Better than a fortune teller

Leap Day has always wigged me out. For that matter, February as a month has always given me the willies. I mean, what the hell did February do to deserve such a calendar-hobbling? Did it sleep with July's girlfriend or something? Did it get all drunk at December's party and totally make an ass of itself, and so they had to take some of its days away to teach it a lesson?

The whole thing is highly suspect, if you ask me.

So, my question is, today are we getting one extra day or just two less days instead of three? It's just an odd day, that's all I'm saying.

Which leads me to my odd things post.

A long time ago in a galaxy far far away, there was a gangly, zitty, awkward Mr Lady in a high school just north of Denver. There she met a girl named Turtle. She didn't know Turtle very well, but she wished she did. Turtle seemed way too freaking cool to ever be friends with Mr Lady and Mr Lady didn't push the issue.

Sometime around May of a year in the 1900's that is too long ago for me to admit in a public forum, Turtle took a minute out of her awesome day to give me an awesome signature in my high school yearbook. And she didn't just sign it with her signature, like some people I know; oh no, she took the time to leave me secret, hidden messages all over this damn thing, messages that I have spent the last *censored* years finding.

What's odd is how eerily accurate her little notes were. Like, she knew something. A few somethings.


  • On page 65 of my yearbook, she wrote nothing but the word EGG. She wrote that word large enough to fill the whole page. And then, a bit later, a boy named Josh put his mark in my yearbook inside my EGG. And then, just a few years later, another boy named Josh left his mark inside another one of my eggs, and now we have 1of3. Odd.

  • On page 9 of my yearbook, she wrote, "If you happen to meet a man on the street who's head is aflame, tell him. He would appreciate it." Many, many years later, I was sitting in the bar that I worked at, after my shift, visiting with a friend. I leaned over the table to reach something, and then sat back. A few moments later, my friend tapped me on the shoulder and said, in the calmest voice he could muster, and I quote, "I don't know how to say this, but your head is aflame." Yes, I had leaned right over the candle on the table and a stray hair met the candle, with disastrous results. But seriously, how the hell did she know that was going to happen? Peculiar.

  • On the second to last page of my yearbook, she plainly wrote the words, "Too much sanity may be madness." May I refer you to my I've gone totally crazy post to confirm this fact?

It goes on and on. Some of it just makes me laugh, like, "It's all fun and games until someone looses and eye. Then it's just fun," which is my category name for memes on this website. The one that's really got me worried, the one that keeps me up at night, praying that this is all a big coincidence, is this:

"One politically correct Blue Moose."

Shit's just scary, yo.

Did you know that Gullible isn't in the dictionary?

There is a very good chance that my friend Chris and I are going to a show at the end of March. Correction: There is a good chance that I am tagging along behind my friend Chris to go to a show at the end of March. One of my favorite musicians is in town on the 26th and I saw on Chris' Facebook page (I can't believe I just said that) that he was going, and so I invited myself along.

I asked him where the show was.

He replied, "Dicks on Dicks*."

Now, I can tell you where every single kid thing ever in downtown Vancouver is, I don't know Thing One about adult stuff. I do know where the Five Star Titty Bar is, thanks to my darling man having two months here without me one summer. A boy's gotta do what a boy's gotta do, you know?

Point is, I know nothing about the bar scene downtown, but I do know this is a pretty progressive town, what with the pink bus stops and all, and so I thought nothing of a bar called Dicks on Dicks.

And so.

I googled.

Dicks on Dicks, Vancouver.

Fish and chips, scroll down, sporting goods, scroll down, BAM. There it is. What any idiot knew was there, but I didn't.

Fuck you, Chris.**

*Richard's bar on Richard's street, FYI.

Around the world in 80 minutes

You may have caught wind of a little mumbling from about Multicultural Day at school this week. Yes, we had Multicultural Day, and yes, it totally got on my nerves. Why? Because my ancestors are from, oh, West Virginia. I can tell you anything you want to know about The Roots and Will Smith, I can even show you a copy of the book that shows how my family tree fails in every way to branch for a few generations. I cannot, however, tell you about what part of Ireland we are from. I have no idea where in the the Ukraine my grandfather was born. I couldn't fathom a guess as to where The Donor's family came from in Germany or England. We are good old American mutts, and we like it that way.

But, like a good PTA mom, I totally played along. I let my son choose which part of his heritage to do a project on, and he chose Ireland.

Welcome to Ireland.  I know nothing about it.

This is good because his Auntie Molly sort of lived in Ireland for a longish time. She kind of made a baby there and shit, yo. And once upon a time, she mailed me a letter from the motherland, and I still have it, and so my son had his artifact from Ireland to contribute to the project.