20060212

You put the tingles in her jingles Or The Thrilling Conclusion

Yes, I am alive. And here is my tale:
Friday: aroused at 7:30. Turn off alarm and sleep until 9. Sorry, class, I'll make it up to you somehow.
At 9:15 I get up and start puttering. I dress, freshen up, and go to buy some food for the day's travels. Only one problem, the caff doesn't even serve real food until 11. That would be after my bus has departed for shores unknown.
I buy an apple, go back to my room, and learn how to dial-a-bus to get to the bus terminal. I discover that I can either take a bus in 12 minutes, or 42. The 42 minute bus would have put me right on schedule, but if I took the 12 minuter I would have extra time to figure out this whole "bus" thing. So I dress, grab my bag, take all the change from my shelf, and am off. I took the change because I needed to take a ride on GRT, get to Ellen via payphone, and possibly tramp all over TTC territory before the end of the day.

I got to the bus shelter in time to stand around and look akward. I've been practicing and it felt good to actually get it going. I walked in and, oblivious to all around me, dropped my bag, took off my gloves, and opened my coat. Then I counted change from my pocket until I had $2.50 for the GRT bus that should have been there by then. The other people in the shelter were all Asian. I considered checking with one of them what the correct bus fare was, but then didn't. As it turned out, that was a good idea: It quickly became apparent that none of them spoke English. The incident which tipped me off to this was the arrival of the bus. There was a mobility bus about 10 meters ahead of it, which also stopped in front of the bus shelter. The GRT pulled up behind it about 2 seconds later and everyone got out of the shelter. I was out last because the Asians were busy crowding the front of the shelter to see when the bus came. But when they got out, they formed a line parallel to the bus in front of me, and they all pulled out little pieces of paper, presumeably to see which of the two busses was the right one. Anyone on the GRT who wanted to get off at the University did, and the bus doors closed. At this point I got really worried and ran around everyone else to get on the bus. The bus driver looked at me and told me to get on the bus faster in future. Thanks ass-hole. Maybe if you could say that in Mandarin it would be more helpful. I have nothing against Asians, I have everything against anyone who is stupid enough to attend a university where you don't speak the language in which the clases are taught.

The ride to the terminal was uneventful. I monopolized a double seat and settled in for the long haul around the route and back to the terminal. I worried once or twice about "bus etiquite". There are things to do on the bus and there are things not to do. I noticed as the bus filled that people indiscriminately moved to fill empty seats. Currently I had my bag in one seat and myself in the other. This was not an arrangement I wished very hard to change. Luckily being at the back of the bus I wasn't troubled by anyone willing to try and change it. Another set of thoughts which plagued me related to me being on the wrong bus, but Nick will back me up when I say that such thoughts are commonplace when I travel.

As I pulled into the terminal I saw a number of Greyhounds waiting to leave. One of them was beside a placard that said Toronto. I decided to investigate the part of the terminal in which that bus was located. I got down to ground level and found a greyhound sales wicket with about 5 people in line. None of them were remarkable except two: The man in front of me was definatly a "gangsta" of some description, and the man at the wicket appeared to be managing to take about 500 times longer than anyone ever should to buy a bus ticket. I considered telling Gangster that I liked his shoes, but didn't as I felt there would be a strong possiblity of me getting an up-close look at them if I talked to him. Idiot-man was still sitting there killing my time. I was getting sensetive to time because I had arrived early enough and had such luck finding the Greyhound terminal that I could take a bus earlier than the one I had already. That would be if this guy didn't decide to pitch a tent in front of the wicket. If it took everybody this long I would be lucky to make my originally scheduled bus which left an hour and a half later. Finally he got through and I was relived to note that everyone else seemed to moving somewhat faster. I watched absentmindedly and slipped into autopilot while I sunk into my own bleary late night/early morning thoughts. Autopilot consisted of following Gangstre every time he took a step. It was by doing this that I seriously broke a major piece of Bus Etiquite. I had failed to notice that from the person at the wicket to the next person in line there was a gap of about 5 feet. I had noticed and wondered why it was there. Since I could think of no credible reason I didn't think too much else about it. Until I followed Gangster almost right up to the wicket, still within neck-breathing room as I had been in the line. He turned around and shot me a look of "What the fuck are you doing?" mixed with pure unadulterated murder. I did my best impression of a strung-out non-morning person and spun around headed for the rest of the liners-up.

The ticket was easier than expected. I asked for a one-way to Toronto, and she asked for $24 or so bucks. My surprise at the cost of the fare (as much as a two-way train trip back to Stratford) must have been evident because she eventually added "or $13.30 if you have a valid student ID". Oh, thanks. This reinforces my impression that my beard makes me look like a street person.

Bus trip = nap and studying for psych. We stopped at the Guelph University campus on the way to TO and a lot more people got on the bus. The same worries about my bag losing its window seat began to rear their ugly heads, but once again were unfounded.

I got to TO and surprised Ellen with the speed of my coming. Through the telephone. She walked down to the bus station to meet me. A note about the bus station: It's not hard to navigate. Blake and Nick had me worried that its Byzantine construction would force me to cross a street before I was even at the main building. Yeah, OK, but let's try not to neglect to mention that pretty much the only place you can go when the bus drops you off is out into the street, and from there it's not a great leap of logic to go directly across that street into the much larger building also full of busses and people. While waiting for Ellen I invested in some street-meat to pass the time and aleviate my hunger pains.

She arrived and we went back to her place. We had wild monkey sex (yes, involving both nudity and touching) and I dressed up in a succession of her undergarments and talked to Blake on MSN (pretending to be Ellen) while beating off into her shoes. Oh, Ellen, you were in class for those last parts. I also had a shower and probably lost 5 pounds due to grease removal and hair loss... and maybe a little due to... liquid expulsion into her shower drain. I tried to clean all the hair out of her shower, but even a 1% failure rate is enough hair to keep her vomiting every time she goes into the shower again until she moves out. Think of a shower with shag carpeting and you'll get the idea. Ellen's blog pretty much covers the rest of the details of our time together. Although she strangely neglects that we were almost unable to find the Games Workshop in the Eaton Centre, our abortive plans to buy each other things for Valentines Day (speaking of which I met "the Tom" and he's a douchebag), and our excesively loud and gesticular discussion of the wiles of one "Stacey" in the midst of the street on the way to her house.

The Indian dinner kicked ass. Where Ellen ate conservatively, I ate like I made it up. I had 2 buffet plates of various curried meats (chicken, beef, goat...) and two soup bowls of desert. I dispatched 6 glasses of water a a mug of massalah-chai (Is that correct, Nick?). I finished it up with a mouthful of... whatever that stuff is that freshens your breath. Or at least, I thought it was finished there...

We dropped Ellen off at a TTC station and went to get Victor's cousin William. On the way out of TO Nick asked if I needed anything from the LCBO for the weekend. I figured it was a good idea and we pulled over at the nearest one. Oh yeah, just on a side-note, Nick was driving his new pimp-machine. I picked out the best-looking mickey of Stoly they had and arm-wrestled the cashier in order to get it for half-price. In the midst of my exertions (or maybe it was while I was standing beside Nick [looking at wine] lambasting William [looking at girls]) I felt a certain... discomfort eminating from my bowels. It appeared that my intestines hadn't felt the same as my taste-buds about dinner. I moved with as much dignity as a man clasping his ass-cheeks together can to the till in order to request a bathroom key or whatever they use. The clerk infomed me that they didn't have a washroom. Of course. You're a government monopoly with an iron-clad union and you don't have a fucking washroom, or at least not one accessible to a paying customer. He informs me that my best bet is the bar across the street. Only 2 problems there: Toronto bar on Friday night and crossing the street in Toronto on Friday night. I rush Nick through the till (I am now sweating) and get into the street I spy a Coffee Time beside the LCBO and as I walk up to it a shooting pain develops in my sphincter every time I take a step. I attempt to pacify it by stepping lightly, but it's not working. I resume my rush towards the establishment somewhat stiltedly. As I enter a clerk sits up from a newspaper at a table towards the back. She doesn't even have time to get behind the counter before I am assaulting her with questions about the location of the bathroom. The shooting pain is now with me permanently and only intensifies when I walk. I get to the bathroom. It is 3x4 feet with a trash can in front of the toilet. I drop my pants and maneuver over the bowl at a 45 degree angle. The exorcism begins before I'm even touching the seat. I will give no further details 'scape two: Its volume was roughly 1 litre and it smelled like curry. The clerk of the Coffee Time probably thought I'd shot up in her bathroom given the differing levels of panic and serenity with which I entered and exited that small room.

That serenity lasted for the rest of the weekend. I'll let Victor get into the details of his own party. I will only say this: The ending of Appleseed was not as terrible as the ending of Evangelion. And that Hellsing redefines brilliance in the original manga.

Elizabeth told me the plan for today was to sleep in, eat lunch at a pub, and then get me to the bus depot in time to have me home by 6. It worked until the bus depot part. We spent so long talking at the pub that we didn't budget any time for mundane things like me actualy buying the ticket. So they drove me home. It was very nice of them and they genuinely didn't seem to mind, so it was good. I showed them the squalor of my lodgings and they were duly impressed. I sat down to write this post and then realized that I had to be home by 6 for a Footloose rehearsal. It was the first rehearsal with the cast and the band and our Ren gave me today's title.

Oh, and before I forget, while I was looking up the source of Tobin O'Drowsky's latest postings (apparently I don't spend enough time blowing my load on different parts of the female anatomy) I came across this, which made me think of Blake for more reasons than one.

So I'm alive. Wolfgang is going to have to poison my iced-tea and Tobin O'Drowsky is going to have to take credit for her own interests. Everyone else can go fuck themselves... swinging

10 comments:

HurleyGirly said...

Binkle you're my hero!

(by the way, my name's Ellen, nice to meet you)

And Liam,
-Tom is not a doucebag
-my shower is fine now, i cleaned on Saturday
-and any disscussion about House, must be loud and gesticular!

**Ellen

Maranatha said...

Binks went to our highschool, Ellen. Oh, and I never said Tom was a doucebag, I believe the term I employed was douchebag.
Teo, it smelled like curry. I'm sure anyone who went in there would have been pleasantly surprised by the delicious aroma. Also, bah to Tums. Nothing short of sticking a box of heavy-flow tampons up my ass could have averted that disaster.

Ben said...

Thusly why I do not eat indian foodstuffs. That and I hate curry. A lot.

Pimp-machine gave me a chubby.

I liked appleseed, but I agree, ending kinda blows. I do like the fight scenes though, smooth animation.

I wish I could travel to t.o.


Ben

Ben said...

oh, and fuck you for telling me to fuck myself. I WAS going to bring you fabulous gifts when I came down for reading week. Well you can kiss those fabulous gifts goodbye, mister!

Mr. Asshole without fabulous gifts!!

The Brigadier, Red Ensign Brigade said...

Absolutely fascinating travelogue here, Professor.

> I got to TO and surprised Ellen
> with the speed of my coming.

There are prescriptions that could help with that problem, you know.

> Blake and Nick had me worried that
> its Byzantine construction would
> force me to cross a street before
> I was even at the main building.

We've both met you. We had to take that into account when providing you with directions.

> I dressed up in a succession of her
> undergarments and talked to Blake
> on MSN (pretending to be Ellen)
> while beating off into her shoes.

SQUICK.

> a mug of massalah-chai (Is that
> correct, Nick?)

Close enough for restaurant work. Masala chai, it's usually spelled, although restaurant spelling is an entire branch of linguistic etymology in newer universities.

> It appeared that my intestines
> hadn't felt the same as my taste-
> buds about dinner.

I think I speak for William when I say thank you for being noble and trying to find somewhere other than my vehicle interior to experience your personal version of what the British troops in India used to call "Delhi belly".

The Brigadier, Red Ensign Brigade said...

> Pimp-machine gave me a chubby.

T   M   I

Ben said...

oh no. It is the truth, sir.

Your pimp machine is admirable enough to give a full grown man a raging hard-on.


I bow to you and your vehicular object of jungle arousal.

Ben

The Brigadier, Red Ensign Brigade said...

On second reading, this post reminded me of one of the funniest, sickest blog posts I ever read: Anna at Primal Purge. Enjoy. Or get grossed out. Whichever works for you.

Maranatha said...

How... I loved it, but HOW does it remind you of this?

The Brigadier, Red Ensign Brigade said...

> HOW does it remind you of this?

To the cognoscenti, the similarities are rather marked.