Two posts in one day, like a true gangsta.

I completely forget to mention this, though it's relevancy to the previous post (or lack thereof) warrants it it's entirely own shout-out.

NOEL GALLAGER PTFO'D OASIS.

Can you believe that shit? When I heard that, my heart felt like Hiroshima in 1945.



That man right there? That man is a heart breaking sonuvabitch.

I can't talk about this. It hurts too badly still.

no teacozy without irony

I feel like a lobotomy patient, but with less drooling.

This is the slowest summer of my life. I chalk it up to the anticipation of school settling in combined with having no friends and working all the time. I ventured to find a hobby today, which proved to be more difficult than I could have imagined. I suggested to BF that maybe I should just practice being a raging alcoholic, but apparently that doesn't jive so well. Thus, the googling began.

Really, anything that's done continuously and with enjoyment could be considered a hobby. That's right, adolescent boys of the world! Shaking hands with Mr. Willy is a gay ol' hobby! Anyways, with that said, there's a really broad range of things that I could take up to keep me busy. Among the gems I found on the internet? Baking, scrap-booking and crime scene evidence collecting. Baking really counteracts the whole dieting schtick I've been on, so that one's trumped. Scrap-booking is for soccer moms who drive Mazda MPVs and wear festive sweaters; crime scene evidence collecting just seems illegal. I'm back to square one. This site is helpful, but more or less just makes me feel inadequate as a crafter.

(My mum used to do dried floral arrangements when I was a petite fille, hanging out in my dad's shop for what seemed like days; she'd emerge smelling of spray paint and hot glue only to have a cigarette or make dinner. When she was finished her creations, she took them to the Christmas craft sale. What fun!)

Making dried flower arrangements is not a hobby that appeals to me, but making stuff is something I dig f'sure. I handmade a postcard today before work, and it was satisfying enough. Good start; I patted myself on the back. One step closer to having a real hobby - I'm testing the waters. If handmade postcard making fails me, I'll just teach myself to knit. Problem? Solved!

P.S. I bought my textbooks for school, and it was like a $337 bitch slap.

Like Cats and Dogs

Okay, I have no idea what just happened.

See, I live in this shitty little basement suite and above me live the home's owners, an early 30's guy, his wife and their new baby. All I know about her is that her name is Tracey and she's got a really annoying voice. Anyways, I feel either a suicide or a divorce coming on. Why you ask? Well, I'm about to tell you; hold your horses.

They always fight. Like, this became overwhelmingly apparent on my first night of living here, when at about 2 in the morning I woke up to hyperventilating scream-crying over my head. Their bedroom is situated right over top of mine, same goes with the kitchen. Well, tonight was especially interesting. I usually only can hear the muffled and hushed half-yelling of a couple who clearly aren't in love anymore, but tonight, I could make out entire sentences. She was yelling about something that has apparently happened in the last two months and over the last 7 years, and how she feels she has to leave and take their baby with her to get him to "sort his shit out". I feel it's either a drinking/drug/gambling addiction, or he's cheating. Both are win. And then there was some sobbing. And then there was some stomping. And then he left.

:O

To be continued?

carrot top

I'm dying. My hair. Again.

Maybe.

I've been dying my naturally honey blonde hair various brown and auburn shades for the last year and a bit, and I'm finally sick of it. I've got a good inch of blonde roots, and while I'm considering just growing it out and being a blonde again, I'm kind of not down for having perpendicular Cruella DeVille hair for the next couple of years. Knowing me, I'll get six months into the grow-out process, say fuck it and throw a box of grocery store dye on it, and regret it a month later when my blonde roots creep back and I am once again reminded how beautiful my blonde hair is. So I'm considering going bright red, and while the carpet will certainly not match the drapes, there are perks to looking like Neko Case, who I (not entirely coincidentally) love. Bright red, while exciting and fabulous, is notoriously hard to maintain as red tends to fade very quickly. Aaand I kind of want to be blonde, actually.

So here are the options:

1. Go and have my hair colour-corrected to the tune of $500.
2. Go to the pharmacy and buy a box of bleach. Go to the liquor store and buy a box of Smirnies. Fly at 'er. I could potentially have all my hair fall out, but fuck if that's going to discourage me.
3. Go to the pharmacy and buy a box of temporary red hair dye. Slather it on and hope for the best/a quick fix.

I'm going to let this roll 'round the ol' noggin for a few days before I make any decisions. I think I could rock my blonde hair again now that I'm older and not so insecure about what people assume about blondes. And like, who knows? Maybe blonde hair would compliment this Karen O haircut I've got.

vroom!

I've seen commercials for Wendy's new boneless chicken wings and KFC's grilled chicken. They scare the fuck out of me. Almost as much as staying up until 3 watching a Reese Witherspoon movie marathon instead of going to sleep so's to get up early for work like a good little coffee slave - which I did on Tuesday night. Run on sentence!

I can't get over pre-teens these days. I got my first cell phone when I was sixteen years old. Lately, I've seen kids as young as probably 10 toting keybo cell phone blackberry 3g phones - Hannah Montana ringtones, Hello Kitty cellphone charms. And these same kidlets are already slaves to Planet Starbucks, slurping down grande strawberries and cream frappuccinos purchased with the money their parents threw at them to get rid of them for the day. The worst part? They think they are so cool. Bitches.

...Wow, am I really this petty over a bunch of dim-witted tweens who haven't even sprouted a pair of tits yet? Whatever; not important.

But you know what is important? The fact that the pumpkin spice latte is on it's way back to a 'bucks near you in 9 short days. I will be the first in line to receive a single grande pumpkin spice frappuccino blended coffee, and a slice of sweet, sweet pumpkin loaf. September and October are certifiably my favourite months.

Fuck yeah!

P.S. That skank boifwend o' mine went and saw Inglourious Basterds without me tonight. Tarantino is dirty genius. I want my belly to be ripe with his seed.

Too weird? I want Taco Bell.

rooms with views.

J Jenks has come and gone, and I once again feeling stranded on Gilligan's Island, less a Ginger to keep me company. And less a wedding folder to contribute to, 'cause I deleted it (explanation to follow: don't panic). Shit bricks!

I'm not a master of goodbyes. I spent the entire weekend reminding myself to not think about the fact that I'd have to put boyfriend back on a plane early Sunday morning. We got to the airport, I paid for the parking and held my breath for the moment I'd been dreading since Friday night, when I picked him up. I ignored the urge to pass the airport and make him miss his plane. I am now an unofficial fan of YYJ. But I held it together; I kept the tears in and swallowed the sick feeling that swelled up into my throat every 30 seconds like clockwork. I hid my shaking hands. A hug, a kiss and then off to go through security. I didn't want to look back because I knew I'd break down, but I did anyways. I didn't see him. My face felt hot as I walked towards the exit marked "arrivals" and stepped through puddles on my way to the car.

And then I just sat there, staring at my steering wheel. I sat there for a good 10 minutes, wondering why I've done this to myself. Knowing that every time I say goodbye, it'll be weeks before I say hello again. Worrying if we'll be the same people every time we step off the plane. And then I started the car and headed home, and I was good for a while. I made it about halfway before the tears had finally been built up beyond controlling anymore, and they came pouring out like an early morning rain. I cried until I got home, and then some, and so I lay in bed and just let myself cry until I fell asleep. I'm not a master of goodbyes. I won't ever be.

I am left, however, with the memory of an amazing weekend together. My house dances with the spirit of two people in love, there's foreign drool on the pillow next to mine and I have a collection of empty pop cans under the sink that I didn't consume. There's a receipt on my desk with his name on it from a credit card transaction and I can drive by Ross Bay Cemetery and think "that's not his family in there - we looked" and when I turned on my TV after he had been gone two days the channel was still set to TSN. I am left with the promise of the future - our future - and the knowledge that in 5 short weeks, we'll have another weekend to make memories. And in 11 long months, we'll have a lifetime of weekends together, if we want.

And so is the reasoning behind casting away all of the little wedding snippets I'd gathered. I can't sit at my computer and obsess over wedding invitations for dates that I've crossed my fingers I'd be engaged for - it's too taxing on my emotions in a way that I can't find words to explain. I am unofficially engaged to the most amazing man who, in a year from now, I can only keep my fingers crossed will still want me in the same way. And then some day it'll be official, and I can get officially excited, and make all of my official little plans and officially tell everybody I know that "I am going to be a wife!" Because to unofficially throw things together takes the excitement out of something being real and current - who knows, it might even be bad luck. My heart can wait and will wait for as long as it has to for someone to play for keeps. I have learned the patience of glaciers in my old age.

P.S. The Ikea 2010 catalogue is here! The Ikea 2010 catalogue is here!

32 and climbing.

It's...August? Shocked!

I, uh...I just read my last post and realized that menstruation makes me an emotional wreck. Bi-polar, almost. Yeesh.

I'm folded onto my couch naked with my laptop right where the name implies, and I fully intend on staying here for the rest of the day. It's dirty hot out lately, but seeing as my bachelor pad is more A/C'd than a Reno casino, hiding from the sun is easier than ever. Plus wi-fi!

I was filling out a passport application form today and I suddenly feel like the Canadian government does not trust me. I am clearly not an illegal Mexican immigrant, so please fork over the official looking piece of nonsense $87 paper so I can go to the states and shop at Big Lots. kthxbye.

P.S. 6 DAYS!!! And, I was reunited with the mombalt yesterday. We made out passionately, as we missed each other immensely. Kind of like what I'll do with someone else in 6 DAYS!!! JKFHBKLF;ARBAKFANVCNDFAOSERIGHJB!!!!!