Post Number Nine - Peter "Guitar God" Andrews' Freestylin' and Chase-hatin'

This is my expert footage of Pete Andrews (billed as "the Next Jack Johnson") performing two of his hit songs in the intimate M&M Lounge. The explanation for the negativity towards Chase will be given in a later post (hopefully soon to follow). Meanwhile, sit back and enjoy the show!

Post Number Eight - A Shadow of Who I Used to Be

I woke up this morning but something was different. At first I couldn't put my finger on it. I just lay in bed for hours, not sleeping, not reading, not studying. Just being. Just doing nothing. I knew something was weird about me today. I had a funny feeling in my stomach, but I didn't feel sick. I didn't know if it was a mental weird or a physical weird. When Morg came home from class, I told her about my weird. I said "Maybe I'm sick. Maybe I'm bored. I just don't know. Maybe I'm sad." Morg looked at me and said, "Well, you did seem kind of emo last night...". And that was it. I knew what it was. Somehow during the night, I became emo. I don't know what triggered it. I don't know how to stop it. I don't know if I want to. I decided to just roll with it. So I did my make-up emo-ly and I dressed emo-ly to the best of my ability. Believe it or not, I don't have a lot of the standard emo fare in my wardrobe. I gave myself emo tattoos with my favourite black pen (FYI, a cafeteria lady thought they were real). I also gave myself an emo tear with eyeliner (black, of course). I wrote an emo message on my whiteboard that explained that I was too emo to answer the door. I downloaded emo music (I'm not too familiar with emo bands, so I just chose bands that I remember seeing on my sister's Ipod). And naturally I took [myspace] pictures to record my emo-ness.

Anyway, I'm just going to post my pictures and leave now. I have a lot of sitting alone to do.

Post Number Seven - For Some Reason, We're Stupid Today

About 20 minutes ago, Morg and I had a quote fest. As in, we said a series of things that made us laugh. Probably they won't make you laugh. But I felt that I had to record them for posterity. I may also include other quotes, some said at other times and/or by other people. Commence!

1. Morganne: Mickie, come here and look at this text I sent this morning.

Text: It will have to be a minty thank-you. Thank you so much!!

Mickie: How could this happen?

Morganne: I sent it this morning. At 9:00 a.m.. When I was in bed. I knew that I could sleep-talk. Turns out I can sleep-text too.

Mickie: BWABWABWA (i.e. laughter)


2. Mickie (eating a grapefruit): I was just about to tell you that grapefruit is my favourite animal.


3. Morganne: Remember that text that I just showed you? It said that "It" will have to be a minty thank-you. What do you think "it" is?

Mickie: Ahh, "it", the ubiquitous pronoun.

Morganne: Haha, yeah, so true

Mickie: Did you like how I just played it off like I know what "ubiquitous" means?

Morganne: Yeah, that was good. I totally responded like I knew what it meant too.

Mickie: Yeah, I noticed. That was really good.


4. Friday, when Morg and I went to Tim Horton's for bagels

Mickie: Hey, look! There's totally a place called "Fabutan"!

Morganne: I could really use a tan.

Mickie: I'm not really a fan of the tan.

Morganne: Of the fake tan, or the tan in general?

Mickie: Of the tan in general. I'd rather be pale. Like alabaster.

Morganne: Oh I love the tan. Need the tan. My kingdom for a tan!!


5. At the Semi-Formal

Mickie (to Morganne): You're not going to remember any of this tomorrow.

Morganne: I will! I'm not thaaaat drunk.

Mickie: Fine. We'll come up with a codeword. If you can remember it tomorrow, then I owe you an apology.

Morganne: Fine, what's the codeword?

Mickie: Ummm.... Fabutan!


6. Every time anyone from our house sees someone else from our house

Person 1: OH, HEY

Person 2: OH, HEY

Post Number Six - Semi-Formal Pictures

Here are the photos from my house's Christmas semi-formal on Saturday. Not to worry. There will most certainly be a write-up to come (actually, that may be cause for worry, considering that my posts are each usually the length of a small to medium-sized novel). I just don't have time to do one right now. Although I have spent several minutes writing this paragraph, when I could have just posted the photos and let it be.












(For the record, I only took this emo 'myspace' picture because I was using Morg's camera and I wanted to leave her a lovely memento. It's not my fault that it turned out so well. I'm just too good-looking for my own good.)

Post Number Five - Name Dropping

Emma called Morganne. It brightened my day.

Post Number Four - The Log Log Blog

WARNING: THIS POST CONTAINS GRAPHIC CONTENT RELATED TO BOYS AND THEIR DISGUSTING LACK OF MATURITY


Okay, the Log Log. I promised I would tell about it. I'm telling. Count this as a final warning. If you are at all squeamish or already have an idea of where this is going, please stop reading now. Go back and read an older post. Or wait until I write a newer one. It will be equally entertaining and (probably) not nearly as nauseating.


Oh God. Here we go.

So Morganne and I are roommates. So far so good. We live in a small but successful residence on the Memorial campus. Our room is well decorated. The Spice Girls, Chuck Norris and George W. Bush (mockingly, of course) are all represented on our walls. Above Morganne's bed is a photo of David Beckham. Above my bed is a photo of JFK (I put him there 90% as an ironic juxtaposition to Morganne's choice of men, and 10% out of earnest admiration). My "I OVA'D IB" shirt is hanging on the bulletin board beside my bed. If I were to work it out in percentages, I would say that our room is 25% girly, 35% freakin' awesome and 40% dull-and-impossible-to-hide residence style. So as rooms go, ours would seem to be at the average or even slightly-above-average excellence level. Notice that I said 'seem'. That's a nasty little word there. Seem. That dog seems friendly. That ride at the Ex seems like it won't fall apart underneath me and sever important limbs. That old man at the bus stop seems like he's not a rapist. Hitler seems to have good plans for the future of Germany. Well my friends, I hate to be the one to burst your little security bubble, but unfortunately, things are not always as they seem. Welcome to the real world. My world.

The downside of our dorm room is its situation within the house. Our room is in the short wing. That's good. Our room is on the second floor. That's good. Our room is directly across from the boys' washroom. That is grievously bad. At first we thought that the worst that would come of living near the bathroom would be the sound of running water early in the morning and late at night. Yeah, like the sound of water could keep Morganne "the Snooze" Foley awake. Then the Snooze thought "hey, maybe this is a blessing in disguise - boys do actually shower sometimes, and when they do, they walk down the halls in their towels." Listen to me: NOT WORTH IT. There are very few towel-clad boys, heck, very few towel-clad men in this world who would make living across from this bathroom a worthwhile experience. Believe it or not, my disgust has nothing to do with any sights or smells that could potentially emanate from this room. It has to do with my jarring and complete realization that our elementary school taunts were actually correct - boys really are a lower type of life form.

One night Morg and I were sitting in our room, happily watching every variation of My New Haircut we could find on YouTube when pieces of a conversation (in solely male voices) began to waft through our door. "...must have been a foot long..." "...did you hear him?..." "...it was like giving birth!...". At first Morganne and I were indignant that boys would even dare to compare any of their experiences to childbirth. Sure, neither of us has never actually had a baby, but it's our God-given right as women to complain about it. But then, the realization slowly began to dawn on us. Childbirth. The bathroom. They were boys. "Oh, sick!!" cried Morganne. "I cannot believe that they are discussing that!" But they were. They would take breaks from their conversation to cheer on their buddy who was working away in the bathroom. We were more than mildly nauseated. We did not leave our room until we were sure they were gone. There was no way that we wanted to be unwittingly drawn into that conversation.
'Okay', we thought. 'That was super-gross but it was a Friday night, they were all drunk, this definitely won't happen again'. Really, you'd think that by now, after 36 years of interaction with boys (18 years for me and 18 for Morg) we'd have some idea about just how seriously the Y chromosome inhibits their mental functions. This was not a one-time occurrence. This was not a two-time occurrence. The hallway just outside our room became a veritable forum for the description and comparison of that which the boys were disturbingly proud of having produced in the washroom.
It turns out that although the boys on all of the floors in our rez have similar discussions, the boys' room across from our room is special; it is the location of "The Log Log." Yep. I know. I am both grossed- and freaked-out too. It sounds like the kind of thing that some immature male screenwriter would have invented for the next teen sexcapade summer blockbuster (think "American Poo"). But what scares me the most is that, having been acquainted with the boys in this rez for almost 3 months, I can say that I have absolutely no doubt that it actually exists. The Log Log is not an urban legend. I can 100% picture a little hilroy notebook sitting by the sink, each page formed into a table, filled in with messy boy-scrawl that gives qualitative, quantitative and definitely detailed descriptions of ever major event that has ever occurred in that washroom.

Sigh. The Log Log. Just another reason why one shouldn't get married.
Heck, that's another reason why one should be gay.

Post Number Three - My New Brother

Okay, so last post, I promised I'd tell the story of my other new favourite person. You must bear in mind I have a lot of favourite people. An abridged list of these people includes myself, Morganne Foley, my family (even most of my extended family), my other family (the IB kids), Gorganne, any musician from Detroit, McNiv and Headbizzle, JFK, John Cleese, MoFo, the kids from middle school who I haven't seen in years (but who were favourites at the time and I have no reason to believe that this has changed) and of course Baby Girl. But right now I have a new topper to the list, a person who has made me happy more times this week than most people do in a year. His name is Pete. His is Steve's (where Steve = ex) roommate. He's known Steve pretty much his whole life. I've known him since the Dance in the Square on the second day of Orientation when he drunkenly (and, I like to think, lovingly) informed me "Dude! You're like, in my history class! Mannnn! High Five!" For the first month-and-a-half of school, I didn't really see Pete outside of History. To me he was a friendly acquaintance with whom I shared the knowledge that our History prof was a wingnut/dingbat combo. But nothing more. However, when I started hanging out with Steve, I started seeing a lot more of Pete and his adorable girlfriend Marly (where Marly = sweetheart) because, well, he and Steve shared a 'room' (read: 'Harry-Potter-before-he-knew-he-was-a-wizard-esque closet'). The four of us would lie in the room together and watch movies. Usually the boys chose them, so often the plots of the movies were less important than the set-ups for fart jokes. Nevertheless, we were happy. We were like a family. At first I thought that Steve and I were the parents in this family and Pete and Marly were the kids. But then I realized that Steve was sometimes not as mature as I was, so then I thought that Pete and Marly were the parents. Then I realized that Pete, god love him (see McNiv), was a boy, and was thus also born with the immaturity gene. So then I realized that our family was very progressive because it had two moms. Well, I guess I could say a mom and a dad; I would have been the dad of course - as I noted in the last post, I was the only man in my relationship with Steve, so I guess that qualifies me to be a dad too. But I digress. So, since the four of us had become pretty close, when Steve told Pete that he was going to break up with me, Pete was a little shaken up - and a little pissed. First he silently fumed, because there were other people in the room (I had not been informed of the break-up at this time - I was still in my room, thinking that Steve was still in Grand Falls). Then he whispered some nasty stuff to Steve. The he just got plain mad and told Steve off out loud, saying something akin to "Mickie's cool! Why would you do that to her?". Then, the icing on the cake - he looked at Steve (so the story goes) and said "And this weekend, while you were away, I had sex on your bed!" Now, I cannot personally prove the validity of this claim. It was probably just something Pete made up to irk Steve. Nevertheless, I like my mental image of Steve sleeping on top of a towel on his bed that night, counting down the hours until he could pull on his rubber gloves and give his Transformers sheets 2 or 3 good runs through the washer. So, this story couldn't get any better right? Well, it might not get better, but I can guarantee that it at least stays on the same level of enjoyability. A night or two after the break-up was Open Mic night at the Breezeway. I didn't go because, according to the government, I need to live for 5 more months before I'm mature enough to go into a bar to watch a band, not drink and see other people make fools of themselves. I'm old enough to make a contract though. Maybe I'll just buy a house and sit in it until I'm 19. Of course, I'll have to pay for it in cash, because I can't have a credit card either. Oh, the world we live in. But I digress again. That's an entirely different rant. I'm beginning to think that everything I say is a digression. So anyway, before he even goes to the Breezeway, Steve shows up, drunk, at my door, and starts writing some profanity or another on my whiteboard (nothing about me. Just profanity in general, because that is apparently amusing to boys - I'm learning that real-world boys are a lot different than IB boys). Happily, Pete shows up right behind him. I was going to say hi and thank him for being a good friend, but before I had a chance, he snuck up behind Steve, lined himself up, wound back and then delivered the most accurate and annihilating bag-tag that I've ever witnessed. Pete raised both fists in victory, like 8-time gold-medal-winning olympian Michael Phelps, as Steve crashed to the floor in agony. I'd being lying if I said that it wasn't one of the sweeter moments in my recent memory. Like I've said before, I'm not actually mad at Steve for anything, but as the broken-up-with party, I'm allowed a certain amount of free bitterness to spend as I choose. Well, Pete just made my night there. Steve was literally on the floor for a good 10 minutes, while I congratulated Pete on his skill, and then continued on a casual conversation with him. When Steve could walk again, he stopped in the bathroom to make an entry in the "Log Log" (I'll explain later. It's the bane of my/Morg's life in rez), then hobbled on to the Breezeway, where I'm sure he proceeded to enjoy himself immensely. Pete, on the other hand, stayed behind to talk to me. We had a wonderful heart-to-heart about the whole Steve situation and he promised that he and Marly would come visit me a lot because even though Steve and I ended on good terms, it's still kind of awkward for me to go up to their room. After our talk, I felt a million times better than I had before. He put everything in perspective for me. Really, my relationship with Pete got stronger because I broke up with Steve, which I find to be an unexpected, but not by any means unwelcome, by-product of the whole business. That's why Pete is one of my new favourite people. That's also why, the next time I see him, I'm going to make a proposal to him. I'm going to ask him if I can officially adopt him as my big brother. I've always wanted a big brother - someone who sticks up for you and is nice to you and punches boys in the nuts when they make you feel bad. Pete has done all of these things for me. He is a prime big brother candidate. And I'm not talking about the TV show, although I'm sure he could probably do that too. I couldn't. I'm just too darn nice to make it in reality TV. Gosh darn my wonderful personality! Well, that's more or less the story that I had to tell today. I hope it was funny and at least mildly entertaining. But I can't really tell when I'm in the middle of writing it, and I make it a point to NEVER proofread my work. That's for people who can't do it right the first time.

Post Number Two - A Less Depressing Series of Events? - Unlikely!

Long story short, my boyfriend and I broke up yesterday. We had a classic middle school run (2 whole weeks together!), which is mildly embarassing. The first week of our partnership was great. We totally hit it off. He came to visit at least 3 times a day, often when I wasn't there, humourously bugging the crap out of Morganne. But the second week was different. We really didn't see each other much. Something shifted. I don't think it was his fault or my fault, but I knew for a while that the break-up was coming, so I wasn't really shocked or even that upset when it happened. So I wasn't actually mad at him for breaking up with me (yeah, he got to it first, but, for the record, I was thinking it. [I was also thinking that if he really wanted to, I'd be willing to make an effort to pull things back together, but boys can't really handle complicated thoughts like that, so it just worked out the way that it did]). What did bug me, and I believe I'm being reasonable in voicing this opinion, is that he did it over msn. That's right. He went there. He had been away on a trip for the weekend, but had been home for 3 hours when he did this. I didn't know he was home. I was sitting around, waiting for him to visit so that I could talk to him. Visit, he did not. Instead, he took a nap, then sent me a huge msn spiel with the classic "I think we'd be better off as friends" line. I mean, come on boys. Girls are starting to catch on to this one. Please try to be at least a little original. Anyway, since I was waiting for news like this, I was kind of relieved that it was at least done, so I went up to his room and had a chat. We ended it as friends (just like he wanted! Wow!) and we may actually get along better now. That has yet to be seen. I told him that he wasn't a man because he did the msn break-up. He hid behind a pillow and mumbled something about his lack of testicles. I agreed with him. I'm actually not really mad at him or anything. I was feeling a little bummed, more because I missed the feeling from the beginning of our time together than anything else. No, I wasn't mad at him. I wasn't expecting to get mad at anyone. It's not something that happens that frequently. But tonight I ran into my friend, who I shall not name (but whose name starts with K and rhymes with "whalein'." K and I were chattin' it up, all normal, when he asks me how things are going with Steve (where Steve = the ex). I told him that we had broken up last night. Was K compassionate? Was he there for me in my time of need (okay, I didn't really 'need' that much, but I'm being dramatic). No. He just looks me in the eye and says "I called it!" I just mumbled something and headed off. But on the inside, I was like "Are you flipping kidding me? Have you ever spent any time around women? Ever? That is NOT what you say to a girl whose just been broken-up with." He asked Maggie (who was there at the time) why I had left. Maggie (who is one of my 2 new favourite people [#2 will be discussed in a later post, because it's a good story]) says to him: "because you're an insensitive jerk." That's my girl! Long story short, when I got back to my room, I told Morg and she, being the great friend that she is, backed me in being mad at him. He sent me a text that said something along the lines of "I love you and I'm sorry I made you sad, we're still friends, blah blah blah crap." Yeah, sure, it's up to you, the offender, to determine whether we're still friends. Anyway, my reply to him was short and sweet: "Screw you." Even at the time, I actually felt that that was a little harsh, but Morg told me that that was the only way to get your point across with boys, so I sent it. I've actually cooled down now and find the whole incident slightly humourous, but I'm not going to let him know that yet. Best to let him grovel for a couple of days. Yeah, I'm cruel, I know. But I deserve it. I've had a bad weekend.

Post Number One - This is Unfortunate

Unfortunately, my first post is about my weekend. Usually weekend posts are entertaining or at least not depressing. This weekend in St. John's was set in a backdrop of weather like that which occurs 98% of the time in Saint John. So the weather on its own wasn't what made the weekend bad. I'm used to it. Reminds me of home. What made this weekend probably a billion times crappier than a weekend in Saint John is that St. John's has not completely grasped the concept of functional public transportation. I have wasted so much money on taxis in this city, not because I needed the taxi to get somewhere, but because I had already taken a bus to get somewhere, but the bus went to an entirely different place than it was supposed to, so the only way to get to where I'm supposed to without waiting for 45 minutes for another wayward bus is to take a taxi. Shut up about grammar. It doesn't count in rants. Anyway, yesterday night, Morg and I just wanted to go to Walmart. That's all. I know that that is a really lame plan for Saturday night, but we were in desperate need of things that only Walmart could provide at extremely reasonable prices. Well, long story short, we missed our bus by 30 seconds, so we decided to take a cab from the mall to Walmart. So we walked down to the place where the cabs wait and we hopped in a van cab (van cab!). We said to the cabbie (who was very nice) "could you please take us to Walmart?" He said "Sure thing m'loves!" We then had a lovely drive, throughout which the conversation was dominated by his description of every Shitzu (is that how you spell that?) that he has ever owned. At first it kind of seemed to me that we weren't heading in the Walmart direction, but I'm new to the city and I figured, hey, he's a cabbie, he probably knows a shortcut. It turns out that he knew a shortcut to the Village Mall (i.e. the Parkway Mall of St. John's) which is very noticeably sans Walmart. Or at least, we noticed this after we had paid $12 for the cab and he had driven away. So we decided to just wait for another bus out of there. Oh, we waited all right. We waited for a good 40 minutes, with Dane Cook on Morg's Ipod and Creepy the Lurker as our only entertainment. Creepy was an unusual sort of fellow. Well, maybe not so unusual in these parts. He was probably about 60 years old, had a lovely grey hoodie and a fragrant cigarette. Out of the blue he walks over to our bus shelter, leans in the doorway (blocking our only escape route), looks us in the eye and says "Last week...a security guard at this mall...got fired...for touching a nine-year-old girl. A NINE-YEAR-OLD! I wouldn't wish that on my worst f#*&ing enemy!" I had three thoughts at this time: 1) I wouldn't wish you on my worst f#*&ing enemy; 2) What, are you telling us your autobiography?; and 3) I don't have to outrun him, I just have to outrun Morganne. (for the record, I would never bail on Morgie like that). Anyway, he just abruptly turns and walks away (he did come back about 2o minutes later to tell us that the bus was coming soon - in another 22 minutes). So, eventually, a bus did come that I knew would get us back to MUN. We had given up on Walmart by now, even though it's open 24 hours here. We just didn't care anymore. Little did we realize that the bus that would take us back to MUN would first take us on a nice, hour-long tour of the entire city. There was a highlight of this bus ride. As we were passing through downtown, I spotted some fireworks out the window. I turned to Morg and asked her what they could possibly be for, considering that it was November 8th. She thought for a minute and then her face lit up. "Mickie, of course there are fireworks on November 8th - it's an international holiday." I gave her a 'watch-you-talkin'-bout-Willis' face. She says "Mickie...November the eighth is the anniversary...of the birth...of James Sudul!" Well, I pretty much had a fit right there on the bus. Fortunately, the only other person on the bus was a hip Asian dude with a walkman who wisely chose to ignore us. Anyway, long story short, we eventually got to the bus stop at MUN. We had a lovely walk back to rez through a refreshing (ha-ha, yeah right) heavy mist (remember Saint John?). I tripped and almost fell into Burton's Pond. When we got back, all we wanted was hot chocolate. Luckily, there was still a little left. Rez was a ghost town because everyone was at the Breezeway (=campus bar). We did nothing. Not one thing. We sat in our room. Just like Friday night, when we waited for 3 hours for MUNch house to open, not because we were hungry, but just for something to do. I have to say, weekends do not get much lamer than ours. Pasty guys living in their parents' basements have more fun on WOW (that's World of Warcraft, for all you squares out there) than we do on a Saturday night, away from home, at Uni-flipping-versity. Of course, the fun doesn't end there. Because there was still another day left in the weekend. This morning, I tried to get out to the mall, for a work meeting. I really tried so hard. But the meeting was early, so I couldn't take my usual bus. I looked up the schedules online and found a bus that would supposedly get the job done. Ho ho, ha ha, that's a laugh. Knee-slapper! I was the only person on the bus (what?! Normal university kids don't go riding around the city on a weekend morning?!?) so I had a nice chat with the driver. At first, we seemed to be going in the right direction. That didn't last long. We promptly turned in the direction of downtown, the exact opposite direction of my work. I'm thinking "oookayy, this is a little weird, mayybee he just has a long route...". Nope. We just go further and further into the abyss of downtown. The driver (who was very nice and with whom I'd been chatting the whole time) turns to me and says "so where do you work downtown?" Mentally, I was like "aw crap." Verbally, I was like "uhhhh...a bookstore?" because I was too embarassed to say I was on the wrong bus. Anyway, I just pretended that we got to my stop and I got off. I didn't know what to do, or where I was, other than the general location of "downtown". So I tried to wait for a bus at a random stop. It never came. I didn't have any money for a taxi, or a taxi's phone number, so I just picked a direction that looked right and started walking. Well, I walked walked walked walked walked. All the way to the other side of the city. But all the time I was walking, it was in a rather lost way. I eventually did find my way back to MUN. By this time, it was too late for my meeting, so I grabbed some feel-better Subway and went back to bed. Oh, and I forgot to mention, I have strep throat. That added to my joy. I just gave up on today. Morg did too. She got up at 6:00 - P.M.. Well, as I forewarned, post numero uno is a real downer. Hopefully, better things are to come. Hopefully I don't forget about this blog and have this post be the only record of my life that ever survives. I love all of my friends so much (you know who you are, you IBz)! I really miss you guys and I can't wait to see you at Christmas! (Christmas #2, that is. Everyone knows that November 8th is the original Christmas [see above]). I hope that everyone is happy - but not so happy that you forget to miss me! Love and all that jazz - Mickie