(A Random Post)

That Was Predictable

That’s Not Me – The Beach Boys

I’m going to do something I don’t usually do and explain the title of this post. There was a scene from The West Wing where Josh is trying to put something up on a shelf. His secretary comes in to speak to him and when he turns around to address her the whole shelf collapses. “That was predictable,” he said in an exasperated fashion. That has become my mantra everytime something unfortunate happens. I say it at work about three or four times a day. If I knock a display over or slip on the ground and fall on my ass (as I did just the other day while rushing to do a price check for Adriana), I say “that was predictable” and I usually feel a little better.

I was supposed to go watch a soccer game with Arlene today. Apparently, we were going to the Metro Toronto Convention Centre to watch Korea vs. France. Or something. It was going to be us and some other people, but I was excited because I’d mentally prepared myself to put the mack on her. I don’t know if I was going to do anything today, but I could at least talk to her and gauge her interest and maybe even set up a date. I imagined myself showing up at her doorstep one day, with my guitar in hand, strumming the opening chords to You’re Beautiful. She loves that song. I’m not saying I’m crazy about this girl or anything, but I could be. If she gave me the chance.

She called me earlier today to cancel. Apparently she hadn’t left the house yet so she couldn’t make it and she was going to do something else with someone else anyway or something. I ended up spending the day with my dad’s friend’s kids, playing Guitar Hero and other PS2 games. Not exactly the same as spending the day protecting a hot babe from a bunch of sweaty soccer fanatics.

That was predictable.

I shouldn’t complain because the day turned out to be better than it would have been if I went to watch the game. I didn’t really want to do that anyway, seeing as how I don’t care about The World Cup. I’m sorry, I just don’t. And I really hate every poser fag who suddenly does, even though I’ve never heard them say a word about soccer before. Okay, I’m going to leave that alone. After my guests left, I played Battlefield 2 (inarguably one of the five greatest PC games of all time) for a few hours before settling down on the couch to watch Game 5 of the NBA Finals (which had an AWESOME second half).

To top it off, I got calls from Shirley and Annia! Shirley was just about to leave for Vietnam, so she couldn’t talk for too long. It was probably better that way since I was in the middle of gunning down cats in Battlefield. It is amazing how hearing someone’s voice can turn your whole day around. I mean, I was already feeling okay about being cockblocked by Arlene (again), but okay in that way you feel after eating a tub of ice cream for comfort. Or so I’ve heard. Shirley’s call was the final clincher in my declaring this day, this Father’s Day, to be worth getting out of bed for.

Annia called at around 1:00, so 11:00 where she is. She sounded kind of drained, but as far as I can tell she’s doing okay. I’m mixed on it, I guess. I’m happy that she’s calling me, but on the other hand, I hope she’s not doing it out of some weird obligation. Like, she thinks I’ll deteriorate into a fine dust if I don’t hear her voice once a week. Well, she should know that I’m 75% sure that I won’t! Regardless of her reason for calling, I’m always excited to hear from her.

It’s funny, I was waiting all week to go out today and come home with a cool post about my adventure with Arlene. When that fell through, I was prepared to write a post about how things never seem to work out for me with girls and wah wah wah. I wrote this instead. Better this way, methinks.

You rescued me. But…the Confessor…
I regret that we were unable to save him, too. We came as soon as he attacked, and we realized the truth, but…
And…it had nothing to do with the fact that he’s…that he was…?
That he was a vampire? Yes, we knew. We have known for some years. To the right eyes, the touch of the undead cannot be hidden. But regardless of what he was, he was doing God’s work. He was saving innocents and serving truth. And in the final judgment, what is more important? The burdens we bear or the way we bear them?

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Destined to fight the world's evil, The WAMBAG endures massive battles involving impossible stunts, races on horse-pulled carriages, and the desecration of enchanting medieval castles (all done with dizzying computer graphics). Not only does the eye candy keep on coming, the tongue-in-cheek writing and deep Transylvanian accents perfect the film with a dose of dark humor.

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