The Pothole Queen and the Crustacean Graveyard

Listening: Velvet Revolution - Tori Amos

All you killers of the children
There's a new commandment:
That your Divine Creator
Wants a velvet revolution.

I should have mentioned in yesterday's post what exactly makes my life awesome. I realized today exactly what it was. It's the numerous people that I have the privilege to call friends. I guarantee you this: no matter how great your life is, your friends will always make it that much more amazing. Take me, for example. The past 24 hours have been a true testament to the awesomeness of my friends. Allow me to narrate.

After work last night, I hefted my tail over to Matt's apartment. The instant I opened the door, a telltale smell assaulted my nostrils. "What the hell is that?" I demanded, even whilst I gagged.

Matt was sitting in the living room with the rest of the bunch. In one movement, he vaults over the back of the couch, grabs a garbage bag containing a suspicious substance off the kitchen table, and waves it furiously in my face with a grizzly-like roar. After blinking at him for a moment, I asked, "What?"

"Lobster!" he declared.

Apparently Matt's parents had a dinner party. Since he's a lumberjack and frequently forgets to eat, they gave him a bunch of leftovers. These leftovers included a huge platter of ribs, as well as nine whole, cooked lobster. I do not think I have ever seen Matt so excited about anything ever. He looked terribly downtrodden when I told him I couldn't eat one because lobster makes me sick, but he brightened once he realized that this meant more for him.

Colette, at this point, was looking kind of bored or irate, so I suggested that we head to Tim Horton's. Matt's apartment is about a two minute walk from one, provided you cut across a few lawns and through a dilapadated fence. This was about ten-thirty at night, so it should have occurred to one of us that Tim's might be out of stock in some items. It didn't.

After laboring over her decision for several minutes, Cole went up to the cashier. "I'd like a tea and three chocolate chip cookies," she said.

The young man looked over his shoulder and perused the available goods before turning back to her. "I'm sorry. We're all out of chocolate chip cookies."

There is dead silence. Then, after a pregnant pause, Cole utters, with a low and chilling deliberance, "What?"

Later discussion would prove that Cole has no memory of the moments that followed. Unfortunately (or perhaps fortunately), I do. The spate of curses and utterances of general rage would have stricken a nun blind. The young man at the counter looked utterly dumbfounded--several of the other late customers sat gaping. As for me, I could only stand rooted in place, transfixed by the sight of my best friend transforming into pure, unbridled fury.

She seemed to snap out of it with the words "Strike it from the order", which is the point where she claims her memory resumes. It was several moments before anyone could move. The instant the young fellow at the register remembered how to use his fingers, I exploded into uproarious laughter. My gales didn't dim or ease, even when we left the store, food and cups in-hand. My peals of laughter echoed clear across the parking lot for a good few meters after we left the store behind.

When we arrived back at Matt's apartment, Cole and I sat at the kitchen table and complained for a while about a lot of things. It felt good to unload various problems on a listening somebody. Once that was done, Cole and I didn't want to listen to the boys banter about World of Warcraft, so we started up a game of Super Mario World and sat down to duke it out, insofar and inasmuch as you can duke in SMW.

Then Matt decides he wants to devour the lobster I didn't want. I have never seen a man eat with as much fervor as Matt did in those few moments. He literally roared as he ripped the lobster apart with his bare hands. Jimmy, who was there as well, was a little more dignified about it, but not by much. He went at his lobster with a hammer. I went into the kitchen during Cole's turn at SMW to get a drink, and my eyes were drawn to the scene atop the counter. It was truly a Crustacean Graveyard, with bits of shell and discarded meat littering the table, wall, discarded hammer, and nearby toaster. A single gutted lobster head sat nearby, looking mournful.

Morbid mischievousness overcame my brain. I returned to my seat, directly beside Colette, who was too busy yelling at the TV to pay attention to me. That worked to my advantage, because when she turned to look at me, she was greeted by the sight of a bug-eyed lobster skull an inch from her face. For added effect, I shook the lobster to and fro and intoned, "Blahblahblablahblah". The shriek she let out deafened every dog within a three mile radius. Coupled with the sight of her toppling off the couch in sheer terror, I was capable only of dissolving into hysterical laughter for the second time that night.

The goodtimes didn't stop there. When I got home that night, there was a message on my MSN from my good friend Rykea. For those of you who don't know, Ryk (as I call her) is one of my oldest friends. I have literally known her since I was seven years old. We were the best of friends for a while, although it was difficult to see her as we never went to the same school. Lately it's been even more difficult to keep in touch, but we manage it, although at six- and seven-month intervals. Both of us have been working on our respective novels for about the same length of time (although she claims I was the one who got her into writing in the first place). She is my guru of all things creative, and I go to her for advice when I'm having trouble with Usurper. Also we rotate music like it ain't no thang. Boa? Thank you, Rykea. Rosie Thomas? Thank you, Julia.

So Rykea left me a message saying that she and Gen were planning on going out on the morrow and if I wanted to come. I jumped on that like it was a southbound train. I love going out with Ryk and I hadn't seen Gen since MUN let out for summer, so this was a welcome invitation. I got up extra early today to get ready to go out. While I was waiting for a call from Ryk, Jam phoned me. He was looking for something to do too, so I invited him along. And so began the adventure.

Ryk picked me up first. We stopped to get gas, which was more trouble than it should have been. Ryk had no idea how to work the pump, so I had to go in and ask the girl working inside. "Hi, your gas pumps are the spawn of the devil," I said. She looked up from her cell phone and told me in a very bitchy voice, "You have to push up on the lever?"

"Thanks," I said. Then I killed her.

Except I actually only went back out and passed this knowledge on to Ryk. Eventually we were on the road again, and we swooped by to pick up Gen. When I told Ryk where we had to go to pick up Jam, she promptly enlisted Gen's help in giving directions ("--because," she said, "I don't trust Julia ever.") and off we went. I finally got to see Jam's new place, which is charming and retro, though he needs to get rid of that death-trap of a hotplate. Also, he complimented my coat. I felt very awesome after that.

We decided to go for lunch, and settled on my suggestion of the Press & Bean, which is an awesome little restaurant hidden away in the depths of a larger building downtown. The four of us together made positively the best conversation group ever, because we talked forever about everything, from silly things to actual serious social commentary. Also, the food was amazing. Ryk and I had baklava for dessert. It was love.

To round out the afternoon, the four of us trotted to Starbucks. I seem to recall there being a lot of screaming about Mary Dalton on our way there, but that just might have been me. It also seemed that Ryk managed to find every single pothole in the road, but I know for a fact that that actually happened. We spent a grand ol' time in Starbucks until I had to go to work, whereupon we left Jam at the mall to get his hair cut and everyone else went home.

Once again, Ryk found every pothole in the road on the way home. I have dubbed her the Pothole Queen, but I just know that karma is going to come around and bite me in the ass on this one, as I seem to have the same problem. This brought to an end the wonderful part of my day, as after that I had the entire evening to deal with bitchy Wal-Mart customers, but I digress. Just spending time with these people makes all that seem not as bad. They, and not the weather or freedom or new albums or anything else, are to blame for making my life so worth living.

Adieu!

Icarus knows that things can only get better from here.