1:00 AM: Half your age plus seven

That's an important rule, article 113 of the Bro code, the formula for determining how young a guy can go when it comes to hitting on chicks. For instance, at this point, any girl I'm likely to meet is fair game. This will come back later, but first, housekeeping.

Funny how things go. I had a couple paragraphs written up about going through phases of annoyance with my brother while he's back from Humber - fluctuating levels of tolerance - and how he appeared to get huffy around dinner. We didn't really have a plan and he was leaning toward ordering something and it looked like mom was gonna whip something up... anyway as it turned out, we ordered and everyone was happy. We got wings, and watched a movies called Delirious, which is an amusing if slight indie picture with Steve Buscemi, Michael Pitt, Alison Lohman and Gina Gershon. That's how you know it's an indie flick - all those people.

Friday was my last day alone. I ran some errands, mostly centered around going to the mall and seeing if I would ever be needed at HMV in the foreseeable future. As it happened, I was not, not surprisingly - the shifts were dwindling for weeks and I was lucky to make as much money as I did. If it weren't for the fact that minimum wage has shot up since 2005, it would've been less lucrative than working one shift per week at Classic Bowl back in those days. But only financially - for my spirit's sake it was still far greater an endeavor. Better people, better work, better environment in general. Pay don't enter into it. If it were a choice between $11/hour at Classic Bowl or minimum wage at HMV, it'd be the latter without question. But it's over now. For now, anyway. I didn't see Cooper, but when Mandy asked what I planned to do - if I intended to get another job or something - I said not right away, I was gonna focus on school this semester, (if applicable - see below) and I'd love to come back to HMV at the first available opportunity. She said it might be in the cards, I was one of the better-liked temps. I should hope so. I came in knowing most of what I needed to do, and knowing many of the people who worked there. And most of those I didn't know, I made my best impression on. I can be a yutz sometimes, but when I want someone to like me, I think I've got some moves.

I say I'm going to focus on school if applicable. My New Year's Resolution is to be a better student (and also to find some stability with women, but let's not go nuts.) I might even start taking notes in more classes. But all this could be undone if the TA's go on strike in February. Balls to that I say. Strikes are a pretty worthless endeavour and just create hard feelings in the victims (students.) The OPSEU strike in 2006 didn't accomplish dick, the WGA strike only helped the TV season suck, and the York strike is just pissing people off whilst ripping them off for education. Balls. I don't know what I'm going to do if the U of T TA's go on strike but I'm going to guess it involves drinking and sleeping in places that are not mine. Just a theory.

I say strikes are worthless. They were invented at a time, I believe, when individual employers had more care as well as oversight to their staff. These days, every employer - even and especially a university - is more a faceless conglomerate that won't take the point being made by the strike, and the union will just have to go back to work embarrassed, having made a ton of concessions and having wasted thousands of peoples' time and money. This is a dumb shit move.

I was eating a microwaveable faux-Chinese dinner (Cashew Chicken, or so it claimed... there was chicken and cashews involved at any rate,) and randomly looking stuff up on Wikipedia about how long the Aborigines have been in Australia (since 40,000 BC as it turns out,) when my dad came over. He had acquired a random motherboard from his boss, far outpacing what I already have. However, the transplant didn't take, so basically he spent a half hour uninstalling my motherboard and then another one re-installing it, while I watched Monty Python nearby. Then he left, and I was alone.

Cassie was having a thing. After she left Cary's on New Year's, we discussed the probability that we should go. The problem is, Cassie lives way the hell out there. Used to be she lived pretty far out there, but it was walkable. But now she lives way the hell out there, by the end of Upper Middle. There was chattering between me, Chris, Cary and RyLai about what to do.

I put in a call to CB, only to find him well incapacitated by a nasty cold and its associated medications. Despite this, we talked at length about sickness, school, life, work, parents (his just split up, after a lengthy period of animosity) and Lost. It was a good chat considering he was zonked out. When I told Cary he was sick, Cary seemed pleased - "Oh, so he won't be drinking." "No," I laughed, "He won't be driving. Dude took a bunch of Tylenol Cold PM so he's unconscious by now." Meanwhile, the Visintinis and the Fergusons were apparently having a dinner party, and us various parties were scrambling to get rides.

So eventually RyLai texts me. I was still stinging from the abandonment I felt on New Year's, but he managed to make good on it all - he managed to snag a ride and offered me a slot. Hurray, all was well. While I waited, Brando and Eric came back from Montreal and I pressed them about how it went. Apparently, Eric fell in love with a stripper named Maria. It happens. He wants to go back to rescue her.

Eventually, my ride arrived - in the form of Cassie's sister, whom I'd never met. All righty then. So we jumped on the highway and headed out to way the hell out there, while RyLai and I bantered about music in a car full of people considerably younger than him and far far younger than me.

So we arrived to find several friends of Ryan's who were acquaintances of mine. Pat and Chris were in the basement playing Pong, and Cary and Edgar were there playing Air Hockey. I don't know about Edgar but the rest had gotten a ride with Valerie. Anyhow. The night commenced with drinks and Guitar Hero, which took its toll on my voice. Also I spilled a drink of RyLai's. Anyway.

I went back downstairs to find Chris, Pat, Cary and some girls sitting in a circle indulging in human conversation so I joined in, mostly as a listener. They were telling tales of hang-overedness and overbearing parents. I don't know much about neither. I don't typically get hangovers (what can I say, I don't drink enough I guess,) and my parents are far from over-bearing. Difficult to deal with sometimes sure, sometimes too distant, but far from overbearing. The distance is partly our own doing. It's just how we live. At some point after they split, or by the time I got to high school, it just sorta got that way that I was accustomed to a certain level of independence (and yet I never drove or anything.) It might have messed me up in ways I have yet to perceive, but I think I'm okay.

Anyway, the night progressed and the circle dispersed gradually back upstairs to focus on Guitar Hero. Having gotten my early fill on vocals I was in no hurry and was gradually left alone downstairs with this one girl who chatted me up about school and my past in WOSS drama. And I drank and indulged her, because, hey, that's what I do.

I told Cary it was an exhibition game. I didn't really care about winning, but wanted to get some practice in, since I so rarely get on the field. The way it always seems to happen is that I'll arrive at a party, and somehow wind up talking to one chick the most after narrowing the field down from everyone there, minus girls I have a longstanding friendship with, or who are in a relationship (that I'm aware of.) And then I just try to enjoy myself. As to how much I enjoyed myself, it will not be a subject detailed in this blog. Like I said: exhibition game.

So the night goes on, and it's full of people who vaguely remember me from when they were in Grade 9, and are way too comfortable standing far too close to me. And they took too long to leave. It made drunk-me anxious. And then Cary, Chris and Pat left. And I made the best of the rest of the night with Ryan, the girl, Cassie, her sister, Edgar, and some other people. One guy, Chuck, recalled me doing Vanilla Ice in front of the Caf back when I was in Grade 12 (or maybe 11? Is it in this blog? fuck I'm old) and insisted I do it. To my surprise, I found that beyond the first verse I couldn't quite recall all the lyrics, and stumbled and omitted my way through the second and third, nearly slipping into the Ninja Rap in the third. Nobody seemed to notice or care. Then we discussed Bro Code article 113.

After more guitar antics, we left at about 3:30, in a van driven by Cassie's sister, which was wonderfully generous. I crashed around 4 and spent the bulk of the next day watching Hulk Hogan's Celebrity Championship Wrestling. It was supposed to be Risk, but RyLai (who was very enthusiastic the previous night, even requesting to watch a particular ep of Always Sunny in Philadelphia) went to a bar instead. So what ended up happening was Chris Ferg and Edgar played Halo until 2 AM while I lay on the couch on Chris' laptop looking up random Wikipedia articles about English history (no reason why) and reading out Cracked.com articles aloud. Yes, we are enjoying our youth. Fuck.

Today, Eric and I watched Goonies, and Iron Man. Tomorrow I go back to the real world.

Sigh... it's been quite a month. I wish I had some pithy way of ending this entry, but I'm all out of pith tonight.

Keep on rockin'
-Scott