Another post in avoidance of the same essay

In a general disclaimer, yes, what I usually write about is generally more cohesive than this, and yes, I do write on more diverse subject matters rather than essentially writing two posts that will (probably) end up looking identical.

I am still shockingly unmotivated to do any work whatsoever.  Today was a bit of a write-off considering I was out drinking last night; I tend to allow myself to be a vegetable the day after regardless of hangover state.  (I'm finding I'm becoming impervious to hangovers.  So hangovers can suck it) That very same essay that I had hoped to finish over the weekend still hangs over my shoulders, but I did manage to write five (albeit unpolished) pages yesterday, so I guess that does account for progress.  I'm left with penning a conclusion which are always the worst as well as editing the entire draft as a whole, and while it isn't the greatest undertaking in the world, I've always been one to hate leaving things to the last minute when I have the agency and means to totally finish it at any time.  And so that's me today: instead of taking two or three or four focused hours to knock out a more finalized copy, I instead spent my day searching tirelessly for last night's Saturday Night Live episode before becoming furious that nbc.com doesn't let Canadians view their videos, playing two (maybe three..) hours of the Sims 3, watching Scary Movie and laughing at 1. the incredible similarity to Scream (I know it's a direct spoof but I'm referring to even shot compositions) which I now pick up on since Scream is one of my favourite movies and 2. all of the jokes considering I first watched it as a stupider child version of myself, finally discovering Saturday Night Live and weeping in disappointment at how unfunny the show was (however Kristen Wiig can do no wrong), cooking, returning to another two (three..) hours of the Sims 3, and finally getting exponentially frustrated at a jigsaw puzzle because as far as I'm concerned jigsaw puzzles are Satan.  How's that for a sentence.  I also needed to study for a test I have in the morning at 11, but that studying consisted of me looking at my notes for maybe fifteen minutes as I deemed that sufficient.  It usually is, and I usually still get high marks, but I can't shake the guilt monster hanging over my head nagging me to study more.  Not that said monster has a chance to speak: in my one moment of actually doing nothing (the real nothing not the Sims Scary Movie lying in bed eating nothing) I've been beckoned to rewatch the second episode of American Horror Story which I really cannot say no to since I'm actually obsessed with it.  The writing shall resume in an hour.  (not that that will affect you.. a draft is a draft.  Never mind me)

Aaaand the show is still as messed up as ever.


Party hard

The past week had a good amount of birthday shenanigans as three of my friends had birthdays - two were celebrated last weekend as previously outlined.  So again another happy 21st to Kelsey and a happy 20th to Devan who has now defeated teen pregnancy.  Then on Friday came my roommate Steph's birthday, and I'm sure she appreciated her birthday gift, Jane Eyre on DVD starring some girl and Michael Fassbender who I will 100% admit to saying is my man-crush (the dude is Magneto), which was hidden in the toaster.  Last night her and I ventured out to hit up a few hotspots downtown, the first of which was a rather upscale restaurant-lounge where we haunted the bar and got progressively more intoxicated (and I spent so much money..) while the live band played Top 40 hits like Just Dance (awesome), and the second of which was an Irish pub where we went with Steph's brother, cousin and cousin's girlfriend, which also added to the speeding train of inebriation.  As I said before I've become immune to hangovers so my morning was peachy, although I can't say the same for my roommate.  The real party should come on Friday night where we're having the more "traditional" birthday party with our friends coming for the night, and that, too, should be a mess.  Aside from that my driving force to life is next weekend where I'll be traveling to a house filled with exceptional people for the infamous Grey's Anatomy Halloween party; I've been promised cuddles and hardcore drinking so I expect nothing less as I don my best Dempsey.


My Drunk Failure

In a similar sense, I decided to be an idiot in two ways last night upon returning from the bar.  One, I decided that I'm a daring cook, and I proceeded to burn my finger quite badly amidst my culinary mishap; the food was good, though, because I didn't exactly notice my finger hurting until I was finished eating, to which I was suddenly bombarded with throbbing pain and misfortune.  Two, I wrote another My Drunk Blog post, but until hell freezes over, I'm just gonna hang onto that one unpublished.  Why? you say.  Not that my spelling or structure was atrocious - quite the opposite, considering as I scan it now there aren't many spelling mistakes popping out at me - but rather because the subject that I chose to talk about (since, recall, I decided I would hone in on a particular topic) was love.  I guess the idea was at the forefront of my mind due to it being a recurring theme popping up in the conversations I've had with various friends lately at various levels of intoxication.  Perhaps I'll bestow you with some gems (including but not limited to excerpts involving my embarrassing subject):

• "I can hear my wallet weeping from my dresser.  Hush hush, my dear wallet, we shall survive."
• "I'm in pain and wish to melt into a puddle of slumber."
• "I do not wake up every morning and pine for some Juliet on a balcony lamenting that I cannot breathe without her.  I can survive single."
• I never succeeded in spelling "girlfriend" correctly.  We have girlfriedn, girlfirend, and my favourite, girlrilfriend.
• "This is a tangent.  Deal with it."

I'm feeling a little dry on subject matter, only two subtitles tonight - I guess that only furthers the idea I'm doing this just so that I don't have to study or write or edit and that maybe when I publish this my eyes will be too heavy and I'll just call it a day.

A post in avoidance of an essay

You might've noticed that my blog has gone under a facelift, and if you didn't notice, well, shame on you for not noticing, and if this is your first visit, well, shame on you for not visiting sooner.  I needed a bit of a change, and I'd say this change was for the better, no?  I think so, anyways.

It's already midway through October (what?) and the intensity of all of my classes is rapidly increasing; between now and the end of November, I have six essays due and four tests.  (Two of the essays and two of the tests are on the last day of class, November 28th, so therefore my funeral is scheduled to be on the 29th.  Do attend.) The first of six papers is due this upcoming Thursday, and naturally, I only just completed reading the book on which the paper is based on.  I've planned to finish it this weekend, by tomorrow, preferably - not actually that tall of an order, since I can in fact knock out an entire (unpolished) essay in two or three hours - and thus, me being an optimist, I've decided to start it tonight, and if things go supremely well, I'll have this essay off my shoulders before the bulk of the weekend passes me by.  Given that I'm furiously typing away at this, a blog post, instead of my essay speaks volumes.  I spent the last hour coming up with a thesis - I deserve a break.

Okay.. the last half hour.

Twenty minutes.

Half of a thesis.


The rudest fucking waitress I've ever had

(by the way: I've made a vow to keep my profanity to a minimum since I believe it removes my credibility, but in this case, this waitress was fucking rude as hell) Yesterday, me and three friends decided to go to the Swiss Chalet (score, I love Swiss Chalet) for dinner.   Upon walking in, we were greeted first by Adele's Someone Like You, and while I adore the song to pieces, it puts me into an absolutely depressed mood whenever I hear it on the radio, like a sad Adele cloud is raining over my sad head.  The hostess said something to the effect of agreeing that the song is the biggest downer known to man (I made my sentiments aloud), lulling us into the false sense of believing that our experience would be a good one.  (cool hostess = good experience?)

A library is louder than how silent this restaurant was.  The youngest occupant aside from our table was easily a 60 year old woman.  I feared momentarily that Swiss Chalet's currency was not money but in fact your youth, but this did not turn out to be the case.  Our waitress appeared to be a kind natured older woman - that is, until her head started spinning and she began to breathe fire upon our table.  She began by taking down our drinks: I was planning on ordering a beer, but my friends opted for water; the waitress confirmed water for my three friends and then walked away.  Upon her return (and production of a water for me, too, so I think perhaps my telepathy has finally started working because I'm assuming she read my mind as a substitute for actually taking down what I would like to drink), I then asked for my beer, to which she replied sharply "You better show me some ID."  Well, that's not unheard of - she seemed to be satisfied before disappearing again.  (by the way, every time she walked back toward the kitchen with menus that customers had finished with, she slammed them down on a ledge)

When taking our orders, she proceeded to cut off my one friend in the middle of his sentence, demanding "White or dark meat?"  I know I have a tendency to be overdramatic, but her tone was absolutely unprofessional and completely rude.  I gave my order strictly to the point, and I wouldn't be surprised if I threw my menu in her stupid face.  When asking for a second beer - what, I drink a lot, and I drink it fast; I'm a big guy - she looked at me and said "You aren't driving, are you?" and by instinct I said "of course not" with a little laugh, prompting her "Well, you better not be" as a response.  Woman, I'm responsible.  At this point my friend decided to ask for a comment card - I was quite intent on leaving one like the elderly person I am (I think Swiss Chalet actually took my youth..), and upon hearing they didn't have any, the dining room manager came over to our table and asked us what was wrong; we were subsequently pestered for the remainder of the meal in effort to see if we were still content.  A spell must have come over our waitress as she suddenly was perfectly polite - perhaps she had a twin.

I didn't tip.  A friend tipped in pennies.

Silly teenagers

In a completely related topic: I hate being written off as ignorant just because I'm a young person.  I understand that there really are the "dumb" ones of my generation - the delinquents, the apathetic, the rude - but to generalize my entire age bracket (I guess "young person") as rude, apathetic delinquents is wrong.  I don't mean to pride myself, but I generally consider myself to be extremely polite; I'm quite obviously educated; I don't loiter or kick down mailboxes and cats.  The people I willingly associate myself with are the same: they're polite, they're educated, they're civilized and personable and presentable and cultured.  To assume that just because I'm a teenager or student or young adult I must be disrespectful is, well, disrespectful.  It's as if I need to walk around in public with a resume tacked onto my forehead: hello, I go to the University of Toronto, and I'm civilized (and probably smarter than you).

American WHAT THE HELL DID I JUST SEE!?!? Story

I only decided to start watching just two new shows this fall TV season: New Girl, which has made me fall completely in love with Zooey Deschanel (and it doesn't hurt that the show is actually funny), and American Horror Story, which you may never have heard of, but you might be a more sane and overall better person without watching it.  I have been completely obsessed with the show since it began last week, given that it produces mystery after fucked up (I permit that "fucked") mystery and deranged visual without sense.  The premise is simply that a family moves into a haunted house, but by haunted house, I mean that there's a creepy child demon imp in the basement and a latex bondage ghost man who raped and impregnated the main character with its latex bondage ghost baby and that there's a bunch of people who just appear in the house at the strangest of times leading me to believe that everyone's dead.  Oh, and this old maid with a blind eye who everyone sees as an old maid with a blind eye except for the father who sees her as a sexy young woman who he keeps running into while she's touching herself.  Right!?  The show has completely enthralled me and even if I felt like giving up on it I'd just feel as though I was cheating myself out of discovering the answers: why do characters move in and out of the house so easily?  Why is there a latex bondage ghost man?  Just.. why?

A snazzy listen

I recently downloaded Nicola Roberts' CD Cinderella's Eyes.  Who? you say.  She's a member of a girl group from the UK called Girls Aloud (who? you say), and I kept reading that her debut solo album was fantastic, so I gave it a listen.  (I always did like her voice the best out of the five of them - she's the ginger one with transparent skin) The entire album is really quite good, and I've been listening to it constantly.  That and She & Him.  Zooey Deschanel, just be mine already..


There you have it.  I suppose I should return to that essay/half thesis..

Turkeyless Thanksgiving

I find myself back home more often than I would've imagined.  I've traveled back to my motherland (maybe traveled isn't the operative word - it takes less than a half an hour, and saying "traveled" makes it seem like I swam the Atlantic or something) every other weekend (I was home last week and am back this week so I guess the pattern's been broke given the holiday).  I live for mashed potatoes and gravy and turkey, and upon learning I wouldn't be having a traditional dinner with either sides of my extended family this year, I was initially disappointed.  Regardless, I had a good weekend.

Saturday night consisted of going out with a collection of some pretty great people, my good friends from home, as we were advance celebrating two birthdays.  The birthday girls got a wee bit intoxicated, and when I say "wee bit," I actually mean staggering around and/or sitting on collapsing tables.  The sting of moving away and fully being away from my best friends still hasn't hit me, as in some cases, I've seen some every other week or even more frequently.  Nevertheless, it was awesome to be together again (for the most part, save for a few who didn't make it).

Sunday, yesterday, has usually been the more traditional day for the entire dinner production for my family; that, this year, was replaced by a family wedding.  It was my mom's cousin's son who got married (I think that's right).  My mom's side of the family is so massive that I haven't even attempted to map out who everyone was or how they were related for me; I settle for nodding every time I got the "the last time I saw you, you were so small!" because yes, I doubt I was 6'4 when I was three.  I've been to my fair share of family weddings throughout my life, and I always find myself having fun, regardless of how long the ceremony carries on for (can't believe I didn't burst into flames upon entering the church; it was also good thinking that I set my phone to silent as my ringtone is the most religiously appropriate song I can think of, Judas) or how sweaty I become with my shirt tucked in and my belt one notch too tight.  The ceremony was very nice, but it was in Armenian, so I twiddled my thumbs waiting for it to be over faster than I would want a regular service to conclude.  The reception hall was impressive.  The dinner courses carried on for a good three hours to my misfortune given that I had stuffed myself on the bread and was full before the first course.  Afterward came the dancing, and I tried my hardest to remain clamped to the table in my seat to avoid having to get up, but I ended up weirdly shifting around the dance floor regardless just to say that I did to my pestering family members.  There was an open bar, too, but my drinking was so off and on that I wasn't overly drunk; I'm sure the mixture of the different alcohols would've floored anyone else - I had a good amount of wine and rum and a few beers and tequila shots which I was urged to take with my second cousins - but my spreading it over the night kept me from sitting on tables and having them collapse under me like my aforementioned friend.  I wish I could've stayed longer as it was near the end that I got to be around the people more closer to my age (second cousins - all involved in the wedding procedure as the emcees or part of the bridal party, meaning responsibility had to be upheld until the schedule for the reception was complete and the "party" could start), but my family, used to going to bed around 10pm on regular nights, was getting tired and insisted on leaving.

What am I thankful for?  That is, after all, the point of the holiday (even though to be honest I've been more concerned with the serving sizes of turkey and mashed potatoes on my plate). Well, I'd say, good friends, good education, good looks (HA), good internet connection here at home so I can download torrents, good TV like Parks & Recreation, and the good Kate Winslet.  In all seriousness, though, I really do take a lot of things in my life for granted, and I am thankful for all the positives in my life.  I'm thankful for my blog!

As always, Follow @m_spad 

A little birdie told me..

I'm now on Twitter!  Here's hoping I'm not a failure at this.. follow me!

Follow @m_spad

Headache, headache, go away

To say my posts as of late have become unfocused and largely irrelevant is an understatement.  Just scrolling down you would find a mostly disturbing post penned two weeks ago when I had been drinking, and if that didn't send you scrambling for the back button on your browser (although it's a recommended read for the laughs and to see how colourful my vernacular still is even after beer), it's even more disturbing to see posts since August on the main page repeating my stresses about living alone ad nauseum.  My friends, it looks as though the credibility of my blog has gone down to the dumps, but that shant stop me from keeping it running, as the times that I do force myself to sit down and type as I am right now (well, more appropriately, I'm snuggled in bed.  Yes, snuggled) still provide me with the greatest of creative releases, and with a slew of midterms and essays hurtling towards me causing my brain to slowly pound against my skull, I'm thankful for the creative relief tonight.  Will this post push my blog back towards its former glory where I actually blogged about things I assumed people cared about?  No.  Not at all.

Cooking Schmooking

(what in God's graces, Firefox, "schmooking" is certainly not a word - where is the mean red line of error!?)  I'm a regular culinary connoisseur.  Most nights during the week I settle for the quick fix of Kraft Dinner or Sidekicks straight from the pot (ssh, don't tell) but every so often, I'm struck with some sort of desire to cook legitimate food, and I've since surprised myself that I haven't given myself salmonella or food poisoning.  Quite the opposite: I'm not a bad cook at all, and while what I've actually prepared has been restricted to chicken and its variants (I'm a poor student.  I'm not going to buy beef), I shock myself bite after bite with succulence.  In fact, tonight I made myself breaded chicken, my particular favourite, and I decided to be adventurous and make homemade fries like my mom does on rare occasions back home (AND I didn't fail!).  While everything on my plate was fried fried fried, it was damn good.  That somehow leads to my next point..

Bed Potato; or Swirly Desk Chair Potato

(I do not own a couch; thus I am not a couch potato) I've feared the dreaded "Freshmen 15" even though 1. I'm not a freshman; I guess I'm a junior? and 2. if I don't think my body is actually capable of gaining fifteen more pounds.  With that in mind, I made sure that during my first weeks I didn't eat like crap - and, say, it actually paid off, for with going to the gym every so often, I actually lost a bit of weight.  Cue my grandmother.  Since going home two weeks ago and returning with boxes of cookies sent from my grandmother (who, as history serves, always brings me and my sister pounds and pounds of chocolate bars every visit, so I guess in a sense I'm lucky I came away without chocolate) my eating patterns have gone to shits.  I try my best to limit my food intake from fast food places on campus to a minimum, maybe once or twice a week, but I can't help the Lazy Monster smacking me in the face some nights forcing me to cave and get a slice of pizza out of minimal desire to make myself something in the kitchen.  Somewhat related, I haven't gone to the gym in the past little while, and I hate myself for it.  The thing is, when I go to the gym, it's all cardio, so I sweat like a beast (grimy details) and I have to shower when returning; I shower every morning because my bedhead hair is beastly, so logically I'd go to the gym after waking up and before showering, but morning after morning when my alarm goes off at 9am I call it a very bad name (my alarm clock has been called "you motherfucker" or "shut up, you dumbass bitch") and opt for another hour of sleep before class.  Can you blame me?  My schedule is horrid.

Procrastinator Supreme

I am the least productive person on the planet.  I've read more books for pleasure this semester than I have for assigned readings.  I have two midterms on Friday - two!  I swear, the English department professors convene and schedule their heavily weighted tests all on the same day while drinking from goblets and cackling at the misfortune of us poor migraine and hand cramp-ridden students.. - and I have yet to legitimately study for them.  I have an essay due in two weeks on a book that I haven't yet taken down from my dusty shelf.  I skip most of my dry readings so that I can rush to play the Sims 3 on my computer; it was a very bad idea bringing that with me away to school (by the way, my vampire Sim got divorced from his wife because he discovered she had a child with someone else - say wha?).  Or, I..

Obsessed

..watch Parks and Recreation nonstop.  I finished the entire series (up until what's airing) in a matter of four days.  The show is downright hysterical, and when I'm not actually rewatching episodes (and for that matter, still laughing as hard as I did the first time around), I'm finding clips on Youtube and watching them on an infinite loop until the end of time, or, until I decide it's no longer a human hour to be awake and that I should probably just shut my eyes and go to sleep.  It's so good.  I recommend it with every recommending fibre of my being.  I've decided that I really must stop buying DVDs - I've bought four movies plus the third season of Parks and Rec in the past month - or I should just avoid anything that can be watched on any sort of screen altogether.  Now that regular scheduled television is back, I also find myself rushing my readings so that I can be snuggled into my bed as I am now ready to watch Glee (urgh) and New Girl (I've decided to include Zooey Deschanel to my list of prospective wives) on Tuesdays or Criminal Minds and Modern Family on Wednesdays and - deep breath - Big Bag Theory, Parks and Recreation, Grey's Anatomy (it's out of laboured obligation now..) and Jersey Shore on Thursdays.  Am I missing anything?  Probably..

Well, that's my life now.  I either post here drunk, or I eat like junk while not doing my school work and watching "Leslie Knope's Accent" on Youtube over and over again.  (go Youtube it)