…sorry I’ve "been away so long…

…I won’t let it happen again.” – Superman to the President, Superman II (1980).

Been off for a week, loads of eventful, fun, romantic, hot, sexy, hilarious and memorable things happened. To write them down in a blog frankly wouldn’t do them justice, so I’ll just recap here.

– ‘The boy’ returned. It was amazing, as usual. He has such great taste in guys… đŸ˜‰ Seriously, I’m pretty damn lucky thus far. He’s returning Monday evening…and it can’t come fast enough.

– Dean from Wales via Vancouver arrived. He’s here one more night, and I imagine we’ll be having some drinks this evening. Went to Paramount Canada’s Wonderland. Was loads of fun, got a sunburn.

– Pride 2005 is in full swing. I can gladly say that I have YET to walk down to the village. Although unfortunately, today, I shall have to as I have to return movies…and will be going out tonight. Oh well. Haven’t ventured into a beer garden or even a bar for that matter. And I will NEVER, EVER watch the parade. I won’t get into that, but I have my reasons.

– I think that’s about it…been watching Gore Vidal’s “Caligula” (1979). Interesting to say the least…although the rumours of loads of it being reshot without the main actors is a little ridiculous, as the main actors can be seen in many of the hardcore scenes…and shooting INSERTS does not constitute a RESHOOT. I hate people who review films who have no fucking clue of the difference between their asshole and a gopher burrow.

One funny story to tell…

…returning from Canada’s Wonderland, Dean, E and myself were exhausted. Dean had taken ill during the day from the constant sun exposure – which was INTENSE, although I woulda thought I’d be the first to fall…no such luck. I did, however, get annointed with colouring akin to a freshly cooked lobster. Bleugh.
We get on the bus, decide to sit at the front like the old ladies we are – I swear, we had everyone on the bus beaten by AT LEAST 10 years. These three girls and a guy sit in front of us. The girl’s couldn’t have been more then 15-16 years old, and the guy claimed through my eavesdropping that he was 18. He was marginally cute – in that Leonardo di Caprio, ill-informed bad-ass kinda way.
At a pitch that rivalled the fading screams as we left the park, these girls began fawning over him, as if he was god himself. They talked to him, asked him questions and managed to always turn the questions around so that they could seem relatable to this older fellow who was playing the aloof part quite well.
The shrill voices began asking his friend, who was in front, if he used Axe spray. He said he did. They asked to borrow it. He gave it to them. And so began the assault on not only my aural senses, but also my olfactory ones.
I turned to E, who was sitting beside me, and rolled my eyes. He did the same. We shared a joke at the idiotic teens’ expense.
Then the girl sitting beside this boy asked his name. He said it was STAVROS. She said, “Cool!” And started calling him STARVOS.
I rolled my eyes again.
She asked him what was in his bag (the innuendo lost on her pedestrian mind completely). He said CDs and stuff. She giggled.
Then she saw a photo album. She asked to see it. He said yes.
Immediately, her two other girlfriends, fearing that STARVOS has gone off their feminine charms (see: insipid shreaking), began pummelling him wiht “Can I see that?” repeated ad naseum.
“Can I see that? Can I see that? Can I see that? Can I see that? Can I see that? Can I see that? Can I see that? Can I see that? Can I see that? Can I see that? Can I see that? Can I see that? Can I see that? Can I see that? Can I see that? Can I see that? Can I see that? Can I see that? Can I see that? Can I see that? Can I see that? Can I see that? Can I see that? Can I see that? Can I see that? Can I see that? Can I see that? Can I see that? Can I see that? Can I see that? Can I see that? Can I see that? Can I see that? Can I see that? Can I see that? Can I see that? Can I see that? Can I see that? Can I see that? Can I see that? Can I see that? Can I see that? Can I see that? Can I see that? Can I see that? Can I see that? Can I see that? Can I see that? Can I see that? Can I see that? Can I see that? Can I see that? Can I see that? Can I see that? Can I see that? Starvos!?! Can I see THAT?!”
My head was pounding. He handed it to her. She began squealing like a pig that’s just been rammed up the ass with the farmer’s fist. Starvos. STARVOS!!

The name is S-T-A-V-R-O-S.

STARVOS!!

WEEEEEE!!!

I turned to look at Dean. Asleep. Bastard. I turned to Elvis…pleading for relief.
The girls begin talking about their exams. They go to Central Tech. They ask if he has a girlfriend. They squeal. They shriek. They wail. I die a little bit more with each passing moment.
Annoying teenage chicks are my Kryptonite.

Then we pull into Yorkdale Mall. The first stop. Next is York Mills station, which is our stop. We pull up to the curb. I sense rustling. They stand up. They get off. Stavros too.

You know that feeling when you haven’t been able to pee and you finally do…?

The bus starts up again. Thank god. We’ll never have to hear that again…

…then the girl behind us starts.

Girl 1 – “Well, that was difficult to sit through.”
Girl 2 – “I know.”
Girl 1 – “They got off at Yorkdale – they’re supposed to get off at York Mills. Is she retarded?!”
Girl 2 – “Totally. And Central Tech doesn’t even have exams.”
Girl 1 – “What a retard. I hope she gets raped.”
Girl 2 – “I know. I’m gonna go home and download that “Rape” song.”

I nearly peed myself right then and there with sheer, unabated, uncontrollable insane laughter.

Some teenage chicks are okay.

Advertisements

~ by seangstm on June 26, 2005.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

 
%d bloggers like this: