Grand Central System

ástin mín

2011-04-02T20:26:00.000-07:00

Til Íslands,

Hví ert þú svo dýrt að fljúga til? Mig langar til að koma og vera með þér, en þú kosta meira en eitt þúsund dollara í heimsókn! Vinsamlegast vera ódýrari, eins og ég er fátækur og í háskólanum.

Kveðja sannarlega,
Fern

Einnig, ekki hafa áhyggjur óður í the plúton.

Out Of Stock :(

2011-03-17T12:20:00.000-07:00

Black Vegan Vedder MATT & NAT

DOES WANT.

Om nom.

2011-02-01T15:22:00.000-08:00

It's almost that time o' the month, which means my appetite is monstrous.

Like, don't get too close to me or I may smell the remnants of last night's dinner on you and think that you are food. At which point, I will probably eat you.

If you don't believe me, let me lay out for you what my "meals" consisted of yesterday.

For breakfast, I had two bowls of cereal and some tea. As an after breakfast snack, I had an entire row of Chunks Ahoy! cookies. I then had a huge bowl of soup for lunch and started in on the second row of cookies. For dinner, I downed an enormous slice of lasagna and garlic toast. For the rest of the night I resisted the temptation to drive to Dairy Queen and buy a ice cream cake for myself.

Today has been worse! I'll spare you all the gory details, but let's just say that cupcakes for dinner seems like a swell idea. Shit, I'd eat a shoe covered in caramel.

To update you on my life very quickly, I will say that it's business as usual. I was thisclose to quitting Starpukes, but was spared by the sad eyes of an 18-year-old protege of mine. I am such a sucker for pathetic rhetoric - and cheesecake.

I feel guilty about neither.

Good lord.

2010-12-07T19:30:00.000-08:00

I guess you could say I'm a fan of that guy up there, which is really interesting because I'm a total atheist. True story.

It's probably comparable to the way I feel about Elliot Smith or any other person I've posted in idolatry - some people are just awesome and worth adoration!

Here's why Jesus is cool, and why you're allowed to think Jesus is cool, even if (like myself) you feel awkward and sinful walking past churches on your way to the bus.

1. Jesus made a lot of quotes for himself that people still wander around saying, sometimes without even realizing that he originally said them. I am guilty of this. I am known to tell people "do unto others as you would have done unto you" (which is extremely hard to stammer out when you've been drinking, by the way) and only tonight did I finally google it and see who said it. And I sat there, dumbfounded, before finally saying:
"Alright, Jesus, you win this one."

2. Jesus had a fuck-ton of followers because he had a real interest in helping them, which is something that isn't too common nowadays. Most of the time, I see people hide behind their iPod's earphones and avoid homeless folks downtown. There's nothing wrong with homeless folks, except for they haven't got homes. This wouldn't have bothered Jesus, I imagine. In fact, I imagine him pulling his earbuds out (I assume he's listening to either Gregorian chants or Neil Young) and pulling up some curb to hang out and help out anyone who needs it. You go, Jesus.

3. Jesus died for no real reason except for that everyone else was being an asshole. In fact, he didn't even really understand why he had to die. And I quote: "My God, why have you forsaken me?" I think I'd be saying something completely different, if my ankles were having metal stakes driven through them. "Ouch", perhaps. But really, he took everyone's sins onto himseld and just kind of...went for it. That's a pretty noble thing to do.

4. RESURRECTION!

5. Water into wine? My good sir, you've captivated my heart and soul! I like a nice chardonnay, if you don't mind.

I could go on, but I think you see the point. It's funny, I've always had this internal struggle as to how I should feel about religion and Jesus and God, but I think in my old age and education, I've finally figured it out. Guys, it is totally cool to not be religious, but to still respect religions beyond the "yeah, they can think whatever they want to" thing. Religion is a meaningful part of people's lives that guide their choices and ways of being, and just because non-believers refute their beliefs and Gods doesn't make them any less real for the believers. Every person has a different ultimate reality that they are accountable to. For me, I am accountable to the ground and the earth when I die, and not the secular "God in heaven" belief - but that is totally cool. You make your own reality and you construct your own understanding of the afterlife (if there is one), which means that I am going to a completely different place than you (if you're Christian or otherwise) when we both die.

I guess the moral to this blog is that Jesus was rad, I'm still a non-secular punk and everyone goes wherever they believe they're going to when they die. So stop worrying and enjoy your life.

The end!

2010-09-19T09:07:00.000-07:00

To my friends:

What you see above is quite possibly the most comfortable, most beautifully stunning, most expensive chair that I have ever known, yet failed to own. If you love me the way I know you do, a bunch of you will pool together and start saving the change leftover from the five dollar bills you give at Tim Horton's for your $2 coffees in a little jar at one of your houses - just so you can buy this chair for me. It won't take long to save up, and my birthday is still 8 months away. This is doable. Please - my house is only filled with black-brown, rectangular Ikea furniture. It's an absolute tragedy to live this way.

All my love,
FMcG

Daydreams

2010-09-09T01:04:00.000-07:00

I've had a few revelations about what my life would be like if I had absolute freedom to do what I pleased.

You know, being in school and tied down to a job is sort of like living in a box. Things get to be pretty predictable fairly quickly, so it's nice to have such a raging imagination to use as crutches that get me through the day.

If I could, I'd abandon all my routine and take my hard body to the pole! Dancing under the pseudonym of Brenda, I'd shake it and spin to Def Leppard in a pair of white cowboy boots. I'd stuff my boots with wrinkled 5's and 10's, and go home exhausted but rich, falling asleep in my post-show velour tracksuit.

Okay, now, realistically - that's not something I could do, but what I could do is this (which was mentioned tonight in the car ride home): I could workout and take pole-dancing lessons. I'd like to be as good as Felix Cane - maybe even compete and steal the title away from her! Yeah, right.

Aside from my starry-eyed strip club circuit dream, I'd drop everything and move to France for art school. I'd spend my days painting and sculpting - my nights spent dancing and drinking cheap wine. I'd wear novelty berets and striped t-shirts would be a wardrobe staple! This is actually a very realistic dream, once I think about it. I could totally stock my closet with striped shirts, seeing as they're haute couture at H&M these days. Mais, oui!

Of course, there are other fantasies and daydreams, but I can't remember them all now. The biggest dream right now is to dig my goddamn way out of Starbucks-hole-in-the-ground hell. I'm on the hunt for a new job a.s.a.p. You know shit is rough when even your manager jumps ship.

Le sigh.

Two Days Off

2010-07-28T14:13:00.000-07:00

Yes, a whole two days!

But it's kind of like this: I bitch and moan about how much my life sucks when I have to drag my ass out of bed at 4:30 in the morning to go brew coffee and take shit, but then I get a couple of days off and I don't know what to do with myself. I'm like one of those experiment kids that they leave in a black room with no stimulation or emotion from birth until age 20 and then release into the world to study. Sad.

I got up this afternoon (don't judge), and promptly threw together a load of laundry and a pan of brownies, because I'm a domestic goddess. And then I sat my big ass down and got reacquainted with the dirty world of celebrity gossip. I haven't touched the stuff since fighting off my despicable addiction back in 2005, but today I dipped my toes in for just a quick feel of what the Holly-world is buzzing with. And do you know what I discovered? Not a whole fucking lot has changed. And I immediately remembered why I cut off all ties in the first place. Here's the big news:

1. Mel Gibson is a raging, racist psychopath.
Didn't we already know this? Didn't he already make a few distasteful comments that dirtied his good father image? Apparently now while he's not hitting his own infant son and import wife, he's raging about not having any money because of said family. If anyone is allowed to rage about not having any money, it's normal folks (like me). I'd bet downsizing a house or two and selling a few cars/designer duds might add some more zeros to the bank balance in a jiffy. Cock. Read about it here.

2. Lindsay Lohan is in prison.
Ha, we'll see how long that lasts. However, seeing as LiLo (unlike Mel) is actually poor these days, she doesn't have any money to buy her way out. And there are no dicks to suck in an all-female prison. Sha-boing!

3. There's this thing called Jersey Shore.
...which I imagine is a lot like "The Hills", which was also just "Laguna Beach", which all came from the afterbirth of fictional show "The O.C.". Actually, let's not kid ourselves - they're all fictional! Fortunately I gave up cable a long time ago, so I never have to subject myself to horrendous "reality" television programs.

4. I still don't like twitter.
And it's because it allows the continued whoring and self-promotion of already too-famous and spoiled "celebrities" who are really only famous for being...famous? Self-promotion is not a talent worth fame, folks. People do that at job interviews all the time, and you don't see them tweeting their opinions as facts and expecting results.

I have a brownie migraine setting in. Damn you, Betty Crocker!

Lemon

2010-07-21T12:41:00.000-07:00

Oh, so what am I doing today?

Alright, well, I woke up at 10, ate some oatmeal, started a new painting, went for a walk, checked the mail, had some tea, ate a cookie, ate another cookie, had some more tea, wrote boyfriend a note for when he gets home, found biscotti recipes and sat down to write this. You know, that sounds like a pretty relaxing day, right? And you know, it is. I'm kind of lonely, though. I miss boyfriend when he's away at his big fancy corporate job. And what's shitty is that I'm headed to work in about 2 hours. I should really shower.

Newest condominium revelations - I'd never buy one. Ever. Before I moved in here, I thought that condos were really a smart idea. No lawns to mow, no driveways to shovel. If the roof's leaky, someone else worries about it. My mail will never be stolen - it's locked into a box in a mail room. There's a gym. There are guest suites. Etc. etc. But really, condo life isn't all it's cracked up to be. My building is full of snobby 30-something married professional-types who have yet to have kids because really, it doesn't seem like they like each other enough to reproduce because it doesn't seem like they like anyone. But themselves. I would know, because I walk by the in-house gym and spy them oogling themselves in the mirrors as they lift weights and jog-jog-jog on the treadmill. Go outside, folks. It's beautiful out there. A chance encounter with one yuppie couple whose arms were full of dry-cleaning outside the parkade elevator produce no conversation. Rather, I listened intently to them muttering to each other about suit jackets and a dinner meeting. And then I decided to take the stairs.

There seem to be some cool people in my building, though. I've just yet to actually meet them. Instead, I spy on them from the peep-hole in the door. Our suite is right outside the elevator, so I've come into the habit of running to look through the peep-hole every time the lift's door squeals open. I want to know who my neighbours are, damnit! There's a condo barbecue on the 22nd that I want boyfriend to go to, in an effort to make friends for us. He's a shy guy, though. We'll see.

I want to do some baking tomorrow. Maybe an apple crisp and some biscotti. Hell, I'll make muffins, too. I'll do anything to escape the "living in a filing cabinet" feeling.

Denver Omelette

2010-07-07T09:11:00.000-07:00

Hi,

I don't actually recall the last time I blogged, but a lot has changed since then. I moved to Calgary. What the heck am I thinking, right? People here like country music and beef, the street lights are sideways, my nose hasn't stopped bleeding 'cause it's so dry, and there's apparently no culture to be found. Oh, but that sounds like a challenge, Cowtown. A challenge.

I guess you could say my goal over the next 3 years is to find as much culture, fun and underground entertainment as possible to keep myself occupied in this little-big northern Texas. So far, I'm not a fan. I did, however, scrounge up some snippets of info on an alternative/art house movie theatre in Kensington called the Plaza Theatre. I'll be heading up that way tomorrow night for a little grindhouse cinema documentary action, if boyfriend is willing.

In a never-ending goal to remain open-minded and positive, I'm going to embrace Calgary with open arms and smother it in my chest "motor-boat" style like an old friend, hoping for the very best. While Vancouver Island's majestic beauty is a shame to leave behind me, vacations will occur annually to visit the friends (and really, they're more like family) that I had to leave there. Also, I snagged a souvenir Starbucks V.I. mug, so like....I'm always nostalgic. Shazam!

Last night, I sat down and could name 47/50 U.S. states. Forgotten? Nebraska, New Hampshire and Oklahoma. But those are kind of like the ugly stepchild states anyways.

Joon!

2010-06-05T14:28:00.000-07:00

My birthday has come and gone, thus thrusting me into the category of a "twenty-something".

I got a rather unique present for my birthday - snow! Now, granted I was in Calgary for my birthday, but really? Snow in practically June? That's just absurd.

Boyfriend: "I swear, it's not usually like this. You'll like it here! I promise! Really!".

Calgary is complete and utter urban sprawl. I was saucer-eyed for a good 2/3 of our trip, shocked and amazed at how every single borough looks the exact same as the previous. And also, slightly paranoid about the very obvious police presence. "It's mostly safe here," said boyfriend's policeman uncle. "Like, an occasional dismemberment; some floaters in the river. Nothing big." Thanks for the reassurance, man.

In a sudden twist of maturity, I now have difficulty saying 'swear words' out loud. Like, I used to be able to string out sentences entirely comprised of my favourite adult phrases, but now I can barely even whisper what the fuck without feeling incredibly awkward and inappropriate. Y'know, I think it might be less of a maturity thing and more of like...Bump can sort of talk now, and she repeats everything. Previously potty-mouthed conversations have now mellowed out completely; trash words became innocent euphemisms.

Me: "Yeah, that mean lady was really making me unhappy. I wanted to tickle her."
B: "What the french toast, man."

Translation:

Me: "Yeah, that bitch was pissing me off. I wanted to punch that cunt out."
B: "What the fuck, man."

Something like that. 'kay, happy Caturday!

happy days

2010-05-25T22:23:00.000-07:00

So, when I was a kid, I used to spend a lot of time in my bathroom.

I'd stand in front of the mirror, and pretend to sell my mum's make-up products to myself like a late-night infomercial. I wanted to be on TV, selling you juicers and cellulite creams. I wanted to be an infomercial girl, invading your airwaves after dark.

Well, growing up made me realize that really isn't a viable career choice, because you have to...you know, be able to sell things. I can't even convince someone to buy a lemon raspberry loaf.

Me: "Can I get you anything else with your coffee today?"
Asshat: "No."

Retreeeeeat!

But it's funny what we envision ourselves as in the future as children. I had a lot of weird assumptions about adulthood that are (sadly) not true. At one point, I figured I could make six figures as a puppysitter. Wrong! Also, the treasure of staying up late and eating lots of fudgesicles is not the goldmine it seems. My parents used to warn me about the dangers of getting older, but I never really saw it as a threat - the future was a promise. It was the kind of promise I'd make to my friends on the field during recess. It's the promise I make to myself on the bus to school. It's the promise I've exchanged with Jason every time we've left each other to return to our respective cities.

And it's a promise I still keep.

"I think I might blog.."

2010-04-07T22:26:00.000-07:00

Okay, so in the MTV Post-Party wrap-up of UVic 2009 and the subsequent subsiding of first year bliss, I will now blog. Holy shit!

Uh, so I somehow thought that I would become a better, more rounded person after dragging my ass through a year of school. It's more like "One down, three more to go.", and I'm not any wiser. The magical transformation? Still a caterpillar. Whatever.

Okay, what is with TLC and this obsession with little people? I couldn't help but notice that not only is there "The Little Couple" and "Little People, Big World", but now also "The Little Chocolatiers". I don't mean to be offensive, but what TLC is telling me is that if I were like, two feet shorter, I could have a TV show about my super awesome, blogger life. And I could be into that. Maybe I can pitch my ass to TLC for something...

Scene: TLC HQ, programming execs.

Me: Okay, so it's like this: we follow the life of a hefty college gal who works in a coffee shop. And she's quirky. What do you think?

Them: Is she little?

Me: Ah, no. But she's really tall and almost height/weight proportionate.

Them: We think you've got something here.

And bam, I'm rolling in the Bordens. Or Lauriers. Or any other Canadian currency. G's up, hoes down.

Tradition.

2010-04-01T23:47:00.000-07:00

Ladies and gentlemen, I have an announcement.

I am sad to say that boyfriend and I have broken up. He left me for a French bitch named Marie.

With 11 minutes to spare. :)

I make bad jokes.

2010-03-16T00:33:00.000-07:00

This posting is later than a pregnant girl's period, but can I just say that I'm so damn proud to be Canadian?

Way to clean up in Vancouver, my fellow Canucks. Not only did y'all win enough bling to fill every rapper's mouth with solid gold grills, but you did it bigger and better than any other country ever has before. And yes, we own hockey. The ladies and the men snagged some gold, and we're looking exceptional right now for sledge hockey. 10-1 win for Canada against Finland on Saturday - take that, kitty cat!

When I went downtown post-hockey gold, the excitement was electric in the air. Everyone was so charged, feeding off each others energy and cheering well into the night. Flags were flown. Cars honked up and down Douglas street. Molson Canadian was flowing cold and on special. Life was good and I'd never been so proud to be Canadian.

I'd also like to make a special shout-out to those four Íslenska folks who made an appearance this year. All four showed up for Alpine skiing - no medals achieved. This makes sense to me, though, because I'm not good at skiing either. Good effort, friends!

I spent four solid hours this morning working on an essay for my film class. After those four hours, I stopped and re-read my writing. In four hours, I'd completed just half of the first draft of my eight page paper. This is paper one of four. I am so excited for school to be over.

Other things I am excited for? A big fat $750 tax return cheque from the Canadian government, spending vacation time alone with boyfriend in April, having all four wisdom teeth ripped from my skull and eating the double chocolate chunk cookie that's sitting in my cupboard for breakfast. I am, however, not excited to get up tomorrow morning at nine to spend my day slaving away at my papers in the UVic library (see: hell). So, I guess this is goodnight.

I'm going to dream about that cookie.

rhetorical analysis.

2010-02-26T19:39:00.000-08:00

That title up there is the current English assignment I should be working on. Eeeeenh.

Driving home tonight, I totally saw a cyclist biking while smoking. One-handed cycling seems to fall into the same category as cell-phone driving. That's just irresponsible. The Du Maurier made that man a wobbler, lemme tell you - sketchy shit. I guess the best part was his full-fledged commitment to being seen: reflective safety vest, blinking LED light strapped to his helmet, hurricane proofed rain gear also decorated with reflective tape. Something here seems counterproductive. Can you guess what it is?

Now, the real reason I've decided to blog tonight, is that I have this hankering to tell you about Kathryn P. Kathy is in my first year creative writing course. She's usually late for class, which is the only reason why I noticed her at all during our first semester of study. Well, in our creative non-fiction section, Kathryn decided to constantly sit directly behind me, no matter which seat in our very large lecture hall I decided to sit. Well, as luck would have it, we were all called upon to work in pairs with the closest person to us - in Kathryn's case, me. So we did the awkward greeting thing and got down to business, casually interviewing each other for a peer profile assignment. She asked me basic questions like "how old are you?" and "where are you from?" - easy to answer and straight forward, I didn't provide her with very much meat for her potatoes. But then it was my turn to interview, and I discovered some very interesting things about Kathryn.

If I had to guess, I'd say she's 32. She's never been to university before, but she's been in a professor's pants. Continually. Like, for six years. As a now divorcee, she left her M.I.T. professor husband to come to reap the spoils of Canadian education, shacking up with her parents up island before making the fateful move to the southern tip. She lived in Europe for many years, marrying her former hubby in Italy as sneaky-ass means to get into France. She didn't really divulge too much about that little detail, but I have a feeling the French government is after her, so I let it be. She still wears her wedding band and engagement ring, now on her left hand, which makes me feel like maybe she's not quite over skipping out on her other half. Guilt is a bitch, isn't it? There were some other snippets she shared, but nothing interesting enough to capture my attention. I drew pictures of Shrek in notepad while she blabbed about willow trees to me.

Looking at Kathryn, shit's been rough. Her skin's all haggard and her chin looks burnt, as if she's made some half-assed attempt at shaving a girl-beard with a dull Bic razor. Her tongue is pierced, something I'm sure occurred post-marriage. I wish someone would tell her that tongue piercings don't look good on anyone, especially 30-something divorcees who claim to be into books and the smell of leaves. Her hair is a sort of rusty colour, usually pulled back awkwardly into a ponytail with a hair band.

So, ever since fate intervened with my quiet existence in writing 100, I think Kathryn likens us to be friends? On three occasions she followed me out of class and gabbed away at how her weekend was and what she thinks of our assignment. Once she followed me all the way to the bus stop and then was like "oh, you're leaving." And so I said "yeah, I'm going home on the bus now. That was kind of the plan." Awkward silence.

Last class, Kathryn must have been trying to get my attention for a while, but I couldn't hear her through the music coming from my iPod. She finally put her hand on my shoulder, which freaked the fuck out of me because nobody ever touches me at work where I actually know and like people, let alone at school where I know literally one person and mostly wanna crack skulls all day long. She proceeded to ask me about my reading break, which I described as mediocre.

"Aw, that's too bad. I went to Vancouver and saw my friends from a long time ago. And like, I spent a lot of time on my couch and watched a bunch of chick flicks and ate like, such good food. And like, I went to the Olympics and saw some weird events and like, I didn't really want to see them but I already had the tickets. Yeah, I just did a lot of partying. Ha."

Run-on sentence. Verbal diarrhea. Oh, Kathryn. You're the most entertaining non-friend I've got. Sweet.

teeth.

2010-02-19T15:47:00.001-08:00

Growing up, I assumed I would be one of those girls who would go through life without a boyfriend.

You know the women I mean; the ones who wear polar fleece zip-ups with tapered-leg jeans. Of course I wouldn't be so ignorant to fashion, but I would fall under the same category. I was okay with this fact. I was okay with having each Valentine's day pass by me without a single card or candy. I was okay with sleeping alone. The idea of being a life-long virgin was actually really appealing to me. I was one of those girls who never had a boyfriend in high school, although I got close once. I didn't have a date for my prom. I was never asked to a Christmas dance. I went on a single date in grade 12 - it didn't end well. I might tell you about it some other time. It was the curse of being on the lower end of attractiveness, in both looks and status, and it followed me painfully all through adolescence. It still does.

The prettier girls are shedding their layers and letting the sweet Victorian sun kiss their shoulders as spring approaches again. I wore flip-flops when I took out the garbage, and I felt the sting of summer nostalgia. My blinds are turned out today, and the window is open; I can hear birds on the fence talking to each other, excited for the world to wake back up.

I haven't eaten very much today, but I'm sitting here knowing that I have no intentions of eating dinner, or at all this weekend - gastro-intestinal payback for a week spent at home. I feel sad that I always deprive myself as punishment, and I know it's wrong, but I can't stop.

Going home this past week, I realized how much of a fart on the map Kelowna is. The sky is perpetual gray in the winter, with the roads sprinkled in gravel from snow-season creating an uncomfortable dust everywhere to match.
The girls sport Lulu Lemon pants with bleached out hair pulled back. The boys buy Ed Hardy t-shirts and sweats. The trucks get bigger the further south you drive, as each person trys to outdo each other for sport - what else will you do with all your money if you don't golf or drink wine?
Nobody smiles there; the landscape is bleak. Sitting on top of a hill on Thursday, I could see where the city starts and stops. The highest building is the 10 floor Best Western motel next to the highway.
I asked my sister when she'd leave - she's not going to. Kelowna is one of those places with fierce jaws like a crocodile. If you let don't pay attention, they'll close hard on you and you won't be able to pry them open. So, stay alert.

Hungry

2010-02-04T22:07:00.000-08:00

There's an ingrown hair on my left knee that looks like a nipple.

I'm pretty sure the UVic writing department's only goal in life is to rip apart the students in their faculty so they feel like worthless shitheads who need to be there. I see right through you, writing 100. Don't you try to blind me with "constructive criticism". Being in a group discussion on my work is like a big chocolate blizzard of free-for-all shit. And these fuckers love it. You can sincerely tell that they revel in the power of feeling superior to you, like apostles of great literature.

I finally found the balls to complain to my dick landlord about all the noise he and his family like to make. He shrugged and said there wasn't much he could do about it. So, no - nothing has changed.

Fucker.

Jan-u-rawr.

2010-01-06T17:34:00.000-08:00

There's a certain element of danger when pushing open the door on a public bathroom stall.

I always use extreme caution when performing this act, as if on the bomb squad team during a terrorism attack. Really, you never know what might be waiting for you on the other side of the aluminum partition. This is true of every public washroom from here to Omaha and it doesn't matter how fancy a place might be, at least one woman will have had explosive diarrhea that absolutely could not wait until she was safe at home.

Funny how it is that this same woman constantly forgets to flush it on down when she's finished rocketing last night's dinner out of her sphincter. I'm all for saving water and trees, but the lack of a wipe/flush just stands out as poor hygiene habits and an absence of courtesy and consideration for woman-kind.

There is also, of course, the unending tradition of the "pee on the seat" gals, who I imagine are some sort of barbarian tribe that stalk from gas station to gas station, refusing to use the protective sheet. They insist: "No, it's okay - I can hover perfectly centered above the toilet seat." I imagine these are the same woman who fucking flip when they realize that while their aim was true, it was not accurate enough and they now have their bladder's contents streaming down their inner thighs.

I must bring to your attention, too, the winged bandit and the tampon monster, who will intentionally aggravate fellow ladies by leaving more personal bits of themselves floating in the bowl. They are among the same species of women who, again, refuse to flush it down. Of course every other woman wants to know that you're on track with your menstrual cycle. That makes just makes sense!*

There is the rare occasion that an empty and somewhat sanitary-looking porcelain throne can be found and will be chosen to fulfill it's destiny as a toilet for you. Even then, perched pigeon-toed and demure, tinkling into the potty, does danger persist. If you're not immediately disgusted by the all-too candid stall graffiti (ex. Chelsea sucks dick for meth; Tiffany likes it in her ass and has herpes; I fucked your dad in here), you might be shocked to overhear the bodily functions of the chica next to you.
Better yet, that same chica might attempt conversation with you. For these women, the public toilet stall is like the confessional booth or a sort of anonymous advice column. I've had some of the most interesting of my life in bathrooms.

Example 1:
(at a shopping mall in Seattle)
Youngish-Sounding Girl: "Excuse me; do you think you could pass me some toilet paper? I've used all the paper in here."
Me: "Oh, that sucks. Here, no problem." (hands substantial wad)
Y-S Girl: "Yeah, thanks. Geez, I think I might have just miscarried."
Me: "Oh..wow. Are you okay?"
Y-S Girl: "Yeah, actually; I'm really happy about it."

Example 2:
(Starbucks bathroom)
Woman: "Hey, could I ask you something?"
Me: "Sure."
Woman: "What do you think of these shoes?" (puts her foot under; they're hideous)
Me: "They're pretty cute."
Woman: "You're wrong; they're sexy! Duh."

These are the same women who will leave promptly post-discussion, seldom washing their hands. Or if they do, they're the type that get grossed out by the door handle on the bathroom's door (go figure), and will touch it only with a paper towel, dropping it behind the door on their way out. I hate those bitches.

I suppose the whole truth about people is half unveiled in the stall, its entrance like the doors to a Narnia of farting enigmas. Such wondrous revelations I highly doubt are simply stumbled upon in the male-version of the public toilet - everyone already knows that men can be disgusting. I guess I am a bit biased, because other than my few experiences with co-ed facilities, I've never really been into a guy's bathroom. I think it might be time for a little investigative research, y'know? Wait, that's not like, illegal, is it?

*still indicates obvious sarcasm.

still around.

2010-01-03T20:14:00.000-08:00

Isn't that funny how much of a build up there is to the holidays and then it's just...gone?

Okay, maybe not ha-ha funny, but whatever.

I made new year's resolutions, per usual. I figured this year I'd make resolutions that would be impossible not to stick to, like not turning into a man. That's a little too easy, though, and truthfully, it's not like I don't stick to resolutions - I sort of stick to them. Example: last year, I resolved to not eat Starbucks food and that stuck until mid-February, when we launched the Valentine's day red velvet cupcake. Can you really blame me? Mhm.

I had the utmost joy of entertaining Mr. Dreamy McBoyfriend for the past week, which involved a lot of cooking on my part and a lot of sleeping in on his. Domesticity freaks me out, but my short-lived attempt was fruitful! I successfully made 6 quality dinners and did not food poison either of us. I don't intend of making a career out of being a Martha, but playing house can be an interesting change of scenery. Veeeeery interesting.

As far as careers go, though, boyfriend and I did a fun li'l' career quiz a few days ago. Tow truck driver? Airline customer service representative? Am I not going to university right now? It's not that these aren't respectable jobs, but that's the things, friends, those are jobs. Right now? I have a job. And by job, I really mean low-wage voluntary slavery.

I'm back to school tomorrow. I bought a toaster. I have a new found love for white mocha. I attempted to cut my own bangs and made then too short. This is my tiny life.

I attempted post-Christmas sale shopping today, and it suddenly occurred to me that I have little to no fashion sense for myself.

Finally, I dropped other-half off at l'aerogare tonight, which is always an emo-roller coaster. When I got home to my empty, quiet little house, there was $1.78 sitting on top of my printer from boyfriend's pockets, because he doesn't like to have change in them when he goes through security. I had to laugh at this, because it was like he had left me a tip. $1.78 is the kind of tip I'd leave a waitress if I suspected she'd spit in my food.

Happy holidays, y'all.

A little background noise

2009-12-08T11:45:00.000-08:00

The dirty pretty Ashley Riehl tagged my ass.

I don't mean with like...spray paint, just one of these quiz things. I'm not typically one to fill these puppies out; some things are better left unsaid. But hey, I'd might as well do it up right and blatantly self-indulge in some fan-fare. Right-o; straight to it!

1. Where is your phone? In the squatter purse.
2. Your hair? Coffee-laced ponytail.
3. Your Mom? Lawyer-type power-tripper.
4. Your Dad? Hilarious.
5. Your favorite meal? I don't eat.
6. Your last dream? I made nipple pasties out of play dough.
7. What do you like to drink? Vodka Sevens with lime.
8. Your dream? Big love in little Iceland.
9. In what room are you? The only room I've got - bachelor pad.
10. Your hobby? Nose picker.
11. What are you afraid of? Zombies.
12. Last travel? I went to Kelownafornia for Thanksgimme.
13. Where were you last night? Right here.
14. Something you are not? Super model.
15. Muffins? Blueberry buttermilk or (on the cheap side) fruit explosion!
16. Wishlist? A puppy.
17. Where did you grow up? Under a rock.
18. Last thing you did? Work.
19. What are you wearing? Super faggy turtle neck and no pants.
20. Your television? Unloved and unused.
21. Your pet(s)? See question 16.
22. Your friends? Scattered.
23. Your life? Kooky.
24. Your temper? Passive-aggressive.
25. Do you miss someone? Bump, Guppy and my super hottie man candy.
26. Your car? Mombalt Supreme!
27. Something you don't bring with you? Commonsense, apparently.
28. Your favorite shop? No pennies for candy, friends. I'm poor.
29. Your favorite color? Electric kool-aid purple.
30. Last time you laughed? 30 seconds ago.
31. Last time you cried? Sunday.
32. Your best friend? Peaced out a while back and I didn't even notice.
33. A place where you can go again and again? Starbucks, because I like...work there. Cha-ching!
34. Facebook? Only when I should be doing something else.
35. Favorite place to eat? Anywhere with yam fries.

Oh, peer now my friends, into the tiny mortal exist of yours truly and yawn - it's okay.

Tiny Dancer

2009-12-03T12:43:00.001-08:00

Just stopping by quickly to say hi, I'm still alive despite exams in case you were wondering and also, happy December! On that note...

Today is Bump's two year escape from the wombaversary!

Can you believe it!?

Live and in Colour!

2009-11-16T19:12:00.000-08:00

Ladies and Gents, it's a goddamn Pineapple Express! Someone get me a hammer - I'll be in the backyard building the ark.

I've been pouring over philosophy meditations and uni-illegal sparknotes trying to decipher what the hell it is the Descartes is exactly trying to tell me, and I've got to say: that man had quite a 'stache. Fitting for me to be researching him in Movember. I, too, was going to be participating in Movember this year, using other forms of body hair as my incentive. It then occurred to me two things:

1) I'm not going to raise any money by having the legs of a young Russian man.
2) It's socially unacceptable for me to cornrow that shit and treat it like a hot fashion accessory when halfway through the month I realize that I'm not raising any money and have to find an excuse as to why my legs are so disgustingly fur-lined.

So I went "eeehhh" and hauled out a new Bic for quick smooth-down in the stand-up stall shower. Plus I figure that J Jenks would make a frowny face when I disrobe, because even with the lights off, he could hear my thick leg locks swaying in the breeze of the portable heater. Daaaayuuuuum.

Have I mentioned lately that the baby upstairs has taught himself how to scream like the velociraptors in Jurassic Park? Have I mentioned lately that he likes to do this at the most inconvenient times, like when I'm trying to sleep or when I'm trying to do homework or whenever his spidey senses tingle and he knows that I'm home? Now, I'm not at all into smothering babies, but I think I might be into smothering babies*.

Kthxbye.

*obvious joke**
**don't tell my landlord

Weekend Update

2009-11-09T12:40:00.000-08:00

From this weekend, a top ten things I have discovered/experienced:

10. Leave the Thai food creation to the Thai people; whiteys like me are only meant to enjoy.

9. If it looks like John Stamos, and walks like John Stamos, it's probably just because I've forgotten to put on my glasses.

8. It's not John Stamos.

7. Starbucks people are not friendly everywhere, despite my previous assumptions.

6. Chocolate is still delicious, especially when pricey. It's like eating money.

5. Boyfriends are adorable.

4. Credit cards make life too easy.

3. Victoria weather does now and always will suck.

2. Drinks that taste like lemonade but are really booze are both delicious and dangerous.

1. Pregnancy scare is to adult me as closet monster is to five-year-old me. Both are terrifying.

Did you know that the three McDonald's that existed in Iceland are now closed due to the overwhelming severity of the recession? Apparently Icelanders don't want to pay CAD$6.80 for a Big Mac. I refuse to live in a world where every man, woman and child cannot afford to buy the American dream*. Yes, we can, Iceland. YES, WE CAN!

*nightmare.

I use cold water detergent.

2009-11-05T14:39:00.000-08:00

Doing the weekly laundromat run never ceases to inspire ennui, albeit of a mildly entertaining quality.

I go to this place called Squeaky's; a pretty gonzo name for a laundry place because clothing cannot squeak (squeaky clean...get it?) The soundtrack of this place varies depending on the staff of the moment and the volume of dud-scrubbers. Today was a powerful medley of the Eagles and the ever-pantless Lady Gaga. Decibels louder than it should be, going to do the wash is on par with going to a local nightclub, audio-wise.

There is a high level of hatred for the ritual of going out to do the laundry, and it starts right here at h-o-m-e. I find myself doing the smell check on certain items, sizing up their re-wearability in an effort to downsize the haul. More often than not, my clothes are clean enough, but forever have the stench of espresso woven into the fibers - the trademark moniker representative of meager earnings squeezed out at the Mecca of corporate coffee. Anyways, after sniff check disapproval, the truly rotten apples get thrown into a over-sized re-usable grocery tote and are whisked away to a romantic waterlily scented getaway.

Squeaky's likes to charge top dollar for the use of their machines, which is alright considering it's basically the high-class gentleman's club of laundromats in Vic (all others are total dive lounge types). I find myself constantly, obsessively collecting change in a self-assuring effort that clean clothes will be readily available whenever called upon. It's $2.75 to wash the dirties, which I have no problem with; it's the dryer that leaves me high and not exactly dry. I pump 10 quarters worth of the Starbucks hustle fund (that's 50 minutes worth) into those fuckers, and still end up with slightly dampened duds. Crap in a hat! Of course, the very worst part of the adventure is the walk of shame to and from the car, bag o' dirty panties in tow, passing the windows of a neighboring Starbucks (where I have worked but do not call home). People gawk like the girl with the bag is some strange bird of paradise who indulges in taking her filthy clothes out into the public eye. Hardly. I cringe with embarrassment every time my leopard-print undies somehow smuggle their way from my hands during the washer to dryer trek and onto the floor (which they seemingly always do), and there's always an air of anti-exhibitionism when I dive like Michael Phelps to snatch them up before people catch the fleeting glimpse of what covers my snatch.

It's not all bad, though, y'know. There are a few choice pros to this little establishment I make weekly visits to. I mean, bitchin' soundtrack could alone hold down the fort, but with an endless display of semen stained bridal gowns sent for cleaning, a tiny dog named Berkeley who chills with this bitch and the endearing smell of industrial cleaners, it's 2 hours of my day I don't really regret. Granted, though, when J Jenks once inquired as to what my desires were for our own place together, the only words that spilled out were "in-suite laundry".

I think that's fair.

Cranky. Profane.

2009-10-30T15:29:00.000-07:00

It's been well over a month. I know. Shuddup.

School is heck-heck-hectic, and not very enjoyable. You know what you don't want to hear on the first day of your professional writing class?

"Look forward to a really lonely life."

Shozbot! Because living on an island is not enough, right? I'm really just going to remain confident that this is a sample of the "sage like" wisdom that every professor seems to think they have and completely dismiss it as utter hoopla. Cover your ears, my kiddies and let the adults hear: I don't like university. At all.

And now, not to sound like a radical or Oi! skinhead, but I'm beginning to think that university is for chumps. People are teaching me the things I already know, and then throw me a mark of their evaluation of how well they think I think I know it. Still following me? Kudos. Most of my classes are also value judgment and opinion based, which seems very ha-ha to me because my ass is handed back to me as a wad of cookie dough whenever I do try to form an opinion. Fuggedaboutit. Needless to say, I think I'm deserting the little island that could next year, and seeking higher ground. Bonjour, Quebec?

Doing what there, though? Go to school, sure, but for what? Writing? The more and more I hear of writing, the less and less it seems like a lucrative job opportunity. Not to sound like a hell-bound Monopoly man, but I'll be needin' me a job after I do my hard time (4 years, $40,000 - seems hard to me). Writing isn't where it's at. Really, nothing's where it's at anymore. Job security is the stuff of legend, put in the back of the filing cabinet with all those blurry photographs of UFOs. So, what can I do (with a drunken sailor)? There's always the sell-my-soul-to-capitalism-and-be-a-business-major option, but I just like my arts too dang much. The business-types, they aren't a dying breed like us true art fags. You know, the ones who don't try so hard.

F McG's Guide To Friendlationships.

2009-09-27T11:48:00.000-07:00

So, you want to make some friends*, eh? Follow these simple steps, and you too can have plans on a Saturday night.

1. Pick Your Target
My prey? An England import in my film class who seems half hippie, half grunge but all woman. Cool people have friends with accents; pick wisely.

2. Make Contact
Tiptoe around conversations; doing the basic intro mumbo jumbo works very well if both you and your prey are in a new situation. We talked about school - progress achieved!

3. Plan A Follow-Up
If the intro checks out, hint at a follow-up. A simple "see you next class" can suffice as a non-closure statement, or you can take it the next level and do a preemptive (and potentially risky) light hang-out session. I offered to save my foreign exchange buddy a seat in our film lecture; phone numbers were exchanged for textability. Score.

4. Do Your Research
You'd never go to a job interview without snooping out a few deets about the company; the same goes for potential pals. Facebook works very well for macro-stalking, but if you want to get an even more intimate look, do a discreet follow-around. Creepy? Maybe. Informative? Highly! You might find something in common that could benefit you for step 6. Harrie Best has an unprotected profile, so I never had to deal with the latter. My findings? She's a bit of a drunk, but absolutely adorable.

5. Maintain Your Presence
If you like what you see, don't fade away. I make a point of always sitting near Harrie in our film class and creating conversation. I feel like only a couple more classes until...

6. Make Plans
These don't even have to be extensive weekend long affair types of plans, either. If you're in a school environment, offer to meet for coffee to go over notes. My girl Harrie? I'll probably fake having a shitty school week when she asks how I'm doing and then suggest we go for beer. If you find during your creeping that you've got something in common (like music), use it to your advantage. Extra cash? Buy two tickets to a local show and pretend like a friend ditched.
Ex. "I was supposed to go see the New Pornographers with my pal Johnny this weekend, but he's got the swine. I've got this extra ticket now; d'you like the New Pornographers?"

*When used on romantic opposites, this method can drum up some love action. Or at least a bathroom quickie.

Two posts in one day, like a true gangsta.

2009-08-30T23:27:00.000-07:00

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

2009-08-30T23:11:00.000-07:00

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

2009-08-28T23:51:00.000-07:00

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

2009-08-22T17:21:00.000-07:00

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!

2009-08-21T21:39:00.001-07:00

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.

2009-08-15T00:39:00.000-07:00

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.

2009-08-01T15:03:00.000-07:00

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!!!!!

tiny dancer

2009-07-27T00:26:00.000-07:00

Today, the strap of my tank top slipped off my shoulder. Naturally, I reached across myself to put it back into place, and the palm of my hand brushed my naked shoulder - it scared me. Well, it didn't so much as scare me, it just surprised me? Then I started counting on my fingers and trying to remember the last time someone touched me.

And then I remembered: it was after my accident, so a week and a bit. In fact, 3 people touched me that day! The ambulance attendant put his hand on my shoulder and told me things would be okay, an older woman who I still do not know put her arm around me while I tried not to cry, and then a girl I work with hugged me, because she didn't know what else she could do for me. That hug was the first and only hug I have received since the mini-trip home, and it will probably be the only hug for another 11 days. This occurred to me just now, and I felt really sad.

And so, I hugged myself, because no one else will.

It was really good, too! I sat in bed and I hugged myself for 5 whole minutes. And I cried on my own shoulder, too, for the loss of such precious human connection. I never really realized how important hugs are, among other things, to everyday life.

But being sad about things you can't really control doesn't make much sense, so I stopped crying. It's kind of like crying over a dead celebrity - even if you felt like you knew them, you never really did, so why cry? I can't cry over the death of hugs I have never received. Maybe this is why people seek each other out, like men and women, I mean. That way, they will always have someone to hug, even when their friends have gone away. And maybe this is why people divorce each other, and why people cheat on each other, because they have forgotten to take the time to just hold one another. Is love not stated to be a basic human need?

And so I say:

J.Jenks., I will always hug you.

P.S. Ikea 2010 catalogue is coming out soon! Ikea 2010 catalogue is coming out soon!

float on

2009-07-22T21:57:00.000-07:00

H'okay, so:

Here are your hump day updates!

1. My hair looks like someone put a bowl on my head and cut around it with safety scissors. This is okay, because I am a good friend and let Kristi cut my hair for practice, even though I am horrified every time I look in the mirror. So, I guess the good thing I get out of this is that I made a friend and that hair grows. I may look like Stuart off a MAD TV sketch for a few months, but at least I can pin it back.

2. I won't be seeing the mombalt's sweet face until next Wednesday, so I'll be hoofin' it everywhere until then. This is slightly problematic for my work situation, but hey...at least I'm getting some good exercise. The only other thing that's got me down about not having wheels is that I can't do any sort of grocery shopping and believe me when I say that I have no food in my house. I found myself eating crackers with peanut butter and jam slathered on them last night in front of the tube. I realized where I was and I started sobbing - not out of sadness, but just out of boredom. I'll grab some basic groceries tomorrow after work and walk them home with me - fast, too, to prevent spoilage. I'm speed racer's cousin.

3. On another sad mombalt note, she's got $2600 worth of boo-boos. This makes me very sad, because my insurance deductible is $1000, which makes me go into a cold sweat. I've had to ask my pops for more cheddar, and it's lucky for me that he's got more G's in the bank than Scrooge McDuck. Now, on top of that, my insurance is going to reach the sky like Kanye and I've lost the sweet little discount I've accumulated over the years, thanks to my impeccable driving habits. Sweet, sweet sorrow. I'm getting over it, though, slowly but surely. Did I ever mention how clever penguins are? One told me that money can always be made more of, but I cannot. This has given me little smiles for every time I think about it. Isn't that nice?

4. I feel like Hurricane Blonde, with every little thing getting on my nerves and stressing me out. My mother explains to me that this is natural after having something traumatic occur. It's funny, it didn't even occur to me that my little incident was traumatic, but it really was. This is on top of the other shenanigans that have been making me feel a little less Doris and a little more Morticia lately, and I'm a big, overly sensitive train wreck. It's like, not only do I kind of wish I could just poof! and be back "home" and stop missing my luvah-luvah and my nieces and my fambly, but I'm also rethinking my decision to move here, and my major in school and every other little thing I could possibly doubt. I have been told, though, that doubt is about as useful as a fire escape when you're trying to dodge a tidal wave, so I'm just going to keep pressing on and get this year over with.

And then it's marital bliss, which keeps me ever optimistic and happy! Whee!

My mood is also not helped by the fact that I am counting down to the days when I see my special someone, my vagina is about to open the flood gates and I have an annoying habit of letting things that are out of my control get to me.

But other than that, I'd have to say I'm doing alright. These are all things that are just things that take time to sort out, and I've just got to be patient.

And it's okay to cry.

laughing out loud

2009-07-20T02:58:00.000-07:00

So, it's been a week. And by "it's been a week", I mean "shitsruff".

-The mombalt was attacked by a cyclist, so I haven't got a car right now.
-Mr. Employer didn't lay down all the requested vacation de niro.
-The public library wants 15 bones outta me. Late charges? What!?
-I pulled the hand towel ring off the bathroom wall and can't for the life of me re-attach it. It's like a tedious game of Operation every time I attempt.

I'd speak more on issue #1, but at this point, I'm done talking. The day you have a 30-year-old man become a dashboard decoration, we'll see how much you like talking about it. Chrrrrrrrrist. The good thing about telling the grandiose tale en masse is that now it's become not my story, but just a story. It sort of has that "it happened to a friend of a friend of mine" sort of feel to it, and that's sort of helped with the whole shock minimization. However, financially, this couldn't come at a worse time for me, seeing as I have less money than MC Hammer in 1993. It's alright, though: I am to my parents as a laid-off factory worker is to food stamps. See: acquisition without reciprocation. What a drag.

So, in an effort to not be a complete and total downer, boyfriend will arrive in 18 short days! Not to get into all the mushy details, but kisses shall be abound. I'm looking forward to rubbing semi-shaved noggin and being told that slap chop is pro. Love-love-love-love. Also, this Tuesday, I'm gettin' my mop chopped for free. Try not to overflow with adoration/jealousy, but this bitch be a hair model. I know, right? So glam. Cristal? Yes, please. I'm attempting to turn my negatives into positives, which is the exact opposite of what I like to do with AIDS. Lolcats help. As do underwear shopping, buttermilk blueberry muffins and cleaning my bathroom.

Oh!

Victorian mission: I'm in the market for some red cowboy boots. If I'm going to end up in Alberta, I may as well look the part. Diggin' it, akshually. Maybe I can adventure for that tomorrow. While I'm at it, I could really go for some friggin' yam fries. Chipotle mayo and I are platonic soul mates. I wish I was joking.

P.S. When written, tacking on an extra question mark always makes things look more confusing/unbelievable. Tack on too many, however, and you become a cartoon character or a fourteen year old girl on msn. Sometimes those are one in the same.

Example:

You put it where?
-vs-
You put it where??
-vs-
You put it where??????

If I were an Oscar Meyer weiner..

2009-07-04T23:04:00.000-07:00

Here is a blog that is not about work. Calm yourself down; I know this is a rarity. I'm sick about talking about survival. I'm surviving, if surviving means rolling outta bed at 10 and eating PB&J. Shitsruff. I seem to have lost my magic touch to blog about anything other than hustlin' coffee and groaning about growing pains. Onward...

I threw some clothes in a bag and hit the road in the MomBalt last week, homeward bound for boyfriend surprising and baby welcoming. What a swell ol' time. Guppy is no longer an unknown mound under a maternity shirt; her name is Scarlet and she's basically amazing.

NBD.

I spent a portion of our nation's birthday curled into a lactose hating ball, listening to a Calgary Stampeder's game in an adjacent room. Advice to live by: not asking for double cheese on your sub when you're lactose intolerant will not only prevent explosive stomach pains, but will save you forty cents! Knowledge is power. The other portion of Canada day was spent making googly eyes at my swoon worthy better half under a night sky filled with fireworks. Romance is not dead: Michael Jackson, Farrah Fawcett and the uh-may-zing Billy Mays are.

Other highlights of the mini-vacation include being beat into submission at mini golf, bed linen intensive conversations, birthday cake, and getting laid - a lot.

I'm enjoying Neko Case and putting honey mustard on everything, lately. I'm going to actually cook myself a real dinner again one of these nights, and it's going to be the most explosive, orgasmic food experience ever felt by a human being. Eating caramel rice cakes in front of a re-run of CSI: does not constitute as a proper meal, I am told.

That makes no sense at all to me, because I am clearly a nutritionist.

Oh, and a happy United States day to you, my yankee friend.

The Times They Are A-Changin'

2009-06-25T20:19:00.001-07:00

Okay, so, Michael Jackson died.

And what a sad thing it is that Farrah Fawcett died this morning and nobody cares.

All day long people have been raving about a dead M.J., and it pains me to see that
1) people care so much about a celebrity that was a weirdo as it was and
2) that Farrah Fawcett was the big story, but now it's "Farrah who?"

And this is what life is like. You're only great until someone greater does something to outdo you.

People, take note.

espresso

2009-06-20T22:59:00.000-07:00

I've got this horrible tendency to creep craigslist and have a good lol over the desperate missing connections ads. Tonight, however, I prowled on one that is actually sort of impressive. It reads:

Coffee Hottie - m4w - 31

We approach things differently. I appear conventional, you do not. You have lots of interesting flair. I am WHITE to the extreme. My little government job makes me so.

I see you when I get my little coffee drinks. We have awkward interactions. But it's so on.

This is going to happen. It's just a question of when. And when it happens, I am going to rock your fucking world.

And for some reason, I am swoon-zilla over this.

Girls are silly.

Tonight, in South Central

2009-06-19T19:14:00.000-07:00

Okay, can I start this off my saying in lieu of cooking tonight, I bought my dinner at a place called M&M Meat Shop. That shit was disgusting. Just thought I'd let you know.

I haven't watched television in a very long time, and by the looks of it, things have changed. It's been about 10 months since I have watched any real amount of television, and while tuned in to a movie on late-night TV last night, a newer looking Dr. Pepper commercial came on. The commercial's star? Dr. Dre.

Now, isn't this the same man who alleged beat the shit out of Dee Barnes? Reading an interview that Spin magazine conducted with the guys from N.W.A. back in September of 1991, Eazy E gives a fairly detailed description of the beating Dee received, with Dr. Dre laughing and making the attack valid by stating that he "was drunk". Violence against women is a joke to him, and yet we put him in a Dr. Pepper commercial because...?

It seems almost other-worldly to me to consider a man that once glorified gang violence is now trying to sell those same hated suburbanites a popular American soft drink. Am I the only person seeing an issue with this? It just doesn't make any sense.

It's the same as Ice Cube appearing in family-oriented films like "Are We There Yet?". Perhaps the gangsters of the early 90's have gone soft? Maybe the lack of album sales in the last 10 years have prompted them to find other means of income? Or, it's perhaps the idea that over 20 years have passed since the release of N.W.A.'s Straight Outta Compton, and in those 20 years, the surviving boys from hardcore gangster rap outfits have grown up to realize that rapping about killing and slapping bitches is both horrifying and immature. When you think about it, every adolescent goes through that period in life where they rebel against society and the criteria of idealistic existence. When you grow up in the projects, I guess you rebel a little differently.

But the real point of this is hello, Dr. Dre is in a fucking soda commercial.

It's pathetic to the point where you feel bad laughing about it.

toothy smile.

2009-06-14T21:49:00.000-07:00

I'm having big issues with my derriere today.

I happened to catch a side view glimpse of it in the bathroom at mirror at work and I thought to myself, "hey, look at that cute rump." Okay, and then I did the saucy "check your ass out from over your shoulder in the mirror" schtick, and I was mildly horrified. My bum is a good size - I'm not complaining that it's too big. It's just that it's got this really awkward shape to it that kind of makes me a little bit sad. This is amongst a long list of physical discrepancies. Don't worry about it.

So, the new homestead has a lot of issues - it's true. What's great is that I'm a real trooper, so I can handle them in waves. What I can't handle? Single stall shower. My legs are longer than my torso, so it is a long way down for me when it comes time to hack at the manly leg stubble that I constantly regenerate. Tubs are convenient for this. Single stall showers create a bit of a challenge, and with the acrobatics I pull...let's just say that if the Starbucks thing doesn't work out, I hear the circus is hiring. Also, the strip club. No biggie.

But the real big fear with having the crown of my head pointed towards a soapy wet shower floor for unnecessary amounts of time is that I tend to get a bit head-rushy. The very last thing I want is to like, get a bit too much blood to the head, lose my balance, fall down and smack my melon so hard I die. This would suck more than just dying because I would only be found after:

1. Starbucks goes from pissed off to concerned when I fail to show for work for more than 5 shifts and don't answer my phone. I imagine they'd contact my "emergency contact" who would, in turn, contact the po', who'd come to my house and find me.

2. My landlord finally notices after 3 days that I'm somehow still in the shower, and in an Asian spitfire blaze of fury over me finagling all the hot water, storms into my humble home and finds me.

And how do they find me? Well, naked, dead and with only half of a leg shaved.

How embarrassing. ...speaking of which:

Did you hear David Carradine died? Did you hear how he died?

I used to have such a high image of him; it was lonely on his pedestal.

People Got A Lotta Nerve

2009-06-08T04:48:00.000-07:00

I need to go no further than my patio to find top notch wildlife watching. About an hour ago, I watched two raccoons shit-kick each other out there. The other morning, I chased a deer away that was creepin' my house. I also have bunnies galore, and I wuv bunnies. Heart!

I don't know what's the matter with me lately. I've completely stopped writing and I haven't a clue why - it's not like I've got anything better to do.

Nope, the only thing I've been doing lately is thinking (and stalking wildlife from my windows). Thinking about what, you ask? About babies. It feels like my biological clock is tickin' waaaaay too soon for comfort. I can't really seem to go a day without thinking:

"Clothing at Baby Gap is adorable. Yellow is so nice, and gender neutral."

"What would make a unique but socially acceptable boy's name?"

"I really ought to find someone to father me a baby...now."

I'm really not okay with this at all. I am far too young to even consider taking on the responsibility of motherhood - I've barely started my life, and now I'm ready to ruin it with parenthood? Not likely. Christ, I can't even take care of Bump without getting antsy. Maybe it's just that I'm longing for something to take care of, because I just feel so lonely all the time. The worst part is that there was never a part of me at all that ever longed to be a mommy. It was just how I wanted things to be; I'd take care of myself and myself alone. I needed to focus on my future and my dreams and on all of my shit. So, what happened? This riot grrrl's gone soft. Perhaps it's got something to do with this funny feeling I keep having? It's kind of like a bird fluttering around in a cage, but the cage is really my heart. I'm inclined to say that this is a very scary feeling, however, it's a feeling I've yet to really make an opinion of. They say it's really great, but they talk a lot without knowing what they're talking about, don't they?

I downed a twenty-two ounce yellow slurpee tonight in about 3 minutes and had the worst brain freeze of my life, but it was awesome and perfectly childish and was exactly what I needed. I keep making myself grow up far faster than I should have, and I wish all the time that I could stop being that way.

Sad face!

32 degrees

2009-05-24T21:44:00.000-07:00

The bitchmobile finally retired, my friends. She's happy to finally be able to rest.

The bitchmobile (real name: Susanna Avery) was born in Oshawa, Ontario in 1992 to GMC and Pontiac GM. She lived a simple life in her childhood, spending her early years in a small lot just north of Winnipeg with close friend, Chevrolet Cavalier. Few months passed before she was adopted by a small family from Red Deer, Alberta, and she spent the next few years of her life carrying them from grocery stores to schools to soccer practices and beyond. Her four doors and fuel efficiency were well utilized until the release of the 1999 Pontiac Sunfire, at which point she was sold in the classified ads to a young woman and her mechanic husband in Kamloops, British Columbia. The bitchmobile, now age 6, spent the next few years of life more simplistically, changing from the hectic schedule of a family of 4 sedan, to the casual vehicle of a childless wife. She lived comfortable parked in the driveway, occasionally traveling to and from the local women only fitness center, until one day, she was once again placed in the classified ads. Her lady had found a brand new Pontiac Grand Prix, and she no longer needed the tiny bitchmobile's steady service. She sat for many months wearing a for sale sign, until one day in May, 2 years ago, I stumbled upon her brilliance and beauty. We spent day and night together, going from one edge of B.C. to the other, and she was a steadfast and loyal companion for me. It wasn't until about 5 months ago that her reliability started to slip up, and after a long conversation together, she told me she was tired. We took one last trip together, and after a tear jerking goodbye, I watched her roll in neutral off into the sunset. And, you know, she's a lot happier now. Last email she sent me, she was in Maui with plans of visiting the East; I'm expecting a postcard any day now.

And I miss her very much.

What We Had

2009-05-08T21:10:00.000-07:00

Things I Used To Do:

1. Take city transit.
2. Exercise.
3. Write poetry.
4. Make art.
5. Floss.
6. Care.

Explanations:

1. I got a car, and it was a dirty mistake because all I've done is spend foolish amounts of money on things like gasoline and insurance for the last 3 years.
2. I got lazy
3. I got boring.
4. I lost my creative sense.
5. I gave up.
6. See #5.

That is all.

On Air

2009-05-05T14:01:00.000-07:00

I went to my first hockey game last night.

It was so loud there, with everyone talking to each other or people cheering; collective sighs and boos. The men behind me were talking to the players, almost believing that they could really hear them. And everyone had towels to swing around, and seeing everyone do so all at once was almost surreal. Hockey, I have discovered, is more about showmanship than sportsmanship. Hockey seems to be a game in which fighting is encouraged - other than in boxing, of course. You don't usually see tennis players scrapping with their rackets in hand. More importantly, the fans have the same intensity as the players - one of which I'm sure fuels the other. Never have I seen such loyalty and idolatry as I have when it comes to fans and their respective teams and their game - which seems more painfully North American than it is.

I'm sitting in my kitchen right now, and when I look out my window, I can count six identical windows, all aligned and covered with the same white curtains, on my neighbour's house. They stretch from one side all the way to the other side of the house, and this is peculiar to me. It's so quiet today, both inside and out. My roommate is in his room, asleep. We're both killing time before work. I feel like how I remember feeling when I was a child. This feeling is reminiscent of our family vacations, when we would first arrive and would be sitting in our hotel room itching for something to happen; anticipating what we knew would be in store for us, and being anxious and excited. That is how I am feeling today, but with no excitement; just anxious as all hell and wishing for something to happen.

I'm going to teach myself German and run away to Berlin.

This waiting is killing me.

control.

2009-04-25T18:28:00.000-07:00

It's 6:30pm. I've been awake for 14 hours now.

I want to know where people go when you see their vehicles abandoned on the sides of highways. Did they break down and have to leave their car for lack of funds to fix it? Did they become enlightened on environmental crisis and simply parked it to walk instead? Or did they desert their cars because they're dead, whether by their own hands or by someone else.

I was reading last night about mental illnesses on Wikipedia (a.k.a. the holiest of all knowledge on the internet). So far, I've decided that I have dysphoria, emotional isolation, social isolation, anhedonia, ideation and I'm possibly mildly bi-polar. I remind myself, however, that psychology students often get what's known as "psychology students disease" (such a fitting title), a malady that causes would-be shrinks to self-diagnose themselves (and others) based on the things they've been taught. The same happens with medical students - they all suddenly have symptoms of the illnesses that they're learning about. See what I'm saying?

I am supposed to go to a LGBT ball tonight, of which the dress code is strictly white. However, I'm simply not feeling it this evening for 3 reasons:

1. Because I don't look good and tend to stain white clothing, I don't own anything white (minus undergarments). I would have to go out and purchase items to avoid gay boy glares for my fashion faux pas.

2. Tickets are $15, and I'm a cheap bitch.

3. I'm not even gay.

So, in lieu of transvestites and underage drinking, I shall continue my quest for clean linens this evening, joined only by David Bowie, Ian Curtis and their saucy voices. What more could a girl ask for? Swoon!

Nobody knows the shape I'm in.

2009-04-24T21:13:00.000-07:00

I'm doing laundry and listening to Joy Division. It's been quite a day.

I used to have a dog, but when I ventured out into the world, she got pawned off onto my sister. This was okay, though, because she's had a better life living with my sister and her family. She developed a tumour in her brain about a year ago, which caused painful seizures that required her to always be under heavy medication.

Today, my sister finally resorted to euthanasia.

And this is how I know that I am not grown up yet. My sister, as hard as a decision as this was to make, knew what she had to do for the betterment of our beloved pet. This is not a decision I could make; this is how I know that my sister is an adult now and that I am still just an adolescent.

Amongst things like dead dogs and impending homelessness, I am now also discovering that only animals like geese will stay with their mate for the entirety of their lifetime, and this is breaking my heart. On some sort of utopian, sun-licked beach in the back room of my Starbucks mind, penguins can stay together for much longer than just a season.

Shitty Implants

2009-04-09T21:29:00.000-07:00

I've said it before, and I'll say it again: porn is boring.

Now, this might just be a female thing, but I honestly can't find the entertainment in pornography. It's all the same trash: horny "barely 18" teens getting their cute little brains fucked out by a hairy fat guy who's old enough to be their dad. Girls kissing girls, among other things, and seemingly always "for the first time". Big, silicone boobies wobbling around with collagen-pumped lips to match.

I don't make it a habit to troll porn sites looking for interesting new fodder, but every so often, porn piques my interest and I go huntin'. Every time, I wind up empty handed...literally.

Such is the case not only with the skin industry, but also with major Hollywood flicks, as well. Writers have become seemingly so low on ideas that they have to draw from real life events, dress them up a bit, and then it's "lights, camera, action". I'm not trying to say that Milk (for example) was a bad movie, because neither was Ali or Karla or one of the many other bio pics that have strolled on through your local cinema 10 or Blockbuster. It's like "hey big Hollywood writer, if I want to experience life, I'll go outside and live it."

And the same goes for pornography.

Case closed.

FML.

2009-04-05T17:32:00.000-07:00

I feel 30 today.

I was driving home from work just now, and I saw some kids playing in a mud puddle. I want to play in a mud puddle, not work a lame-ass full-time coffee "career", where I get a 9 cent raise every six months. I make espresso based bevvys for ignorant rich people that can't tell the difference between a cappuccino and a latte, and add the word "cafe" to everything.

"I'll have a cafe mocha."

These are the same jerks who give me a toonie for their $1.98 bold roast coffee, and feel like they're doing me a favour by telling me to "keep the change". Thanks a heap, coyote ugly...your two cents is totally going to make the extra mile when it comes time for me to lay down the cash for tuition this fall. Bitchin'...you're the best.

I want to play in a mud puddle. I don't want to worry about being homeless. I don't want to throw more of my things out because keeping them means they won't fit in my car when I have to move again. I don't want to keep hearing that my low wage isn't that bad, considering I get benefits and stock options and free drinks and blah blah blah. Seriously, Starpukes...get off my dick. I could care less about my stock options, because, quite frankly, the stock is always down anyways.

I swear, when it comes to my job, I'm bi-polar. Some days, I love it; other days, I just want to poison everyone. Don't worry...I'm not a safety risk, Howard.

And to lay down the last brick of today's rant: I swear to Jeebus, the next person who whines about being single is getting a face full of fist.

Being single? Not that bad.

Fuckers.

I'm out.

Any Given Wednesday

2009-04-01T12:19:00.000-07:00

You'd better sit down because....

I have HIV.

Woah! Wooooooah! April Fool's, man. I caught you again, just like I did last year.

In all seriousness, though...April Fool's day? Where does this even come from? Well, apparently, back in the day, the world followed a different kind of calendar called the Julian calendar. When the world switch over to the Gregorian calendar, anyone still livin' in the J-days was considered an "April Fool". Yet another theory says that the unofficially observed holiday originated in France, where the year started on April 1st, back in the day. When King Charles IX decided that he was God enough to change the start of the year to January 1st, anyone who didn't catch wind of the change was an April fool. Could you imagine that conversation?

"Hey, man! Happy New Year!"

"Uh...it's April 1st today, fool."

"...what?"

And yet another explanation states that in pre-Christian times, the first of May was considered the first day of summer, when signalled the start of the spring planting season. Okay, question...if it's the first of summer, why are you just starting the spring planting? Anyways, anyone who did it ahead of time on April 1st was considered foolish. Now, really, I can think of something much better that the first of May celebrates.

So, where do all these explanations connect to the now tradition of whoopie cushions and mass computer viruses to get a rise out of people?

People just like to be assholes, and look for any legitimate reason to be so.

Next year, I'm going to be less lazy and plan something huge. Exciting!

Communist Daughter

2009-03-30T21:20:00.000-07:00

I came home tonight and sat down in front of the lappy, as I usually do.

The only difference is that this time, I successfully connected to the internet.

I've never felt such joy.

And it's like I was a thirsty prisoner that had been thrown an Aquafina or something; the second I connected, I was like "omfg, no wai!!" and then immediately immersed into everything that I've gone without, getting as much as possible for lack of for what feels like forever. No joke, homies, I'd forgotten what it is like to have an endless source of information at my fingertips.

But, you know, there are many things I do not remember, and when I compare those losses to something silly like the internet, it pales in comparison.

I do not remember my first breath or my first words. I can't remember what I ate for dinner on my birthday when I was 12 and I can't recall my best friend's name in the fourth grade. I don't remember my sister's graduation or the summer between grades 9 and 10 and I don't remember the first time I ever drove a car.

I know these were all really great things. These are the things that make me feel sad for not remembering.

But then there are things that I choose not to remember. Good things, like the shape of my lover's nose, so that whenever we meet, I can bask in the luminance that is his face as if it were the first time, every time. I have forgotten, purposefully, the sound of the ocean and Bump's laugh, so that I genuinely appreciate them every single time, and not forget how astounding it is that I have these things. When you forget how good something is, you love it all the more when you have it again.

This, however, does not apply to dairy products, which I miss. Peeps, f'serial, I'm so sick of soy that I want to vom every time somebody says Silk.

I do not remember what it is like to have enzymes; I did not do that on purpose.

Siiiigh.

Scissor Paper Rock

2009-03-29T19:53:00.000-07:00

I'm blogging from a Starbucks - just so you know.

I've come to the conclusion that I'm going to retire soon.

My life is ridiculous lately. Just when things hit a high point, then hit a really low low, you know? So, I'm thinkin' that, if I retire, things will just stay level for ever.

I could sleep in every day, jog on beaches in white capri pants, play golf with my fellow retirees and never work again.

Now, in reality, there's no way I can retire at this point in my life. For one thing, I'm not nearly wealthy enough. And for another thing, I think I would get bored.

I like to complain about working - in fact, I love it. But then I have a day off or two, and I remember that I haven't got anything to do ever, except for work.

In an effort to make things feel lighter, I'm wearing sandals. My toes appreciate freedom.

It's a small start.

Stranger Than Fiction.

2009-03-26T17:18:00.000-07:00

I live for stories like this.

A very lovely young woman at work told me this story today, and I'm not really sure if I should vomit or laugh. You can read it and make your own decision on it. Get comfy...

So, there's this girl, Lindsay, a close friend of the girl I work with. Lindsay is in law school; her family's got a fairly prominent last name in the Edmonton business scene. Lindsay has been going to the same night club for a few months now, and every time she goes, the same guy is there. He's a fairly healthy specimen, and she'd like to get to know him a little better, if you catch my drift. Finally, on one fiery Friday night, Lindsay and this guy are finally both fueled with enough alcohol to lose their inhibitions and go for the sexual gold. However, at the last minute, Lindsay decides she'd rather not do the do with this relative stranger. However, she's more than willing to put his pee-pee where drinks had just been. She sucks him off in the car, and they part ways. Two weeks post-blowjob, Lindsay's top lip begins to swell in a peculiar way. When she touches it, it feels stringy and gelatinous. Alarmed, she books a hasty appointment with her M.D. to get this shit checked out. After a quick look, the doctor concludes that Lindsay's top lip is the newest home for a batch of (now get ready) worms. There's at least a hundred worms and larvae holed up in her kisser. She hits the floor (obviously), and wakes up to the doctor prepping a needle with extra strength bug killer (not literally). He injects her lip to kill the squirmies, and scribbles up a 2 week prescription of antibiotics to flush the little fuckers out of her system. Now, this seems just like any other STD horror story until now. On her way out of the clinic, the doctor asks her if she has engaged in any oral sexual activities recently. Ashamed, she tells him that she has. The doctor inquires if she had any open sores in her mouth during the time in which this incident occurred, to which she also replies yes. The doctor tells Lindsay that this is how she contracted the worms. The gross thing about this is that these worms come from engaging in sexual intercourse with animals or (worse yet) deceased human beings. Did I mention that this story takes place in Alberta yet? Figuring that this guy is like any other bored farm boy, and pissed as all hell, Lindsay hits the bar scene that very next Friday night, searching for the sheep-fucker who gave her worms. Nobody's seen him lately, but they do tell her that he lives just outside of town, with his aunt and uncle. They give her a last name and turns detective, searching them up in the white pages. Much to Lindsay's horror, when she finally finds them, it's not in the white pages, rather the yellow. This man's aunt and uncle own a crematorium and funeral home - family owned and operated. Their home? Situated above their business. And the guy she sucked off? Employed there, with unlimited access to the deceased bodies. So, no, his taste is less for cattle and more for...well, I think you get it by now. Anyways, this poor girl is now completely fucked up. She has nightmares about the incident and has been in counseling for months. She's also suing this random stranger for fucking her lip up, for stress and trauma, and for the cost of all her medications and counseling appointments. The RCMP is also now investigating the funeral home and all of it's employees because, apparently, this young man is not the only dude rocking these tell-tale worms.

Now, stories like these I usually file under the "weird and impossible" heading, and completely write off as a urban legend. But this one? There's evidence of it being 100% true, which makes it all the more disgusting. I guess the moral of the story? Be mindful of what you put in your mouth, I guess. You never really know where things have been. And I guess it's more like, don't take things for surface value. He probably looked like an average guy, but really....I don't know. There's a lot that can be taken away from this.

In other news, my internet pulled a Houdini on me. I'm currently sitting in the cafe Squid works out, tapping into their free wi-fi. I'm becoming accustomed to this sort of thing. I haven't lost the blogging passion, rather, I've lost the passion to pester my landlord to, quite literally, hook a sister up. Oh well.

I strongly feel like summer is slowly making it's way to my neck of the woods. Today, the sun was shining brightly and I was genuinely sweating in my work appropriate black turtleneck. This new burst of sun makes me feel hopeful that things will get better. Things haven't been so peachy as of late; not for anyone, it would seem.

It's my ex-lover's birthday today - a painful reminder of what was lost.

I will bury you in time.

hi, I'm heading west.

2009-03-14T06:29:00.001-07:00

And oh my, oh my, has it been so long.

Also, hi, how are you? Let's have a story time, shall we? I can explain...

I moved. Again. Moving has certainly lost any charm it had, because this round more or less just made me want to paint my new walls with my brain, you know what I'm saying? Fortunately my constant habits in downsizing have made this big relocation adventure a little less mind-numbing, but still. I think the next round, I'm just going to have to pay someone to do it all for me, while I sit on my couch sippin' the gin and juice. Laaaaaid back.

But hey, moving is not a good excuse to stray away from jotting down the daily brew. I guess the real reason is that I've been lacking a solid internet connection for like....2 weeks? A very clever penguin figured it out for me though, and I am now currently "borrowing" my neighbour's wireless. That's what you get for bein' unprotected, muthafucka! I steal yo' shit. And I have to say....I'm really a pathetic mess with my daily fix o' interwebz.

It's not just so I can facebook creep or blog, I've discovered. It's also for really important things, like getting crucial information or phone numbers for things. There's maps and dictionaries and English-Spanish translators and currency converters and my bank account and so much more than just....hotmail. I guess I never really realized this all until I was stuck staring at the tiny screen of my cellphone, trying to navigate google. Did I mention I tried blogging from my cellular device? I did. It obvvy didn't work. Shiiiiiiit.

So, to rap this bitch up for now, I'm headed to the big city today for some fun and excitement. I'll be back tonight, so it's a short trip, but I think it'll be mad worth it. E-dubz V-dub, rockin' out.

Laaaaatez.

expect less.

2009-02-27T00:15:00.001-08:00

I suddenly remembered a conversation I had with my mother when I was 9 years old tonight.

We were driving to the grocery store one afternoon in late April when, from the backseat, I softly asked her why people have to die. She didn't know. She proceeded to tell me that she feared death and often had vivid dreams of her own demise - she refused to share with me what happened in them, though.

For many years after that conversation, I had a paralyzing fear of death. So bad, in fact, that the anxiety I'd feel would keep me home from school and send me into crying fits, that became so numerous that it was odd for a day to pass without one. I eventually forced myself to get over it, instead turning the fear into a morbid fascination.

I think about dying more than I'd like to admit to. I think about how I will die, and when I will die. I think a lot of why I ultimately have to die. I don't think I ever really feared death. More so, I think I feared time, and simply not having enough of it. In a certain light, I'm still hanging on to that fear because (direct SK quote here) in the countdown to death, the question of why? melts into when?. How much time do we really ever have? I refuse to make plans for the future because I have such little foresight as to how long I'm going to be around for; how long I will have to keep the promises I've made. I suppose that, in holding back, I'm really not living life to the fullest - I'm not making the most of my time. It seems easier this way, though. It feels like less people get hurt this way.

So, what would I do with my last day, anyways? Don't pretend like you haven't thought about it.

I think I'd take the ferry home - to the island. My dog would be alive again, and we'd walk through the daffodil fields one more time at the farm behind my old house. We'd go down to the bay together, and I'd through sticks for her across the beach. We'd get tired after a while, so we'd nap together on the shore. We'd die peacefully there, while we slept, and the ocean's waves would take our bodies away. We drift off to sea, and nobody would even see that we were gone - nobody would be have to be sad or even miss us.

It might be depressing to think about things like this, but I also think it's therapeutic. There's no sense in ignoring the fact that one day you will die. They say ignorance is bliss, but quite frankly, I think that's more absurd that anticipating what is eventually coming for us all in the end.

What do you think?

the day after that day.

2009-02-15T23:14:00.000-08:00

You know....Valentine's Day.

Valentine's Day has always been, to me, a meaningless holiday constructed from the combined efforts of greeting card companies and chocolate manufacturers to boost sales between Christmas and Easter. I usually spend Valentine's Day in perfect solitude, ignoring it's existance altogether. Minus, of course, giving my niece a little treat, but that's because she's my special lady. It's nice to do things like that for her, because I firmly believe that just because I'm not a fan, doesn't mean that I can't encourage her to have fun with it. It's not like she's at "that age" yet, anyway.

And now, here's the greatest thing that bothers me about Valentine's Day, and at the same time, doesn't. For me, I ask the question: "why do we need to set aside a particular day to make us all take the time to let the people we love know how much we care? Shouldn't we be doing that every day? Is that not something important to do?" Really, the world lacks love in it's day-to-day life, and that's very discouraging. Now, the thing that I do like about it is that it's one day out of the year that reminds us how much we really do love the people in our lives, and gives everyone a solid chance to let it shine. And that's good times all around, y'know?

How did I celebrate the day of love, you ask, now that I'm attached? Good question. Well, the ol' ball-and-chain was outta town, so I spent V-Day celebrating S.A.D. (Single's Awareness Day) with the lovely and charming Emily (whom, of which, I am strangely surprised is still single...wow, check out that alliteration). We made a bitchin' dinner and an even snazzier dessert, followed by hot tubbin' and a few flicks. Everything Is Illuminated I highly suggest for you to check out; Color Me Kubrick, on the other hand...I'm sorry John-boy, but sometimes you fail to impress.

I wish the red didn't fade from my hair so fast. Ben Kweller and I hung out tonight while I slathered my melon in dark-purpley Clairol goo. My hair now smells like a vanilla dream. Swoon!

Jesus loves Bowie. He told me himself.

2009-02-08T21:21:00.001-08:00

Okay.

So, I used to be obsessed with my hair. Not so much the style, but how dirty long it was. It was mermaid hair - it was gorgeous. It was longer than a pornstar's penis, golden, wavy, and perfect! Mind you, it was shapeless and I did spend like, a small fortune on shampoos and conditioners for it. Whatever.

I had an identity crisis in August (as I'm sure you'll recall), and chopped my mop considerably. And dyed it. Whatever. It was good, for a time, but then it grew (imagine that) and I needed a change again.

And so Friday afternoon kicks in, along with where this tale is going:

I cut off all my hair. Insert heaving noises here.

It looks decent, I guess; it's more petite than it's ever been. In fact, I'm almost pretty sure that I was born with longer hair*. I had a mild breakdown last night at work and asked Scooty (in tears) "what have I done?".

"Hair grows, dear."

True.

* = indicates complete lies

P.S. It's Post Secret Sunday! It's Post Secret Sunday!

it is now February.

2009-02-02T12:15:00.000-08:00

I was sitting on a bench downtown on Saturday morning.

I had convinced Emily to go back into the bookstore we had just come out of, and give her number to the strikingly handsome clerk who rang her issue of Interview through, and gave her a free Globe and Mail. Well, it wasn't right after we'd come out; we went for sushi first.

We had talked about the fact that, in her short 19 years, she'd never done something so bold as asking out a random stranger. I rationalized with Emily that there wasn't anything really bad that could happen in her instance - either he'd call her, or he wouldn't. She tried the old "but what if he has a girlfriend?" schtick. So what if he has a girlfriend? If he does, he won't call you. Again, it can really only go one of two ways. If anything, she flattered the young man, and possibly made his day that much better. Funny thing is that she may never even know. And so became my thought of the day: why don't we all take more risks? Why don't people chase the things that they really want? What holds people back? Can it really only be the fear of uncertainty that makes people so chicken shit to do what they want?

And so here's my new February's resolution, because my new year's resolutions didn't hold up so well: take and encourage more risks. It took me a good half hour to convince Emily to do what she did, but it was worth it, even if she doesn't get a phone call from the guy.

Life is too short to live afraid and left wondering.

trouble.

2009-01-29T22:22:00.001-08:00

Sitting alone in a crowded room tonight, I realized:

I haven't written any poetry in 6 months.

...something is wrong.

miðvikudagur nótt

2009-01-28T20:59:00.000-08:00

Just what the title says, yo. There's not much else to it. I'm bored.

It seems like to big moving process of August has just happened, when suddenly, I'm reliving it with exquisite similarity. Things? In boxes, slowly this time. Stuff? Garbaged, recycled, or donated. I am amazed at the amount of stuff I can manage to accumulate mindlessly. I'm a wannabe minimalist. I'm also awesome at parallel parking. Totally unrelated.

So, stuff in boxes. My abode is littered with empty Starbucks cup boxes I snagged from work (legitly) and I've been sitting, legs crossed, sifting through paperwork and knick-knacks deciding what gets to continue living it's tiny life with me, and what gets the axe. A lot stuff I feel like I need, genuinely! I already turfed 90% of my lovely little knick-knack swamped life back in August (which was a heartbreaker), and I'm sort of apprehensive to further rape myself of my identity. Because, really, that's what it is - it's like getting rid of myself. Even if it is for the best to purge myself of clutter, I feel like I'm losing myself more and more, and voiding my past from memory. I have a box of photographs under my bed that I can look at, but that hardly matters when I was so accustomed to being surrounded by life - my life.

I had this big memory board hanging on my wall for the entire duration of my high school life. It was just an ordinary cork board that was probably purchased at Sprawl-Mart for me for my 12th birthday, but it was so much more than that when I looked at it for the last time. It seemed like almost every day I'd add a bit of colour to it. I had napkins from my sister's graduation banquet, Valentines and postcards, dried flowers from opening nights of all the shows I managed, and pictures of the people I loved in photobooths all across the continent all affixed with coloured push pins. Things like that, that reminded me (should I ever forget) of the kinds of things I'd experienced and loved. It eventually became so full of memories that it took over the wall space around it, and was a feature that became a constant source of entertainment and conversation for every visitor to my little nest. My beloved memory board said bye-bye in August, though, when I knew that I had to downsize considerably for my big move. I picked all the best ones off the board and boxed them up, letting the rest of them sail off to the great big landfill in the sky, empty cork board broken and in hot pursuit. And I had never felt so empty - neither had my room.

I guess this is why I'm so unwilling to move again, because I know it just means I have to pick and choose what's worth keeping, which, we've now established, is no easy task. And let's not get misled here: I'm no pack-rat; I just find it très facile to rationalize keeping souvenirs of the past. It helps to envision the future.

And lately, that's all I'm about.

big city, blinking

2009-01-25T21:21:00.000-08:00

I took a quick detour off the normal weekend scheddy to venture off to the greatest city ~~in the world~~ I've been to (so far). Shall I give ye the play-by-play? (You: Yes!)

'Kay.

I of course woke up, like, negative three minutes before I had to leave. Shameless, I know. It was a nice drive, and I ended up hitting the downtown core 'round 1-ish. I have to say, though, the Pattullo bridge being out really has traffic fucked up the ass. Sheesh. Anywho, I got my swagger on at 3 storey HMV and BMO debit had a guest starring role as I per-chazzed the Pavement cd I've been eyeing 4evaz. $28.99 well spent. Deluxe Edition reigns supreme! I also saw the prettiest drag queen of my life and broke my favourite sunglasses, which in turn broke my little heart. I snagged a quickie bite o' ethnic de-lite and vamped it up in Kitsilano (by accident), before finding my way back to where I wanted to be (downtown). Did I mention it cost me $5 to park for 2 hours? They don't make band-aids large enough to cover wounds like that. I got mad elevated near Gastown in the Observation Tower, post-Starbucks, and am in buckets of love with skylines. There really isn't much more that I find breath-taking than twinkling city lights that span for miles. I like places that never sleep. Continuing on...

I hit up Japanese for dinner (which would make that 2 nights in a row, now), and tested my ~~gag~~ jealousy reflex via Facebook mobile. Turns out that I see in green, but hey, let's not talk about it, shall we? I found a 24-hour Shopper's Drug Mart and I said: "Hey, a 24-hour drug store. Now, why on earth would you need one of those? What on earth could you possibly need at 3 in the morning from a drug store?" But then it hit me as hard as it probably just hit you, right? Right. After tiny adventures in the big city, I curled up in bed with Fjola and was hangin' with the Sandman pre-11 pm. Wowee!

This morning I woke up around 8:30 and promptly headed out towards the ocean. I wandered around Crescent Beach for a bit, but I eventually decided that my nipples could probably cut diamonds, so I headed to the mall for some hasty bargain hunting and to get fed. I wandered Old Navy, had breakfast at 'bucks. It was beauty. I bought some biz-caj work clothes and another Radiohead cd for less than $40. Now that is what I call some budget vacation-ing. I was homeward bound by 1, pulled into the driveway around 6. I would have been a little more timely if I had not stopped in a little town called Hope for some dirty, hopeless food....That was a bad joke. Get over it.

And here are the two most interesting things that I experienced on my mini-travels:

1) Did you know that there is Indian Style Chinese Food? Did you know that there is Chinese Style Indian Food? Did you know that both are available in vegetarian and non-vegetarian? But only one of those two are "excotic"? I love Vancouver. Vroom Vroom!
2) There's a rag-time version of Lou Reed's "Walk on the Wild Side". I would know, I heard it on the French radio channel while flippin' for tuneage. It was an amazing experience.

Someone once told me that you should take something from everywhere you go - not necessarily physically take something, but emotionally or spiritually...even just mentally. You know what I took from this? I took a wealth of new knowledge. I took away comfort and a sliver of happiness to add to my growing collection. I took away hope for the future -- my future, and my God, is it as bright as a hundred thousand blinking city lights.

Postcards from the future are better than those from the past.

long weekend.

2009-01-23T13:59:00.000-08:00

I have 5 days off. This amazes me. I cannot recall the last time I had 5 days away from work.

And here I was hoping they would be relaxing and stress-free.

The imcompetencies of people never cease to entertain me. They also never cease to piss me off to the point of rabid fury. A woman at the post-office couldn't comprehend there being tax on a stamp, and refused to pay it, thus resulting in me having to wait 25 minutes to send a single letter.

The gal in charge of admissions and transcripts at Thompson Rivers Fuckuversity has no clue what a letter of complete withdrawal is, and thus cannot send one to UBSeein' Ya Soon. They can't accept me until they get this letter. They also are refusing to help me out by phoning TRUF-U to help them help me get them the letter. University ruined my life. It ruined it. I am not the first student to do this - this should not be this hard. HATEHATEHATEHATEHATE.

My back hurts, I'm agitated, and my mother won't stop calling me. I'm also bleeding from the unholiest of holies, which makes my emotions sprint from one extreme to the next. I also slept for 19 hours last night. I am still tired.

Did I mention I'm getting a promotion? Did I mention that promotion has an hour long interview attached to it?

I had wanted to get away this weekend to the big city to relax and not think about work or the future or anything. Yes, I'm going to the big city, but I already know it will be neither fun nor relaxing. It's going to be a pointless waste of time and money that will only stress me out further than I already am and make me want to shoot every single person I see in their fucking stupid ugly face. Bang bang.

I'm a little bit bitchy today. Can you tell?

What a way to start off the long weekend that I've been waiting for since mid-December. I think I'm going to go curl up into a little ball and cry for a few hours. That should make me feel at least a little bit better.

dance around your folk and soul

2009-01-18T00:38:00.000-08:00

I spent an amazing twenty-four hours with an even more amazing someone. You fuckin' fox, you.

You know what's weird? Babies. Lately, that's all I think about. They're like people, except for not. They have no teeth or hair, and they're completely dependant on you. That's what scares me the most about babies - dependancy. It's like, here's this little person who needs you more than anything - what if you can't deliver? I'd want to give my baby the moon and the stars and everything beautiful. There are creatures whose children float away at birth, and those who throat-feed their young for weeks and never see them again...I'm so hormonal. deep sigh

You know what else is weird? Alcoholism as a disease. I'm not saying that it's not bad, I'm just saying that it's not correct to call it a disease. Does anyone choose to have cancer? No. However, people do choose to start drinking. And it's not like you can call in to work and be like "Hey, guys, I'm not going to be able to make it in again today - my alcoholism is acting up. Peace." If that were the case, I'd be shitfaced 3/7 nights a week. Or not. We've all heard the stories.

I felt really weird today, so I went for a highly therapeutic drive to the outskirts of nowhere and back. I also downed a 24oz. blue slushie. That's more sugar than I'm going to need for an entire year. You know, I regret that more than the half tank of gasoline I used/abused. It's cool, though - the bitchmobile's got the soul of a highly fuel-efficient Asian sports car. She's good.

Let me tell you what's really good, though: early '90s station wagons. I'm looking at you, Emily. And on that note, ciao.

wednesday morning.

2009-01-14T11:40:00.000-08:00

I woke up this morning at 10:37.

There was a brightness behind my curtains that actually made me want to get out of bed. And I could hear birds outside. I still can. I left my window open all night in hopes that the fresh air would help remove everything that's been on my mind lately. I think maybe we've hit the de-thawing process that happens each year. It'd be awfully premature, but I'm game.

In my efforts to constantly downsize, I found some old diaries from my youth while I was clearing out drawers the other day. I read them. There were things like:

"Today mom says that we're going to take the dog to the park, but I don't want to because the last time we went, I fell off the swings and I didn't like that."

"Janelle farted in our clubhouse and now I call her Poo-Poo. Isn't that funny?"

These written in less than perfect and legible English, of course. The thing that strikes me about these weren't the brief time travel back to 1996, but more or less the kid-logic that I left there. You know, when you don't have to rationalize things except for "because".
Example: I fell of swings, it sucked, I didn't want to re-live it. End of story. That was all the reason I needed. Now, it's more or less: I fell off the swings and don't really want to re-live it, but my mother really wants to spend time with me, and walking is part of an active lifestyle, and I don't want to have a heartattack so maybe I should just do it because I have to. I'm not saying it's bad how things change, I'm just marvelling at how things actually did change. Another thing that's great when you're a kid? Everything is funny. You could say something completely ridiculous that makes no sense to anyone but you, but suddenly you're a comedic genius - especially because adults like to play along.

So, I guess I'm going to go get ready for work now, and as much as it sucks, I keep telling myself that it's not the worst thing that could happen to me today.

And I think that's a pretty solid way to look at things.

maps.

2009-01-11T12:53:00.000-08:00

I wrote this last night in my notebook.

"Right now I'm sitting in the b-machine, and we're looking out over a snowy lake together. I vaguely know where I am; it seemed like a good idea to find something I've never seen before. I've only decided to pull over because the roads are getting fairly ugly, and I'm getting fairly heavy in my thoughts. I may be talented, but I'm not talented enough to write and drive.

It's so quiet out here. I think I may have finally found that one park that burnt four summers ago, because all the trees out here are just skeletons of themselves; black and white paintings in the snow.

I've passed two world-class wineries and a place for those with an affinity for artisan goat cheeses. It's beautiful here; it really is. It's just not my kind of beautiful.

This is what I do when I feel like this. I get in the car, and I go. I've wasted countless hours and gallons of gasoline, just driving around, listening to the same CDs loop endlessly. I'm trying to find myself, I suppose. It's like, maybe if I drive far enough or for long enough, all the answers will find me. Or, at least that's the hope.

The real truth is that I don't think I'll ever know that I'm looking for. I'm like that one shitty U2 song. Actually, that statement can be applied to all U2 songs, so let's just disregard it permanently. I'm losing my touch.

I'm going to turn the car back on now, and when I do, I know exactly what song will start playing. I know exactly where I'm turning the car on to go to. And after I go there, I know exactly what I'm doing for the rest of the night, the rest of the week, and for the rest of the month. Probably the rest of my life.

Isn't that horrible?"

Save me from mediocrity.

reeeeeeeeckonerrrrrrrrrr

2009-01-08T18:17:00.000-08:00

"And here is the holy shrine of Fern McGee....

...patron saint of constant reassurance."

I don't know what it is about me. You could build me a home in your heart, surround me with lilacs and babies and all the stars in the sky and breathe for the both of us, but I'd still doubt how you truly feel.

This is the thing about human beings; nobody is ever truly emotionally stable. I think it comes down to a confidence thing - if you have enough confidence in yourself, then you simply don't care if anyone gives two shits about you. I'm not hesitant to say that I'm a ghetto confident lady (obvvy), so I find it particularly interesting that I constantly doubt the stability of my relationships with people, whether they're romantic or otherwise.

There's so many contributing factors to the heart of a relationship, friendship...whatever. It starts with how much you know about a person, and then how much trust you place in them. The more you trust a person, the more comfortable you will become with them, to the point where you know longer doubt anything about them. I used to place a lot of trust in people, but I'm finding it harder and harder to believe in people when I am constantly betrayed. Yo, it sucks for sure, because I really hate not being able to just...be. So now I've got this "I don't need you" 'tude, and won't believe what anyone ever says to me, whether it be "I love you" or whatever else.

"Friend": "There's gum in your hair."
Moi: "Liar!"

Blah blah blah, I give up. I'm having one of those extreme moments where I can't find the words I need to find the words to make things make sense. I guess what I'm saying is that I need to always know how everyone feels. I need to be constantly reassured that I matter and that I'm important and that I'm needed. Otherwise, I simply don't want to bother, because I give up at even the slightest sign of weakness in someone. I just don't have the energy to fight for anything anymore.

You're gonna need to be patient with me.

The Future Is Now.

2009-01-04T19:32:00.001-08:00

Holy moley, it's 2009.

Funny how that happens, hey? Like, you're just minding your own business, feedin' the kids, payin' the bills, when suddenly you have to go out and buy a new calendar because the numbers won't match up anymore. Damn, right?

It feels like I've merely skimmed over the months of 2008, like it's all just a distant memory or a crazy-ass acid dream of some sort. It went by hella fast, for sure. I was going to do a year in review sort of deal, but then I realized that my entire year is documented all proper and shit right here on ye ol' blog (minus January-beginning of March...but those weren't exciting times anyways). Plus, not every moment of this past year I'd like to recall, so I'll just leave it in the past where it belongs.

My new year's eve was mediocre, at best. I went over to Scoot-o's place for some alcohol infused fun, which turned out to be the very opposite because I barely drank anything due to having to work at noon the next day. There was also gay boy antics, in which Scott was absolutely certain that Ross was trying to steal Dylan. And this is when I was all "wtf, mate?" and passed out on the sofa. Easy fix. And something else charming? My boss (Kelly Muthafuckin' Mcpherson) made an impromptu celebrity appearance at the soiree, drank her cute little face off and had a good snuggle with the porcelain, if you get what I'm saying. Adorable! Btdubz, my new year's smoochie was Mr. Dylan, all homo and sippin' the vodka sauce. So good.

I made some resolutions, of course, as I do every year. The only difference about this year's is that I actually intend on sticking to them...which I say every year. So, here they are, in no particular order:

1) Be zen It's so much easier to just move on than to dwell on things and be a grumpy bitch. It's funner to be a grumpy bitch, but I find that people have a tendency to like you a whole lot less. I just want to be pretty, bright and bubbly constantly.
2) No more Starbucks That's a lie. It's more like...Starbucks in moderation. And no pastries, because I flipped through the nutritional guide the other day, and trust me: that shit is sick.
3) Be sooo good at yoga Self-explanatory. In the words of a close friend, I just want to fold.
4) Invest Like, the economy is all fucked and whatever, so I figure now's a good time to make significant contributions to my RRSP. I'd like to retire when I'm 40. Is that too ambitious?
5) Go green! Because I love the earth, and I want it to be preserved for Summer and her babies one day. Everyone's babies!

I read my horoscope briefly today, and this is what my year is going to look like. I like the one I read in the Province newspaper a lot better, though. You go, Georgia Nicols!

And to wrap things up, let me tell you about my last year's new year's festivities. I watched Ginger Rogers and Fred Astaire movies with two of my favourite people. It was lovely, and it seems like just yesterday that it happened. I was told once that life is like a roll of toilet paper; the closer you get to the end, the faster it goes.

Am I going to die soon?

PTFO, life.

P.S. My hurr is teint de rouge. Merci, Clairol!
P.P.S. I'm off the market, officially. I am no longer selling shares of FMCG at the TSX. Muah! <3

on a plane, on a plane.

2008-12-30T17:16:00.000-08:00

...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.

2008-12-26T16:46:00.000-08:00

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.

2008-12-25T22:24:00.000-08:00

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.

2008-12-23T22:38:00.000-08:00

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

2008-12-21T00:29:00.000-08:00

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.

2008-12-11T20:48:00.000-08:00

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.

2008-12-09T02:47:00.000-08:00

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?

2008-12-03T23:49:00.001-08:00

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.

2008-12-01T20:19:00.000-08:00

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.

2008-11-26T23:31:00.000-08:00

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

2008-11-22T01:05:00.000-08:00

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...

2008-11-22T00:55:00.000-08:00

Girlish swoon. Incredible envy. Mixed emotions!

Blog-a-thon

2008-11-18T21:29:00.000-08:00

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*

2008-11-17T22:37:00.000-08:00

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.

2008-11-15T23:19:00.001-08:00

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!

2008-11-14T00:03:00.000-08:00

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

2008-11-12T20:34:00.001-08:00

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

2008-11-11T11:49:00.000-08:00

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.

2008-11-07T15:22:00.001-08:00

....but you can indulge, too.

Hay is for Horses and Heteros.

2008-11-07T15:04:00.001-08:00

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

2008-10-26T21:01:00.001-07:00

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

2008-10-18T21:28:00.000-07:00

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

2008-10-12T22:33:00.000-07:00

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

2008-09-26T12:42:00.001-07:00

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....

2008-09-23T16:38:00.001-07:00

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

2008-09-22T17:55:00.001-07:00

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.

2008-09-16T19:32:00.000-07:00

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?

2008-09-13T23:21:00.001-07:00

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

2008-09-12T10:24:00.000-07:00

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

2008-09-10T20:01:00.000-07:00

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

2008-09-07T22:10:00.000-07:00

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

2008-09-02T18:17:00.000-07:00

"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

2008-08-30T23:10:00.000-07:00

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.