1x: Anyone who's ever had a heart wouldn't turn around and break it

Girls smell prettier in springtime. That's just a fact. I don't mean to be weird or anything, but it was a gorgeous day in Toronto today. April Fools really... I'm not really one to play tricks on people but the weather damn well played a trick on me. Like I said it was gorgeous in Toronto but when I got back to Oakville the whole damn town was beset upon by massive icy gusts. I didn't even have change for the bus and was in my spring coat. Oh life.

But I'm not here to bitch about the weather really. I'm here to try to go back to bitching about my weekend. If it were an inconsequential weekend I might just leave it out by now but like I said, as far as the life of Scotto goes, this was as busy as it gets and I surely don't want to cheat my loyal readers out of this chapter, nor myself when I inevitably go back and try to figure out what I was thinking in early April (well really late March but by now I'm not retconning the beginning of the month.)

I left off with... the giant. I hate to mock this poor woman but she really was... she towered noticeably over Chris and Pat, both of whom are north of 6 feet tall. We just kept glancing quickly then away trying to not look like we were noticing, which is often when you are caught noticing most. I actually had to switch seats with Pat so that I was in front of her, because if he and Chris were sitting together in front of her, they wouldn't have been able to keep from laughing throughout the production.

Cary, who is doubtlessly Ctrl+F-ing this blog right now looking for this paragraph, will be glad to hear that I thought the play was really good. I like Macbeth, because it's such a dark, violent play, and the plot isn't overly difficult to follow... some witchy women tell Big Mac he's gonna be King, so he decies to make it happen by spilling a little blood, and then he gets cocky. As good as his role as Lennox was, I don't think Cary will blame me for saying that he wasn't the standout performer of the piece. The actor in the title role was absolutely suited to his part, and the bulk of the cast gave energetic, often intense performances. I think I liked the witches best, as a group. They seemed really into their parts.

After going to the car to grab Chris' backpack and say goodbye to Pat, we met back up with Cary, as well as his housemate who played MacDuff. There was a cast party. We got to the house and immediately started playing Smash Bros., which Chris had brought (hence the bag.) I actually performed worse than I can ever remember doing, but then my heart wasn't really into it on this particular evening. Eventually I put the Wiimote down in order to just catch up with Cary's old roommate Alex, whom I always (and only) see at these parties. We talked about nothing in particular, with the most notable point being a brief debate on the virtues of chewing gum (I was in favour of it, he was against.) I tell you, there's nothing I like more after a night of heavy drinking than a piece of Dentyne, but I had to go without, which I would later lament.

Cary had had the foresight to invest in a keg, and I had had the foresight to secure the proper amount for a buy-in (I'm really not sure what I'd been planning on doing.) It was Pabst, but it didn't taste as gross as the last time I'd had it so maybe the problem that time was on me. (I mean don't get me wrong... Pabst is far from Stella but it could be worse.) Feeling done with video games and beer in hand, it was time to chill. And, as so frequently happens in these situations, there was this girl... (I guess I just can't help myself.) A bit of foreshadowing: this is not going to be one of my better (more positive/more interesting) stories. We'll see how well I come out looking by the end...

I hadn't had my eye on her to begin with, I really just wanted to sit down. She was next to Edgar, her friend (a girl whose name I didn't get) was next to her, and next to the friend was a gay dude (I wanna say... Jonathan.) She was introduced as the third Chris (Kris?) in the room, after Chris F. and Christopher J. Edgar, whom the guys all call Edgar, and the girls all call James. The female, I spent the bulk of the night calling "Girl-Kris" for my own amusement. Girl-Kris scooched over and her friend did too, leaving me between the friend and (Jonathan?) to make jokes about Edgar's name since they were coming up with an ever evolving nickname for him, from J. Edgar Hoover, to Hoover Dam, to Hoover Vacuum, to Mexican Maid (that was mine,) to the ultimate conclusion I reached off that, "Taco Face." Edgar became Taco Face for much of the remainder of the night.

My work done and done, I switched back to my original seat on the other couch. At some later point, Girl-Kris settled in next to me. And when I say settled in, I don't mean she sat next to me, I mean she got weirdly cozy, the kind of cozy one doesn't normally get until a few more drinks. As it turned out, she was the girl who had sold me my ticket (see below entry.) After offering me a taste of her Mojito (who drinks Mojitos?) I offered in return my usual joke about Rum being a drink for women and pirates, which has become a sort of standard acid test for judging how a conversation is going to go. Eventually I found myself between Girl-Kris and the friend. She kissed the both of us, and between you and me, I suspect she preferred kissing her friend.

I can't say for certain what happened next but the night began to spiral way out of control by either misfortune, malevolent agents, or some combination of the two. Whether I was cockblocked, out of luck, or never had a chance, I may ask myself for a long while. The lesson I took home from that night is that I can be clever, or I can be drunk, but I can't be both. And once I got off track, there was no getting back. I wasted a lot of time and energy going off half-cocked and without any direction and the misery I began to allow myself to feel was proportional. In fact, at one point, I lost my internal monologue and began to feel sorry for myself out loud, prompting one nearby listener (other random girl I met that night, who managed to utterly no-sell every psuedo-witty thing I might have said,) told me to quit pitying myself, which didn't make drunk Scott feel much better.

I don't intend to dwell on this, but that was basically a night's work for me, because I'm the kind of guy who is always determined to finish what he starts and to never lose track of a random girl. Even if she's gone off to hang with her real friends, or if Cary tells me she's unavailable (which I didn't believe, and thought he may have been thinking of a different girl.)

My point is, whether I had a chance or not, I certainly could have handled the situation better. It was a live and learn situation. It's not likely I'll meet this chick again and if I do I'll (hopefully) just shrug it all off and move on. This may be my last effort in the "random girl" arena for a little while, which may be a relief to Cary (no promises though.)

Anyway the moment where it started going off the rails (but was still theoretically salvageable) was when she asked me a question I hate being asked, at least when it seems accusatory. My typical response is merely to say "What do you think?" and let her draw her own conclusions but frankly that's no good.

At various points of the night I vaguely recall speaking with Cary. He would apologize that we hadn't spoken much all night and we'd chat and then one of us would get distracted (for understandable reasons on both ends, I think, since he had a houseful of partying castmates and I had... the previously stated potential capitalization.) I recall the two of us discussing Kant. I pronounced it "Can't," orrected me by saying "Kont" and in response, I called him "Cunt." I don't know if I was talking about Kant or Cary, but I was drunk and a little belligerent.

Anyway, she left but on a puzzling note anyway, and I got on with my night. I think I went one beer over the line, but that's the risk you take with a keg; more beer faster. I mingled a bit, trying to stave off my tiredness while the guys continued to play Smash on the couch where I would inevitably sleep. I'm usually the kind of guy who remembers an entire night, but sometime around 5 the night becomes a blank yet I don't remember going to bed until a little before 6, and even then it didn't take... I felt a rumbling deep down inside me. Well, it had been a while, no sense denying it, so I hurried to the washroom downstairs.

I'm pretty sure I made it, even if it was a squeaker, but if something spilled, Cary, I apologize. However, I checked the next day and couldn't see anything, so I think my reputation as an immaculate vomitter is untainted.

Twice, or rather, in two halves.

You wouldn't think, from my description, that I had a good night, but hey, I saw a play and managed to keep myself amused and economically drunk, so it was actually a really solid time.

We got up the next morning around 10:30 and left in a fair amount of haste. I demanded we find a Tim Hortons (not that the idea was met with much resistance) so that delayed us a bit. From there, we went to the bus stop. As I unroleld my rim, we all chanted "Boat! Boat!" My dad pointed out last week that the prizes this year are lame... no money, no TV, just a car, GPS and the boat and Tim Cards. The "Boat" chat did net me a free doughnut, however.

After overpaying for the bus by about 10 cents apiece, we got to the GO station and waited a long while for a bus to take us to Aldershot. At the station, I bought a Dr. Pepper, Chris bought an Arizona Iced Tea, and Edgar bought Combos and possibly solely because I joked about it, an egg salad sandwich. Eventually we got on the road to the train to Oakville.

Once in Oakville, we went our separate ways; Chris bought a ticket for Toronto to meet his mom so they could see some lecture. Edgar and I walked home under the QEW and talked about... well it was a lotta nonsense, some Mitch Hedberg references, and observations about the night before, most of which have been recounted here.

When I got home, around 2:30, I had to watch Red Desert, an Antonioni art film, for class. Eric was keen on it and I enjoyed it and found some good points to make in my essay. After that it was WrestleMania evening. I don't talk about wrestling a lot on here, because I don't imagine anybody cares, and because I find myself caring less and less these days, both because of the lackluster product and because of the events of last summer. But it gives me something to keep paying attention to. It was a better show than I'd anticipated going in.

Afterward, I was supposed to watch Dark Victory, but couldn't stay awake. So rather than going to class, I went to school, and, after writing the bulk of yesterday's entry, and some lunch, watched that film in the media commons; mostly between 1:30 and 3:45, which was enough time to watch the entire thing and do my shot-by-shot analysis. While there, I actually ran into some friends from class... a lot of people were last-minuting it.

I got home around 5, and after TV, (which included Degrassi, How I Met Your Mother and Raw... I loathe trying to schedule homework for Monday nights...) I managed to find time to write what I think may be a pretty damn good 8-page paper. I guess we'll find out before the exam, no? I may not have maximized the two-week extension he gave everyone, but it did wonders for my morale. After I printed it off,around 1:30, I messaged Alyssa for the first time in weeks to say "I don't mean to brag, but I just finished my last paper of the year... and it feels good." We ended up talking for a while before I went to bed.

Today was not much of anything, a much-needed repreive... I had a lesson on Post-Modernism, a cheeseburger, and a revelation of sorts. If anything comes of it, I'll mention in a few days. I also got 180 lines in Tetris, which is a new personal best.

Despite the looming threat of exams over the next months, the still-complicated whereabouts of my paperwork and the fuss over employment and housing, I feel good right now. However, I still won't apologize.

Keep on rockin'
-Scotto