Pinky and the Pain.

Every now and then there is a weird beep down here in my basement. It's a little frightening, but mostly annoying. I don't know what it is and I don't know why it is. I suppose I don't know where it is either, or who it is, or how... STUPID.

Next attempt:

My face is sore. No, it's not. I'm lying to create some interesting story. Not working. STUPID.

Next:

I want to learn piano?

OH WAIT! I just remembered. I did have an interesting thing happen to me on the weekend. Ooh, more are coming to mind! Flooding memories! Where to begin?

Ok. I will move chronologically.

Friday night: Taste-test night at Youth Group. Pretty awesome. So many different kinds of pop. There were seriously like 30 different pops that were being tested. It was funny. Like, they had to pick the difference between President's Choice Diet Sodium Free Caffeine Free Cola, and the Safeway Select version of that same type. It was funny. So many. Yuck.

Friday night post-youth group: Starfield concert at Breakforth. Boo-yes. Those guys are talented and fun. And it was wild. Lotta people. I found a toonie on the ground during the middle. We wanted to touch them but we couldn't get close enough. Disappointment. Dude, that band does not suck at all.

Friday night post-Starfield: Went over to Ken's house with Mikey. Settled in to play video games all night and then all day. Def Jam: Fight for New York. Craaaaaazy. That game is stacks of fun all piled up on top of one another. Like an over-stressed cubicle-dwellers desk would be. 'Cept instead of stacks of paperwork, it's stacks of fun. Like I said. It was seriously awesome though. So much fighting, so many swear-words. Not that the swear-words were good, but they just buzz in your ears, don't they? Then we stayed up late swappin' manly stories, and in the morning, we made waffles. Actually, pancakes. Many different pancakes. Pancakes with blueberries, pancakes with strawberries, pancakes with blueberries, strawberries and whipped cream, pancakes with fingernails... No, not that last one, but the others, yes. They were deliciously redundant. Then, back to more Def Jam, huzzah. We only got about a quarter of the way through, too.

Saturday evening post-Def Jam: Watched The Village. Not as scary as some, but still a treat. M Night, we will wed.

Sunday morn: Choich. That's how I'd say it, were I from Boston. But I'm not, sooooo... Church. I went to church.

Sunday afternoon post-choich: Went to play hockey with friends at Southview at 1:30. Nobody really showed up until about 2. Get out, get my stuff to go play, suddenly I'm struck with the realization that my skates are missing. So, I get in my car and drive home faster than light, and get back at about 2:30 to start to play. So, I suit up, get out there, play for a few minutes when tragedy strikes. I was skating backwards playing defense, right? So I look over at the boards to see about where I am, and it looks like I should have about 10 or 15 feet until the net. I was wrong. BAM. Smoke the net, fall down, my stick in hand, gets caught behind me, I land on my stick, which, in turn, pinches my pinky on the ice. The hitting the net didn't hurt, and my hand didn't hurt for about 5 minutes, so I kept playing. I try to shoot and then 'Ow'. Intense pinky-pain. So I go off to the bathroom to check it out. Take off my mitt and then 'Ew'. Totally gross. My pinky was totally shredded up. It was so gross looking. So I washed the large amounts of blood off and look again. It appears as though something tried to bite through my finger lengthwise. I waddle out of the dressing room and wander casually over to my cousins' house across the street and politely inquire if anyone would like to drive me "somewhere", because "my finger hurts". Eventually I get to the hospital and by this time I have a finger that looks like a hot dog when you have put it in the microwave for too long. It is badly split all the way down it, and it looks awesome. And ewsome. Anyway, long story short, I waited forever and then the doc came and gave me 15 stitches to pull my finger together. Right on. That was my fun.

Moral of the Story: Don't break the speed limit.

Ow.

.:daytona:.