struggle getting royal assent on that proposition, but once I read it over and gave it some good thought, I quickly decided the timing was right. What with the economy and the dollar sign in its name, et al.

The people would want this.

So guess what. I got a ukulele, as mentioned yesterday. What I did not say was that I decided to premiere it to one of my sisters while she was passed out in her bed, 'recovering' from the previous night's events (I imagine). I stood in the door, in a hunched-over-the-ukulele pose, strumming gently with a big smile plastered on. This went on for about a minute until she began to stir, opened her eyes in a daze, and then mumbled, "oh my god... I thought I was dreaming that." I gave a big grin, and she roared, "GET OUT!!!!!!" Obediently, I ran out of her room giggling.

It's my favourite thing I've done lately. You know, other than working every weekend.

So welcome, welcome all. I hope you like it.

I'm off to bed. Goodnighty.

Oh, DJ Jojo. Where are you when it's not Saturday morning?

There's this awesome guy in a yellow Corvette who circles the Falls some (all?) nights and, I imagine, pops one giant boner after another as people turn their heads to look at his car. The great thing is, Miklos and Pearl noticed him last year, and the guy still takes the same route around the Falls. He also looks around and around as he drives at an appropriate speed to make sure everyone is taking an envious glance at his high-performance 'wheels'.

This guy is my new favourite psychology case. He is a simplified version of every other weirdo I observe and decode for my own amusement. His case is so simple. I just imagine him at home slicking a tonne of oil through his hair, wink-and-gunning himself in the mirror and then leaving his big lonely house to take that routine hours-long spin circling the busiest part of town for a while.

If this were Toronto, no one would even notice his car. Niagara, however, is prime envy-breeding/ego-inflation territory for someone like that.

Just when you think you've seen it all. People continue to amaze.

Like a 17 year-old kid with an older Ontario driver's license than my own, trying to buy lotto tickets; when swiped, this card verifies his age at 66 years old. "You look very young for your age," I say to him, as I advise him to try somewhere else, because I'm not selling him any tickets.

I wish I was as entertaining as these guys. Without all the corruption and weirdness, of course. Then again, that's what makes it, isn't it.

All I've got is an assignment to write, a nice plant to water, a brand new ukulele, and a song called "Oregon Girl" on the player. Shit luck, I tell you.

But yeah so no.

Boston Pizza tonight with Miklos. A crazy old bag lady with a shopping cart from Zellers came in the door at the same time we did, and dazedly wheeled herself into the washroom for the exact duration of time we spent there. The waitresses joked that we could take her home now, since she clearly came in with us. "Yeah, that's my mom..." I said, later joking that I'd text her and get her outta there.

A towel on your head is no way to live. Yet here I am. Who'd have thought? No one, because that thought is boring.

I'm going to attempt to drive my car again tomorrow! Happy happy happy happy... no smokey plz.

With a little help from my friends...

The "After Nikki's Non-Existent But Seemingly Apparent Car Alarm Honked 85 Times and Woke the Neighbourhood Up" Drive-Home Playlist:

1. Guess Who - Sour Suite
2. Crosby, Stills & Nash - Suite: Judy Blue Eyes
3. The Beatles - Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band/With a Little Help From My Friends
4. Nirvana - Dumb

This is after my mp3 player read that its battery was full and, just moments later, decided on its own that it was empty after all.

What a good bunch of songs that turned out to be on the radio though!

All in a day's work.

I forgot to mention earlier.

Yesterday while grocery shopping for the first time in an estimated month and a half (or more), a little person walked up to me (even though Andrew was also there) and asked me if I could reach some yogurt on the top shelf for her. It's not that I think the little person part is funny, it's that she walked right past Andrew (also capable of doing the same) and asked me instead to help. Because I am the tallest person alive. Which reminds me, I can reach that cloud and pluck it from the sky, if you'll pay me $5.

You've come a long way, baby.

I haven't typed in some of my passwords in so long that once my cache decides to kill itself, I'll never be able to log in again.

Did my speech, blew the professor away. I have "the presence of a stand-up comic" and my sense of humour is "great". Both, true stories.

I hate to admit it, but compliments give me a bit of a turbo charge. I was like Robin Williams for the next few hours, hairy and surely annoying the shit out of anyone who tried to get a word in. If there's one thing I learned today, it's that any witticism that bombs is easily revived by muttering "If you're from Welland*, that's a funnier joke."

* Replaceable with name of your own quirky hometown

I also inspired some idiot to want to move to Toronto, which wasn't the point (nor was it even close) at all. She's the flighty daughter of a gypsy/Jehovah's Witness (seriously), speaking Mother Goose rhymes in her space-cadet voice. She's going to be eaten alive. But maybe then we won't have to deal with her anymore. These Lose-Win situations always come up roses on my end of the bargain.

Cruisin' for a Bruisin'

Ever have your car graffiti'd? 'Cause it turned out that I had the other night. Actually, so was everyone who parked on the street treated to a delightfully scribbled tag that probably signifies absolutely nothing aside from sheer sans-dickery on the side or back of their auto. Among the conclusions I've come to in the past year is that St Catharines' kids need to develop hoop dreamz or something to keep themselves otherwise occupied.

I thought all hope was gone until my mother tried the Mr Clean Magic Eraser on it, and it worked perfectly. Took off the graffiti and did not remove the car's paint. The Taurus wagon rides on, nutsackless fag art-free.

Anyway, tonight I've been occupying myself with folksy, enjoyable music and Mitch Hedberg.