Choose your own adventure

Broken Black and Decker Blender . . . (Montreal)

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Reply to: sale-1037233074@craigslist.org ^[?]
Date: 2009-02-16, 2:37PM EST

Brand New Black and Decker Blender - used once, the cord became wet and I broke a wooden spoon in it. If you can fix it, it's yours . . .
Colour: White with dark blue green buttons . . .

• Location: Montreal
• it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests

PostingID: 1037233074

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Cigarettes and Milk says (9:39 PM):
i'm still trying to piece it together

Marc says (9:41 PM):
Wow, stupid people buy blenders.

Cigarettes and Milk says (9:41 PM):
like, oh shit I got the cord wet...maybe I should jam a wooden spoon in the blades?

Cigarettes and Milk says (9:41 PM):
or, crap I broke my wooden spoon in the blades, better soak it all in water to clean it out?

Marc says (9:42 PM):
Since when does wetting the cord break it, anyway? Unless you pour water on the plug when it's in the wall.

Cigarettes and Milk says (9:43 PM):
maybe she (I'm taking a leap, here) broke the spoon in the actual cord?

Cigarettes and Milk says (9:43 PM):
trying to, I don't know, dry it off?

Highlights

• Weekend starts with a good friend's thirtieth birthday party at the local scummy coke-front bar. Free cigarettes in a stand by the door, smoking inside. Also, bar mix with sunchips and cheetos.
  

• Mile-end loft party. Live bands first, followed by a big drunken dance party. You can bring your own or buy from the bar.

• Lots of hipster boys with caved-in chests and striped t-shirts dancing trying to jam to dance hall unironically. Their bandanna-ends whip back and forth.

• Cops come, hang out in the doorway for fifteen minutes talking to the host, leave.

• I get hit on by the brother of a boy I once slept with. I don't think he knows I did it with his twin. Either way, I'm not interested. Awkward.

• A short French guy all gangsta'd out keeps rubbing up on me from behind, trying to dance. I keep moving away and he keeps following. When he finally gets the hint he complains that my hair was in his face. I say “move, then” and he pushes me. I walk away. I wish I could have kicked the shit out of him.

• Very cute boy from Newfoundland, a sous-chef at L'Inconnu, buys me a beer. I let him even though I have Pabst in my bag. He tells me it's a pleasure to meet a nice American, and a pretty girl at that. It's a weak line, but I don't care. He talks about putting two pounds of butter in his beurre blanc. He asks me if I have a boyfriend. I leave him to go to the bathroom and return to see him being dragged out of the party by an angry-faced girl. Fuck.

• Two fist fights.

• 4:30am, lose track of my friends, walk home alone.

Don't even ask about the Spanish lessons I agreed to

The Backbone

I've been "freelance writing" lately, which pretty means writing bullshit articles for SEO.

Dream a dream.

While it's pretty mindless—all I do is write vaguely purchase-positive copy with X number of mentions for each keyword—I do relish having the authority to make ridiculous proclamations like this :

Perhaps only those familiar with home design truly appreciate the sink basin’s role in completing a bathroom. Basins create harmony. They tie the room together, synthesizing all the disparate elements of a bathroom—toilet, tub, tile—into a unified whole. The basin is the backbone of your bathroom.

It is? Sure! Why? Because I said so. Glorious.

Call me drunk with power, but for the moment anyway I'm plenty happy getting paid to write with conviction about stuff I care nothing about. At least it's something I can talk about at the dinner table.

Love is passe, beauty is overdone, and truth is for hacks. I write my poems to the gods of wall-mounted vanity units, semi-recessed sinks, and "adult" dating sites and I defy you to read them with dry eyes.

Maybe it's all the Joy Division

You know you need to get out more when your roommate sends you this:

http://montreal.en.craigslist.ca/etc/993049444.html

Sometimes when I'm bored I illustrate bad puns with Google Image Search and MS Paint

Joy Division - Love Will Tear Us Apart

Sorry.

I'm the one who looks like Robert Smith

Bet you didn't know I could choreograph. Oh yeah, I can't. But I did anyway. Can't wait to fluff this up and use it to pad my CV.

The stiff and arrhythmic lurchings of zombiedance are pretty much the stuff of my everyday existence, so yeah, I guess you could say I'm a natural.

And snap that hair back.

It's scarier without the poorly synched and inappropriate audio, I swear.

Anyway, if you're into this kind of shit, you might also enjoy this, whose quality should make it clear that I had nothing to do with it.

Just add water

Did I ever tell you about the time a mouse died in my couch and everyone who sat on it suspected the person next to them of farting because it stank so bad...

until we figured out to look under the cushion?

I know, gross, right?