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."