Ruminations

I'm still in the library because somehow I just can't manage to force myself to finish this paper off for the life of me. It's six friggen pages maximum and I'm already on 5, I just need to get it done. Instead I'm reading stuff on Tomato Nation (thanks for nothing Subu) and contemplating some sort of word of the day email so my vocabulary can blossom like...something that blossoms.

This paper is a microcosm for my life. I don't do things, a lot of the time, because I know I'll have more time to do them. I can picture my life next year at this time: Assuming I don't get into grad school and my grandparents aren't suddenly bestowing me with buckets of cash (with which I will travel to the four corners of the globe or Ireland), I'll probably spend the summer on their couch thinking that I don't need to do anything because I just finished university and I've got the rest of my life to "do stuff." Ugh. Sometimes I hate me.

Also, it's suddenly very quiet in the library. It was probably quiet all along, but now it's starting to get to me. I'm left wondering when exactly it was that I needed music on all the time, my background to living, if you will. As my computer has abandoned me, usually I'm listening to Barb or Jo's music. It can be me sitting in the livingroom, reading (the Chronicles of Narnia, right now. C.S. Lewis is a chauvanist, but damn does he know how to write fantasy) and Barb in his room, playing video games with weird soundtrack music. I have no idea what game he's been playing lately, but I'm positive I heard a Rod Stewart song the other day. It can also be Jo's music, filtering into the livingroom from Jo's room along with her caterwauling. I mean, Jo's beautiful singing.

Besides the fact that I am clearly a mercurial and tortured soul, there's no reason for this sudden malaise. All I want write now is to be home and listening to my Coldplay CD (for the billionth time) and reading the Chronicles. Damn you summer classes.

I really need a good hug. Unfortunately the best hugger I've ever met is on the other side of the Atlantic and is a horrible correspondent. Damn you Bert.

Procrastination Station.

I am once more in the library of the U of G. How much more do I like this library when there aren't people everywhere? A LOT. But then, I like everything more when there aren't people around.

So I just wrote a big long blog and read it over and it was the crappiest crap in the history of me. It was about ten million paragraphs too long. Thus, I'm going to give you the contents of it in a quick list:

1.Barb and I went to see Sin City last night. Lots of violence and nudity but awesome because it was like watching a comic book (graphic novel for the snobs) come to life. Question: how can you be a guest director on a movie? Question 2: Would anyone like me to guest direct on their movie?
2. Before the movie we picked up some coffee. It was good. Tres good. It was hippy coffee and Barb made fun of me for all the sugar I put in mine.
3. I wandered around in my bathrobe for about 3 hours today before I actually showered. I was in said bathrobe when Barb's younger brother and sister came to pick him up. They are, naturally, scarred for life now.
4. During my bathrobe odyssey we were watching tennis. More specifically we were watching Wimbledon tennis, which makes me horny in the pants to no end. Jo was cheering for Venus Williams who, along with her sister, is the anti-christ and so I had to punch her a couple of times. By the end of the match I think Sharapova's scrappiness had won Jo over; even if Sharapova wasn't scrappy enough to win.
5.There is a girl on a computer in the next aisle that is watching a Jesse McCartney video. I wonder how she sleeps at night.

I guess I'll go finish my essay now. I GUESS.

Ugh.

Heard on television today: Fourth of July Special: Declare Yourself Indepedent from High Prices. Thanks used car salesman from Buffalo for PISSING ON YEARS OF HISTORY.

Still melting over here

So I've got this assignment for my Witch hunts and Popular Culture class where I'm supposed to compare/contrast elite and popular ideas of witches in early modern Scotland. In fact, I'm supposed to be writing the essay now. I have a paragraph done already though, so I figure, I'm good for a blog break.

Anyways, as history profs hate me, they want us to use primary sources. Which, for all the unenlightened (and smelly) masses, is a source that was written/produced during the tiem period being studied.

Sometimes primary sources are okay. Next semester I have a class studying poverty and policy in the Victorian age and that should be pretty okay with the sources.

Early modern sources, however, are another matter entirely. As I have my book open here, I shall offer you an example, even though I know you couldn't care less.

This is from Daemonologie by King James (VI of Scotland, I of England): ...Witches ar servantes onelie, and slaues to the Deuill or wherevnto all the partes of that vnhappie arte are redacted.

Yeah, and he was a King. Notice how u's are used for v's and HOW ARE IS SPELLED TWO DIFFERENT WAYS? It's not unreadable, just irritating.

In this other one I have to read, about the confession of a witch called Isabel Gowdie is even worse. Spouse is spelt, at various times throughout this pile of crap as, spows and spous. The word meall means both male child and pounded. Thank God for footnotes.

Anyway, now that I've bored you all thoroughly and you'll never visit my blog again, I can start posting the real dirt about Susan and me.

And I'm hot. It's so hot in our house, in fact, that Jo and I have been sleeping in the livingroom for the past two nights. Sucks a lot, I must tell you.


See how the title had little/nothing to do with what I wrote? Yeah, I'm saucy that way.

Jo's going to kill me dead

I watched the O.C. and I didn't hate it. Well, I hated Mischa Barton. But everything else was good. I'm going to watch more, in fact.

I hope you've enjoyed knowing me, because Jo has principals. Principals that include hating the O.C. like she hates hippies. So I'm dead as soon as she gets home tomorrow.

I used to think that I had principals. Then Barb was like, hey I'm drunk come watch the O.C. and I was bored. Now here we are.

Why Jo is Awesome

Jo and I were conversing on MSN and I was complaining about my current outfit, which includes a pair of shorts that have a lightening bolt painted on the back. Painted by Jo, I must add. This is what she told me:

Jo: the shorts say you are a girl who is secure in her looks and yet not too cocky, the lightning bolt says that you are a goddess of epic proportions, and that zeus himself had to brand you with his calling card: the lighting bolt

'Nuff said.

The Adventures of Toni and Barb.

So, it turns out that even though I am poor, God insists that I continue to eat and buy groceries. Vondruke! With that in mind, when Barb said "hey I'm going grocery shopping" I said, "hey I'm coming with you."

Little did I know that it would be the best thing I've ever done. First of all, it took us literally three hours to get out of the bloody house. This is what separates me from actual adulthood; this complete and utter lack of ability to get anything done before three in the afternoon. That and the fact that I goaded Barb into buying bubbles while we were out grocery shopping.

However, it was not difficult to goad Barb into buying bubbles. In fact, at 99 cents they were probably one of his more sensible purchases. To illustrate I shall give you an example: I'm on one side of this cheese stand thing looking for not-shitty mozarella and Barb is on the other, examining expensive spreads:
Barb: Toni, do we have dijon at home?
Me: No.

And the dijon was in our cart. Barbie added to that four different kinds of chips and Reese's Peanut Butter cups cereal (among about a million other things). Me: That's like having candy for breakfast. Barb: Why would I want to eat anything else for breakfast?

With all sincerity I have to say: I want to be Barb when I grow up

A Confession

Just watched E.T. with Barb. Near the end when E.T. is about to get on the ship and Elliot is having his emotional goodbye scene with him Barb made a very Toni-esque comment. Something to the effect of, "Are they going to kiss now?" I, on the other hand, was crying just a little bit. That's right, I do have a soul after all.

Two more things: 1.Barb called me T-Dizzle 2. according to Kirk Cameron's website, atheists don't exist because God doesn't believe in them and Catholicism is a cult. That's right, the biggest cult in the history of man.

Kirk Cameron just made me vomit in Jo's eye.

Are you recovering your faith in humanity? Do you think that Christians are basically decent people? Even Evangelicals? Well, I've got news for you: Kirk Cameron is crazy.

I like to think I'm generally pretty tolerant. I mean, I do live with Jo and Subu. But Jo showed me this website earlier today and it nearly made my head explode. If you say you're not a Christian Kirk Cameron gives you a rundown of the ten Commandments that basically makes it impossible to have not sinned over and over again. GRRARGH. Then he tells me that God is compassionate and doesn't want me to go to hell.

EXCEPT THAT YOU JUST TOLD ME HE DOES, REPEATEDLY, FOR THINGS LIKE LOVING MY FAMILY TOO MUCH OR THINKING THAT SOMEONE IS ATTRACTIVE.

This is the sort of Christian crap that makes people hate Christians. I'm not going to pretend that I'm ultra religious, or even slightly religious, but I was raised Catholic and I went to Catholic schools for most of my life and that does mean something to me (although I'm still trying to figure out exactly what). I'm offended on behalf of the religion I was raised with but more to the point, stuff like this offends me as a human being. It's Kirk Cameron and his posse saying, 'hey, you thought you were a good person? Well, I've got news for you, you're not.'

This website and these people are what's wrong with the world. That a guy that is at the helm of the United States believes crap similar to this IS WHAT'S WRONG WITH THE WORLD.

Dear Evangelicals, *cough* Bush *cough*

Don't talk to me about religious fundamentalism in the Islamic world until you've cleared that crap up in the United States.

Thanks for nothing,
Pope Toni

Yimmy Yazz...that's baby making music.

Stolen time on Jo's computer while she's at work. Have to make the most of it by posting useless ramblings on my blog.

Visited a little place I like to call Yimmy Yazz last night ("You play yazz flute."- WATCH ANCHORMAN: The legend of Ron Burgundy EVERYONE). Hung out with Taylor and James, always a delight. When I think of them I'm reminded of musical genuis James Taylor who you might remember from songs like "Fire and Rain" or "You've Got a Friend".

My hands and arms are destined to be covered in pen for the rest of my life. I operate under this (mostly correct) assumption that I won't remember anything unless I write it on my hand. So my hand is generally covered in words or at least a fading bluish colour, leading some to believe that I have some sort of disease. Taylor thought it was important that I remember something else that's now written on both of my hands "Tay= mom of my kids". I won't forget. Also seen on my hands recently: "book for review", "postimpressionism" (of which Van Gogh is one apparently, I always thought he was straight up impressionist), "Caillebotte" (another impressionist artist) check him out here and here and "check GPA" (because I'm never going to get into grad school).

Barb felt it necessary to add "I am racist" on my arm as well. Thanks for nothing you sloshed ne'er-do-well. I think we all know who threatens to beat up various ethnic/cultural groups (Irish, Australians) when he's drunk/stoned. And it is certainly not me.

After Yimmy Yazz it was time for food, I got a pita and the guy at the pita place was all, "what's with all the phone numbers on your arms?". (Taylor thought it was important that I have her number on my body twice, due to picnicking later today). I was all, "It was a busy night." Actually, that's what I wished I'd said. I can never think up cool/snappy responses for people that aren't my friends.

Update: I still hate beer.

In case any of you are wondering, which I'm sure you're not, the previously mentioned quiz was ridiculously, ludicrously, nonsensically, farcically (okay, I consulted the thesaurus for that last one) easy. In fact, as I told Jo when I got home, if I got less than 95% on that quiz I'm going to throw myself off the roof. Or commit suicide in some other dramatic way.

In the event of my tragic suicide in the near future I have divided my worldly goods thusly: I'm going to leave my laptop to Jo so she can smash it with a hammer like she's always wanted to, Barb can have my TV because the first time he saw it he called it "sexy"...I had to lick his face all over, it was the hottest thing ever. Susan can have my chair because she can sleep comfortably in it, she's like a cat. She also gets my National Geographics because I'm pretty sure she's teased me a few times about having a subscription for the magazine. THIS IS YOUR COMEUPPANCE. As for the division of the rest of my worldy goods, there's going to be some sort of race. Feel free to bite and shove as much as you like. There's some good stuff, my red boa, my Queer Eye for the Straight Guy calendar, tickets and programs from almost all of the plays I've been to in the G-Spot and 18,000 pictures (which feature a good many of you, dear readers). And socks, lots of socks.

Not surprisingly, that was needlessly long.

Dear Old Man in the library,

Learn to moderate your voice. We are not on a football field and there is NOT a hoard of people here, thus your booming can only be construed as assholish. Also, I have a headache. So shut it.

No Love,
Toni

Leave me alone.

All I want to do is dick around on the internet, is that so wrong? Deprived of my own computer for weeks, now that I'm on a library computer I really don't want to study for my quiz this evening.

I keep telling myself it's a multiple choice quiz, what does it really matter if I study or not? Then I call myself an idiot because IT'S STILL A TEST AND I AM NOT AN INVINCIBLE TEST TAKING MACHINE. However, the fact that I am writing a blog at the moment rather than reading my notes on the French Revolution may give you a clue as to which of the voices in my head won.

So I totally went on another job interview today. It was at Cinema One this time. Awesome store, movies everywhere. New releases and old movies and foreign films. There was totally this film there by Mira Nair (the woman who did one of my favourite movies of all time, Monsoon Wedding) and I really wanted to buy it. Then I reminded myself that I DON'T HAVE THE MONEY. Lisa works there and was sweet enough to tell her boss that I was a cool dude. I really appreciated that because I bet he wouldn't have bothered to call me otherwise. Probably going to have to express my love physically the next time I see her, which is a scary thing, as many of you might know.

The interview went pretty well. I wasn't a moron, which is a big step for me. Hopefully I was vaguely entertaining and engaging.

What I do know for sure is that I get horrible dry mouth when I'm nervous. Everything else was fine. My hands weren't shaking, I didn't even feel particularly nervous. My mouth, however, was like the bloody sahara. I was worried that I looked like some sort of horrible mutant that hadn't produced saliva since elementary school. There were no confused/horrified looks from the potential employer so I was probably okay.

On a completely unrelated note, Jo recently concoted the most innovative and awesome television program on her blog recently, titled Toni and Wasp. If you guys want in, because you just KNOW that we're going to become rich and famous of the t-shirt revenues alone, you should probably send me all your money.

COLDPLAY IS AWESOME. Jo's tired of hearing it...now all of you have to. AWESOME AWESOME AWESOME AWESOME AWESOME AWESOME.

I'm SUPER tired of hearing ignorant morons say they are defending marriage by not letting gay people get married. YOU ARE DEFENDING NOTHING AND ARE, IN FACT, INFRINGING ON THE RIGHTS OF ANOTHER HUMAN BEING. Nobody said that everyone has to marry someone of the same sex. THEY JUST WANT THE SAME RIGHTS AS EVERYONE ELSE. Anyone can get married, ANYONE. Even some crack whore in a pink tube top and a mullet-wearing grease ball who watches too much Nascar in his spare time can get married on a whim, simply because they've both had one too many Jack Daniels in Vegas and happen to be the (collective) owners of one penis and one vagina. SHUT UP WORLD. A LOT.

Fine, I'll go study for my quiz. Leave me alone.

Everything I ever needed to know I learned from Pimp My Ride.

"Nothing says peace and serenity like huge 18 inch tires." - Xzibit

My life is complete.

This one's for you muffin!

Today in Toni:

Back in Hamilton. Excited to see Sheri-Ann and Jenn, could do without the rest. Brian and Deanna are always the same. As I've mentioned to nearly everyone that isn't Brian and Deanna, the best part about coming home is seeing my cat. If you think that makes me a bad person then you don't know me very well...there's plenty of other personality flaws that are much worse.

Talked to a certain Subu of mine today. She is a glorious goddess and soon to be major-motion picture star. Certainly, she will forget about the little people or the not-so-little-people, like myself very soon and thus I must express my everlasting affection for her RIGHT NOW.

I HAVE EVERLASTING AFFECTION FOR SUBUTRONIA.

There. *Phew* Glad that's done.

As any of you that are also reading Susan's blog are aware, she has been doing extra work in a Bruce Willis film this summer. Ever since she started doing extra work I find myself watching movies and TV and paying special attention to the extras. I was watching Shakespeare in Love the other day (which is quite good. Joseph Fiennes is not unhot and the Romeo and Juliet stuff with him and Gwyneth Paltrow is GLORIOUSLY FANTASTIC) and I kept looking at the people wandering around in the background. I was, naturally, sighing due to my unrequited love for Susan and imagining her as one of the early modern ruffians that enriched my movie watching experience.

In conclusion, I'm a hot tamale and I need to replenish my fluids like whoa. If any of you have an air conditioner that you're trying to get rid off or, failing that, two studly males with large palm fronds, send them my way.

As many of you may be aware, it gets hot in the summer. The first day of hot weather and the Penthouse (the top floor, as Jo and I insist it is called) is like a steam bath. Okay, not a steambath but some place where it's really friggen' hot all the time. I had two fans on last night and I still died.

Alas, Barb ignored our pleas to pick up an air conditioner while he was out and we are still VERY WARM.

There are things I love about the summer, however. Like thunderstorms. It stormed last night, here in the good old G-spot and in a desperate attempt to avoid DEATH DUE TO EXCESSIVE HEAT Jo and I went out in it.

While were dancing around like lunatics and getting soaked, I couldn't help thinking about my grandmother who is deathly afraid of thunderstorms. Probably has something to do with the fact that she lived near the water when she was younger and had a particularly terrifying view of any storm. Her (irrational) fear may also be related to the fact that everytime it stormed my Nana (Grandma's mom) who was also deathly afraid made her pray the rosary for their protection until it stopped. Sexy.

The last thing my grandma would want was for me to be outside in the storm. She's always told me to close all the windows when it stormed and to avoid using any electrical appliances. In fact, if we were on the phone when a storm started, she'd get off the phone. She's mad, I tell you.

I take a more laissez-faire approach. I kind of figure, considering the astronomical odds of getting hit by lightening, that if I ever do get hit I probably deserved it.

Awesomeosity.

I must tell you all about this blog. As a human that likes to laugh and be touched by things (pull your filthy mind out of the gutter Jowie), it is my responsibility to spread the word. I discovered this blog by reading (stalking) someone's livejournal. Yes, I do spend too much time on the internet. Thank you for asking.

It is the best thing ever. I'm sad only because my secrets are not awesome enough for this page. If you don't visit the website and love it you are deader to me than Napoleon Bonaparte.

Do it.

Pay me to be your friend, damn it.

I hate looking for jobs. It is vile, vile with a capital V in fact. VILE. I realize that all my lovely readers are aware of this fact, but I just thought I'd rant a little.

It is demoralizing. Generally I walk around and think I'm pretty all right, if not awesome, but rejections, or stone cold silences from job people make me feel like the crud that is gathering behind our kitchen sink taps even as I write. Being rejected by a company that will probably hire some 15 year old with greasy hair and smelly armpits makes me a sad panda.

However, I've recently discovered that there is a new level of shame. I applied to this clothing store that I CONSTANTLY shop at. I've you've seen me wearing it, it probably came from that store. (Or a store in London that was ten million times better. This is neither the time nor the place for me to compare this summer to last summer. I will however, provide you with a hint: This summer does not compare favourably.) Jo and I thought we had a pretty good shot. We applied twice. Then Jo called to show interest and yesterday, I also called to show that I am a go-getter and NOT someone who stays up until 4 AM and sleeps until noon the next day. And that's when I got the news, the manager has called all the people she's going to call...A.K.A Fuck you Toni, no job for you.

I've spent trillions of dollars at your store lady, it wouldn't kill you to hire me so I could earn a little bit of that back. Throw me a frickin' bone here.

On a completely unrelated note, I managed to finally convert some files of mine from Microsoft Works into A FORMAT THAT ACTUALLY MAKES SENSE.

EAT A BIG BAG OF DICKS MICROSOFT.