Life, the Universe, and Everything

We like the Ardy that rocks the party

2006-08-07T13:05:00.000-07:00

good god
where to start
...the beggining will do

so joel who's been on my ass all summer about comin to rock the body rock in waterloo gets all up in my grill friday, so i finally cave and say ill be there sunday night

sunday comes around so i take the car, mapquest that shit and im off to waterloo

now driving is one thing, and navigating is another, and together they're a dangerous duo that has me convinced im gonna get lost quicker than than it takes joel to get into any girls pants he wants. but, i manage to arrive at my destination, knowing fullwell im in waterloo because i see the mall as i get off the highway where i imagine joel and his freinds dropped of that homeless girl....but thats another story

so anyways i continue on to joel's house and in one of the trippiest entrances ever i step foot on his doorstep the second he and stephan are stepping out

"whoa"
"whoa"
"hey"
"hey"
"wanna get some coffee"
"sounds good"

furthering the tripyness of the situation i see stephan drives, oh yes, a buick regal
ONLY HIS IS DARK
for those of u who dont know mine is light
so joel's all like holy dark/light side of the force batman! tripyness ensues

anyways we get some coffee, catch up with each other and we head out to start the night
we go to stephans and start playing soul caliber 3 as our predrink game
now this doesnt sound like a crazy pre drink
but lemme tell you...its dangerous
everytime u lose, you drink, the more you drink, the more you can mash the buttons, and therefore win, thus the loser drinks, becomes better, and so on and so on

i was fucked in under 10 minutes

now, as i have a habit of doing, i wont lie because things get blurry from this point on
but this is the night as best i remember it:

we chill @ stephans for awhile longer, a bunch of joels freinds show up and we listen to ardy who rocks the party and about how much french lighting really opens up the place via light diffusion; text msg alex that he's married and will only have sex with one woman for the rest of his life and then text msg my german landlord to "reich on, frauline"; we get in the car and listen to money money and JIMMMMMMAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!! until we get to this bar called phils which is quite possibly the most incredible hole on the wall i've ever crawled into

now upon entering joel informs me its time to get initiated and that a money shot is coming my way; for the sake of not ruining phils for anyone who hasnt been there i wont divulge just what a money shot is but i will say my nose still fuckin burns from it

me and stephan start talking to this chick that cant get enough of me impersonating the micheal goulet skit that will ferral does so the whole bar knows i love it when you call me big poppa; i go to request my bar song but realize as im spitting it out that its retro night and manage to spit out TAKE on me instead

me and stephan dance with this chick (whos given me her drink) on the stage to a bunch of retro songs before i start gettin a little groggy. joel reccomends a jagerbomb and im back on my feet busting out to take on me wearing stephans AWESOME hat

joel leaves and brings back his gf jen (who buys me a drink, what a sweetheart she is) and naturally the first thing joel and i do is hit on some chicks

we get to talking these two girls and about how the one of them is getting married in two weeks and the other one is the bridesmaid, and i end up buying them a shot of......uhm, well, shit i have no idea

but it was damn tasty

the bride-to-be asks me how old i think she is and i underball it at 22, beleiving shes no older than 25, but the chick turns out to be the hottest 31 yr old ive ever met, and proceeds to prove it by showing me her id, then takes off into the crowd

things get really blurry here but i recall chillin with stephan for a bit, and eventually find myself on the dance floor with the girls me and joel were hitting on earlier talking about how i work at a wedding hall and "CAN GET YOU A TOTALLY BITCHIN DEAL ON A WEDDING!", but to my dissapointment she's already got it covered
now i have no idea what i was saying to these girls, but i remember trying to hit on them and i remember doing a good job cause all the one-who-wasnt-getting-married was saying was "HOW MUCH I LIKE THIS FUNNY TALL GUY!" or something to that effect

anyways they ended up taking off from the bar, so we pounded back a couple more and gaver' until last call

we leave phils and who do i see but the two chicks waiting for a ride
we talk some more and stephan decides its time to walk home, they tell me how nice it was to meet me and i say something stupid like the pleasure was all mine
i turn to leave but not before one of the girls grabs my arm and writes both thier numbers on it.
apparently the pleasure was all thiers.

so, me stephan and that chick he was with all night take off on the walk home, we hit up campus pizza, wolf down two slices in front of some depressed guy who's clearly lost as shit, he creeps me out so i walk faster and we lose the weirdo, and end up on a hour long hike through half of waterloo throughout which i completly space out and start referring to myself as jesus (pronounced hey-zeus) in the third person

we make it back to stephans and i pass out on his couch, but not before the chick tells me how some girl wont stop hitting on her cause they had sweet lesbian sex once, so i do my best to have a mini pysch-major schpeel with her b4 im out cold

stephan had to work early the next day so i left his house hung over as shit at 8am, tried to get outta waterloo, got lost, asked the same gas station clerk for directions twice and finally got on the road

how i drove, i dont know, i imagine jesus (again, pronounce it hey-zeus, its much funnier that way) was watching over me. in any case i left waterloo with the phone numbers of two beutiful ladies and my appetite for good times satisfied

proper satisfied

ps- thanks to joel and his buddies for the waterloo experience, stephan that red label is all urs, johnny and i wont be on speaking terms for a good while
pps- congratulations and best wishes to the blushing-bride to be, Kelly...........or Beverly....i cant remember which was which

Whats the fucking time? Its time to get ill. Or something

2006-02-04T10:15:00.000-08:00

This shit is so damming I have to write about it

One of my roommates needed, quite frankly, to have sex.
Now I wont name names, because that’s not kosher, but lets refer to him as Mister F

Now we get to the bar, me, Mister F, Mister V, and Mister C.
Good stuff, Good bar, and a Good buzz has got me feeling the faith rrriiiiissssing up in me! So I decide to make a bet with Mister V, that Mister F will for sure get laid tonight.
I outline the rules real Kenny Vs. Spenny-like to avoid loopholes:
1. I’m allowed to help
2. Mister V nor Mister C aren’t allowed to fuck it up
Real simple, how I like it, good I think, good, just made 5 bones.

Perfect.

And from there it GOES PERFECTLY
Michelle, an attractive young thing comes bouncing along up to me and asks me to come dance with her cause her ex-boyfriend is here and she wants to make him jealous.
Maybe she thought if it’s me dancing with her the guy is more likely to see us…but anyways, she grabs me and drags me to the dance floor, and along the way I grab Mister F.

Perfect.

we dance for two seconds before I inform her I’ve left my coat unguarded and “id better go check it!” and I shove her and Mister F together. And they dance. And dance. And grind. And Grind. For thirty minutes or so, most of which I spend rubbing in Mister V’s face I’ve just made 5 bones. Until he stops. WHY DID HE STOP?! I grab him, pull him to the side, and the three of us look at him like he’s a complete idiot.
We more or less politely ask for an explanation.
Mister F more or less had his eye on this other cutie, whom he believed he had a better chance with.
So that’s fine! Nothing wrong with that! He goes over to her, and they dance! And they dance! And they grind and they grind!

Perfect.

Now I won’t lie, things got blurry around this point

But to the best of my recollection they continued to dance for awhile, until we lost sight of him and assumed the best. Until we saw his cutie dancing without him. Fuck.
As the night progresses as I search for him, Mister C meets Sonja, who is deserving of a WHOLE other blog entry about her alone. But we’re not here to discuss Sonja. We’re talking about Mister F, who I finally find, making out, HARDCORE, with some hot blonde on the dance floor!

PERFECT!!!

You don’t kiss like that unless you have the intent for intercourse.
I promptly turn into a smug jackass to Mister V screaming my praises and well placed faith to the good Mister F.

We leave him to it, go to another bar, and chill for two hours.

Mister C buys a pitcher of Tuborg, gets a free CD, I see some art thing on the wall that tells me to shut the fuck up cause its time to get ill and completely trips me out, we talk about hong kong blood operas, Takashi Miike, music we’ve done it to and what the fuck lotus style is, some guy grabs a chick’s ass at the bar and denies it, she absolutely tweaks the fuck out and gets him thrown out, some guy who’s way to drunk gets way too deep with us and gives us two drinks, Mister V doesn’t ask how much the joint costs to buy, we go to a convenience store and listen to some bitch demand 5 bucks for smokes from her boyfriend, we tell her off, the boyfriend tells her off, and the clerks tell her off, and we go to get pizza at the only place open at a quarter to 3 in the morning in London.

Perfect way to end the Perfect night.

And then.

Mister F earns his name.

The sly, smug, smartass, happy-go-lucky, too-drunk-to-walk bastard struts into the pizza joint screaming
HEYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!!! THERE ARE MY FRIENDS!!!!!!!

My mouth drops to hit the floor like a ten ton sack of potatoes.

WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING HERE AND WHY ARENT U GETTING LAID?!

My peripheral vision informs me that Mister V is smiling in my direction, knowing damnwell he just made 5 bones.

We spend some time and ruckus figuring out what the fuck happened to the bastard, but he’s too drunk to know why he didn’t get laid, too drunk to know he even made out with a hot blonde on the dance floor, fuck he’s too drunk to know how he got here! And he just got here!

Fuck.
It was supposed to be soooo eeeeeeaaaaaaaasssssssy!
It was PERFECT!
But not perfect enough for mister F.

We walk home along some train tracks and I decide it’s probably good he found us, as it was obviously questionable whether or not he would’ve made it home on his own.
I furthermore believe that he’s probably beating himself up about it enough, and if he isn’t now he would be tomorrow.
I take relief in the fact we have our friend, and also in that I decide I’m just not gonna cough up the 5 bones.

We get home, I steal some pop tarts that someone has stupidly left in the middle of the kitchen (if they were Scotts, ill buy you a new package; if it was Alex’s, sorry; if it was Stephs, you don’t live here you hooker-bot) and I go to sleep, my faith shaken and my times certainly ill.
Proper ill.

Oh.
The F in Mister F stands for FUCK-UP!!!!

part one: LIFE

2006-01-23T19:39:00.000-08:00

im so outraged by the profession im interested in im actually making a blog about it. fuck.
so im a psych major, i want to be a psychologist of one sort or another
most people, ive learned, get into psych because they want to know why ppl are fucked, or why they themselves are fucked
but everyone in psych is fucked, the students, the ta's, ESPECIALLY the profs. fucked.
but the most fucked thing is what it takes to be a psychologist...thats really fucked
first, you need to get into honours psych, a major in psych is absaloutly useless, and to get into honors psych you need like 85's in psych. which is fucked.
after that, you finish your honors and need to get into a master's graduate program, competition for which is absaloutly fucked, and after 1-2 yrs of that, you need to go for your ph.d, which can take from four to seven years more....fuck. the end of that you take an ethics exam, a verbal exam, a comprehensive history exam, and several more on top of that to make sure youre not too fucked after all this school to deal with real fucked people
of course the committee that marks these exams...fucked
and after all that shit, you need to do a year internship with a supervisor making sure you're not making fucked people anymore fucked with your fucked up ideas
THEN you can tell people they're fucked, on your own, in your own private practice, FUCKIN FINALLY!
HOWEVER, if you so dare, you can go ahead and open up a private practive WITHOUT an Ph.D, but boy howdy let me tell you that if you do you are going to be FUCKED!
they're called the APA, the american psychological association - and they will drop your ass like a ten ton sack of potatoes. now THESE ppl are FUCKED.
its a little known fact the APA has been calling the shots since day one, they're like the patriots, the controllers, the shadow puppeteers singing DANCE PUPPETS DANCE in the bacground!!!
they have been SECRETELY pumping out fucked ppl to keep the psychologist/psychiatrist movement going since the beggining
psychosis- that was them
ADHD- so child psychs had an excuse for existing
agoraphobia- so house call psychs could exist
schizos- so they could mass produce rubber rooms
you dont even wanna FUCK with these fucks...they'll fuck you...proper fucked

however if you get into industrial organizational psychology you can move to Germany and tell companies why their inefficieny will result in WWIII and that youd be happy to help for a large check and a beamer

on a happier note its my birthday in a week
...and im going to get fucked :)