9.8: Baby if you've ever wondered what became of me

Some people make New Year's Resolutions. But need one confine self-improvement to one day per year? I make every day resolutions. Yesterday's, of course, was "Start making more resolutions." Pretty self-explanatory. They don't need to be too life-changing (what, me, change my life? Pshaw.) Today's is "work the word 'chicanery' into everyday conversation." Or at the very least, a blog. Check.

I left off at some point describing my weekend. This would sound ridiculous as it is now Tuesday, but since the average rate of things happening in my life is approximately 1 thing per 6 days, we're fine.

I was hanging out with Chris and Cary on the weekend, as I mentioned, and both mentioned that they read this blog. It's flattering, you know, but every time people confess to reading this thing, I'm faced with a minor internal conflict. Am I really providing a substantial source of entertainment, even to people that know me? Day after day I do battle with myself on this subject: the blog craze died down like 2 years ago and here I sit, banging out the 999th in my continuous never-ending thread of go-nowhere anecdotes about my personal life that are more or less merely a handy reference guide for me to determine when things happened.

But all the same, I always remind our wonderful readers that if they don't feel like they're getting their $0.00 worth, they can click back, and thus anyone who keeps coming back is clearly satisfied with the level of service provided, and we will continue our arrangement, with me typing and 12 people reading. So there we are, guys. You too, Linda.

So we were playing Guitar Hero all night. Linda came in and I asked her how Europe was. She spoke very highly of it, which was the incorrect response to give someone who's been chained to the rock like Prometheus (read a book, pleebs!) all summer. but she was very reassuring in insisting I should scrape the money together as soon as possible and get out there. Man, I was fired from a job painting houses. In my future, a great fortune ain't.

Sunday, however, was another story. I had some offhand remark about this in the previous entry but got derailed somehow (like always.) So I'll elaborate. Life is a combination of getting lucky breaks and making your own fortune. Sometimes you can plan and try hard and come to nothing, but it's all circumstance that pushes you over the edge. If I'm not making sense, it's because what I'm saying makes no sense, but it's my obligatory philosophical topic paragraph before describing what I'm really on about. It's the type of literary chicanery (check) you must have noticed by now I'm into.

My typical response to boredom these days has been to go on a lengthy bike ride to fill my days. Granted, this has delayed my attempts to get work, fill out necessary paperwork, writing anything interesting, and just about anything that doesn't involve speeding around town on two wheels, but it's a lot more uplifting than much of those things. As for routes, there aren't that many different ways to go.

For the past month and a half, I've been trying to get a hold of Robyn. Mostly, because she's acknowledged she's not likely to be the one to do so if she wants to hang out with me, and I don't want our friendship to evaporate (again.) And of course, because I spend 90% of my time bored, and the other 10% asleep. (In case you think those numbers don't add up, I'm even bored in my sleep a lot of the time.) So the remedy for boredom is to hassle any friends I can. This has included randomly going to Dominion to find CB, weekly coffee with Manda, trying to see if Kenzi is ever in town, and of course, lots of calls to Robyn's house, which most often results in a brief conversation with roybn's mother. "Hello?" "Hello, is Robyn there?" "Let me check... no, sorry she's at work/yoga/anywhere else." "Okay, tell her Scott called." (Or, after 10 or so in a row, that last line is replaced with an embarrassed hangup.)

Well I finally did catch up with her while I was randomly biking around town. She was on her way home from work and somehow we came to opposite sides of a crosswalk. Amazed that I wasn't hallucinating (I hadn't actually spoken to her in so long I was becoming convinced she was just a figment of my imagination) we started to catch up and I found out when she wasn't working. Incidentally, that was the next day.

Without anything to do that day, except wait around to flip steaks every hour or so, I called her up and, as we have too many times to count, we went for a coffee. This involved a somewhat amusing (in a "you had to be there and even then not quite laugh-out-loud" way) revelation that although we'd been to Starbucks plenty of times, we both actually preferred Tim Hortons.

After stopping off to see a free magic show at an ice cream place, wherein we both helped with the trick and Robyn got herself a balloon giraffe, we went down to the lake to swat bugs and talk. The conversation, naturally, turned to the subject of dolphin rape. Don't worry - I mean, in this scenario, the dolphins (as I had read earlier that day and was oddly eager to share) were the aggressors. Robyn wondered aloud how someone gets raped by a dolphin. She also offered to pay me 20 bucks to jump right into Lake Ontario. I declined on the grounds that I was pretty sure there were dolphins in there, and I'm saving myself for a sweet young dewgong.

(And if you don't get that one, ask me sometime.)

To placate my paranoid, self-destructive mind, I got her to re-iterate that she wasn't avoiding me and that it was generally a good call that I keep calling her sometimes at an insane frequency. That is to say, how frequently I call her, not some sciencey-type broadcast thing.

She noted my haircut and I brought up my "cut your problems out" theory, which she agreed there was something to. Elsewhere, she mused on the effectiveness of certain facial washes, stuff I probably could've used when I was 15 (I was a mess and yet by all accounts I seem to have turned out okay.)

There's more to my recent goings-on, but I'll let them percolate further and leave off tonight. It's late and I have a comic I should consider lettering.

I didn't get my shit done today. I wanted to, but was lured away by comedy articles about video games. God damn you, Cracked.

Let's just be thankful my computer discourages YouTube use, otherwise I'd just sit around watching Let's Paint TV.

Keep on rockin'
-Scott