I would have stuck this hooha on MySpace or Facebook, except Raymi said no, so here you go (also I updated her link — bossy bossy!):

There’s an unwritten code in Canada. If you live by it, chances are; You’ve left your coat on some pile, and knew it wouldn’t get stolen.
This is one of the many things I learned was a bad idea as soon as I moved to the US — even if you’re somewhere where there are ABSOLUTELY NO STRANGERS.

You’ve never made a move on your buddies girlfriend.
Buddies plural? Probably still yes…

You know that on a road trip the strongest bladder determines the pit stops.
Shit yeah. Usually not me by a longshot, but I ain’t complainin’

You’ve kept all your hockey trophies.
I suck donkey balls at hockey, but I have all my track & field and soccer shite.

You’ve replaced someones pint if you’ve knocked theirs over.
I don’t know if that’s ever happened, but I’m sure I would, unless I was totally gone.

If your buddy’s in trouble, you’ve got his back.
Well, only at a certain point do I become strong/stupid enough to fight somebody, but damn straight… I’ll bitch ’em out anytime.

You’ve clapped for a dancer even though she shouldn’t be a dancer.
Yes, I do have the excessive politness gene.

You’ve used a blow torch to curve your stick.
No, but I’ve seen it happen plenty of times.

You’ve used your arm as an ice-scraper
Isn’t that what it’s there for?

and, you’ve grown a beard in the post season
Maybe I’m just not trying hard enough, but I never seem able to accomplish this.

This is our beer, Molson Canadian.
Well, if you’re going cheap, it’s better than any of the American swill there is to choose from.

There’s an unwritten code in Canada. If you live by it, chances are;You have a hockey scar somewhere.
Soccer scar, perhaps. Boo hockey.

You’ve gone on a road trip with a car that had no business going on a road trip.
Road trip, not so much. Band tour, repeatedly.

You’re proud to know a girl who got jiggy with a pro hockey player.
I don’t know that sort of girl. The ones I know just get jiggy with musicians…

You feel kinda bad reclining your seat in an airplane.
I only do it when they get up, so they don’t notice as much… ’cause yeah, I feel kinda bad.

You’ve used a cheesy pick-up line because your buddy dared you.
I have never used a pick-up line — EVER.

You fill your friends pint before your own.
Obviously.

You think hockey tape can fix anything.
I’m sure that it can, but I’d go in this order: duct tape > electrical tape > hockey tape.

You’ve gotten kicked out of somewhere,
Oh, hell yes. And into somewhere else, even.

and, you’ve turned down a booty call in the post-season.
Since when do I even answer my phone?

This is our beer, Molson Canadian.
I still don’t have my American citizenship, so “our” can still apply to me, right? I prefer vodka…

There’s an unwritten code in Canada. If you live by it, chances are; You’ve driven an hour for 19 minutes of ice time.
I should think not.

You’ve been to a bar that starts with Mc or ends in Annigan’s.
This applies equally well to Chicago.

You appreciate a woman who’s into sports.
I would appreciate it more if they wouldn’t appreciate it anywhere near me.

You’ll call anyone with goalie equipment a friend.
I won’t call them at all.

You know what a J-stroke is.
I’m on the internet, so I do now.

And sometimes, figure skating is worth watching.
It’s hypnotic. If you need to stop thinking about shit for a while, put that on the box.

You know the sippy cup lid isn’t as dumb as it sounds.
Sippy cup > all.

You’ve worn a canoe as a hat.
Myep…

You’ve assembled a barbeque,
I’m a girl, therefore no. Of course, this excuse only applies when I don’t want to do something. In any other situation “you’re a girl” gets you a slap in the face.

and, they’re not dents, they’re goals.
Hockey. Pfeh!

This is our beer, Molson Canadian.
I wonder if there’s any beer left in the fridge here at work…

Yeah, that’s not really relevant to this post at all, but I’m obligated to say some such lameass thing whenever I eat this candy, and Sean ain’t here to hear it (and as if there’s every anything relevant to anything in this space to begin with). Nips hard candy. Hard Nips. Who the fuck named these. Alls I know is they’re going to rip the molars out of my jaw one of these days.

And.

Yeah, so I disappear for months at a time now and then. It’s just what I do. Check the archives. Those gaps can be blamed 50/50 on sleeping on floors and having no internet access, or super mental bouts of depression (also, catastrophic data loss). I haven’t been sleeping on floors lately, BTW. But I figured… it’s freakin’ March and shit, lady. Snap the fuck out of it. The last time I posted anything here was November. Pretty bad.

I also blame Twitter, in part, because now I can complain about anything instantly, and get it out of my system before it becomes a full-fledged rant that I need to blather on about later. And having a job, and having no ability to post blog entries on the bus, which is where most of the annoyances in my life occur (thank fucking Jebus that puffy coat season is almost over). Those all get written down on paper. And I can’t read half of them later, so they’re just lost. I think I’ve also written approximately 7642 drafts (25 in actuality, at least 3 of which are about how much Comcast sucks) but I just haven’t had an attention span to match that of a goldfish since fall.

Meh to all of this. I’ll be sure to post something more interesting in another four months or so. I’m going to make chili now. And repot some plants. And clean the bathroom. And drink some beer. And most importantly, get off of my damned ass. I hate computers.

Yeah, so I’ve had a working internet connection for a while now. I’ve just been neglecting my site on account of eleventy-billion things have happened recently. I gots me a new job, doing web design junk for some company or other. We gots us a new roommate around here, and he even pays rent (on time and in full, like WTF)! We gots us rid of and old roommate, which is alright by me, because I was getting kind of sick of being treated like a maid / provider of complimentary toiletries. Perhaps he thought that this was a hotel. But, perhaps not. Hotels generally expect you to pay. Meh! Hm, also Sean got back from tour, so we had to reacquaint, by which I mean that we had to drink beer and get caught up on all the episodes of South Park / It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia / The Simpsons and whatever other dumb shit we watch (47 braincell-destroying reality shows, mostly) (you know, this irritates me every time I want to italicize a title — I know that the italics tag is supposed to be deprecated, but that’s retarded, because sometimes I really do want to explicitly indicate that something should be in italics, not just that I want to emphasize it, and I shouldn’t have to make a CSS class called “title” just for that, because FUCK).

I’m pretty well back in equilibrium now, though. So maybe I’ll get back to the posting. And maybe I won’t. That’s just the way things work around here. Some of those months that are missing from the archives were due to catastrophic data loss, but plenty of them are missing because blogging is for losers. Or also because I didn’t have internet and was sleeping on other peoples’ floors, etc. etc. You could always just read my Twitter updates, anyway. They say the same thing, but they’re much more concise. And the thing is, if I complain about something on Twitter first, it seems pointless to me to bring it up again here, thus saving the internet from lengthy rants about nothing of consequence.

I’m sleepy. Bye now.

So, it turns out that AT&T can’t get me reconnected until the 16th. Full-length rant is forthcoming, but I’m going to give myself a little time to get angrier, first. I might call Covad/Speakeasy and see if there’s anything they can do for me, because I’d love to get rid of AT&T altogether, but it looks like my cheapest option without having to bother with a useless dialtone is more than $50. At least I’ve got tons and tons of stuff to watch until then. And at least I’ve got some form of internet. Don’t know what I’d do without RSS. Die, probably.

Jynnan tonnyx and Jeeves & Wooster time.

I don’t have much to say right now, Internet.

So. #1. I don’t know whether anyone ever looks at all the junk in my sidebars, but if my blog is temporarily boring, you can always get everything in that Google Reader Shared box over there formatted as its own fancy little blog. If I’m not posting shit, it’s probably because I’m having a life, doing something productive (riiiiight — but it actually happened the last few days), or spending time with my other favourite glowing box. But I usually check my RSS feeds, and I hit the share button pretty frequently. Most of the posts I share are about hating Jesus, being frustrated by creduloids, Chicago, Toronto, or good ol’ Random Crap. If any of those interest you (who the hell doesn’t love Random Crap), you win. If you’re extra super fond of Stupid or Random Crap, you could also pay closer attention to my YouTube Favorites, also available as an RSS feed. Kind of makes me wonder how many other bread crumb trails there are of mine that I’m leaving all over the internet, that I haven’t cared about / used / discovered yet. Let’s find out! Okay, let’s not.

#2. I forgot what number 2 was supposed to be while I was writing number 1.

#3. There never was any number 3.

I stuck some Google ads on top of my right sidebar (which you can see, if you’re not reading a syndicated version of this post). I get a ridiculous amount of irrelevant hits to a number of pages on this site, so I figured it couldn’t hurt. Ads won’t show up to logged in users, but at the moment, the only logged in user (or user, period) is me. I’ve just set WordPress to allow registration, but I have no idea how susceptible to spammers such nonsense is (I’m guessing… very?), so I’ll probably end up messing with it.

Oh, and I guess this post also serves as a test for MySpace and Twitter crossposting plugins I’ve recently installed.

La dee daaaaa!