The Room number is 151. ONE-FIVE-ONE. It's in the building across from the one with the main lobby. They have a computer there, so once I know the phone number I may post that. Come one, come all. This is gonna rawk.
You read that right RAWK. With an A and a W.

So yeah, I'm 21. Neat. In any case, I'd like to apologize to anyone I swore at, pissed off, etc in my wonderful quest of self destruction. I didn't know how much easier it is to get a stranger to hit you repeatedly on PEI as compared to Halifax. I was feeling pretty shitty mentally and pissed off at the world, but talking to and get messages from some super friends really helped a lot. I can't thank you guys enough.
I hope you'll all still come to my party, I'll post the room number here and a few other places when I know it.

I have one thought on my mind. My view on that thought fluctuates from utter ambivalance to complete rage. I'm not a moron. I see and hear things that make me wonder, wonder what kind of realtionships I'm dealing with here. Who should I trust? Who my friends are...
The parties involved know who they are. I'd really appreciate an email or a talk about this. I don't care about anything else right now, I just want the truth.

*Hypothetical scene*
You see your friend, boyfriend, girlfriend, whoever, someone you "love" standing on the edge of a cliff. They aren't going to jump, but fall.
Would you deem it appropriate to say something to let that person give up fighting, to inspire them to let gravity take over, to fall?

To think that this situation is not what I wanted is incorrect. This was my goal for quite some time. Your timing was just horrible. I was trying to pull the band-aid off slowly, to "let you down easy." It's nice to see you afforded me the same luxury. In any case, all the best to you.

To take a page from the Gerry handbook, I would like to post a position of steady-girlfriend. Now the throngs of women wanting to date me can finally make themselves known to my single self.. .*cough*. Applicants should like waterbeds, dogs, and random bouts of craziness. Though I am currently and temporarily car-less, I am told I'm intelligent, funny, and not grotesque. I am in the midst of a break fom my university education working at a job that pays rather well. A fun, realatively easy call centre job that is certainly better than a lifetime of slaving in some ghetto child care centre as a snot-rag, minimum wage, baby-sitter.

I'll spare you all the mellowdrama, and just get down to brass tacks. Thursday I got loaded, after losing all my friends I decided to leave. I did realize I was too fucked to drive so I went to get some pizza, realized I didn't have enough money, so retired to my car. After a nap, I felt coherent enough to drive. I stopped at the stratford McDonald's to get some grub and felt I should nap some more, so I did. Eventually, I woke up. I headed home, but on the way I fell asleep and put my car in the ditch. The thing is written off, and I should be dead.
Had I not worn my belt- dead
Had I not had air bags- dead
Two seconds earlier and I'd have driven directly into a culvert instead of graseing it and be... yeah- dead
So much for not being melodramatic.
I broke some ribs, scraped and bruised myself, want to jump off a building, but otherwise I'm ok.
I feel like I just lost a leg. I can't go anywhere, and I'm stuck in fucking Fort Augustus.
Idiot.
Drunk.
Loser.
Self destructive idiot-savant.
Kill me.

I should probably be dead right now. Part of me wishes I was. Details to follow.

Whatever happened to Blood letting?

Back in the day (1800's), many people believed that illnesses were caused by "bad blood". To rectify this problem, whenever a person felt sick, they'd visit their barber, who would stick them like a pig.
Fun fact- Those red and white striped poles you see at every barber shop? Yeah, well they began when early barbers would drape bloody towels around a pole to show potential clients how proficient they were. Funner fact- That's just something I had in my head, god knows where I learned it.
In any case, I was in such a fowl mood Wednesday, everything was rotten, I was apathetic, irritable, and I seemed like I wanted to kill everybody. I went to donate blood, and had to sit down to wait as they were putting someone else through. As I was sitting, a couple waltzes in and buts in front of me. The nurses saw it, as did the other customer, and despite both of our claims that I was there first. . . -nothing. I almost took some of their blood right there.
But after I had donated blood, I felt euphoric, everything in the universe was wonderful. Such a rapid reversal in mood. I wish I could donate blood more often. I might try plasma, you can give that every week. I don't have the level of insanity required to make myself bleed, and this is a safe, social friendly alternative.

Matt's weekend out:
Thursday:
*Walks by Myron's*
"Hmm... perhaps I'll wet my whistle"
-We won trivia
*scene missing*
-Pixies Dancing around a maypole
*scene missing*
wake up at home, go to work. die.
Friday:
Slept 14 consecutive hours.
Saturday:
Went to Chuck's, consumed various chemicals with him and dan, pulled some fear and loathing in Charlottetown. No one started any riots, despite our best attempts to incite them.
For shame.
Sunday:
So far on tap I see nothing but a lot of sleeping and football watching.

A night spent staying awake with Dan playing monoply, reminds me of junior high. Only now I'm getting paid and the setting is cleaner. And Dan beat me, for like the first time, ever. WTF? Has my strangle hold on the PEI monopoly scene finally begun to slip?

. . . lying to my face again
suicidal imbecile
think about it, put it on the fautline
what'll it take to get it through to you precious
I'm over this , why do you wanna throw it away like this
such a mess, over this, over this

disconnect and self destruct, one bullet at a time
what's your hurry, everyone will have his day to die
if you choose to pull the trigger, should your drama prove sincere,
do it somewhere far away from here.
MJK, A Perfect Circle -The Outsider

*eds note: I don't really know what I'm trying to say here, just mostly late-night-no sleep rambling*

Suicide is way over-dramatized. Attempts outnumber actual suicides 10 to 1, and those are just attempts that are reported. Why? How hard is it to kill yourself? Not that I should talk.

I seem to remember Jerry Seinfeld talking about this. He wonders why people stop trying to kill themselves. Is something in their life suddenly better? Or did they just find something else the suck at?

In no way am I attempting to trivialize anyone's thoughts, feelings, actions, etc on this subject. This is just something I ponder quite frequently. By no means am I (currently) suicidal, but for reasons I won't get into, suicide and death in general are things I think about a lot.

Suicides are cries for attention. Some people don't want to die at all, others do want to die, but just aren't selfish enough to actually carry out the act. Unsuccessful attempts are people asking for help in the only way they know how. The ones that have nothing stopping them are the ones that are "successful". If you want to die, you find a way. I would, however, like to weigh in on the amount of people who killed themselves when they met up with attitudes like Maynard's. People who died just because someone called "bullshit". It's a question I really don't have the time/desire to try and answer right now, maybe another day, it would make an excellent paper.

In retrospect, I would like to retract my opening sentence. I am, however, leaving it there because it's a good attention grabber. People dying is impossible to over-dramatize. I just can't stop wondering how many of the 3,681 suicides (1997) in Canada were because nobody listened. Deperate cries that fell on deaf ears because fuck-ups like me cried wolf.

I'm soooooo bored. My back hurts, and I wish I was drinking. I do however get to listen to the debate amongst the Covad geeks. Can one guy's half dragon could take out another guy's sorcerer? I dunno, he can hold FOUR spells.
Who the fuck decided it should snow? I went for a run outside today, just to the store and back. But around the old school on my way back I started noticing a weird taste in my mouth. Upon arriving home, I realized that the quick breathing of cold air had given me A FUCKING NOSEBLEED. Remember when I used to get those all the time? I could bring them on at will to avoid doing stuff. Or the time I ruined a scribbler when my nose fucking exploded at school? I just mumbled something and dripped all the way to the bathroom. I did, however, get to go home.
I also realized today their are still people at wal-mart who think I still work there. Not that I'm surprized, it's a wonder anyone knows what's going on in my life right now. There's a lot of people I see less frequently, there are some I don't see at all. I don't necessarily miss EVERYBODY, but their are a select few of you on whom my sanity depends on.
I'll likely write something else tonight, it's only early. Oh, and F.Y.I., the dragon kicked ass.

Seriously, who the fuck calls readers digest to discuss their account this late at night? I just had a caller from Ontario, which would mean it's 3:13 am where they are. WHAT THE FUCK? Get a life and go to sleep, idiot.
At this time you also get a lot of calls from the west coast, ensuring yours truly gets a healthy mix of east Indian and Asian people who don't "speak-ee engwish." I am however, being paid exorbitant sums of cash to sit here and dick around on a computer, so I won't complain anymore.
I have read the lyrics of twenty million songs, played (and won all of) 3 games of online monopoly, ordered a t-shirt, and made this post. Perhaps now I'll take a nap, the incoming call beep should wake me up. If not, my countrymen will just have to wait until tomorrow.

* if you haven't read the events of friday yet, read it first, this is Saturday*

I wake up to a confused Jenna exclaiming: "Death from above was at my house!?"
I am Matt's Dehydrated body, dying liver, aching lungs and swollen brain.
It's 10:30 in the morning, and I'm waking up drunk again.
It's way to early, but we manage to walk to Vogue to catch Dreams among stars and the Zine fair. I get bored, so I play some frisbee in a parking lot with Kingsley, then walk back by myself.
When I get back, Courtney is by herself, we decide to watch Fight Club. It plants wicked thoughts in my abused brain.
So it's 6 o'clock and I start drinking. Colt 45-drink of choice for poor students and alcoholics alike. I am both.
This is where my wonderful thoughts of self destruction begin. I make the aforementioned sign and slap it on my chest. I acost pedestrians walking by, groups of 8 guys, black people angry at their repression, old ladies, no one bites. I decide if anyone hits me, it'll have to be someone I know. Ray agrees first, but on the one condition he gets it on tape.
And so it starts. He hits me. Several times, right in the face. Unscathed, I demand more challengers. The ice has been broken, now everybody wants a piece. I don't remember the order of who hit me and where. I know Kingsley smoked me, for which I love him.
Jenna wants in, she claims it's sexist that people will hit me and not her. (note: It could very well be that people like her and hate me) So giving in, I give her a seemingly light crack in the lip*, she promptly bleeds like a hemophiliac.
*for which I still feel like a horrible asshole.
Now I'm the jealous one, I want to bleed, and somehow have not yet. I implore jenna to get her revenge and she promptly smokes me 7 or 8 times right in the lip. I finally bleed, but barely.
Done and done. Not wanting to get beat up anymore, I remove my blood spattered sign and Me, Jenna, Gabrielle, and Steph huck it to the marquee.
Once there, I consume too many Vodka and limes, listen to horribly bad white rappers, and collect free Volkswagen paraphanelia (despite cursing at the MC). Eventually I realize everybody I came with is either gone or talking to somebody else. I decide to leave.
On my way back I discover a shoppping cart. If used properly, this cart doubles as a scooter, Thus vastly cutting my travelling time. HOWEVER: I am drunk as hell, lost, and end up stumbling around looking very homeless. I am running my cart into trees and fences. Still looking for more punishment I ask homeless people to punch me. No takers. So after pushing my cart up this huge fucking hill, then realising after asking for directions that I had gone the way, I curse, climb on the back of my scooter/cart then fly down the hill until I hit a curb. The girls watching almost shit themselves with confusion.
On my way home, I come across some Dal students lounging outside. I tell them of my adventure, They implore me to do it again. I do. Eventually egged on to do it 4 more times (hitting mailbox, curb twice, and bailing once to avoid hitting parked cars) res security comes out and tells me if I don't stop he's calling the cops, I swear, start up the hill to fake that I'm leaving, then fly past him down the hill screaming: "Fuck you Dewey!!!"
I find myself on Jenna and Megan's street with the aid of some of my fans, the whole way back I tell them: "yeah, I'm from PEI. Where I come from, people customize their shoppping carts. racing stripes, NOS, the works." I'm not sure what they thought.
For one finale, I fly down queen st. hill, timed perfectly and squarely nailing Jenna's steps.
end scene.

Time to do a few quizzes, I'm bored as hell.



You are Agent Smith, from "The Matrix."
No one would ever want to run into you in a
dark alley. Cold as steel, tough as a rock,
things are your way or the highway.


What Matrix Persona Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla


Congratulations!! You're a shot of some good old
hard liquor!


What Drink Are You?
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Sign taped to my chest reads:
"PUNCH ME
(seriously do it)
(Really, right in my face)."
Uneloquently scrawled in black sharpie and tacked on with excessive amounts of packing tape, this was my mission.
But I guess I'm getting ahead of myself.

The road trip that was HPX 2003 was the greatest experience of my life.

Gabrielle told Thursday so well, and our experiences were identical. If you want Thursday go to her page, I'm skipping to Friday.
7:30 am- I wake up to men doing work outside, impossible to get back to sleep. I do finally get lulled back to sleep by (name deleted)'s snoring, only to wake up again at 10-10:30. Time to die. I'm so retardedly hungover I can't move, mostly because I'm still drunk.
After walking with Jeff Coll and Gabrielle for a bit, Me and Gabrielle go alone to the Celigh for the All ages show. Feat.- DFA, Oh god, and This message will self destruct. At the end of the show Jesse from DFA asks where the party is,

I yell: "1164 queen!" (jenna's place)
Jesse: yeah right, what kind of address is that? Sounds like 123 fake st.
Queue some explanation from the wonderful Ray Lavers.
We had rockers at our party.
We partied like rock stars.
Best party EVER.

Stay tuned for the events of Saturday, this is where the weird (me) turn pro.

Well fuck. I'm at work. 3 to midnights are good for getting posts up cause it gets really slow. I had the greatest weekend of my life. And I'm sure I'm not the only one. However, I do need more time to formulate my story into a coherent, readable, comedic piece. Which I have not had the time to do as of yet.
I will, however, say I did some really good thinking and made some really big, life changing decisions. And I still have some to make. This, sadly, will also take a bit. Sit and wait. Keep posted cause shit is gonna hit huge. And I guarantee, by new year's, you won't recognize me. Brand new person. Excited? I am.