My knitting blog is now located at the Needle Exchange!
If I had my way, ALL self-serve grocery checkouts would be abolished. It took me literally 15 minutes to check myself out, making me late for the last bus and forcing me to cab home. So much for the “wonders of technology.”
Apparently, you can’t check out two items after one another; you have to put the first item in the bag, then do the same thing with each other item. OBNOXIOUS. Sure, it makes logical sense, what with the pressure sensors and whatnot for the bags to make sure nothing gets stolen, but they could tell a person that instead of assuming that it’s common knowledge. Remember, folks, us university kids have no common sense. I figured it was just a delay in the system, so I just kept on trying. After about three instances of the same error, Jolene finally told me what was going down. And not without ridicule. This is Jolene we’re talking about, after all.
The cashier monitor must have come by my spot about four times. It was terrible. Then the receipt printer jammed, and she had to print out a duplicate, and things went from there… Halfway through she’d probably started planning a shift-ending effigy burning. So that’s why she asked for a single hair from my head. And there I thought it was because I’d gotten cash back.
On the up side, this whole shopping debacle has resulted in the elimination of any further Christmas shopping. 7 hours wasted to some, 7 hours gained to me. Was I really going to spend those 7 hours studying for Vector Calculus? Shit no.
Shit no indeed.
Side note: Electronics Boutique is selling “Evil Dead: A Fistful of Boomstick” for 30 bucks! Grab it now, before it disappears from the shelves!!
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< a href ="http://www.websexnetwork.com/lesbolust/content/pic1.jpg">wtf up wtf os gpomg pm dies.O
, Tavis . I’m in electical incgineering, And imp osting porn., because i feel lik \e it. so fuck you got >/a>
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This is what happens when my Clie breaks. I have been demoted to sub-nerd!
Test your Digital IQ
My score: 105. That’s 5 points away from guru. Sigh. Time to buy a new pocket PC. Christmas present? Eh? Eh?
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Howard Hallis drew a picture of everything. (Ed: if you read the History of the picture, you will understand why I scream, “Get me pictures of Spiderman!“) How nerdy / terrible / physics-major-y of me was it that I looked for the spaceships first? I just watched the beginning of Contact, and it made me want to do physics again. Fucking SETI movies. Fucking not fair.
I’ve been convinced to skip out on all but the astro and the outerspace joke course. Lack of physics will apparently cause me to love it again, which I’m seeing first hand, now. I’m going to miss it, vaguely, until I have to start studying Dynamics for my exam on the 11th. Except that’s not exactly true, because the last time I did (midterm in the last week!), I sort of enjoyed it.
I’m pretty much just rambling right now… Still got the hangover, still got the beer lying around in my room and the delicious greasy pizza lying on my bedroom floor… INSIDE A BOX, don’t worry. It’s right next to the crossword I did right before bed. Yes, I did a crossword. I think I did pretty well; didn’t fill up everything with KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY
KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY
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Was that a crazy night, or was that a crazy night? I enjoyed reading those last few posts and watching each separate GW-er slowly degenerate into drunken ranting.
More so offline than online. There was fighting for the computer, tossing around of pizza, claims that rumours of my romantic involvement with [insert strange thing here] were being started on the INTERNET. I managed to keep myself from interfering with the blogging, so what you’re reading is the REAL DEAL, unadulterated and uncensored. Let’s hope I don’t get lynched by censors.
Apparently it’s snowing outside. At least, that’s what the Kingston blogosphere tells me. Maybe I will peek out the window and see for myself.
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Allowing someone complete, unadulterated access to your blog is a pretty big leap of faith. It’s a lot like trusting someone in a back alley in Mexico to perform surgery on you, and not harvest your organs. I respect that. I respect that someone might actually go, “No, that back alley Mexican doctor has my best interests at heart, and that he’ll follow the Hypocratic owth and put my own best interests before his. Ariba.” It takes a certain amount of blind faith to do that, and that deserves respect. But hey, no matter how it goes, at least you get a free bottle of tequila in the bargain.
All I can say is that the developmentally delayed sure know how to dance. I should know. I volunteer with the developmentally delayed (common parlance: retarded) and I’ve seen them. You put a man with Down Syndrome in a dance floor, and he’ll tear that shit up. I kid you not. Try as I might, you can’t keep up with that.
Once upon a time, I wrote an article entitled “The Extra Special Olympics,” which included such events as “The 1 Meter Dash,” “The Ten Meter Fall,” and the “My Head is Bigger Than Your Head” event. Looking back, I should have included dancing. Because, God damn it, that would’ve been one area in which they could’ve shown us who’s who in the goddamn developmentally delayed zoo.
So now, I am going to go back to the party. I have scotch to drink and pizza to eat. But before I go, I would like to post a drunk e-mail written by a freind of mine. I think we can all learn a lot from this. The first thing we can learn is not to write drunken e-mail. Here goes:
hin ryan,
I figured id email you as laura has just like left for the bathroom and i ‘m chekci ng my email… so anyways how are you ding? i’m here righ tnow rather dunk and having a lot of fun… she is such like wonmderful…. you know. anywasy i’m watchine conan obren and he seems funny so imust be really fuckin gone by now… hn,,, ut tajes 43 muscles to frown and four muscles to bitch sla[ somebudy… remember that always. he’s being bitch slapping conan mow so i gota go i’lkk like meail y ou when i bet bak and get over this fuckin high. you don’t like do anyhthiung stupid lik eia am,
a drink rfo you,
will
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This is guest blogger Pat, a new blogger amongst this guest-blog-fest. Freeman, Ryan (Olives) and myslef played a drinking game tongith that challenged the traiditional winner/loser binary. (Derrida, a deconstructionist critic, would support this idea that a binary naturally deconstucts itself). You see, our game involved three people. Each person selects a number, either one or two; this number is indiacted by the fingers which a person puts forth in a certain round (e.g. if I were to choose the number 1, I would extend one finger. cf. a traditional round of rock-paper-scissors). The person that ‘loses’ takes a drink from a 40 of Old English. However, does this person ‘lose’, or, by taking a drink from the alcohol, do they inherently ‘win’? Derrida would argue that in such a case that the binary of winner/loser, so central to western ideology, in this case deconstructs itself. The ‘loser’ is in fact the one who comes into possession of the coveted 40 of Old English; in such a way, the ‘loser’ is in fact the ‘winner’.
So, we can see that my drunkeness, rather than detracting from my cogency, has made me more pretentious. As my argument is more pretentious than that of a sober person, it is more valid. In conclusion, I rock. Good night.
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