on a plane, on a plane.

...off to see the city girls again. Oh, KoL!

I have been in such a musical mood lately. No joke! The charming and ever-present Ros5 and I have been on an Oasis bender for the past couple of days. We're a musical duo, and really, we'll sing just about anything. What's really fun is when someone recognizes what you're wildly resounding, and either joins in or says "hey, I like that song!" It's great.

Question: what the fuck is an iDog? I received one as a "winter gift" (see: I didn't celebrate Christmas), and I was confused as all hell. Isn't that for, like, tweens? Last time I checked, I didn't have braces and listen to Miley Cyrus. I mean, even when I was a tween, I couldn't stand that sort of stuff. Sigh. It's the thought that counts, right?

I am so so so looking forward to New Year's Eve! We're all going to be looking quite fly in ties and dresses, sippin' champagne and feigning class. It's going to be Sasha FIERCE. Seriously; Beyonce? Y'on glue, girl? Alter egos are better reserved for evil geniuses and the mentally retarded. Just sayin'.

I think I'm going to chop my mop and throw some life back into it soon. Red, Fred? Maybz. It was such a nice hue last time around that I am strongly considering doing it again. As for hair-flair? I've been lurkin' styles on google, and so far? Nothing to write home about. Ain't that shame?

It's Tuesday, and you know what that means! You should also know that this week's pick of the week is about as awesome as having your eyelids stapled open. Or surgically removed. Or both. Ja, I'm disappointed, but I'm sure redemption will come 'round next Tuesday. Or at least I'm hopeful.

So what have I been up to lately? Not much.

PTFO!

no expectations.

For the record: I hate snow.

There's no being polite or politically correct about it - I hate snow. It's hard to walk in, it's dangerous to drive in, and it's cold as fuck. There's no mild distaste; no modest dislike. Hate and only hate. Hatehatehatehatehatehate!

I love reading personal ads on craigslist. Especially the missed connections ones or the intimate encounters. So fun; here's my favourite from today:

Title: I Should Have Approaced You - m4w (Starbucks in Chapters)

Message: I was reading photo mags - you were in line to order a coffee - our eyes met and there was a connection.
I was stupid and left the store.

Please note the spelling of "approached". Is it wrong that I'm offended by spelling errors? Like, I'm not sure if I'd respond to something like this when the guy's an obvious dumbass. Okay, that's harsh, but...you know.

Regardless of incorrect spellings, I wish shit like that would happen to me. Sigh.

By the way, this is my other favourite. Isn't that dirty? My god.

infamous thursdays.

So, I've come to the adjudication that there are three types of sexual intercourse.

1) Having sex: this is your routine "hey, it's a Wednesday...you know what that means" sex. This is the kind of "doin' it" you do after being with someone for a long time. It's boring.
Often associated with: birth control pills; bickering; flannel pyjamas.

2) Making love: this is sex with a purpose - babies. The tender kind with the frou-frou name describes married-couple-looking-for-offspring sex, 70s casanova sex and the kind you have the first time you do it with someone you really, really care about. It's got the love factor right in the name.
Often associated with: a lack of condoms; fine wine; Barry White.

3) Fuckin': this is the dirty bitch sex. This kind happens randomly between two (or more) really drunk, really horny individuals, or between really freaky couples who are really into each other. There's no tip-toeing around this kind; it's loud, proud and rough. It's often regrettable, but never forgettable.
Often associated with: emergency contraception; copious amounts of tequila.

My main lady bought me an iPod for ho-ho. The new gal's name's Fjola and she's a charming shade of purple (obvvy). Don't worry, I haven't given Yolanda the ol' heave-ho. I can't just leave her like that after all we've been through together. BFFs!

I had an amazing time at Scooty and Dylan's place last night stealing kisses and getting felt up. I have to say, there's nothing more satisfying than having a gay man be jealous of your ass. Apparently, my backside is exceptional. E-dubz was a drunk train wreck and took a big old piss on the front steps of Scoot and Dylly's condo. NBD! Hilarious, regardless, and I hurt today from how hard I laughed last night. Incredible quantities of fun!

Siggy-Ho-Cho was in high demand today at SBUX. We made mad tippage which we are all very eagerly awaiting the divvying up of. You know, I love money. Straight up, there is nothing in this world that I love more. Actually, that's a complete and total calumny: there's nothing in this world that I love more than money and Bump. (<3) Bump, by the way, is a walking machine now! Can't nothin' hold her down, no sir. And Guppy is growing like a weed - at least 3 inches long by now, and a whole 2 ounces. We hung out tonight, Guppy and I, and I have a feeling that this new little person is going to be amazing. My sister is absolutely glowing.

Alright, I'm off like a dirty apron.

P.S. Bon Voyage, Emily. Have a ballin' good time in Maui, you lucky cunt!

come play in the milky night.

Tootsie has been hiding under my bed for 3 days now. I tried coaxing her out with the promise of the future, but she just doesn't see the point. I miss her companionship.

I was eating mandarin oranges naked in the bathtub last night when I had a moment of clarity. And so I started writing a novel.

Amazingness (<--not an actual word, by the way): tonight, a customer at work taught me how to do the Japanese version of "rock paper scissors". I've never felt happier.

The gracious and gorgeous Scott and Dylan have invited me over for a Christmas Eve cocktail party tomorrow night, and I am incredibly excited for it. It's semi-formal and should prove to be a beautiful time for all involved. I'm going to bring some appetizers with me, I think; one should never show up to a party empty-handed.

I have nothing else very exciting to say, other than that I'm working for 16 days straight without a day off. I'm getting really worn out, and I find that I'm incredibly irritable lately. The good thing is that I'm accruing an incredible amount of over-time. In other news, I spent 3 hours the other night watching Flight of the Conchords in the dark on my laptop, because the power went out and I had nothing else to do.

Well, I think I'm going to hit the fucking hell out of the hay now. In other words, I'm going to bed. My bed is pretty much my favourite place to be these days. Example? Last night, I went to bed at 8:30; this morning I was up at 11:30. It was incredible! I have to be up at 4 am to shower and prettify myself for another day in paradise.

I feel like my ramblings lately are blander than pre-packaged airplane food, y'know? It's all just "work-related-bullshit-blah-blah-blah" and "obscene-amounts-of-vodka-with-my-gay-friends-blah-blah-blah", or "my-life-is-boring-and-average-blah-blah..you get the picture". In response to that, I promise to blog about something really interesting on Thursday! Oh, you just wait. It's going to blow your fucking mind and make you rethink all the things you've come to know and trust.

Well, maybe.

Also, Ross (<3) and I talked about the Oasis thing, and he likened it to being somewhat of a ripoff of the Beatles success tactic...whatever that means. People find it very strange and somewhat offensive that I have no love for Ringo, Paul, John and that other guy (George?); whatever, I'm over it. Apparently my "head is glued to my ass" and I "can't really know anything about music" if I haven't got any knowledge of the Beatles. Yeah, right.

P.S. This week's pick of the week is Beast's "Mr. Hurricane", and I highly recommend it. So stop by a 'bucks, grab a latte and a free pick card. So worth the visit.

Miss Teen Wordpower

If the internet had an ass, I'm pretty sure my foot would be shoved half-way up it by now. My connection has been M.I.A. for the last little while. I feel like maybe it's hiding from something. (Mafia connections? Whatever.)

On a lighter note, I now live in Antarctica*, and you should know that penguins also drink coffee*. It's very cold and snowy here, and I'm definitely missing the warmer weather I had grown so accustomed to.

And now for a critical analysis: on my drive home tonight, I was very much so "rocking out" to the sweet, sweet melody of Oasis' "Definitely/Maybe", and I couldn't help but notice a similarity between the song "Slide Away" and smash hit "Wonderwall" from previous album "(What's the Story) Morning Glory". Then, upon arriving home and listening to "Stop Crying Your Heart Out" from "Heathen Chemistry", I couldn't help but note a similarity between that song and the aforementioned. It seems as though every Oasis album has that one all-too-important mellow jam on it that sits apart from the rest of the album. It also seems as though a certain formula has been constructed to make every song just similar enough to be attractive and worth the listen, but dissimilar to make your average bear not catch onto the fact that all these songs are the same. My feelings on this are varied, because while I feel it's important to come up with new and original material for each album an artist puts out, I also know that artists get a lot of pressure from record companies to release new albums and that creativity doesn't come from a faucet that you can turn on and off. Also, I enjoy the songs on the albums, so I guess in the end, that's all that really matters.

Interesting observation #2: the closer we're getting to the big day, the less and less people have been wishing me a "Merry Christmas". Oh, don't worry, I'm not losing any sleep over it, I just find it particularly interesting. I think it's because, the closer we get to it, the more people start dreading it and therefore don't want to remind themselves of it. Or, maybe it's because they're just thinking about too much to think about trivial shit like wishing someone well during the holidays. Isn't that interesting? No? Oh, fuck off.

I went to the mall yesterday, and it was the biggest mistake of my life.

So, that basically sums it up. Keep it real.

* = indicates complete lies.

en meme temps.

Ho, ho, ho.

Jessica flew in from Calgary tonight; boy, were her arms tired. Hurkhurkhurk.

Speaking of tired...that'd be me. Starbucks Coffee, Tea and Slavery has given me a charming 43 hours this week, 43 next week, and 46 the following week. I do, however, get to enjoy Christmas eve sans labour. And that, boys and girls, is the only day off I get for the next little while. I would complain a little more, but really, I did this to myself. I made my mocha-laden bed, and now I will lie in it. Shucks.

In other news, when I say I'm illin' lately, it don't mean I'm coo'. Methinks I'm a few white blood cells short. Fuuuuuck. Mama always said try to take good care of yourself, but lately I've been putting myself on the back burner. Who has time to be mindful of their own well-being when there's like, 40 gazillion other important things to handle throughout my day? I'm the CEO of FMcG - I ain't got time for any other shit.

So here's a ground-breaking idea for you to ponder tonight while you're laying in bed, unable to sleep: in order to sustain diversity, we have to promote hate and intolerance to a certain degree. Think about it. If people like each other too much, varying races will intermingle and create new flavours of offspring until eventually everyone will be 5% asian, 5% african, 5% caucasian, etc. So so so, if we like this little mosaic of diversity our world's got going on, we've gotta stop fuckin' around so much. I'm not saying you can't feel mad love for your homies from the east or the south or whereever, I'm just sayin' don't feel it so much, you know? It's just an interesting thought to think, so give 'er.

I have to go to bed now; I'm due up and out by 4:30 (in the a.m.) to steam some 'nog for a bunch of queen bees and wannabes.

Fuckin' holidays.

sweet, sweet Jesus.

Hometown? Tag-ethed. Tiny golden quails flow in flocks for all to see.

....and I thought it'd be a mundane Monday.

I had my bank account completely raped on Saturday. Merci beaucoup, ICBC! Driving is such a beautiful thing until you have to pay for shit like gas and insurance. Fortunately gas is headed southward in the number department, but it's a stab in the kidneys every time I fill 'er up. I did, however, get 45 litres o' fuel on Sunday for a mere 39 bones. Not too shabby. So, in rebelling against myself for being so responsible, I went out a blew a bunch of dollars on things I perhaps do not need so much. Example: 4 new CDs. In my defense, they were all on sale (minus one), and I really had wanted them. It's a Christmas present to myself, I figure, even though I hate Christmas/am not celebrating it. A-ha...shaaaake. Taper jean girrrrrl with a motel face. I'm disgustingly obsessed with K.o.L.

I'm Captain Cabin Fever. I need to P.T.F.O. this t.o.w.n. soon-ish, just to reiterate what I've been saying now for a few months. Apparently I can't get a real transfer from you-know-where until the 6 month mark, so that's a bit of a downer. I figure I can just cool my jets until March and then bounce. Ain't no thang.

I bought a crown with matching earrings and necklace tonight. Purple rhinestone hearts. Silver accent beads. $4.94? Best investment all year day. Wait: that's a lie. Golden spray paint was the best; le crown enhanced that's beauty, so it gets mad props.

Goodnight.

P.S. My seez-ter is prego. Again.

where do we go from here?

Goodbye, "No Shave November".

I'm so relieved it's December, you guys. Last year, I really faultered on the whole "no shave November" schtick - like, I gave up after about 4 days. This year, however, I gave 'er full force, and let me tell you: I could have been mistaken for a French Canadian man. I was going to leave the legs as is, because it's winter and therefore cold, but I figured I might as well just do some maintenance for my own benefit - it's not like I'm getting laid any time soon.

So, Noel Gallagher should know that I've been cheating on him a lot lately with Thom Yorke. Can you blame me? His voice is smooth as a bitch. I picked up the "best of" CD a few weeks back, and it's been on heavy rotation in l'automobile ever since. It's nice to have all the really illin' songs presented in a nice little package like that. Still on the list of CDs to snag? "Slanted and Enchanted" par Pavement, s'il vous plait. I ordered that like, forever ago at HMV, and they've yet to deliver. That's okay, though, considering that I ordered "Dusk at Cubist Castle" (The Olivia Tremor Control) from there back in August, and am still waiting on that, too. Reliable? My ass. I place more confidence in accurate results from a used pregnancy test.

"Hey, it already says I'm not pregnant! Cool."

Speaking of babies, I'd like to throw a shout out to my homie/niece, Summer. It's her one year escape from the wombaversary, and let me say, the year has gone by incredibly fast. Bump's aging makes me feel timeless, however, and I can appreciate that.

It's hard to blog and talk to boys at the same time. What's a girl to do?

Je m'aime beaucoup, aussi!

-FMcG

coffee, tea and sympathy.

The espresso gods gave me a day of rest. How thoughtful, right? This basically means that I slept in and did S.F.A. all day long. Lucky me.

Saturday night was particularly interesting. I went to this crazy art party downtown that was masquerade theme. I don't know what it is, but there is something uber sexy about only seeing someone's eyes. All enigmatic and shit. Damn! Anywho, I had a decent time but for future reference, here's a "note to self": don't wear heels. Ever. My back is killing me today, and I walk like a drag queen in them, but my legs looked fabulous and that's all that really matters. End of story. I caught some girls snorting cocaine off the sinks in the bathroom when I went to call Emma.

"Hey, you bitches, this isn't Cheetahs!"

I embarrassed the poor girls, and I actually felt kind of bad about it. Afterall, it was a party. After the downtown scene died down, I headed over to the lovely and charming Scoot's place for some peach vodka Smirnies and some gay porn. We are so in love. Emma came along, too, with a nalgene full of vino. She got drunk and decided we needed to find an open McDonald's A.S.A.P.; it had been 6 years and she needed nuggets. We didn't find one, but instead bonded over pedestrian harrassment and the Kings of Leon. My life is beautiful.

Goede nacht, beauty.

Van-cougar.

Oh, my.

I never really realize how much I hate it here until I go somewhere really fantastic. Vancouver, my friends, is very fantastic. Let me tell you about my roadtrip, yes?

We left a little behind scheddy on Sunday because I'm into sleeping and staying out late. I guess what I'm trying to say is that I slithered out of bed like, 15 minutes before we had to leave. And I hadn't packed anything. You see where I'm going with this. Good thing I drive it like I stole it: we made it to Vancouver in 4 hours.

The first stop was in Coquitlam at Ikea, obviously. There was so much to look at and fall in love with that I actually didn't end up purchasing anything. Weird, right? Plus line-ups were longer than certain run-on sentences I've constructed. Burn.

We wandered 'round downtown for a bit after we checked into our very sketchy hotel room. We stayed in a "courtyard suite"...$100. Not worth a single cent, but oh well - it'll be something to tell the grandkids. The beautiful thing about Vancouver is that every other store is XXX. I went to a 25 cent peepshow. Fuck gumballs and parking metres; my quarters are better spent. I also went to the largest HMV I've ever seen and counted a whopping 42 Starbuckses (sp?). How the hell do I make 'Starbucks' plural? I can't think right now.

Did I mention that I planned out my ideal life while I was chillin' in Van? Yeah, it goes like this: I move there and magically become an important person at the newspaper, have a charming boyfriend who works at EA Games/somewhere cool, and we live together in a ballin' Ikea-furnished apartment downtown with a sweet view of the skyline. Emily magically lives there too, and works at a design firm making ghetto amounts of money, too, and we meet for coffee everyday during our lunch breaks. My charming b-friend and I invite her and her charming b-friend over for dinner every Saturday night, and we play Scattergories and make Indian food.

I dare to dream.

I've gotta say, there really isn't anything like the ocean. I spent a few hours oceanside, and I just can't find the words to describe how I feel when I'm standing on the shore. It's bittersweet. Sigh.

Anywho, the verdict reached by this trip? I need to move. Soon.

kthxbye.

FMcG

P.S. Long-ass post. My bad.

Weekend Update

I went and saw Quantum of Solace tonight with Ross, Kimothy, E-dubz, Jamie and his Mennonite wifey, Jennifer.

And then I saw a car accident.

I'm pretty sure I would have enjoyed the movie more if I had of sat through all of Casino Royale. Don't get me wrong, it was still good-ish, but I'm sure it would have been incredible if I understood 100% of the plot. I have this amazingly bad habit of falling asleep during movies. Half of the flicks I've seen, I've only caught half of due to my epic sleepiness. So, I guess I've only seen 1/4 of the movies I've ventured to watch. I'm a genius with fractions, by the way.

Big Gay Scott invited me to do ecstacy with him and drive really fast. It sounds interesting, but I'm already a paranoid android, so I think I'll have to pass on that one.

Correction: This week's pick of the week is actually Brendan Canning's "Churches Under The Stairs". I straight up deceived you. Sorry!

I'm taking a redhead to Vancougar with me this weekend. We'll return on Tuesday with armloads of Ikea and webbed feet. I've never been so excited in all my life.

Crush/I Want To Be...

Girlish swoon. Incredible envy. Mixed emotions!

Blog-a-thon

So, it's a Tuesday night. Do you know where your children are?

This week's pick of the week at 'bucks is The Stills "Being Here" from "Oceans Will Rise". Download that shit for free! It'll fit right into your collection, but do you think it'd be an audible minority in Obama's iPod? Listen to it and ponder along with me. I enjoy celebrity playlists.

In other news, I had Chinese food for dinner.

Emma and I have decided to try out cirrhosis this New Years. We aim high and are seldom disappointed.

Update:
I just realized how random this post is. Let's blame those 3 lattes I downed today, shall we?

BTWz: "Happy Holidays" count? Up to four, now.

Singles Going Steady*

Props if you get the title reference.

If anyone else talks about Christmas within the next 40 or so days, I'll shoot them in the face. Halloween barely ended by the time we saw the headlights of Christmas. I've already had three people wish me a "Happy Holidays". The first time it caught me off guard (I = wtf?), so I was like "hey, you too." Second and third time, it was more like "uhh, it's November. kthx."

So what is my big problem with the holiday season? Other than the fact that 'tis the season to steam eggnog (and cue me, eye-rolling), there's actually a lot. Here goes:

1) I am the furthest we can possibly get from Christian. Let's refer to it as polar opposite, yes? And, to the best of my knowledge, Christmas is kinda-sorta a Christian holiday. Clearly I shouldn't be hay-hoody-ho-ing over it.

2) Christmas is a family holiday; I have no family. My BFF on Christmas is a nice big cup o' "life water": up. Don't worry, I'm not too hurt about this.

3) Christmas isn't even a meaningful holiday anymore, Jesus lover or not. It's more about spending and getting and then feeling shafted for getting everyone such awesome, well-thought out presents and only ever getting socks and gift certificates in return. Example: last year I got my mom a ballin' gift set from the Body Shop (she eats that shit up), and she got me a hot pink, sparkly fuzzy bathrobe. Thanks a heap, madre; you clearly know me quite well (/not). I suppose I am perpetually 12-years-old in her mind.

So, there you have it. I don't like Christmas because it costs a lot and is depressing. I think that's enough justification for one night. Come to think of it, I could have just said that to begin with. Oh well.

Shout out: That guy from that place. You'll either get this reference because you're you and smart like that, or you'll miss this and feel like I'm a total bitch, but then you'll re-read this and feel like a fool. Either/or: I'm indifferent.

Takk, góða nótt!

Cheat sheet for the lazy:
*Buzzcocks compilation album, voted #358 on Rolling Stones top 500 albums of all time. Go out and flex that Mastercard muscle; you get what I'm sayin'?

P.S. I re-wrote the lyrics to "Don't Look Back in Anger" to be the theme song for this past Sunday. Filming didn't go so well because one of our main actors didn't bother showing up. I was about 30 seconds away from Godzilla-ing his ass when I finally got a hold of him and was told that he sincerely never got the memo; his junk email filter did it's job a little too well. So we're not looking back in anger at Sean O'B. Case closed.

Need a little time to wake up, wake up.

Have you ever heard anything by Beulah? I'm listening to "If We Can Land a Man on the Moon then Surely I Can Win Your Heart". It's quite possibly the longest song title I've seen, but that has no affect whatsoever on the quality of the song. It's ballin'.

Guesswhatguesswhatguesswhat? We start filming tomorrow morning. I am Jack's sense of excitement. And guess what very special director gets to make a cameo in the film as a soccer mom? C'est moi. Seriously, this film is going to be off the hizzy.

Wait, have I even shared the news yet? Yessir, film numero 2 is in living colour. We start tomorrow morning, bright and early...hence the title of this post. Also, because I am chained to the mirror and the razor blade. Kidding! Or am I? This one is going to be mighty tasty, lemme tell ya. I'm not releasing any other tidbits about it until she's done, so you can just learn a little thing we like to call patience in Canada. Yes? Yes.

I heard the best but worst joke the other day about Sarah Palin. If you are easily offended, stop reading now. Still here? K.

"What do Sarah Palin's mouth and vagina have in common?

...Retarded things come out of both of them." - Alex, Thursday night.

Guess who can't stop urinating? I am Jack's hyperactive kidneys.

Love you!

FMcG

hallo!

I test drove this bad boy today, and I think I'm sold.

I'm big on safety; I'm like a soccer mom in that sense. Plus it's got like, 8 cup holders. The bitchmobile? Zero.

This is not to say that I am no longer the bitchmobile's #1 fan, because we are very much still in love. I'm just saying that maybe it's time to retire the ol' girl. She's seen better days, and I think she's ready for a rest.

Goddamn, I'm getting misty-eyed just thinking about our life together. That car has been my one and only friend sometimes.

BTW, if Andy Warhol were a little less dead, I'd marry that sonuvabitch.

Hump Day

Let me start off by saying I'm listening to "All Along The Watchtower" - Hendrix version. It's phenomenal.

My feet reek. No joke. When you stand around in leather shoes with synthetic sockies on for about 8 hours, they eventually begin to accumulate a certain scent. Add the amount of dried dairy living in the crevasses....you see where I'm going with this. Yuck, right? Right.

I had toast for breakfast, and came to the decision that I'm really average. It was disappointing.

I lied to a woman named Connie tonight. She invited me to a Mary Kay make-over party (which makes me feel horribly and obviously fugly), and I politely declined, throwing out the bullshit excuse that I had to cover someone's shift at work. With my luck, she'll show up and the scene will look something like this:

Connie: "Where' that lying sack of shit I invited out tonight? I'mma kill her."

Someone I Work With: "Who?"

Connie: (wielding a hunting knife) "Starbucks employees, you will pay!"

Connie then proceeds to savagely murder my work friends, leaving her Mary Kay business cards strewn about for me to find, mafia style, so that I know who is responsible for the carnage.

And scene.

I was going to tell you something important, but I completely forgot what it was. This is happening to me a lot lately, and I'm actually rather concerned about it. I was considering taking vitamins again, but every time I take them, my pee turns green. I don't see how that can be a good thing, you know?

I'm Icelandic; You're Adorable,

FMcG

eggshell white

I'm having a bad life day.

It's just one of those days, you know? Like, I woke up this morning, and I felt okay. I talked to a certain someone I've been interested in lately, but you know what? I'm just not feeling it. I thought I was, but today's conversation just cemented what I've known all along - he's just not the one for me, either. Today, I definitely feel "off".

Like, I'm not exactly sure where I want to go now in May. I was very confident on moving to Victoria, jamming with other writers at UVic....but now I'm not really sure. Ideally, if I want to be a writer, that's where I should go, but I just don't know how I feel about it anymore.

A part of me really wants to be in a bigger city, like Vancouver or Toronto.

People tell me I should wait, that eventually I'll get there. I know they're right, but at the same time, I have cabin fever now. I need to get out. I've been nosing around some other institutions, and I'm liking a few on the coast.

I really want to be near the ocean. That's really my only requirement.

P.S. Happy(?) Remembrance Day.

This is really only for my own personal enjoyment.

....but you can indulge, too.

Hay is for Horses and Heteros.

Blogging Jesus, strike me down.

You know what I do? I work and I sleep. That's about it.

It's not all bad, you know. I work with uh-MAY-zing people. Scotty and E-Dubz, that be a shout out to you, my fair friends. And the shit that happens at work? Epic to the point of painful laughter.

I got hit on yesterday. This would be something less incredible if it weren't for the fact that I was completely oblivious to it until afterwards, at which point I asked my co-worker/good friend Irina if that's what went down.

"Oh yeah, that dude was maaaaad hitting on you. That was almost sad how hardcore he was givin' 'er."

I had no clue! And then I started to feel bad, because I was so indifferent to the conversation he was trying to strike up with me, and I have to give him mad props for attempting to mack on such an obvious bitch. Anyways, I'm sure that he'll be back into the store sometime....apparently he works just down the street and he "loves this place". Direct quote, guys. When he does coming wandering in again, I'll be sure to let him know that "I'm spoken for*, but thanks anyways.".

On second thought...maybe I'll just play along. He wasn't completely unfortunate looking, but (not to sound vain) I'm a little out of his league. It could be fun* to just, you know, have someone adore me from afar and eventually end up following me home one night only to kill and dismember me. Or just have someone like me enough to want to come visit me where I work, even if I don't (want to) know them.

*Complete lies.

P.S. I didn't get to roll with my Halloween tradition. In fact, I didn't get to celebrate Halloween at all. This, however, does not mean that I am not a full-fledged trick 'r' treat looter; I've been scarfing down mini Crispy Crunches since the 30th. I feel WAY fat, and constantly jittery. No surprise there.

No alarms and no surprises

Mmm.

I don't really know what to say. It's 9:00 and I'm headed to bed - I have to be awake at 3:45am to go to work. Time is something I don't have enough of lately. Here I am, Queen of Halloween, and I still don't have a costume. This year just doesn't seem to have dress-up written anywhere on the agenda. Even more bogus than that is that I'm not even going to be able to get around to pumpkin carving. My very great plan was to carve Billy Corgan's face and then Nov. 1, smash it on the streets while laughing at my own cleverness. Sure, I've done that in the past, but this year I was going to spend a whole lot more time on the carving. You know, get the image just right. I mean, it's a fucking tradition, man! My heart is broken.

Maybe I'll just go out and buy "Zeitgeist", then smash that somewhere. It may not have the same meaning, but at least it'll make me feel better. Yeah, that's right; the die-hard Pumpkins fan hates "Zeitgeist". Corgan chases the dollars. Like, let's be honest here, would the Beatles still be the Beatles if only Paul and Ringo were in it? Would it still be the Beatles if they threw in two randoms to replace John and George? No, I don't think so, either. So, why is it cool for Billy to add in some punk-esque nobody to stand-in as D'Arcy, and some other random talent to be the new James? It isn't. Thus, "Zeitgeist" is a shitty album, and I'm eternally angry with my old friend B.C. You can't even really call it a Smashing Pumpkins album; it's more like a Jimmy and Billy project that numbskulls half-liked. My case? Rested, but this is old news anyways.

Thank you, goodnight.

ordinary day

I got caught checking out boobs today.

No joke! She was wearing an extremely low-cut shirt and had huge fake plastic jugs that were literally spilling out of her top. She was either a trophy wife or a porn star. Or both - it's possible. Anywho, I was just glancing, you know, because they kind of caught my attention (read: they were huge), and just as I locked onto them...yeah. I got caught. She didn't say anything; she didn't give me a dirty look. She was completely indifferent. I'm thinkin' she's probably used to it. And, the way I look at it, the titties were crying for attention.

I'm not gay, by the way. Just clarifying.

I've been downloading a buttload of new tunage lately. Sometimes I feel mildly guilty for being a music pirate, but then I just remind myself that I'm neither raping nor pillaging with my piracy, and I feel better.

I'm wearing flannel pyjamas to bed tonight. It's beginning to look a lot like...winter.

apology

My level of neglect is epic recently.

Whatever.

So, happy Thanksgiving. (Americans = confused) I stuffed myself to an embarrassing degree tonight on various festive dishes. I don't do the Thanksgiving thing, so I just invited myself over to my mom's place and made her feed me. She was happy to oblige. At my place, the leftover almond roca from last Christmas has found it's way back to the candy dishes of the coffee table. I'm the perfect hostess.

Tonight I discovered that I do not like Björk even half as much as I thought I did (I'd still procreate with her, though, because our children would be Icelandic and AWESOME). However, I rediscovered that I do now, and always will, have a love for Thom Yorke that is too great to describe. I suppose I could compare it to a magical tiramisu, that you can neither consume nor see, because it's just that awe-inspiring. Makes sense? No? Well, to me it does.

So, what am I thankful for anyways? I'm thankful for 2 for $25 CDs, late university drop dates, and people like you.

I smell like coffee and dead bird.

P.S. I voted. Did you?

pathetic

Okay, so I have a cold.

This is not the worst thing that could happen, however, I do hate getting sick. Especially now that I've started a new job at you-know-where. I am a complete man-baby when I get sick. I refuse to even attempt to function. Leave me alone...I'll be in the bitchcave.

I'm Miss Procrastination because of this slight illness, and I've yet to even start on this new project. I did make a cover page, though, so that makes me feel less like a loser. It's just that I still don't have my laptop back, and whenever I want to work on it I have to drive all the way to my office. And, my friends, I don't like doing that because gas is expensive as fuck. It's getting cheaper recently, which is a breath of fresh air. There for a while, I actually considered turfing the bitchmobile and replacing her with one of those sweet bikes with a basket on the front. But, then I remembered that I'm really lazy and I'd probably just end up having to bum rides off of people and regret selling my car. I am going to probably release the sunbird back into the wild when I move again. In a big city, cars are really just troublesome. Nowhere to park, traffic jams, etc. That's when I can finally make good use of a bus pass and a bicycle. Okay, probably just a bus pass. Plus, I look totally eco-friendly without a car.

Alright, Tootsie-cat and I are going back to bed now.

guess what....

Fuck yeah: I'm gonna vote.

I've never voted before, and then I got it in my head that, as a woman, I should take advantage of what ladies before me fought for. So, I'm going to make an educated decision, and then I'm going to put that decision in a box. Yeehaw!

Hey, I have a to-do list longer than my left arm. It's very discouraging.

And I'm also feeling the effects of a weak immune system. Sigh.

coffee and cigarettes

Just when you think things can't get worse, they get....better?

Okay, so that's not usually what happens, but I'm hyper-pleased to announce that I'm actually having decent days as of late. Hey, guess what? I'll make you a cup of coffee and tell you to have a good day, because I now work at you-know-where. I like when something good comes shining out of a garbage heap of a situation. I can't guarantee that grinding beans and blending ice will make me a happier person, but it's a start. It's something that I wanted, and for once, I actually got it.

Oh haaaay, guess wut? I'm back in the screenwriting saddle. With spurs this time. Yessir, I got creative the other night. I'm placing the blame on warm spinach and feta dip, and on my beautiful film-maker amiga, Emily. We consume food together and we get to throwin' ideas around like insults at a high school football game. I'm a lame-ass, so I'm not really at liberty to say what this offering will be about, but I will say this much: prepare to be AMAZED. Like, David Copperfield live in Vegas amazed. Like, I just ate my own head amazed. (!!!)

Dangerous, that girl is so dangerous, that girl is a baaaad giiiiiirl.

Yes.

lessons.

I'm right back where I started.

I have advice for those of you already wise enough to heed the warnings of those more experienced than you, and it is this: always know what you're getting yourself into before you dive into it. Otherwise, you'll end up in my situation, and trust me: you won't like it.

Sigh. Did I mention that the Futureshop guy had to send my computer across the continent? Code purple, kiddos. You know what that means? It means they don't know what the fuck is wrong with it. Francesco, the heavy set Italian Futureshop computer wonderkin, figures something is fried on the mother board. I'll have to take his word for it.

It's okay; public computers have a sexy danger about them that I'm getting rather used to.

oceanside?

That's it.

I'm leaving town. Again.

Sometimes things don't work out how I assume they will, and I have to be a grown up and deal with them. And so, I will leave town again.

But not until I get my laptop back. Obviously.

gee golly gosh

Stop shopping at Wal-mart. (!!!)

There's method to this madness. I snagged the current issue of Bitch and am now enlightened on the lady-hatin' ways of Wally-world. Seriously.

Did you know that Wal-mart is currently involved in the biggest class-action lawsuit ever? As many as 1.6 million former female employees are going after the company, citing things like lower wages than their male counterparts and less promotions than them. Not to mention that Wal-mart's got this nasty habit of not re-instating women after they've finished their maternity leave, and not providing adequate healthcare coverage. This is especially shitty, seeing as how women make up 70% of Wal-mart's hourly workforce. Then mix in the poverty level wages that Wal-mart offers and suddenly, well, at least my desire to shop there has gone away.

Wal-mart, you sly dog. You great big, Clifford-esque dog.

Works Cited:

Bitch magazine, of course and this article.

Isn't that cute? I cite my sources. This is quite possibly the first time I've ever bothered to back up my crazy mumblings.

In other news, I'm still living a public (computer) life. I tried to check-up on my baby yesterday, but I got no answers. Literally - Futureshop didn't answer their phone. I'm starting to think maybe she's been kidnapped, and the virus was all just an elaborate hoax. We'll see.

I'll just keep harassing them until they give her back.

ridic'lous

Oh, hey.

Yes, I'm blogging to you right now from a public computer. "Why?", you ask? Well, it's because my laptop is a complete and total piece of shit, you inquistive little thing, you. No kidding.

It's been acting rather peculiar as of late, and I couldn't comprehend why. Like Gizmo, I never got it wet, I never fed it after midnight, etc. etc., so I just couldn't seem to find a logical explanation for it to suddenly turn into such a little monster.

But so is the subterfuge of our technology ridden world - things just happen, and when they do, we take a mighty blow. I am nothing without my sweet, sweet lappy. I find my dependency really disturbing, and it never really occurred to me the full extent of my addiction until today, when Miss Compaq went buh-byes. I cannot recall a point in my life anymore when I was without the internet. I don't recall a time when I didn't have the ability to type and print documents, instead of handwriting them out. The prospect of handwriting anything now seems almost completely ridiculous. Why make others suffer my poor penmanship when I can make them suffer just as much with a font type like "Comic Sans"? There are some things I think do still require realworld interaction. Things like...shopping. There are two sides to this though, and I am no stranger to both sides. Example: while I do think that shopping online is a very hermit-y way of living, you can also find/buy some pretty kickin' stuff on the 'net. I have recently taken advantage of this fact - not gonna lie.

Another thing that I strongly believe should be done in person: job applications. Doesn't it seem kind of lazy to just...apply for a job in your pajamas? There's a certain mature and responsible quality that comes with the effort of scrubbin' up and hunting, genuinely hunting, for a job. Enough with this blanket application bullshit, I say. Like, did you know that I could have applied for Starbucks barista-ness on the interweb? Yessir! I would have saved like...$13 in gas money and about $37 in coffee money. (Sadly, I feel compelled to drink whenever I enter a 'bucks. It's the smell that does me in.)

Oh, another thing that should be done in person? Break-ups. Nothing makes you look like more of a pansy than saying "u n me just dont work n e more" over MSN. Example:

Fern says:
..but I thought you liked me?

Yet Another Guy says:
u r a qt, but we r just not rite 4 each other. l8r.

Exactly.

Technology has led us back into a time of primitiveness. Okay, maybe not, but I think you get what I'm saying. We have less compassion for each other than we used to, because things are just too convenient nowadays. It's meaningful social interaction that separates us from them, right? Right.

So, in the absence of my much beloved computer-on-the-go (who is currently having a sleep-over at Futureshop), I've turned to the ways of (as aforementioned) public computers. I'll be honest, I feel rather unclean? unsafe? using them, and I've got the urge to run home and wash my entire body with bleach. The keyboard as something clear-ish and crusty on it. Semen? Possible, but we can't prove it.

You're #1,

FMcG

P.S. I'm almost pretty sure that (so far) this is the longest blog you've ever had to suffer through, so congratulations!

interpretation

I hate how things are more expensive in Canada. Bust magazine, for example, is only $4.99 south o' the border. Canadork? A whopping $6.99. I mean, I still buy it, but in the words of my Nana: "Oh, for Pete's sake!". I ain't making any mo' money than they is. Sheesh.

Some interesting shizzle-nizzle is going down here in the next few weeks. Example: "Taking Back The Night '08" on the 26th, where a bunch of us cray-zee feminist types take to the back alleys and dark corriders of the city, creating awareness for harrassment and violence against women. It's more than that, though, as we're also rallying to get the streets safer at night for us dames. Gals should be able to walk alone at night without fear. Well, and during the day, too. My theme song for the evening? Suggestion - Fugazi. Yes! The best part? My darling Emily is coming over to participate, too. I'm more excited than Michael Jackson at a boy scout campout. Okay, that was uncalled for. (Sorry!)

Lady McGee is still waiting to hear back from potential employers? What? Yessir, still jobless; still a saint! I did secure a job at a clothing store, but when I discovered the uh...details of the position, I declined.

"Thanks, but no thanks."

As much as I'd love to lug boxes, work cash registers and clean toilets, I just had to say no. It was clearly the hardest thing I've ever had to do. Clearly.

I'm still holding out for Starbucks. Oh, I know - shuddup!

tour of the stars

"And to your left, ladies and gentlemen, is the holy shrine of Fern McGee....

....Patron Saint of Unemployment."

Needz jawb. No kidding.

I scoured this little city in search of some way to fund my heroin addiction employment. What I got was writer's cramp from all the application forms. Starbucks, grocery stores, shoe stores, boutiques. You name it, I probably applied there.

I'm not so bad. I have a feeling some interviews will be literally flying my way.

Zoom zoom!

BTWz, OTC is a-O.K. That's your heads-up for the day.

surf's up

I just figured out what the best part of living in a new city is.

Anonymity.

The slate is entirely wiped clean for me, and I can be someone else. I've never liked myself anyways. As stellar as this is, my old life keeps creeping up on me, like an IRS guy with a vendetta. Here's when I hit this great realization: I was walking downtown today and saw a familiar vehicle. The only thing about it was that the vehicle, while being a familiar make/model/colour, was completely foreign to me. And that, sir, is when it occurred to me: "Nobody here even knows my name."

In my former smaller town, people were identifiable by their vehicles. Red Honda hatchback? That had to be Diane. Little black Mazda? My good friend Cat. Grey Ford. Yellow Acura. Blue Pontiac. Taupe Toyota. Everyone was recognizeable. Now? I'll see a face that doesn't match an automobile, and suddenly I realize where I am...and it's weird.

I've decided that if things don't work out as I have planned, I could always be a carny. Can you imagine how much pussy those guys must get? Not that I'm after poon or anything; I'm no dyke. Just, wow. Exciting lives. Fighting locals. Smoking near the carousel. Travelling. No real dress code for work. It's the easiest fucking job ever, and those bitches get paid decently, too. Standing by a hot dog stand last night, I saw 2 carnies take on 3 locals. Guess who won? The carnies. Split Local Joe Schmoe's eyebrow in half with one solid pack.

Speaking of hot dog stands, some words of wisdom. When it comes to carnival food, my advice is to stick "safe foods". This means anything that can be clearly identified as one of your traditional "fair food fare". Example: hot dogs, cotton candy, corn dogs, sno-cones, etc. Avoid the foreign foods. Avoid the new and interesting offerings. Ignore this advisory, and I'm the guarantor and standing example of what'll happen to you, post-digestion.

I think you get what I'm saying.

pack up

New home? Check.

I'm in the twilight zone, so far. Did a little Columbus stint last night discovering my new downtown scene, which I'm pleased to say did anything but disappoint. There seems to be a few decent hang out spots. The new crib isn't as off the hizzy as I had originally envisioned, but it'll do. Downsizing was a must. I have very limited storage space, but seeing as how I'm not at all like Celine Dion, it's fine. I don't need another entire residence to house a collection of shoes.

I be needin' me a J-O-B. Methinks I'll head out tomorrow with a stack of resumes. Maybe I'll be a barista. I'm pretty good at finding work, so I'll probably have a job by mid September if all goes well. Everywhere 'round here seems to be hiring.

I miss my niece. That's the only person I miss so far.

exploration

Longevity is something that fascinates me.

Not in terms of life, because on a long enough timeline, the survival rate of everyone drops to zero (yes, Palahniuk nod). I'm talking in terms of the staying power of things like friendships, relationships - those sorts of things. The things you don't ever imagine to be stamped like milk with an expiration date. The bonds we make with other humans appear to have no shelf life limit.

I heard a great story the other day from my co-worker, Christine. A very old woman came by my till with her, laughing and joking around; all very funny-fun and light-hearted. It was then Christine said, "Fern, you're looking here at a woman who was somebody's wife for 60 years, but she's a widow now. Boy, does she miss the sex." Giggle giggle giggle from both of them. I was more than intrigued though, not about elderly intercourse, but about how it is that they were able to stay together so long. Is it really possible for two people to remain happy with each other for all their lives? With the divorce rate nowadays hovering at the 50% failure mark, I wonder if love is at all worth it. Or, maybe love's expiration date only matches your own. Possible, but we can't prove it.

I think the one thing that frightens me about friendships, relationships, etc. is that you never know how someone really feels about you. You could be loving someone with all your heart and suddenly they just...don't feel the same anymore. Or, they never felt the same in the first place. Worse yet, you could pour your emotions out for someone, thinking that they do feel the same, and then WHA-BAM, you're rejected. (Clearly, I have experience in this field (unfortunately).) It's not just about romantic relationships, either. This shit happens in your everyday run-of-the-mill friendships, too! Recently, I've had to re-evaluate my feelings for practically everyone I know. You know what I found out? I haven't got any real friends. It's kind of a sad fact to try to face, but acceptance is key to recovery. I accepted that I have no soldiers fighting with me on the frontlines of life anymore. What sucks is that I used to. There was so much love dancing around my little head from all my very charming friends, that somedays I felt like the luckiest gal this side of the moon. Things change, I suppose. People change, perspectives change, feelings change. But guess what? It's actually not so bad. Change, they tell me, is good. But, so brings along the explanation for exploration...does anything truly last forever? To what extent is there real permanence?

I discussed this with a redhead once. She said that death is permanence, because once it happens, it's a forever sort of deal. I, however, argued against this, considering that when I was three-years-old, my nana was dead (and pronounced, may I add) for a whole ten minutes. She sprang back though, which is great fodder for contradicting the question of permanence. So so so, what is truly permanent?

Dunno.

mad world

Fuck.

This is the only response I can muster for anything. It's just fuck.

It's how I feel. It's what I think. It's everything. Just...fuck, you know?

Sincerely insincere,

Fern "Emotional Trainwreck" McGee

lover

The boy who rejected me came to my till today at work.

He bought two 4-litre jugs of 1% and a large tub of vanilla ice cream. His blue plaid shirt was stained with jam or ketchup - something red. He told me his summer isn't going well; he has to work every day, all day long. He looked older than I remember. He looked tired, but he looked good. There was a scruffiness around his mouth that wasn't there before.

It was weird to see him; it was awkward at first. But to be honest, it was nice to see him.

And I think we both feel relieved to know that the other is still alive.

Two-Headed Boy

Happy birthday, Jeff Mangum; 38 years young.

Question: Are we really so bored with our lives that we need to see a 19 page family album of famous people we only pretend to know on a personal level? I'm sure Brad and Angelina's babies are cute, but really - I just can't see the necessity. And us civilians eat that shit up for $4.99 a pop. It's pathetic while also being fascinating. Quite!

The weather outside is delightful today. It's a modest 20 degrees, which I adore. I love it when it's like this; overcast and dancing on the edge of rainfall. The smell is so pure and clean. One beautiful thing about August that I always forget is the sudden rainstorms. It can go from being rather warm one minute, and then the sky just opens up and lets all of it's water down onto us. This happened today while I was at work; yesterday, too. It made me sad that I couldn't run outside and frolick in it like I used to do. Today, it made me so sad that I wanted to cry out of frustration - but I didn't. I know that September will come, and with it, more rain. I won't be working then, so I'll have more than ample opportunity.

small toooooown girl

I should've been a girl scout.

Why? Well, I have this awful neurosis about being prepared for everything. I'm not talking about just unforeseeable events, I'm speaking also of planned things. When I know something is coming up, big or small, I like to be beyond prepared for it. It's just how I roll. When I know I'm ready for something, I feel better about it happening.

Example: I'm moving in 21 days, which I'm told is a sizeable amount of time to prepare for such an occassion. I, however, have been preparing for it now for 2 weeks - 3 if you count all the mental leg stretches I've been doing. Boxes are filled and colour-coded according to weight, room and importance. In my harrowing relocation adventures, I've discovered something quite significant: when you're putting all your shit in boxes, you realize just how much shit you don't have. Actually, let me rephrase that; you realize how much shit you don't need and have been hanging onto. Let's call them emotional mementos; I don't like the word clutter. Anywho, I've given the heave-ho now to a good 65% of my stuff, and I'm hopeful for another 30% going buh-bye. I just don't need now what I needed then, you know? Call it growing up, maybe call it getting colder - I don't know. Whatever it's called, it's making the load significantly lighter. I'm blowing my load.

Okay, don't call it growing up.

I feel good about this. Now is a good time for my life to change in a big, bad way.

awful bitch.

I'm so paranoid.

I know this sounds weird, but everywhere I go now, I look at people and I think:

"Hey; you could potentially decapitate me on a Greyhound bus."

Yes, actually. Weird, random shit like that always makes me more aware of "stranger danger". The thing is, as horrifying and sad as that story is, I can't help but be oddly fascinated by it. It's like when people slow down to look at a car accident, you know? So many questions I have unanswered, like....was the head still toting the much quoted earphones? What was he listening to while he was dying? What were his initial thoughts when the first stab happened? Far more important though, is what was his attacker thinking about the morning before it happened? Was he like "hey, I'm going to behead someone today." This is what fascinates me about human beings. Our ability to act so civilized is just a front to hide the horrible potential that crawls, morbid and ominous, just beneath the layers of epidermis that we call our skin. And you can argue all you like, but this same potential lurks inside every single one of us. Even me; I know.

I was in a bookstore yesterday researching dead rock stars as a warm-up for a party I have to go to (it's theme is 'dress up as your favourite dead celebrity'). I stumbled across my dear friend Vicky, and told her my predicament (i.e. I can't think of anyone to be for the party).

"Why don't you be that guy who got decapitated on that bus?"

Ooo. Too soon, Vick. Too soon.

go for gold, eh?

Did you know that there's Olympics this summer?

I didn't.

It wasn't until today that I knew that not only are there summer Olympics this year, but that they're in Beijing. The only way I discovered this? Advertising on Coca-Cola packaging. I recall a time, when I was a small Fern, the Olympics were the shit. We had Team Canada's back like vertabrae - no questions asked. Times have changed though, and I'm marvelling that 4 years have passed so quickly. I recall the day they announced the 2010 Olympics were being held at Whistler. That was back in 2004, if I do my math right. Back then, we scoffed at the 6-year time gap. "That's forever from now," we said, "who cares? That's like...pretty much a decade away." Little did we know that time is passing, bit by bit everyday.

It's the miniscule signs like that that reveal time's course, and so much can happen in 6 short years.

The Tracey Fragments

"I don't like the country. Creeps me out. In the country, dead bodies live in swamps and ditches and shallow graves.

A man dumps the body of a girl in a ditch. The body rots, melts into slime. Flowers pop up where the body lies. Seeds fly out of the flowers, and a bee sucks the flower and makes honey.

And then the family of the girl buys the honey from the store,

...and the family eats the girl."

almost

Car accidents...excite me?

This is something I have just discovered post-near accident. I keep reliving and relishing in the sweet sound of the truck's tires skidding on a fine layer of gravel to a breath-stopping halt - mere inches away from my car and my personage. It was the way everything was fast and slow at the same time. Fuck, this is weird.

Did I mention I've dyed my hair? Yeah. This is what happens when you live alone and get bored. It's a mousy brown that Clairol lovingly refers to as "Suede". My hair, I feel, is a close reflection of who I am as a person. When I am a mess, the hair is also a mess. And the really fabulous thing about my hair is that, no matter what, I always retain control over my hair. My job may tell me how to dress, but they can fuck off when it comes to my aesthetics. Bang bang!

chow mein

I almost got smushed on Saturday night.

Some ultra-imbibed pussy dick in a huge white truck blew a stop sign and almost took yours truly out. F'sho. Could have died...but didn't! Aw, don't act too disappointed now.

I've bought some amazing new threads in the past few days. Of the noteworthy: a grey striped number for a solid $1.94. No, do not question your eyesight. I did say a $1.94. I know, right? Amazing!

By the way, giving Heath Ledger an Oscar isn't going to make him any less dead. Just in case you didn't know.

because I just want to say it

I have to open up. This happens whenever I drink green tea - I get sentimental. I want to tell you about the most beautiful moment of my life.

It was in early April. The air was still crisp in the morning; the birds still testing the skies with newly opened wings. It was a long night after partying - if you recall, you'll know what I say when I say it was the morning after the truck incident. I was driving back to the party to check on the people remaining and see the aftermath of the wildest party I've been to. With me were the two people in this world that I love the most - of course, neither of them know that. The seats were folded down in the SUV, so they were laying prostrate on the floor; both still heavily intoxicated. We were driving along a back road to the party spot. The road was rough and dusty, but we finally reached pavement and cruised smoothly. With the music playing softly, we were all silent on our long ride back. I was driving past a field when I saw it. The sun was shining down clear and hopeful from just above the hilltop over the long grass. Amongst the grass was a single deer, grazing silently, unaware of my existance and the events that had unfolded in the last 6 hours. I slowed the vehicle, and turned to ask my loved ones if they could see it, too. And that's when it became the most beautiful moment. When I turned around, they were both sound asleep. I don't know what it was about it, but for some reason, everything felt safe and beautiful. Everything was amazing and my heart was filled with so much love that it felt like it might just...burst. The warm sun, the quiet field, and the two most beautiful people in the world sleeping so soft and sweetly as I drove. It was trust and it was love and it was beauty. And it was all captured in that moment.

I wish I could have that every day.

imports

You guys...I'm awful.

I don't know why it is, but whenever I see an asian woman with a caucasian man, I always assume she's a mail-order bride. Especially if he's ugly and she could definitely do better. In all seriousness, I can't help but be suspicious.

That's bad, isn't it?

It happened again today downtown. Pretty asian gal and an ugly white dude with a comb over. I watched them interact for a while - she seemed distant and he seemed needy. It was almost like....she was ordered over the interweb.

Who knows?

hot off the press

Now is the time I use the free "whine" pass. I have issues, which I will kindly sum up in a few short sentences.

Issue #1: Roadtrip.
I am no longer going to a foreign province, because my road tripping buddies are weenuses. So, instead of hanging out in a cooler city than the one I reside on those days I booked off, I'm going to be probably just sitting at home, smelling like ass from not showering and eating rice cakes in front of the tube. This issue correlates with:

Issue #2: Friends.
It feels like all my "best pals" are suddenly becoming too cool for me. Exemplar: Tonight, my redheaded friend was all like "hey, come over to (other friend)'s house, and we can hang out." Well, I got there, and redhead says: "Oh, hey. I don't have time to hang out with you tonight, and seeing as you're here already, drive me home." I was so obviously used. And all my other friends? Well, they mostly just suck and only want to see me when it's convenient for them. Even then, I'm the last person they call.

Issue #3: Body.
I feel like Bessie the heifer. Even when people tell me "oh my GAWD, you've lost so much weight", I still envision myself as Rita MacNeil's identical twin. Bulimia sounds cuter and cuter every time I consider it. Sigh. The real deal with this shpeal is that it is quite possible that I have lost some weight; I just don't eat anymore.

Issue #4: Work.
Fuck. 'Nuff said.

I need a holiday. I was thinking that maybe I'd take a funtastic voyage down the coast sometime soon. Go to Ikea and feed the nesting instinct. Shop 'til I drop at Old Navy. Essentially, blow a bunch of cash until I feel better.

That can't be healthy.

green machine

The mountain was a no go.

Drove up there last night after work to be greeted by a man with a heavy accent and a woman who looked vaguely like a female Jon Stewart. The lodgings that were promised to us as being "amazing" was essentially a crack shack in the middle of the woods. Disappointment is a five letter word, and it rhymes with shlabin.

So we decided to drink absinthe on a beach instead.

I felt fine all night; felt good all morning. I ate a cinnamon bun and drank some coffee on the waterfront. I never get hang overs....well, I never used to. Half an hour ago or so...oh, man. I'm feelin' the green drink workin' it's devil magic. My stomach is a tsunami.

Goddamn. I have to go to work like this.

working for the weekend

"Man, what day is it?"
"Uh..I actually don't know. Thursday?"
"Thursday?"
"No. Wait. It's Friday. It has to be."
"Fuck."

It's getting pretty bad, I've gotta say. All I do is work and do laundry. No joke. The upside of this is that I'm getting mad paycheque, which makes me feel pretty good. The downside? No social life and a constant backache. Ehhhhh.

Going up to the lake Saturday night, kids. We've got a cabin next to the lake that just screams "ghost stories and marshmellows". I'm also fairly stoked on getting to drive the big, mean, gas-guzzlin' SUV up the mountain. I feel so very bullet-proof when I'm driving that thing. Like 50 cent minus 9 bullets. Hilarity ensues when I finally crawl out of the pimp machine and back into the bitchmobile. I don't feel like Tough Stuff McGee. I just feel...small. Sigh.

My glasses will be ready for me tomorrow. Vision will be nice, I'm sure.

red honda.

I'm so money hungry. I chase the dollars, you guys. I chase the dollars.

Nothing grinds my gears more than getting robbed by the bank, either. Did you know that I was charged 14 big ones last month for "abusing my transaction privileges"? Now you do. Apparently, I'm only allowed to make 25 transactions a month. Any more, and they're Jeff Stryker, fuckin' me without any mercy. Bang bang.

Money's important though, and the older I get, the more and more I realize it. Budgeting is something new and exciting for me. I consider it a hobby and seeing as I have expenses flying at me with supersonic force as of late, it's a good thing I enjoy it. However, expenses still suck harder than a Gigli/Crossroads double feature.

But nevermind pop-induced cinema; I'm going away soon. Nothing's better than roadtripping with friends. Come the 26th, we're couch surfing in Calgary. Yes, we're loading up the Civic and then we're off like a dirty shirt to a foreign province to get shitfaced and be embarrassing without any repercussions. I tend to forget when I drink.

That's probably for the best.

P.S. Your homegirl is now Fern "Four Eyes Sometimes" McGee. Near-sightedness is cooler than your 20/20 vision, bitch.

kees kees

Happy birthday, Sydni Jodine!

'Tis my BFF's murda-versary today, and I'm very sad that she's away right now. No fears, my dears...we'll be getting crunked in a cabin on the 19th. Drunken squeal.

So, I was feeling like the cure for cancer earlier today when I saw that Les Savy Fav is playing at the Commodore on the 26th. It occurred to me later at work though that I'm poor and have to work and therefore can't go. It kind of sucks having "responsibilities" and "bills" and "ethics". Pssht, what's that, man? What is that? Whatevz.

It's the gas prices that are giving my wallet the strong right hook the worst. It's this whole "carbon tax" bullshit. I know the government wants to discourage Canadians from driving as much, but realistically, some people depend on their vehicles. It comes down to this: public transit isn't reliable, especially in less urban areas. And even in urban centres (i.e. Vancouver), buses and 'skytrains' are not always on time. Also, it's just as expensive to get a bus pass for a month as it is for me to put a tank of gas in my car. I can get 2 weeks out of 1 tank of gas if I'm mindful of my driving. A bus pass doesn't seem worth it when I can simply drive myself where I want to go for just as much. I think the real solution to the amount of greenhouse gases and emissions being produced is that....there is no real solution. People have become far too accustomed to the luxury of driving to give it up or even to reduce it at this point. I haven't been driving that long, but even to me, the idea of an existance without my automotive companion makes me kind of nervous. However, I am a connoisseur of public transit when the mood strikes me, so I can slowly "cut the cord". Very slowly.

Okay, stay shy.

we should be sleeping.

Oh, summer nights.

It's like this: why would I sleep when I can go on an adventure? I tried to come up with a logical and reasonable answer to that very question last night. Guess what? I couldn't think of anything. So, 12:30 am, I went out. Grabbed some 7-11 coffee (where I witnessed a significantly overweight employee making the next day's sandwiches sans gloves), drove up the hill with Cat and her Pentax, and spent some quality time. We took lovely pictures of the city's lights and were having a fantastic chat about the future, when a car pulled up behind mine. This was at 2am. We were both sketched by this, and were only slightly relieved when we observed a particularly handsome and young poo-leese officer swaggering over.

"Hey ladies, just wondering what you're doing up here so late. I've caught a few kids up here before smoking dope - you aren't doing anything like that, are you?"
(he notices the camera and coffees)
"Oh, cool. That's a pretty fancy contraption. Is that one of those SLR cameras? I have a Nikon, but it hasn't got that feature. It's pretty cool, though."

Yeah. We had a conversation with the cop about photography until he got a call and had to leave.

"Alright, you girls have a good night. See you later, maybe."

Cute.

Canadork.

Happy birthday, Canada.

I hope Canada's other 10 million or so inhabitants enjoyed it, because I sure as fuck didn't.

Canada day scheddy:

10 am - rolled out of bed and felt much like the A&W rootbeer bear. Duh-duhduh-duhduh-duh-dum
12 pm - went to work and spent 6 amazing hours in a red polyester vest. Ugh. I will say this much: at least it's air conditioned.
6 pm - finally got off....and left work, too. Zing! However, was disappointed to find that everyone was all planned up already.

I could have gone downtown to watch fireworks and spend time with the girls, but it's hard enough to find parking on any ol' day, nevermind a national holiday. I am told the traffic was insane. This is for the best, though, that I was unable to join in on the Canada day boat-scursion. Why, you ask? Well, the lovely ladies are stranded in the middle of the lake on their super fresh boat as we speak. Well, unless you're reading this past it's expiration date; I can then assure you that they're safe at home...I think. Yeah, they holla'd via cellphones to say "Hey, we're stranded in the middle of a lake. Don't worry, though; we'll figure it out. Meet us at the docks around 2am-ish. Love ya!"

So, I spent Canada day alone. This is no great feat, considering that I spend most holidays alone. Christmas? Alone. Easter? Rocked it solo. Valentine's Day? One is the loneliest number. St. Patrick's Day? ...who cares? So so so, I'm not too down about it, as you can see. I have to admit though, it would have been somewhat fun to get my face painted and eat cotton candy. Wow, that can be taken in a really dirty way. Oo.

Anyways, in my spur of boredom I managed to achieve: nothing. I could have been script writing, or life planning, or even baking. All I did was watch a movie, eat chips and made my face up to look like the late (and great) Edie Sedgwick.

"Andy. Andy, do you want the people? You have fabulous people."

Madonna said it best.

I never fully realized the connecting power of music until tonight.

I was listening to Hole with, of all people, my father. I'm just up for the weekend visiting, and popped in some tunage for dinnertime. He was immediately smitten with Courtney's "whiskey and 3 pack a day" voice, and lyrical talent. Inquistive gal that I am, I had to know why pops was so into "Doll Parts".

"I don't know. I like the words."

Touch down! I realized right then and there that almost anyone can relate to any song, as long as the lyrics are applicable to their own life. Not exactly rocket science, I know, but the magnitude of this tasty tidbit never really hit home until this evening. My dad is a man big on the likes Kris Kristofferson and Aaron Neville. Hole? It doesn't seem plausible, but it's the words, man, the words! Music appeals if you can relate to it! The world makes so much sense now.

Oh, I'm a tool. A correct tool, but nonetheless...a tool.

Queen Supreme of the summer daze.

I have to get this off my chest. No, it's not my bra.

I wait so patiently for the end of the summer. Seriously. I'm not alive until September arrives and I can mingle amongst my common people again. Summer is always just such a slow time for me. Especially this summer. I'll tell you why.

Last summer, I spent my days wandering around in teenage brainless land with my best friend and pissing away the summer nights on her patio. Simple times, warm evenings and plenty of stories were told and made. It was good and the livin' was easy. The summer before that was a lonely one; I spent it alone in my house, but it was okay. I'd fall asleep on the couch at 3 or 4; wake up at 2pm the next day. I'd watch re-runs of Project Runway and then tune in to IFC to snag a few indies before my eyelids got heavier than my ambition. I'd paint my nails and sew and sketch televisions in one of the various sketchbooks that are now stashed like balloons of heroin around my dwelling. I also spent that summer obsessing over Tim Curry in drag, 1920's erotica and the Black Dahlia murder case. I eventually went away that summer, as I did last summer, and wasted my last couple of weeks of 'freedom' fucking around in towns that nobody knows exists.

This summer, however, has no claim to fame. I work. I sleep. My friends live on the
same clock as I do, and plans are almost impossible to make. There will be no great deck parties reminiscient of a certain Kim Mitchell song. Nope. There will be no journeys to tiny villages on the outskirts of equally miniscule towns. There will be no fashion re-runs or independent film comas - I got rid of IFC last June. All I do is wait around for my shift to start at work, and plan everything around that goddamn vest: polyester, stop sign red with dull plastic buttons and a collar that refuses to stay down, no matter how many times you press it and repress it. It's like prison garb, only less exciting. Such simplicity and joy I've never known until now, when I'd like it back the most. Age complicates things, I've found. You just don't expect things to end, do you? And as much as I hated summertime then, the resentment flows more fluidly now and with as much force as a self-inflicted puncture wound to the jugular. Sigh. At least I had choices before.

Did anyone else notice that A&E changed the little logo that appears in the corner of the screen slightly? It looks like a different font.

Proof that I am bored.

rather be a crab than have 'em.

I'm having one of those days where I just feel intensely DC comic. Like, beyond super human. There ain't no kryptonite gon' get me down. No sir.

I've started writing the script I've had floating around my cranium for a bit. Same dealio as the last film. It's on the shorter side, and again is produced with assistance of my film-making compadre. I like this as a small hobby. It's much better than taking up, oh I don't know....cocaine addiction? Just sayin'. Anywho, this new "script" is fairly promising so far, but I really have to wonder if it'll be worth it in the end. I had the same doubts with the first film, too, though. Wait and see; that's what mama always said.

Lobster lady, ahoy - I got sunburnt today. I really should invest in SPF 90 sunscreen. Actually, I should just stay indoors. Whatever, my back is bumpin' right now, and I'm pretty sure my skin will be peeling off faster than clothes in a titty bar in no time at all. That's the thing that really steams my broccoli; most people, when they burn, eventually have it fade into a nice chocolatey tan. I, on the other hand, either A) remain burnt as fuck for the rest of the summer or B) have my skin peel off and go back to a lovely shade of bleached chalk with just a little "teint de rose". I've seen correction fluid with better colour than me. Oooo...correction fluid. Say that one out loud and try not to giggle. Better yet, next time your wandering around the office, ask a male co-worker if he has any correctional fluid he can spare. Christina said it best: dirrrty.

Oww, my epidermis.

Hey...

...I wish I could spill all my secrets here, but I can't.

People I know read this, which I don't mind, but some things they just can't know. Like, fuck, I have to see these people on a day-to-day basis.
Anonymity sets you free, I hear. That's what this started as, but I just couldn't help myself. I had to tell my friends; blogging was a disease I wanted to spread. It's internet mono. No big deal.

Anywho, I got a mad award tonight for my "splendid contributions" to the Fine Arts world. The good kind of plaque; numero 3 in my collection. It's weird... I don't feel any more special or lovely than I did pre-plaque. I did the first time around, but, much like masturbation, it's lost it's fun. Yeah, I went there. I need to get laid! Sheee-it, I'm about to bust a nut up in dis bitch! Oi!

You're cute,
FMcG

P.S. Film fest = up in the air. Who knows what's happening with that hot mess these days? Certainly not me. I wanted so very badly for it to be 100% go, but it's faultering. I worry. Boy, do I ever worry.

Shifty Eyes

Learning standard isn't, well, so standard.

They call me "Stall-zilla" these days. Hondas are my arch-enemies. You see, I need to learn to drive standard before the end of July. I'm road trippin' with the dames, and as one of 2 gals with a license, I'm going to be trading driving shifts. We're taking the more fuel efficient vehicle, which just so happens to be the kind with a clutch.

Driving lessons: I thought I'd only ever have to contend with that once in my lifetime. I guess I should have made sure "standard" was checked off before I put that one to bed. Oh well, everything is a learning experience, I s'pose.

Speaking of learning experiences...nevermind. I'll tell you when you're older.

Mazel tov!

I'm nesting.

No, actually. I'm getting a new place in August, and so I've kicked into "home making" mode. Still on the list of things to gather: new towels. Purple, fluffy and huge preferred. I've even been cruising Etsy trying to find some new art to throw up on my unpaintable walls. I have to make them snazzy somehow.

So, the bitchmobile got sick and had to go to the doctor. I was clearly distraught about this unfortunate turn of events until they handed me the keys to an illin' courtesy car. Shit was off the hizzy, fo' shizzy. Best part? It's a Buick, and it's actually dope. I usually reserve Buicks for the elderly and fur-wearing, and even though this car is slightly on the Grandpa side, it still has major cool points. Luxury sedans are my kind of ride. As much as I miss the bitchmobile, I'm going to have difficulty parting with "my new" wheels.

The bitchmobile was an easy fix, in case you were wondering. Turns out the wires going to the spark pluggies were more intensely fried than asian rice. Easy peasy, and fairly cheap, too...kind of like you. I joke! And yeah, the muffler is still attached à la coat hanger.

Whatever.

Scrollin'

The wonder of summer never ceases to amaze me.

I'm on permanent summer now, it feels. When I was a kid, I used to revel in the knowledge that eventually June would come. My world would finally be less about lesson plans and pencils; more about popsicles and the smell of fresh cut grass. School has come and gone now though, my high school years are over and the summer is just another time of the year. My grade school years went out not with a bang, but a whimper. Hardly the enthusiasm I expected for 13 long years.

I invested in a laptop today; probably a solid investment for the future. At the same time, I can't help but feel that this is going to make me all the more a slave to technology. Cute, right?

I'm really tired and lack the bubbly and clever wordsmithing that I usually (like to think that I) have. What's become of me? Could it be that I've had 7 hours of sleep in the last 4 days?

BINGO!

SWF

I'm so tired of being alone.

Lately I've been feeling quite bitter towards the happy couples I seem to see everywhere I go. I'd like to know: where's my b-friend?

Singledom never used to bother me. In fact, I remember a time when I was singing high praises for me and the crew and our marvelous ability to stay un-paired. The notion was that single = simple. Who needs all that complicated love crap? Well, that'd be me, strangely enough. A part of me is hoping that this is just a nasty PMS side-effect, however, I get the feeling like this ain't nothin' to do with monthly hormone fuck-tuations. I think maybe I've finally hit the point in my life where I instinctively want to be someone's wonderwall. They said it would happen - I didn't believe them. Turns out they were right.

Sonofabitch.

That said, I'm not on the mad hunt for my other half. The pickings are pretty slim around here, so I'm just going to have to wait until the XY horizons are expanded. As lovely as love would be, it can wait. It's waited this long, and I'm a firm believer that when you go looking for something, you seldom find it.

Except trouble. You can always find that.

Twice a day

Oh, Jeff Mangum.

If only your looks were more youthful, or perhaps, if only, you didn't look so sour all the time.

Like, you're okay, I guess. I'd marry you. I really, really would. I can get past your awful looks. We can figure it out together. We'll work something out.

Maybe you could just wear a paper bag all the time and sing to me through a mouth hole we cut out. That way I could still feed you and kiss you, too. You'll sing to me all day and all night. You'll be my own personal stereo.

The Jeff Mangum 24 hour radio show, live from somewhere in Canada.

Oh, Jeff. How I love thee. Why, oh why, are even you already taken?

Clear skies

It's been a decent weekend.

I pedestrian-ed it up last night downtown with my main homeskillet. We snagged some Starbucks (oh, shut up..I know) and headed towards where the noise was loudest. We ended up at a big event at city park and wandered for a while wondering what it was, watching people jog past us and pausing every so often to clear the sand out of our shoes. We eventually determined that it was a big cancer fundraiser, so we cleared out pretty hastily. It's not that I don't support cancer research, it's just that I think that the cancer foundation 'round here uses it's donations for nose candy. Seriously. Nothing is legit anymore.

So, we walked back up the strip, making another pit stop at Starbucks to use their facilities. Only the dudes' biffy was in operation, so we threw on our best guy personas and peed standing up. Well, we did everything minus that last part. Actually, I did everything minus that last part; I can't be 100% about my compadre. I'm just not talented enough to pull that shit off. I surmised that Starbucks is equal opportunity, either way. Ye-ye!

We meandered back to the car and sped off into the night only to be greeted by nothingness. We considered visiting 24/7 Denny's, but even that has lost it's fun. I'm needing a little change, lemme tell ya. I need new venues to satisfy my fiendish lust for constant stimulation. I need a city with a pulse.

Any suggestions?

Nutrition Facts:

The birthday was super vanilla.

Nothing super special happened. I got a parking ticket. I found the zine I wanted.

I just feel kind of...old, like someone's uncool parents who crash their kids' high school party and try to get everyone to drink peach schnapps. Or like parents who text message their kids. Is it just me? Is that not weird? I don't know..

The film was incredibly well received last night, and we now have film-making itch that's just a-dying to be a-scratched. We've already started initial research and the first draft of our next movie excursion. It's a 70's inspired Kung Fu flick; looks pretty promising so far.

Today I let out a long, sad sigh, wishing in my heart that Jeff Mangum were better looking. He's just another Shane Koyczan. How unfortunate.

Untitled - whatwhat!?

Took a mental health day today.

Turned off the celly (for once, holy crap), and I've decided to just...paint my nails and write. 'Sgood.

I had a bit of a breakdown yesterday, which contributed to today's battle plan. I just have this air of "my life is going nowhere". It's frustrating when you want so much out of life, but feel like you're running a hamster wheel. I had this crazy idea that maybe I'd just pack all my stuff into the bitchmobile and take off. Leave town the same way I arrived - in the middle of the night and alone. Maybe I'll go to Santa Cruz and surf for the rest of my life. I'll open a café on the beach and just live like the waves. Could be good.

Tomorrow will be fun-tastic, though. My birthday present from my friend Vicky is a pseudo road-trip with the top down in her '87 Rabbit. We're on a mission to find a magazine that I can't get here, and there's this store a few towns over that has 500+ magazines. Needless to say, I'm thrilled.

rainy days and mondays

I got spoiled this weekend.

No joke. My DVD collection has increased beyond all measure of comparison. I am so loved. Or feared.

.....dunno.

Anyways, everyone had a good time and nobody got hurt. It was great, and totally bankable (memory-wise). I received a wicked handmade card from a good friend of mine that actually got me misty-eyed. I think handmade stuff completely pwns everything that's store-bought. There's nothing that says "I love you" like blood, sweat and gluestick.

Aloha

Nuh-uh, uh-uh. Can't nobody hol' me down.

Saturday nights were made for parties. When I wake up on a Saturday morning, I can feel the excitement of the night's festivities surging through my nervous system; inner-tubing on my red blood cells. The air gets a little crisper around 8pm - an early warning for the wallflowers and senior citizens. Sometimes I think that the Sun does us a favour by sending up the Moon; our shadows are the only witnesses we ever have to worry about.

I'm throwing a party tonight in celebration of another whole year of survival. Birthdays, for me, are a milestone every time. It's always a goal every year to make it to the next. To see the next cake. To have another party. We're kickin' it "Paradise, Hawaiian Style" tonight, which means the Pina Coladas and leis will have a starring role. It feels good to know that I get to live it up with all my friends tonight.

Oh, and video editing? Fuckin' shower in that shit. 20 hours of editing, and still going strong.

Can we talk?

I feel so accomplished these days.

Actually, scratch that. I feel so accomplished since yesterday, and I'm riding high on a wave of perpetual bliss. It's short-term, I'm sure, so I'm savouring it. Anyways, squeeee, I finally made a short film with a film-maker friend o' mine. Seriously, we've talked about doing something along these lines for 2 years, and we finally found time enough to do it. Thank you, Victoria Day.

It's only about 10 minutes long, and we got all the footage we needed yesterday in about 5 hours. Hopefully we'll get all the editing done on it today (about another 3 or 4 hours), so that it will be finished by the 30th. And why is the 30th so important, you ask? Well, we're putting our little beauty in an arts gala.

So. Fuckin'. Fresh.

32 degrees and rising

There's no food in my house.

The jar of expired peanut butter is lookin' mighty tasty today. This is the height of my laziness. I don't even grocery shop. I work at a fucking grocery store. It's not like I don't ever get the opportunity. Gro-shur-y? Gross-er-y? I don't even know.

Sigh.

Dun-Dun-Dundundun

Went and saw 'Iron Man' last night. (Yeah, that's a little Black Sabbath in the title up there. What? You couldn't tell?)

While I am proud that Robert Downey Jr. managed to stay off the sauce long enough to shoot a half-decent film, I'm still pretty disappointed with what came out of it. The plot feels a bit iffy, it drags on forever and, well, it's boring. Shit, someone had to say it. To make things even worse, there was an advert for a new 'Incredible Hulk' film with (get this) Edward Norton as the headliner. WTF, right? 1) They already made that movie. 2) It's fucking Edward Norton. I'm not saying the man lacks cool points, I'm just saying that it's fucking Edward Norton. You saw 'The People vs. Larry Flynt', didn't you? and 3) Even if this is a completely different plot from the other 'Hulk' movie with Eric Banana-Rama, they could have at least given the title some deviation. Think: Batman Begins. Spider-Man 2. You get the picture by now, I'm sure. I digress, though...we were chatting about 'Iron Man', weren't we? It wasn't completely unfortunate; it had it's moments worth a guffaw or two. There's also Gwyneth Paltrow's presence, which was strange and interesting, seeing as how I can't recall her being in anything since 'Sky Captain and blah blah blah'. Her face is looking weirder than before. I think it has something to do with the new hair colour she's sporting for this flick.

Well, to end it all off, I'd say don't bother stepping out for this one. It's not worth the $8.95 or that weird "booty-lock" thing you get from theatre seats, unless you're hardcore into seeing comics-gone-cinema.

P.S. I DROPPED MY BRAND NEW PHONE TODAY. ON CONCRETE. Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.

junkie bitch

Sometimes I feel like I spend too much time on the internet.

My internet usage does not fully match that of your average WoW player, but when I consider how much stuff I should actually be doing, well, I get feeling kind of useless. However, look at all the content out there that can be viewed. There's a plethora of useless facts just itching to be absorbed. I'd much rather fill my noggin with conversation starters than sit in front of the tube watching "The Hills".

Speaking of which, I ventured to watch that whilst downing some chow. I've never attempted to watch it, but MTV2 was the only thing that had anything on (unless I wanted to watch Leno re-runs). Fuckin' MTV2. As if MTV alone was not enough to satisfy even your most hardcore suburbanite. Let me give a brief shakedown on what I saw on "The Hills": Some blonde girl made her boyfriend move out, some other blonde girls came home from Europe, one of those blonde girls quit her job at a magazine to work in styling and some other girl (not any of the aforementioned) gave some shitty advice to the first blonde girl. Ladies and Gentlemen, I have found the root of all evil. Drumroll please:


....blonde highlights and a black AMEX.

Bloodshot

Some days just drag on forever.

I got up this morning at 6:30 so that I'd be on time for an exam at 8. I'm a tad sluggish in the mornings, and as a non-coffee drinker, I tend to have the pep of a 90-year-old on their deathbed. I feel like the exam didn't go so well, and the worst part is that I had to pay $50 to take it. WTF, right? Oh well.

After 4 hours of exam writing, I had the joy of dealing with a group of obnoxiously loud actors who have the same demeanour as 4-year-olds after a box of Smarties. And in two hours? Rinse. Repeat. And then again tomorrow morning, as well as tomorrow night. The good part is that I get to go to a wrap-up party afterwards, which means free drinks and partially good company. I like when I can find the bright side of things. Also, I get paid tomorrow. Fuckin' yeah!

I cleaned out my car today, which was long overdue. I had like, a pound of kitty litter scattered throughout my trunk, and let me tell you, that shit is hard to vacuum up. The bitchmobile is smellin' fresh now though, and I am once again looking and feeling fly when I'm cruising.

Spendy-trendy

I bit the bullet and got a new phone today.

It's pretty fancy-shmancy; I can upload songs onto it and whatnot. I feel utterly trendy. The old one just wasn't cutting it anymore. When you have to voice dial every single call you make, well, you tend to get frustrated. Especially seeing as you can only call people who are on your contacts list, and are then programmed into your voice dial list. Example:

"Please say the name."
"Natalie."
"Please repeat the name."
"Ugh..Natalie."
"Did you say 'Diane's Cell'?"
"FUCK."

It's been like that since July. My consumerism is justified.

Alright, alright.

Can't stop listening to Superchunk. It's almost embarrassing. Almost.

"Detroit Has A Skyline" just might change your life. And if it doesn't, well, then you're obviously lame anyways, so git off mah blog! Kidding, darling. My love for you is undying, much like a cockroach even when faced with nuclear holocaust.

I'm sick of the elitist vultures that patrol music stores. Like, do I care if you've been listening to a band for 10+ years, and that you appreciated their tuneage long before they got major? Nah, so fuck off with your trivial pursuit bullshit. I just want to frolick amongst my faves and then peace. I'll be really honest (as I am wont to do), and say that I totally act like I know more about music than I really do.
"Oh yeah, I've totally heard of The Super Ice Cream Sandwich Queens. Totally."
It's just a natural reaction to avoid looking like a complete music n00b, especially when I'm a person who prides myself on the title of "know-it-all". However, if I really sincerely have no goddamn clue about a band, I won't even bother pretending like I've heard about them. In that event, the conversation usually goes something like this:

"Hey, do you like The Divorcees of Lower Manhattan?"
"What? You never rewind VHS tapes when you return them? MONSTER."

Yeah.

Bockshtabber

Things are more fun when you say them like you're Sean Connery.

I use this technique whenever I can't quite spit something out that I want to say. It works well, and I highly recommend it. Example, when you need to tell your shitty friend that they've hurt you and you want nothing to do with them anymore. And cue eye-rolling. It's been quite the week. However, it rained today, and that was most excellent. Things are greenin' up 'round these parts. Smells like both spring AND teen spirit. A lovely combination, if I do say so myself.

I saw some interesting gals today. They were toting Starbucks cups and cell phones; D&G sunglasses and perfect manicures. They were trying on shoes and talking about other girls. I felt so L.A. watching them, as if I needed to be behind velvet ropes and surrounded by paparazzi. Blonde highlights. Lack of brain cells. The fuckability factor was off the charts, I'm sure. Pure plastic and ready to melt. Fascinating stuff, really.

How a person's image can make others all feel completely different emotions amazes me.

Negligent Bitch

I'm so cranky.

I've got a lot of stress floating in the ol' bloodstream as of late, and I simply cannot find time to do the things I actually want to do. It sucks madcore amounts of feces, and I'm hoping that things will start looking up (probably) around mid-May.

So, uhh...funny story. Not particularly "ha ha" funny, but...you'll see. So, a month back, myself and some friends were vamping it up in an old cemetery near my homestead late at night. We were rockin' the paranormal researcher angle, and it was a solid deposit into the memory bank. Well, on our departure in my car, the ladies were distracting my and I managed to back into a fairly dense mound of dirt. Also, I drive it like I stole it and hit the bitch at about 35 km/h going backwards - not so good. Everything seemed fine, though. No damage, no dings - nada. Here's the recent strain of this, though: the other day I noticed my muffler was flying lower than usual. Being the handy-woman that I like to think I am, I grabbed the muffler and pulled it back up. It seemed fine. Then, a day later, I noticed the muffler hanging even lower, so again, I pulled it back up and it again seemed fine. No biggie, right? Well, this soon turned out to be a daily ritual, and every time I got into the car, I'd make a pit stop to the rear and yank up the muff. Last night, I had someone who actually knows what they're doing when it comes to cars look at it, and guess what? That dirt mound fucked up my muffler. I managed to snap the pipe off somewhere up the line, and eventually the muffler will just...fall off. And when it does bite the dust, ye ol' Sunbird is going to be plenty loud. Dope. In the mean time, though, it's suspended quite securely with, of all things, a coat hanger. The one instrument typically reserved for polyester suits and back alley abortions was the necessary tool to "fix" the bitchmobile. So trailer park chic.

It's great.