>>> Text-Heavy
By staff writer E.E. Southerby
Volume 11 – November 24, 2002
-Is it me, or are crossword puzzles too damn hard? I bought a book of “Children's” crossword puzzles for the plane ride back to Victoria. Didn't finish one of them. It really made me feel stupid, like that time I thought I was a Phone-a-Friend lifeline on Who Wants To Be A Millionaire but I was really just ordering a pizza (“Um… I think the answer is Ham and Pineapple, but I'm only about 60% sure.”) I think that next time I'm just going to buy a whole bunch of “Crossword” scratch lottery tickets. Then when I finish each one I'll beam over how brilliant I am.
-I don't pay enough attention when people are talking to me. I'm sitting on the plane beside angry middle-aged dude, as usual. and he starts making conversation with me. He's telling me about his friend who has a terminal illness (I wasn't paying much attention, it could have been AIDS or leukemia or something.) Anyway, angry middle-aged dude is rambling on while I'm trying to eat my in-flight ham sandwich. And I say (since I'm so considerate): “Your friend should write his illness on a piece of ham. Then it'll be cured. Hahahaha.” Then it turns out it wasn't his friend at all, but rather he who was dying. I told you I don't pay enough attention. At least he had a good excuse for being angry.
-Back in Victoria (motto: “foggy and damp, like the locals”), I went up to a girl's dorm room in a building I'd never been to. No joke, the rooms are like broom closets, except broom closets are bigger and better lit. Her room is literally half the size of my good friends' (already minuscule) rooms. I asked her if she pays less rent, and she said no. What kind of a raw deal is this? The housing office *claims* that they assign rooms randomly, but I smell a conspiracy afoot. You see, my friend with the tiny dorm room is a lesbian, so one could say that every morning she comes out of the closet. Wow, that was worse than the cured ham joke. At least in this one nobody's dying…yet.
-It's weird having a lesbian friend. I slept over at her house the other night. There wasn't much room, as you can imagine, so I had to sleep under the bed with my arms crossed over my chest like a mummy in a sarcophagus. The whole night I kept thinking there were people having an orgy outside her window. I'm just kidding, of course. He room's so small it doesn't even HAVE a window. You know, when I think about it, that story didn't have a whole lot to do with my lesbian friend at all.
-This one does, though: Moira is getting mighty fed up with me introducing her as “my lesbian friend Moira.” One day she asked me “Do you know another person named Moira, so that you have to come up with some artificial means of distinguishing me from her?” And I was like, “No. Of course not.” I just like people to know that it's not my fault we aren't sleeping together.
-I hate it when people don't wait for me. It'll be the end of class and everyone will be packing up to go home, and I'll say something like “Just a second, I'm going to spit out my gum” and then I get back and all my friends are gone. Then I have to walk home alone in the dark. And then I'll meet up with these guys later and they'll be like “hey! Where'd you go?” with this forced surprised look on their face that I just want to smash with a tire iron. But I don't, because then NOBODY would wait for me.
-I was thinking if I put Ritalin in my coffee the effects will negate each other. My friend told me I should just stick to decaf and placebos. Then he ditched me. Look, I never said it was an interesting story.
-I also hate it when people wait for me, even though they know good and well that we'll be parting in 10 seconds. I'll start packing up my stuff, and they'll just stand there impatiently tapping their feet. And I'll say “go on without me, I have another class on the other side of campus” (all my classes are strategically located so that it is impossible for anyone to walk farther from class to class than me) and they'll begrudgingly say “No, I'll wait. You got mad last time.” And then I finally pack up my stuff and we leave the classroom and immediately go in opposite directions. What can I say? I'm tough to please.
-Ever get one of those professors that disagree vehemently with the text book? They'll be droning on about some theory and then they'll say something like “now the text book says that World War II started in 1939… but I'll tell you what REALLY happened.” I'm always like “dude, you WROTE the textbook. What the hell is wrong with you, you schizophrenic loon?” And, inexplicably, everyone in the class thinks I'M the one with the mental problems.
-I met a girl named Rachel who was home schooled throughout high school. Thing is, Rachel seemed perfectly normal except for her inability to go 4 hours without calling her mom and her complete inability to communicate, or even look others in the eye. Home schooling: It's not just for crazy religious people anymore.
-Time for a mixed metaphor: Since I've been back I've been spending money like a drunken sailor. I took Rachel out on the traditional, all-American date: Dinner and a movie. I paid for both. Tradition be damned, that's not fair. The night cost me nearly fifty dollars and I sure as hell didn't see any poon.
-So I'm telling my friend about how I had to pay for dinner and the movie, and I ask him if he ever had to do the same. This week's Quote of the Moment goes to my friend Steve, for his witty, off-the-cuff response: “Actually, I've never gone out with a girl who eats.” I think he's on to something. If she were blind she wouldn't need to be taken to movies, either. If I could find a blind, anorexic chick I'd probably marry her. What can I say? I'm thrifty.
-The entire province of BC has only two area codes. You've got the 604 area code, that's for Vancouver. And then there's 250 for everything else. Now, for you cartographers out there, BC is a BIG province. From North to South is a very long distance, so it kind of bothers me that I don't have to dial long distance to call up there. Not that I know anyone in Northern BC, nevermind anyone I'd consider calling, it's just that I like to think my area code was chosen with a little love and tenderness.
-I say I'm hungry, nobody believes me. I say I can't go out because I have to do homework, people laugh at what a kidder I am. If, like me, you're ever worried that nobody ever takes you seriously, just try uttering a couple of death threats.
-More words to live by: Nothing says I love you like stolen property. Road signs make a great birthday present. Kidneys, too.
-So my friend Richard was telling me about how he has a girlfriend in every corner of BC, like that's something to brag about. He was all like “I've got hos in different area codes.” Now, that's not very nice. I've met some of these girls… they're very nice. Definitely not ‘hos'. More to the point, though: It's the same damn area code! Get with the program.
-Now Playing: “Astroglide” by Slow Nerve Action. The song you DON'T want playing when you bring a date home. Trust me on this one. The only way to recover from that faux pas is to give her a stolen road sign. Thanks go out to Sara for the melodic suggestion.
-And, finally, we started drinking on Friday night when my genius friend Rob decided to polish off two 40s in the span of an hour. For those of you readers who are sane, just believe me when I tell you this is as bad an idea as playing Slow Nerve Action for the ladies. He passed out at 9pm. Woke up at ten to puke until twelve. Passed out again. We thought we were going to have to take him to the hospital for alcohol poisoning. Instead, it was unanimously decided (while I was out of the room) that I should take him to my house. So I do, and he throws up all over my bed. It's important to learn something from these experiences, though. So next weekend we're all going to try to top him. 3 40s, here we come. I'll let you know how it goes, if I can remember anything.