Said moments appear to be happening to me at a rather frequent rate as of late. For example...
Scene one. A couple weeks ago, me and my mates were volunteering for the Richmond Center for Disability. Prior to that, we'd taken a course on sensitivity training. What to say, what not to say; common sense stuff, really. Then, during an activity involving compasses and bags of eggs, Friend A says something, and Friend B responds with this gem:
That's so retarded.
He realizes his faux pas a second later. Cue three Asian guys staring at each other in horror. Volunteer C is staring at us with murder in her eyes. The...uh...offended demographic continues searching for eggs. I guess we were lucky nobody was really paying attention to our shenanigans.
Scene two. Me and my (different) mates (I've been saying mates a lot lately; I'm using it ironically so it's not like I'm a hipster or anything) are just hanging out, discussing the meaning of life, typical post-adolescent shit. The topic turns to relationships. Someone says something along the lines of "everybody being in a relationship nowadays", and I make an off-handed remark in the vein of "maybe I should see about getting one myself, nudge wink say no more". The topic immediately turns to...
What kind of girls do Vass (me) like?!? My face: D:<
I mean, it's not as if I can bring my real fetishes out now, right?
Moving right along...
I don't think I can look at a chicken wing for another week or so. Or a piece of sushi, for that matter. I learned a valuable lesson yesterday, after AYCE dinner with my mates on the eve of Stamkos' future wife's wisdom teeth extraction. And that is: never go to AYCE with Asian girls, they eat like chipmunks and the menfolk are stuck with the task of finishing up the leftover food. Oh, and when playing a game where you name car manufacturers alphabetically, "Mazda" is not a suitable answer if you're going first.
Actually, I'm hungry now. I could go for some...wings.
I think I should cut this post short, it's 5am and I'm just rambling. It's like I'm writing stream of consciousness or something. Like James Joyce. With less fucking the farts out of...nevermind.
p.s. girls are so forward these days! The other day I was on the Skytrain with a friend of mine and this girl, out of the blue, asks my friend: "Where'd you get that backpack? I'm going on a backpacking trip to somewhere and I'm looking for something similar and something something..." I stopped paying attention there. Point is, the question was just...random. No lead-in, no introduction, nothing. And after he answered the question the girl didn't even take the conversation anywhere. She just stopped talking, leaving friend and me...well, talking about backpacks. Maybe she just really sucks at hitting on guys, or something.
p.p.s. I've only just realized that Weezer's Pinkerton album is chock full of references to Puccini's Madama Butterfly, which I saw at the QE Theatre this past Tuesday (I guess I am a hipster, after all). The album name itself, "listening to Cio-Cio-San" (El Scorcho), the closing song ("I told you I would return when the Robin makes his nest), etc. Gosh, no wonder this album sold terribly in America. Nation of Philistines, the lot of 'em.
Scene one. A couple weeks ago, me and my mates were volunteering for the Richmond Center for Disability. Prior to that, we'd taken a course on sensitivity training. What to say, what not to say; common sense stuff, really. Then, during an activity involving compasses and bags of eggs, Friend A says something, and Friend B responds with this gem:
That's so retarded.
He realizes his faux pas a second later. Cue three Asian guys staring at each other in horror. Volunteer C is staring at us with murder in her eyes. The...uh...offended demographic continues searching for eggs. I guess we were lucky nobody was really paying attention to our shenanigans.
Scene two. Me and my (different) mates (I've been saying mates a lot lately; I'm using it ironically so it's not like I'm a hipster or anything) are just hanging out, discussing the meaning of life, typical post-adolescent shit. The topic turns to relationships. Someone says something along the lines of "everybody being in a relationship nowadays", and I make an off-handed remark in the vein of "maybe I should see about getting one myself, nudge wink say no more". The topic immediately turns to...
What kind of girls do Vass (me) like?!? My face: D:<
I mean, it's not as if I can bring my real fetishes out now, right?
Moving right along...
I don't think I can look at a chicken wing for another week or so. Or a piece of sushi, for that matter. I learned a valuable lesson yesterday, after AYCE dinner with my mates on the eve of Stamkos' future wife's wisdom teeth extraction. And that is: never go to AYCE with Asian girls, they eat like chipmunks and the menfolk are stuck with the task of finishing up the leftover food. Oh, and when playing a game where you name car manufacturers alphabetically, "Mazda" is not a suitable answer if you're going first.
Actually, I'm hungry now. I could go for some...wings.
I think I should cut this post short, it's 5am and I'm just rambling. It's like I'm writing stream of consciousness or something. Like James Joyce. With less fucking the farts out of...nevermind.
p.s. girls are so forward these days! The other day I was on the Skytrain with a friend of mine and this girl, out of the blue, asks my friend: "Where'd you get that backpack? I'm going on a backpacking trip to somewhere and I'm looking for something similar and something something..." I stopped paying attention there. Point is, the question was just...random. No lead-in, no introduction, nothing. And after he answered the question the girl didn't even take the conversation anywhere. She just stopped talking, leaving friend and me...well, talking about backpacks. Maybe she just really sucks at hitting on guys, or something.
p.p.s. I've only just realized that Weezer's Pinkerton album is chock full of references to Puccini's Madama Butterfly, which I saw at the QE Theatre this past Tuesday (I guess I am a hipster, after all). The album name itself, "listening to Cio-Cio-San" (El Scorcho), the closing song ("I told you I would return when the Robin makes his nest), etc. Gosh, no wonder this album sold terribly in America. Nation of Philistines, the lot of 'em.
