January 19, 2001 — When carnies flirt

You know what's nice about writing journals on a daily basis for the first time in months? Days like today that only actually last 12 hours. I don't have to dwell on making sure I get all the important events covered and can instead go off on tangents about the little things. Plus, life is easier to remember when it happened no more than 11 hours earlier.

Having stumbled out of bed at 2:00PM, the day was already off to a good start; and with only licorice to eat until 5:00PM, I was the epitome of good health. I mainly spent the afternoon wasting away on the Internet, so we can pretty much skip to 6:00PM when Johnston and I stumbled toward Ryerson for Andrew's birthday bash.

Andrew had wanted to hold the birthday bash in a cemetary, but there were some issues regarding whether or not cemetaries were actually open at night and whether or not it would be too cold. But all were in agreement that a game of capture-the-flag in a cemetary would be fun for adults and children alike.

Given the decision to save cemetary games for warmer days, we headed to East Side Mario's for dinner. Only to find that it was closed. Leading us to the worst restaurant in the history of the earth. More or less. They managed to screw up everyone's order, and the bill wasn't all that easy on the eyes. Nor was it easy to figure out, as there were seven of us paying separately and only one bill. But I can't be truly bitter about the trip to the Eaton's Centre, as it has left me one Transformers shirt richer (and $28.75 poorer, after tax).

It was already 10:00PM by the time we'd finished eating, so it was of to the bars. Sort of, anyways. We went to one on Gerrard St. at which I seemed to be the only one having fun, largely because there was pinball. I won a replay while everyone else sat around as we waited for Joe, Andrew's friend from Humber, to arrive. I envy Joe for having the brains to move out of residence after one semester instead of trying to make it the whole year. But it's too late for that...

If there's anything this bar experience has taught me, though, it's that I'd have no problem with my friends drinking their faces off while I stay sober so long as the bar is properly equipped with at least one pinball machine. Two pinball machines and I'd gladly stay the night.

In any case, there was much walking and much not finding of places people actually wanted to stay at. We ended up walking a good 25 or 30 minutes from Ryerson, realizing we weren't going to find anywhere we actually wanted to go, and walking back. At which point we had the worst movie in the history of film presented to us with the loving care of Mystery Science Theatre 3000. "Manos: The Hands of Fate" is a heart-warming tale of a man and his poncho, with endless scenary shots and cat-fights galore. I don't remember what I did on my birthday, but it was no "Manos: The Hands of Fate," let me tell you.

We'd been watching the movie in Gwen's room, Gwen being a new addition to the small group of Ryerson people whose names I know. She's from Peterborough and has confirmed my theory that everyone my age in the city of Peterborough knows Karl from http://www.everyoneisdoomed.com whether they went to school with him or not. Ever since Pat tracked him down (completely by accident) a week ago, he's kept entering into conversation. Those Queen's minicourses will haunt me forever; I just shudder at the thought of finding someone who recognizes me from the first year I went... Those were definitely not the days.

And so we've now gone full circle and returned to good ol' Burwash, with only remnants of the toga party of a few hours previous cluttering the halls. If you count the occasional drunk person knocking on the door and the occasional drunken mob popping balloons and shouting things at 3:30AM as remnants. College.

But really, it could've been worse. I'm sitting in my Soundwave shirt as I type this, having mostly missed the keg party from hell as it took place five feet from my room, and I got a replay in a pinball game for the first time ever. I've got to take my victories where I can get them. So again, happy birthday Andrew, and I hope Matt's birthday went well back in Ottawa. The "Call Matt, jackass" sign has yet to do its job, so I'll have to do my best to call tomorrow. I can wish him a belated happy birthday at the same time, too. It'll be great. I'd best get myself to bed to psych myself up for it...