July 11, 2003 Throwback blog post.

The gingerbread structure is still under construction. I know what you’re thinking: will it ever be completed? IS THERE AN END TO THIS? WHAT IS IT? A GINGERBREAD VERSION OF LA SAGRADA FAMILIA?!

At this point, I’m not even sure myself. Also, I got an email from the organizers telling me that my drop-off slot is on the 19th at 10am, which is also when I have my dentist appointment.

I do not like the logistics of this.

At the moment, Enfoiré le chat has parked himself on my belly, under my right arm. I have no choice but to procrastinate by sharing yet another throwback post.

Ok, I do have choices, but this is what I’ve chosen to go with…

Prelude: Tyler was my roommate’s boyfriend, and contrary to what I say in the post, I did kind of hate him. Sadie, the roommate, and I mostly kept opposite hours: I worked during the day, and she’d usually be gone by the time I’d get home. For some reason, she thought it was appropriate to give Tyler a copy of the keys to our place, not only without asking me BUT WITHOUT TELLING ME. Hmm!

Worse yet, Tyler and I kept the same schedule. He worked as an earthmoving operator, which meant I’d usually come home to find the bathroom door locked, as he’d be in there muddying up the tub. He was practically a third roommate who did not pay rent.

Yeah. I hated him.

Gator… did not suck. She’s the last friend standing from my Calgary days, who still lives there. We met on a school trip to Ottawa in 2000 and ended up working together at an auto detailing place the first year I lived in Calgary.

Here’s a poorly photoshopped picture of our heads imposed on the bodies of roasted chicken:

So, what I’m trying to say, I guess, is that I still love her. She’s the only reason I’ve ever gone back to Calgary for a visit.

July 11, 2003
Tyler told me he’d decorate the bathroom ceiling with his sauce, but after wading around in the bathroom, it had become apparent that it all ended up on the floor instead.


Fucking hell, I’m going to kill him fifteen times. I don’t know why Sadie hasn’t already: he woke her up at 5:30am to ask her to make his work lunch. If I had been in her position, I’d have grabbed the nearest sharp object and stabbed him in the throat while half-asleep.


Don’t flood my bathroom, prick fondler!

And just so you all know, I do not hate Tyler. He’s just… what’s the word? Stab-worthy? Yes, that’ll do.


The worst part? SADIE DID MAKE HIM LUNCH. A NICE ONE, TOO. WITH CHOCOLATE SPRINKLES.


I should’ve swiped his mini cooler to take with me to work; instead, I dumped a hard slab of cold pizza in a Ziploc bag and took off.

Work was fairly uneventful. I’ve decided that I’m no longer going to make fun of our co-worker, Jennifer. Even though my life revolves around making fun of people, she’s just too nice.

After work was a different story. Much entertainment was provided by Gator who drove me to Southland train station as always. I spotted a funny looking bug flying around in her car. It looked like a black earwig with wings.

Me: *points* “BUG!”
Gator: “KILL IT!”
Me: *looks around in car for something to squish it with, and then decide the David Hasselhoff car freshener hanging from the rearview mirror was the only thing worthy of getting coated with bug guts.* “Can I use this?”
Gator: *looks at bug, which is now in between the gap right under the sunroof*
“Yeah, I don’t care. Hurry! I’m trying to drive!”

So, it appeared that David Hasselhoff had saved the day.

Gator: “Hasselhoff is a funny name anyway.”

One minute later…
*Gator starts failing about and the car starts swerving on Blackfoot Trail.* (note: her ride was a very gothic–save for the sunroof–1984 Pontiac Grand Prix.)
Black Earwig With Wings had escaped Sir Hasselhoff’s (pitiful) wrath and appeared to have burrowed itself inside Gator’s cleavage.
What was there left for me to do but to LAUGH MY ASS OFF?!!!


So, today’s lesson is… David Hasselhoff is a useless bitch-flavoured bastard.

A Droste effect of David Hasselhoff, with the image perpetually zooming in to his crotch.
A Droste effect gif of Sir Hasselhoff.

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