St. Patty.

So here we are. One more St. Patrick's Day down the drain, and I still don't have long-flowing red locks.

So it turns out that AOL was actually buying some shitty MySpace-ripoff website, so I am not going to see any part of that sweet sweet $850mil. Incidentally, if anyone knows about a good tattoo-removal service in Montreal, I may have (in all of the excitement) gotten a tattoo of the AOL guy on my head.

Hey, don't judge. You never know how you will act if you think that you're getting almost a billion dollars from this guy:


Yesterday, Kat and I experienced a first. It was our first neighbor complaint. I was in the kitchen cooking us some nice little pasta for dinner, when suddenly there is a knock on the door. Kat answers and says some gibberish in French, and then comes back and says that the guy upstairs asked if we could open a window because the garlic was bothering him. Apparently, we live directly below a vampire. An asshole of a vampire.

I have always imagined my first neighbor complaint to be over something silly that I could easily explain away and gain a nice friend out of it. "Oh, I'm sorry. That loud sound you heard will never happen again because that was me beating up a burglar. You're welcome for making our building safer." I would say. And they would love me.

But instead, we get Dracula in 3E with the sensitive olfactory. And he's not here because I just bested a would-be robber in a game of fists. He's here because he sucks and wants to piss me right the hell off.

Mission accomplished. I think I will fry up some garlic and then go suplex his Transilvanian ass.