Destination; I don’t care.

It’s not that I haven’t been myself, it’s been that I put myself on the shelf in a jar like preserves for a while. Like a displaced limb my has mind sat inactive for about a year now. I figured that maybe instead of being an outsider I’d put myself into the inside. It didn’t exactly work out that way. I found out that regardless of the situation I’m bound to sit on the side and toss out witty potshots.

Call it a social experiment or an exercise in the absurd, whichever so pleases you. I didn’t know that there albums out that I should’ve known about. I haven’t read a new book in Christ knows how long. Not that I’m complaining, I’ve spent the better part of the last year pleasantly inebriated.

Good times.

How I didn’t almost go to jail, but thought I was going to

Haven’t been around here in a while. Hey. How’s it going?

I think a retro look would be nice here.

There’s two songs that are quite the tune to listen to whilst tuned. The Angel and the One off Weezer’s Red Album and The Pilgrim off Mr. Sam Roberts’ Love at the End of the World. So tonight I’m off on a walk, as I’ve been known to do from time to time. They were my excuse to indulge in whatever secret I was hauling into my lungs.

When I was in high school, the walks were a front for my time spent as a secret smoker of nicotine sticks. Now my walks are a front for my time spent as a kinda-but-not-really secret smoker of tetrahydrocannabinol sticks.

This night that is now the next morning, I decide to wonder from my usual path from the park straight home and head down some street I’ve never fucking seen before. It’s dark and full of trees and there’s no sidewalk and the fucking lamp posts are far apart. As I’m walking I see a cop car flash his lights momentarily as he turned down a cul-de-sac I would walk by soon enough. Smart guy that is me, opens up his pack of Belmonts and quickly grabs both a cigarette and the roach. Somehow I manage to drop the roach while trying to put the smoke in between my lips, but that’s cool ‘cos that was pretty much the plan anyways.

So with Mr. Roberts in my ears I keep pressing onwards. Because, what the fuck, I’m harmless. Having gifted my Zippo, Obi-Wan Kenobi, in an ill-advisedly noble going away gesture I’m forced to light the smoke with a convenience store variety of lighter fluid. The smoker that is me, starts to cross the road that is the cul-de-sac just as another cop car turns in, this time, the lights are going balls out. He’s shinning one of those spotlights into my red eyes and I have to squint. I look towards the other cop car parked in the cul-de-sac then back to Mr. Bright Flashing Lights and wait for him to make his move.

I don’t know what the fuck is going on, but the strobing lights are matching the drums in my ears. Mr. Bright Flashing Lights makes his move, he takes his left down into the cul-de-sac and I start walking forwards. Soon enough I’m walking down a main street back towards the apartment. There’s this shape that’s hunched over the garbage in front of someone’s house and for a second I just think it’s a loose bag. Getting closer, I realize it’s a fucking person and when I’m about ten strides away I see that it’s a woman about my age leafing through the garbage. And there’s a fucking open box of kitty litter next to the garbage.

That blows my fucking mind and I’m coming up on a left and then a right turn home. I take the left towards the darker side street and lo and behold there’s a goddamn cop car driving through the intersection down the street I need to turn onto. But the cop’s nowhere in sight when I turn.

That’s how I almost didn’t go to jail but for a second thought I was.

Drunken Shenanigans

Amber – one of my roommates – had a great idea of streaming a webcam of our livingroom. It’s been up since Tuesday, all of five days and we’ve already had 4954 hits. Shall we say that this is an invasion of privacy or an exercise in not giving a fuck/voyeurism?

We were all far too drunk last night and all I really remember was yelling alot at the camera and using the camera to yell at other people. I’m fairly certain that there were some incredibly offended persons who tuned in last night. But that’s kinda of what we’re aiming for.

Anyways, check us out if you’re bored or what to see somebody call someone else a fag at the top of their lungs. [Never claimed we were mature.] – http://saucysaucysaucy.camstreams.com/

P.S. I had abso-fucking-lutely nothing to do with choosing that url.

Today’s Edition of Last Month

About a month ago I received this e-mail;

Dear Daniel,

As you have done our personality test, we would like to get your input on some names for self-improvement courses. Please click here to take the survey.

Thank you very much for your support and participation. Your input is very valuable to us.

Sincerely,
Scientology Survey Network

If the above link does not work, you can also access the survey by going to: http://survey.scientology.net?sid=465&uid=b39a67b3b95400b3ec91af53621b10f5

© 2005 Church of Scientology International. All Rights Reserved. Trademark Information.

This email was sent to you by Church of Scientology International at 6331 Hollywood Blvd, Los Angeles, CA 90028.
If you no longer wish to receive emails from the Scientology Survey Network, please click here.

I replied:

Dear Assholes, stop e-mailing me.

Thankfully, they have stopped, as this was the last in about a dozen I received after I “unsubscribed” from their mailing list. FYI; doing a Scientology E-Meter survey ‘cos you’re bored is never a good call. First of all, you have to pay to find out how you did and second of all, the fuckers don’t let up with the e-mails.

Fucked

There’s twelve bucks in my bank account and my next paycheque ain’t coming until next Friday. And that fucker is going to be all of twenty bucks due to me missing a lot of work recently. I’m turning twenty-two in ten days. This really wasn’t where I pictured myself at when I was younger. I mean, yeah, I always figured I’d be broke, but I always thought I’d have something to show for it. Some sort of credibility, at least a manuscript of a rejected book shopped around.

No dice.

I am not where I want to be.

But, at least the new Matt Good single is awesome.

Haven’t slept in years

This morning, or rather yesterday at about 6:30, I hadn’t slept and I couldn’t sleep. As you could guess, I was really bored. So. What to do? Why, I did the first thing that people do when they’re bored – I gave myself a haircut. It looks good, really good.

You know, if this was Bizzaro World.

The [only] best part is that it’s summer weather and my hair was too long, causing major sweating and what have you. As a friendly fyi from me to you; sweat, not so good as a hair product.

Oh, also, the fucking cat broke my fucking glasses. I will hold his firstborn ransom until that little bastard pays me however much it’s going to cost me to replace them. If the little fucker doesn’t pay… well, this is where the obvious Chinese Food joke would go.

Oh yeah, I have a blog

I’m living with some friends now, I’m renting the loft of an upstairs of a house. The fact that there’s been more beer in the fridge the last week than food has made me incredibly happy, the fact that I drank the last one tonight doesn’t.

Benson & Hedges, the masterminds behind the most perfect cigarette ever [Belmont Milds] have begun selling three different Belmont brands in the Niagara Region. That fact has made me incredibly happy, the fact that the store didn’t have any regulars and I had to buy Kings doesn’t.

Not going to lie, the last few weeks have been really good and yet really not good. A couple good friends have moved away for the summer and another has moved away to B.C. permanently. It’s weird to go from seeing someone almost everyday to not seeing them at all. And another one came back for a visit from Ireland and then fucked off back across the ocean.

I should go to bed, it’s 3:54am.

True Fact #4325

Dan and weed and being in public do not mix.

That is all.

Tell me to stay

I always do what I’m told. I’m what they call a “conformist.” I make it my goal to make sure that I don’t have anything resembling will.

Okay. That’s a lie. I don’t do what I’m told. I’m what they call an “un-conformist.” I make it my goal to never refer to myself as an anarchist, ‘cos frankly, I’m not eighteen anymore. But that’s only because I’ve been alive for twenty-two years. Yes, it’s a technicality, but I think I can get away with it.

See, I’m kinda emotionally hedonistic. Whatever feels right for the moment to say or do, I blurt it. Then I’m stuck with the consequences of my words and/or actions, doomed to sit on the sidelines and smoke, nursing my wounded… whatever that thing is that holds host to those things called “feelings.” If it’s still under warranty. Though, come to think of it I think I nulled that.

‘Cos if there’s anything I do, it’s stick to my guns. I’m a very black and white kinda guy. Not, you know, physically, ‘cos in that regard I’m so white and not “street” that my skin is almost luminous. Could be the whole “being a vampire thing,” but whatever. Anyways, black and white kinda guy. Okay, that’s another lie. But the sticking to my guns thing, not.

Maybe it’s ‘cos I find a gun that I really like and damn, the trigger is so smooth, the barrel so clean that the metal flies so straight and true that I always know that I’m gonna hit my mark. I keep the gun so clean that if a grain of sand dares to try to sully it, the grain evaporates. Or rolls off, whichever works.

And these metal bits that fly, goddamn they are hard to swallow, hard to keep track of, they move so fast they fly into the target before I even have time to blink. And it leaves me with a torn and blood stained jacket.

Forgettable

Every time I log in to Blogger it tries to make me switch to the “New Blogger.” The way I freaked out when Dr Pepper did something as insignificant as changing their packaging means that the chances of my willingly changing to “New Blogger” are slim to none.

Sitting on the desk in the dim light tossed off by the monitor is a pen. Just thought I’d share. It kinda makes me want to go for a cigarette.

Smoking over the last few days hasn’t been all that enjoyable for the last week or so. Now, I’m by no means going to quit, I’ve just been congested. Phlegm has literally been falling out of my nose in liquid form. Smokes just taste off when I’m sick. Besides, it’s not all that fun to be on break and have to smoke in a smoking section that’s been covered with a shit pile of snow.

I’m [not technically] up for a “promotion” at work, which isn’t as much a promotion as it is a substantial increase in responsibility and a non-existent increase in wage. Hence the quotes. Chances are I did the air quote thing before I typed the word, ‘cos I’m, you know, retarded.