Where Are All the Shrooms?

I would like to start by saying, every time I get on a Greyhound bus, it feels like karma is kicking me in the box. Whatever I may have done doesn’t seem deserving of such punishment. They’re always horrible; there’s always a suspicious smell, and I’m always painfully aware of all of the body fluids/skin/rotting food on my seat- not to mention all the gas my neighbour is probably passing. Thanks, lady, you smell like Eau de Greyhound.

Yesterday, I had the joyous experience of bussing back from cottage country (on an especially packed bus with extra smelly people… but I digress.) I descended from the freezing cold, malodorous bus and grabbed my overstuffed suitcase and looked around. I had no fucking idea where I was. I turned to the driver to ask where the subway was and this fresh-faced early-twenty-something-year-old fellow looks up at me and says, with great enthusiasm, “You’re looking for the subway?! Follow me!”

And I did just that.

As I had just been rudely awoken by the bus driver, I was pretty out of it and wasn’t entirely sure what was going on, or if it was real life, but this felt a lot like some sort of quest; a mystical quest, led by a stranger with suspiciously pale blue eyes. I felt like I was being led somewhere whimsical, with unicorns, and leprechauns, and (hopefully) talking produce. I got carried away in my head, imagining all of the wondrous things I would discover-  but when we arrived, I was just left standing alone, a little out of breath (that fucker was fast), on a dirty subway platform with nothing whimsical in sight, apart from the fervent Asian man with the rainbow mohawk. And that only marginally counts.

Thank you anyway, blue-eyed fellow, for showing me the way.

P.S.  A castle/magical forest/ underwater world of wonder/ a bar would’ve been more fantastical.  Jussayin.

Contagious, like VD

After years of having roommates, some batshit crazier than others, (more on that later…) I moved out on my own and swore I’d never look back.

This was back when I was living in Montreal, where the cost of a large one bedroom apartment downtown roughly gets you a shoebox-size shithole on Pimp’s Lane in Toronto.

I decided to do the irresponsible adventurous thing and quit my job to move to a city where I can barely afford soap. Living alone was clearly not an option, but lucky for me, an old friend of mine had already been living in the city for awhile, and was looking for someone to live with.  Probably shoulda stuck to craigslist, eh, roomie?

With the inevitable stint of unemployment in my midst, I did what any broke person in desperate need of money would do… I slept, and drank.

Rest assured, my loving roommate was always looking out for me. Much like a pet, she was sure I got my nourishment, one way or another. One late morning I awoke to a text that read, “Hey, I’m pretty sure I left a half-eaten peach on my bed.”  Followed by, “You’re welcome to eat it.”  Thank you. You’re the sweetest.

We have lasted almost a year together now, and she’s awesome enough that I’ve kept track of some of the ridiculous and enlightening things that come out of her mouth.

This morning I stumbled upon this gem.

“I kinda feel like Beyonce’s energy is contagious… Also, I like replacing the ‘boy’ part in her song If I Were a Boy with things that I’m doing at the time. Like, if I’m making beans, I sing ‘If I were a bean’.”

You’re the best.

Say Thank You.

Our landlord is ungrateful.

He should consider himself lucky that I’ve restrained from bouts of hysterical laughter at the mere mention of his name- Ballwant- But instead of being appreciative, he carries on as if I owe him something.  You’re not fooling anyone by saying your name is Bill.

Be appreciative, Ball, cuz that shit’s fucking funny.

Text of the day:   “Some asian lady just saw my boobs.”

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Side note: 


Working in an office can be extremely frustrating.
You try sitting quietly when you overhear a girl say, "Steve, it's too small, I don't like it. I just don't like it."
Come on now. That is just crying for a "That's what she said!"

... but I learned my lesson from the awkward looks I got when I sang "hide your wife, hide your kids, compliance is coming around."
These people have no sense of humour.

Get Out of My Bed, Asshole.

In the heat, we are forced to come up with creative ways to stay cool alive during the night.  Any sort of sexy fantasy is quickly replaced by the desire to straddle a snowman, and chances are if there’s someone else in your bed, you’ll also be fantasizing about how easy it would be to throw them off the edge of the bed so you don’t have to deal with their body heat firey furnace body from hell.  My advice to you is to find someone who can afford air conditioning.

For those of you suffering this heat on your own, once you’ve rung out your mattress from last night, and are ready to try again, consider the following measures:

First off, ensure you have an industrial size fan approximately 2 feet away from your face. (I recommend the 2 feet distance for safety reasons, but fully support your badass urge to endanger your limbs/face/organs.)  I also recommend that you dig out as many icepacks from the freezer as possible.  If you’re really badass (see organ risks above) put those icepacks against your naked body and pray to fuck that you can pass out before they thaw.  If you’d like to wake up without frostbite in your nether regions (cuz we all know that’s where you’ll be putting these icepacks, perv), consider wrapping the ice packs with your sheet or a thin towel.  (*I should also warn that while frozen peas/corn/meat/body parts may feel like a good idea at the time, reconsider. I’m sure you smell bad enough as it is without the rotting food.)  And, finally, keep a bucket of water and a washcloth on hand, preferably filled with ice (or body parts if you’re still ignoring my recommendations). And if merely wiping yourself down isn’t doing the trick, and you still can’t fall asleep, dunk your head into that badboy and consider staying under for 3-5 minutes. However long it takes.