Emergency!
Tuesday, August 31, 2004
  See That Awesome Dude? He's my friend. Yeah, that's right...I know that guy.
I had a good night yesterday, though I seem to be falling back into this "recording my every breath" trend again as the excitement mounts towards school beginning again. This was concreted as bubbling enthusiasm when I returned to school yesterday for miscallaneous things, like buying sloan ticket, bus pass, and seeing le papier people. And S.U. people. Pardon me as I avoid eye contact and lunge in and out of rooms for free coffee like a drugged humming bird. I wasn't feeling talkative for some reason. But...I can't write this all at work, so I'll finish later.

Here we go: Yes, being at the le papier offices was fun, but also, awkward as usual. Whenever I wear a new outfit (ok, as new as VV can be) I am uncomfortable. Compound this with people I'm uncomfortable around, and I tend to zone them out so my mind doesn't go crazy with self analysis. It wears, ok? (puntastic). So yes, superficial mindless drivel, here I come. Abscond with me so that I may be vapid too!

In the midst of peeking around me and talking to few people, hiding by a Mac like a troll, I managed to write up an article. Anxiety is the devil's plaything. It was very hastily written, (4:45 - 6:00 =go time) and perhaps a little on the strongly forceful chest-thumping side, and *cough* ranty, but there were some things in there that I have been thinking about for a while. And besides, if Jake gets away with rants, so should I be able to as well. And his was a rant. Enjoyable, but still ranty. Really though, le papier is as le papier does, and I was happy to see everyone, but sort of more excited at the time to go to Dabar and the writing meeting, avec Fenton. Plus, it took me like twenty minutes to manhandle that Mac into doing anything I wanted with my saved document. I hate MacIntosh. But, writing club! It was a dreamy prospect. And it still is awesome, if not "dreamy" any longer.

A very entrancing crowd of people. You could see enigma (what, is that like glaucoma?) in every single set of eyes. Interesting thing though: shy with writers at le papier...Not shy at all with members in writing club, some of which have been writing novels (and completed them) prior? Fucking odd. Frankly, I was a loud mouth, and by the end, mortified that I'd come across as a pretentious bitch, but I guess that remains to be seen.

Oh man...I've suddenly realized I may be pretentious. How does one cure oneself of being pretentious in case one is pretentious? Does someone who is pretentious know that they're pretentious, or are they oblivious to it? Are pretentious people repetitive of the word pretentious? It's all so character deflating I can't take it.

As far as the melodrama goes...SURPRISE!

"Your life, will become exciting on all fronts all at the same time, whether you want it to be or not."

I made that up. But it's true. The Russian phoned me today, and did everything short of declaring his love for me, despite the fact that I told him I was with Mr. Pink now. And I, super-ninny-fantastique told him I'd go for coffee with him, in a benign sort of way. Oh, loyal readers, I assure you, I have no desire to get back together with him. The only reason I was with the Russian to begin with was because his bottle of Smirnoff was quite large. However, now I am faced with what happens when (if?) I tell Mr. Pink that the Russian has been sniffing around. And yes, the whole Russian sniffing coffee thing is tomorrow. I think that should be ok though. Sure you say, it's tempting, because I haven't had a good bottle of smirnoff for seven months, but, alas, I have fallen for a non-alcoholic beverage: doesn't make me want to go, is healthy, and doesn't make my tongue feel nasty. I don't even care that the glass is currently full of ice and the maraschino is stuck in the bottom. It's so good.

That was the cheesiest analogy ever. It must be love. Actually, about the whole thing: I really realized the other day that though I'm better at being myself around mr. pink, I'm still neurotic a little bit (read: unable to tell if he cares as much about me as I do him, so I maybe lay it on a little thick and gauge from his reactions) I sit back and realize after the conversation all the awful things that I've said, but god help me, it's like I don't think hard enough before I open my mouth because I am so insecure about this. It doesn't make sense. Anyways, I gotta quit being a mental case, so I sort of pledged to myself that I would just forget we were "dating" in the sense of the word, and be buddy-tastic again. And so help me god, I will not be affectionate any longer until this is resolved. No phone affection whatsoever. This sounds mental, I know, but it will work, because I am my own genius.
 
Monday, August 30, 2004
  Fuck you knee! Fuck you paper deadline! Fuck you physiotherapist lady!
Not in a stellar mood right now. Should be working on my article, but I have to get on the bus in seven minutes, so it's safe to say that Kyla ne c'est pas GO for copytime. I knew I could have rattled off something crappy about a dismaying display of psychoticness by a certain Irish priest at a certain national event, but it just wasn't in me.

A physio secretary yelled at me today and told me I should be ashamed of myself for wasting funding by only going to one appointment at one clinic before switching (because she could only schedule me one appointment, and I'm moving to edmonton next week) to another one. I have no idea (had) how this shit works, so I basically became a verbal stone and hung up the phone on her babble. Wench.

I don't know what to do, but I'm starting to wonder if I even need physio. Sure, I run the chance of having a permantely weird gait or something equally awful, but think of the nicknames that could arise out of that. Bowie. Straggula. The Limper. Cripple. Gimptastic. MC Ligamentless. Pinnochia, the puppet missing a string. Right then, I'll go phone strathcona physio now. It'll be a pain in the ass but I'll figure it out somehow. Maybe they can fix my thumb while they're at it.

Your Icecream Flavour is...Neopolitan!
You aren't satisfied with just one flavor. They say variety is the spice of life and this shines through in your Ice cream of choice! Just don't eat all the chocolate and leave the strawberry and vanilla behind!
What is your Icecream Flavour?
Find out at Go Quiz

It's funny, because I always pick out the chocolate. I don't like neopolitan ice cream.
 
Sunday, August 29, 2004
  Would you drink my spit?
It's funny the hijinks that certain people have together, and I have to say, the spontaneity of my friends is amazing sometimes. You think they don't got it, and then they all have to set out to prove me wrong and be big men. I had such a fun time today, despite the injury.

The sleep-in mechina in my brain seems to be broken though, because I woke up alert and gung-ho at nine o'clock this morning, which at the time, seemed hideously wrong.

After the other hullaballoo that I have touched on already, I went to the plane wash at Westjet hanger, avec Westjet the summer ambassador hisself. It was a lot of fun, but I spent most of my time gorging on food and daydreaming about having children. Maybe it's just that time of the month, but by the time we were driving home, I had decided that if I won the lottery tomorrow, I would a) have kids with the first available and suitable mate right away, or b) be a student forever. Neither of these are very sustainable if both are pursued at the same time however (and ironically). I sound so martha when I talk like this. I got over it by the end of the night though. Permanent student, all the way. I just remembered the whole "unsustainable planet" deal and the need to pop mucuousy and initially unbreathing creatures the size of melons out of my vagina somehow dissappeared. For the moment anyways. I can't imagine why (out dirty spot!).

Spur of the moment activities included a very very satisfying viewing of "Stepford Wives" (I hate that three blogs for this day will be identical and still varying. I don't hate it, but it's bizarre and funny still). So awesome. I haven't laughed through a movie like that in a while.

Humpty's quickly entailed afterwards, and I gotta say...I have some fucking witty and hilarious friends to hang out with. Conversational levels were at an all time high. Almost literally-we seemed all spun out on sugar at times. A few noteable things: PDA of chemmie and Drew (Very Adorable, and Long Time Coming), gross conversations (the "Tony Danza"), embarrassing moments in front of the waitress, the spit/swallow conundrum (I love when my friends make me sound like a skanky ho), and just a great time. We had lots of laughs, and I'm growing to appreciate Drew's company a lot more. Funny thing: I had some sort of temperature melt down when i was sitting at the table. I don't know if it was some sort of thing having to do with the pain in my knee, or whatever else. Maybe I'm becoming menopausal. Not cool. What does a hotflash entail exactly? It was very odd.

Another noteable moment: when chemmie is in the theater trying to stifle his enormous laughter, it makes me grin and laugh with him. I'm so lucky to have him as my friend, and lucky to have the rest of them as my friends /sex slaves ...also. Speaking of sex slaves:

Went to Adult Source after Humpty's....just me and the boys: I surprised myself with how unshockable I seem to be now. I just didn't even think about it until I was in there. But now..."Man shoves bald head into vagina" warrants a "meh...I seen worse'n that..." Is there something wrong with me? LOL. The original "premise" of course was to have three gay men and one straight man find me the perfect sex toy, but when it comes right down to the nitty gritty...I'm all talk and no sex toys. Boring as that may make me, I think that the infusion of those colorful plastics into any part of my life could be nothing but tawdry at this point in time. I may change my mind when I'm old and alone, but now...I'm fresh and nubile, and though no one is taking advantage of that, I'll live without that crap just fine. Yuck...I really am turning into a stodge. An early-menopause hitting sexless being. Hurrah!





 
Saturday, August 28, 2004
  Fuck.
It's dawned on me that I've been very anti-social for the last two weeks. I blame myself. I hate how wrapped up I get with stupid things that go wrong with me. It makes me lose track of everyone else and I feel awful about it later, like the awfulness I feel now. I miss Fenton. I miss Chemdefender, and I feel like if Westjet and I hang out much more that it will jeopardize the friendship, and I don't mean that in a dangerous sexual way. I also miss Belly, and I don't know if she realizes that. And of course, I miss mr. pink, and though he is no longer in the doghouse (not because I'm a pushover, but because I don't dwell) he still needs to get through the doggie door, and he has not done that yet.

In other news, I thought I was going to be working this week, and it turns out that by innocent folly, I am not. I tore my MCL tendon on my right knee on friday, five minutes after work ended, in the work parking lot, whilst hucking a well propelled water balloon. Sadly....this means no worker's comp, and me missing the last week of work that I needed to pay for both of my semesters of tuition. This causes many resounding "fuck"s to bounce around in my head whenever I think about it. Other than that, I have crutches, I have soreness, I have advil, and my first physio appointments ever, starting on monday. I am so mad. Another injury related entirely to my own stupidity that is costing me dearly.

Whine whine whine. Bitch bitch bitch.

On the good side of things...I will be able to go to the gateway offices on monday, and get all relevant and jiggy with things. Seeing as I have no work and all to return to.
And secondly, this would be an ideal time for mr. pink to play nursemaid, if I can convince him to wear the smock and the red heels, or namely, get his gluteus maximus up here.
 
Wednesday, August 25, 2004
  Soaked in apathy, blood, and closet monster sweat.
For the last week or so, I have been watching a lot of TV. This shouldn’t be too surprising, but I’m getting pretty turned off as of late. I don’t know if it’s just me, but there seems to be a lot of wedding related crap on the old soul-sucker lately. Boo. I don’t care about perfect weddings, perfect love, or handwritten vows. Maybe I am just being bitter and decrepit this week (courtesy of some water retention on my part), lashing out violently at anything love-related in some sort of desperate sick grab for melodramatic control over my dour future. Surprisingly, I’m in an awesome mood. I’ve been witty and cynical all day, and it’s all thanks to M. Night Shymalayan and the blessed event that kept me awake all of last night.

Of course it was the same lame that plagued “Signs”, but there was slightly more suspense in the fact that you didn’t know exactly where the lame part would begin. And going with Thomas on this one…Shymalayan made an ass out of me too. That over-funded narcissist son of a bitch. I have to admit though, that it was still well done, cinematically speaking. Perhaps I’m artistically easy to please, but the aesthetics of the whole movie were still interesting and superficially appealing (basically the same feeling as Signs…but with my same inability to describe it without bashing organized religion at the same time). In the future though, people will still look back (I will be one of them) and still say there was nothing that made it overly memorable for a movie.

Here’s where things get stupid (don’t read any further if you haven’t seen it) though: I find out that the El Chupacabra-inspired creatures are fake facsimiles all for the sake of a unified cult….and I still get nightmares. The first thing that came to my mind when I saw the very first creature was some quick darting thought about playing Sonic the hedgehog on my old sega, They were completely slow and cumbersome in physiological design, and yet, I still kept looking at my closet suspiciously in between sleep intervals. No sleep makes me a fun girl to hang out with.

WestJet got a huge speeding ticket on his way to the movie. I felt terrible for him. Had he been a girl, it sounds like the cop would have been a push over for some tears and minor cleavage adjustment. Shame? What’s that? Do I have any?

 
Tuesday, August 24, 2004
  Introspective Raging
Have you ever sat and thought about your own first name? It just happened on me this morning that I realized that I am not very good at associating my name with my person sometimes. By that, I don't mean that I constantly forget to answer to my name being called. My name feels strange to me, strange, but at the same time it suits me. I wouldn't change my first name for anything, but I also couldn't tell anyone why it suits me either. It's just weird though, because when I think about my name, the image of myself isn't the first thing that automatically comes to my head. Rather, I remember drawing pictures of elves and wishing that's what my name meant; "to be elf-like or elvish," not a dumpy hobbit. One thing I really realized: I love it when people address me by my first name. It seems so strange, because it seems like something that would happen on a daily basis, but when you think about it, does it really? How many times does your name get said by anyone else in a day? Especially by people you know?

I was walking through the Meadowview yard this morning to go grease up ye old murderer of nature, and what should I almost step on, but a small glistening pile of innards. The complete eviscera of some small creature. It was like it fell from the sky, and I was more mystified than disgusted for the moment, and studied the intense colors of the once functioning (perhaps a few short moments prior even) vital organs. Bloody red membrane encasing lime green, peach gray, and turquoise or red organs, all undisturbed and perfectly formed, and definately mammalian. After completing the inspection like a dawdling four year old, I somewhat reluctantly kicked asphalt gravel over it. It's like I didn't want it to be sullied by the tacky reaction of any other human. It was like a moment of unexpected grace for the absolutely macabre, if such a thing is possible.

I realize this is all fine and disturbing to everyone else, but it was just a very odd moment that I felt like recording. I don't know what I got out of it, but maybe I'll know later.

Probably everyone on the planet knows by now that mr. pink stood me up completely, and though I raged on for a little bit, I'm back into worrywart mode again, although it admittedly took a little longer this time, because it seemed like such a sure thing. It was just so dejecting to have to find out by waiting around and doing nothing. It's like not knowing what day christmas is on, and then finding out that christmas was cancelled. What a transparent comparison, but you get my point. In the end, I just feel really sad about it, and worrisome.

At first I was all into the "he's taking me for granted" vibe, but I'm not so sure. And it's interesting, because it might be, and if it is, I'm almost thankful, because I haven't felt such a raw reactive emotion like that before. Again, demented, but good to know what it's like. I'm not out of control very often, and usually no boy would dare wrong me, so it's nice to have a little check of "you aren't that high and mighty" sometimes. It stills sucks though. This doesn't make sense, so I'll just leave it at that.

I was in a bad mood at work today. All day. I hate this crew. Eight days left, six of them cursed.

Copernicus (my betta: fish) has shown us all a new "facet" of his personality that no one saw coming. Danjo actually died last week, which was sort of traumatic for Copernicus I think. However, since he died on my grandfather's watch, my grandpa went to four pet stores with Danjo floating listlessly in a fruit bag, in attempt to do the "switcheroo" ploy, as seen on countless sitcoms. Instead, he brought home two rosy reds (?) which are apparently some sort of minnow-like goldfish. Olly Hardy, and Stan Laurel. You can guess which one Copernicus actually ingested. But, it gets better. I phoned the pet store today to ask if this behavior was normal (I've never seen a betta eat a live fish), and he basically told me that,

"No, it's not. Your fish is a psychopathic murderer. Oh hey, are you the one who had the two grandparents in buying more replacements today? I picked out the biggest tiger danjos I could find. He won't be able to eat those."
 
Saturday, August 21, 2004
  WestJetted by Westjetter

Which Diesel Sweeties Character Are You?


My friend Westjet told me to paste this on here. He has no website of his own, therefore he is lowly. I'm still sulking though, and Westjet's brother almost made a move on me this morning, and I almost entertained the idea of speaking to him before his entire presence grossed me out completely.

I later sampled a pickled tentacle at Sobey's that actually tasted a little good, though those little sample spoons don't really cut it when you're dealing with a tentacle that is two inches long (this is a guess, because it was all curled up-like.) It tasted like balsamic rubber band. Two thumbs up.
 
Friday, August 20, 2004
  Your heart is hard, like the core of a golf ball
I weedwacked my fingers today, in a brilliant move to try and grab a spinning weedtrimmer head. Gloves ensured that my digits are still intact, but as I felt them throbbing afterwards, I realized that it wouldn't have mattered incredibly much, because it was my left hand. It was like my body decided that risky actions are for useless hands only.

I want to write about the things that I believe in. I also want to write about what love means to me. I want to write that I feel like I'm slowly losing my flexibility, like I'm catching up to the rest of the bitter and jaded people around me, in an effort to remain similar. I want to write that men perplex me, and why.

Mr. Pink should be strung up by his thumbs and given an incomplete blowjob. I'm so angry that I contemplated sulking for the whole weekend by getting drunk, for about a half an hour, over my weedeater today. I have much too much time to think while I weedeat. But then I wonder if I'm just being selfish by getting angry at him for getting my hopes up. It's like instead of an instantly explodingly bad heartbreak, he's just slowly jabbing holes into me with a pointy stick.

Sulking.
 
Tuesday, August 17, 2004
  Watering the dog, and killing the plants
Or something like that. Flag has this one bloody stool in the back yard that I was only drawn to by the horde of shiny green flies that found it originally. It's so sick-looking, and now I'm wondering if I can even take care of a dog, much less the plants that I was carefully watering at the time.

I have a confession. I took her on a run the other day that might have made her sick. She's really really active, but since she pulls really hard, she doesn't get to walk (read: run like a bat outta hell) very often on her leash. Thus, while her spirit says "it's GO time", her body is still a six year old Jack Russell body. Which, I've been informed, is roughly thirty one dog years. In this context, I was pulled by a thirty one year old menopausal woman around the block four times, while desperately trying not to crash into things with my rollerblades. She loved it, and begged for more, chest heaving, and whimpering with desire through her panting breath, but alas, I controlled myself and brought her up to the doorstep after the run. She sat by the door all night (I'd left the leash on the ground in my own exhaustion) thinking we were going back out. However, since then, she's been sort of listless, but this could be because I haven't taken her out since...or she really is sick and probably going to die or something else like that which will cost more money.

The female cast-off has been accepted tentatively into the pack

So, day crew day two has been fruitful. My initial submissiveness has paid off, and they now let me wander among them freely with my notepad and camera, taking notes. Even better, they actually like me. I wasn't truly concerned, and never will be, but it's nice to be respected at least and not treated like some ...one who doesn't deserve respect. I got nothing today, absolutely nothing. A girl in Meadowview can make yelping noises that are almost like dogwhistle pitch, and very painful. She really likes to do this too, during lunchbreak. Also- If I hear the phrase "pack mentality" as pertaining to the new crew one more time, I may have to challenge the alpha female and rip her to shreds or something, so I can make a rule that says, "referring to a group of mowers as a 1)pack, or 2) swarm, is creepy as hell, and should be discontinued." A sidenote to this is the action that goes with it. That's right....little dog ears (read: bunny ears on either side of face, accompanied by vicious snarling, which bunnies don't do.)

I fucked your MOM, I fucked her in the BUM...

Yesterday we all meandered down to the Fringe festival. Much fun was had by all, and though we didn't get to see the ...Lord of the Rings play, or the other fantastic play that Fenton wanted to see, or Nharcolepsy, but we did see Breaking Face, which was pretty good. I really enjoyed it. I always knew I'd enjoy going to the Fringe, but for some reason, I never did. I love watching drama, though I have painful memories of my debut as Yoda in a highschool play.

Anyways- Breaking Face, was a very intricately written play about the events that happened on Whyte, all the way from the Canada Day riot to the Albert's getting burnt down, as foretold by four young adults in the way that these events affected them. It's weird though, because the absolute last thing I was expecting when I watched it was for there to be stuff about September 11, 2001 in it, but it was. The whole coming up of the issue was dismaying at first, but it really did have some integrity in the script. Not a hell of a lot, but at least it didn't wreck the experience. The best part about this whole play however, was the surprisingly in-depth look at what the program dubbed, "the Mindless Young Man."

And I quote: "But the Mindless Young Man has the memory of a stoned goldfish. He is an anti-intellectual, self-indulgent bastard, prone to violent mood swings, unfamiliar and indifferent to logic, embracing the shittiest, lowest-grade pornographic tastes in human history, and having an overall effect on the market and world at large..."

It's a stereotype of course, but it is still funny as hell, and still sort of interesting to think about.



 
Monday, August 16, 2004
  "Hardcore, with capital letters!"

Which Diesel Sweeties Character Are You?


Boo...I don't like day crew.

"Excuse me...I think your work ethic is draining outta your pores, unlike the sweat and blood that should be."

Although, if blood leaked out of your pores, it could be an alarming sign to stop whatever the hell you are doing at that moment. I love watching bald men do hard labour, in relation to this. It's like watching a carribbean cuttlefish.

"Watch as the cuttle fish reacts violently with a myriad of flashing colors as it is spooked by the predator!"

Working bald man: Beige, to white, to mottled red, to really really red, to purple, then to red, mottled red with some white spots, white, and back to beige. Fascinating. I should paint a canvas based on this observation, with a shovel, or an electric drill and hockey sideboards as the focal point. This was an awesome tangent.

I basically have to face facts that I'm going to have a shitty final review, because this crew that I got stuck with, is completely useless, and in city work land, if your crew is useless, you are too. Go Team!

Surprisingly though, getting up early in the morning is not as bad as I thought it would be. It's a little chilly to mow in, but not catastrophically so. And daycrew shifts pass quicker than nights did. And I have free free time that I don't sleep through. I could go to a movie even. Or le Fringe. Who knows? Or, even better, I could sit on my ass in front of the tv until bedtime. It's just that wonderful. Hopefully, I will be at the fringe tomorrow though. Avec Fenton.

In other news, Mr. Pink might be gracing my presence this week...in the big new house I'm currently housesitting, with the good food, the soaker tub, and the big big beds. And the cable internet, and the digital cable...le drool. And wouldn't you know it...the fucking vcr doesn't work, and that's the only thing I really cared about. Ok, and the food.




 
Friday, August 13, 2004
  "I want to fall off a building into a dumpster full of glass...on fire." (Myke)
You messed me up.
Everything was predictable,
Was sufficiently pleased with annual forecasts.

Now I function without your presence
Perfectly.
I have love already,
Discombobulation is not an option.

My resolve is steel
And full of cliches,
But really unnecessary.

There never was a time,
And probably won't be.

Lack of artificial similitude
(I fear your standards anyway).

You stand so close though,
With copious literati diarrhea!
Similar myelin moulding,
And I'm glad you're my friend.


 
  "Bully with a capital B." (Myke)
In an effort to out-class Fenton (actually a desperate grab to show some initiative at something for once), I endeavored to put a piece of prose together. I ended up transcribing it to underwear, but here's the dilly-yo:

It is said that poetry is the way to a girl's heart. Maybe to mine with my obsession for words. Lavish, obstentiate, and narcissm; words expansive, hurtful or passionate own me, own people. Where would we be without a sly and hinting articulation of an action? Words with no heart are my greatest insecurity. Justifiably so. Is it therefore fair for someone to be insincere with my love? Each joke, stutter, or mispronunciation makes me shudder. You toy with me? Pull the knife all the way out before you shove it back in slowly, devoid of emotion in your poetry...the window into your supposed soul. Soul? Possesed by the living, I know!

It's a bit melodramatic and perhaps nonsensical...but I like it.
 
  Deceptacon- Le Tigre
Your Life....With a Soundtrack (as copied from Beth's blog)

(instructions- as if you need instructions)

1.Opening song: Man in Black- Johnny Cash
2.Waking up: There's no home for you here- White Stripes
3.First date: Pinball summer- Sekiden
4.First kiss: I miss you- Blink 182 (it's the one that counts)
5.Falling in love: Silver Road- Sarah Harmer
6.Seeing an old love: Rain of the golden gorilla- Ozma
7.Heartbreak- Only the girl- Bif Naked
8.Driving fast: Idioteque- Radiohead
9.Getting ready to go out: Grace, too- Tragically Hip
10.Partying with friends: Renegades of Funk- Rage Against the Machine

11.Dancing at a club: Milkshake- Kelis
12.Flirting: Something in my heineken- Tidal
13.Feeling sexy: Eau d'bedroom dancing- Le Tigre
14.Walking alone in the rain: City of angels- Red Hot Chili Peppers
15.Thinking of someone: Hiding in the shade- Silverchair
16.Playing in the ocean: Let it be- Enya
17.Summer vacation: Island in the sun- Weezer
18.Fighting with someone: Radio- Alkaline Trio
19.Acting goofy with friends: We only come out at night- Smashing Pumpkins

20.Thinking back: Sweater Song- Weezer
21.Feeling depressed: Hurt- Johnny Cash
22.Christmas time: The cat song- the most fucking depressing thing EVER.
23.Falling asleep: When you dream- Barenaked Ladies
24.Closing song: Vindicated- Dashboard Confessional

25.Knowing you're going to lose someone but maybe it's for the best or there's nothing you can do about it: Bells On- Sloane
26.Contemplating the thorny path your life has taken: Sympathetic character- Alanis Morrisette
27.Laughing a gravelly laugh: High dough- Tragically Hip
28.Looking up at the stars: Lodestar- Sarah Harmer
29.Walking into highschool and feeling suitably angst-filled: Needles- System of a Down

30.Giving a friend some late-night advice: Talk to Me- the Shins
31.Jumping up and down like a wanker: Smells like teen spirit- Nirvana
32.Sour grapes: Bulldog- Tracy Bonham
33.Crying jag: Lumina- Joane Osborne
34.Getting wasted: Cooking Wine- Alkaline Trio or...Sur la pud- Les Vulgaires Machines
35.Waxing nostalgic: "Good Riddance" Green Day
36.Unhealthy relationship: No self esteem- Offspring
37.Smashing stuff: I hate you- Three Days Grace
38.Sitting in your family's Jeep traversing the Northern Ontario strip of radio silence with only a discman to ease the pain: Tripmaster Monkey (Goodbye Race), Bush, or Moist

39.Trapped on a Desert Island with only a discman to ease boredom: Simon and Garfunkel boxed set
40.Ten CD's I'd save from a fire: Hail to the Thief-Radiohead, One night at the Palais Royale- Sloan (Box set), No Need to Argue- Cranberries, I bificus, Smeared-Sloan, Renegades- Rage Against the Machine, Goodbye Race- Tripmaster Monkey, Les Miserables, Ok Computer-Radiohead....aaaah, I'd lose some skin and save them all, there's just too many.

41.Currently on Perma-play: *blushing commenced* Spiderman 2 soundtrack (BUT...It was free, and mormon person gave it to me after they stole it from Zellers- Read: Not Fenton's Zellers).








 
Thursday, August 12, 2004
  "We're like Shriner's, but we cut grass instead of having absolutely NO purpose."
We need to mount speakers on the lead mower blaring with "doot-doot-doodle-doodle-doot-doot-doo-do, doot-doot-doodle-doodle-doot-doot-doo-do, ning-ningle-ningle, ning-ningle-ningle,ningle-ning-ning-ning-NING..." Everybody stares anyways though.

I had a relatively uneventful day today. I'm a little bit tired right now because this whole little temper tantrum took a little configuration to get through. It's funny because when my mom phoned me to tell me of the apocalyptic effects my old site could have on my father's job, I didn't really get it at first. I wasn't even mad at first, and just went back and edited the shit out of the offending entry. But as I edited, I browsed back through my archives, and while marvelling at how much I'd changed since the hormonally charged age of nineteen, I also realized that there were still lots of changes to be had.

I've been very judgemental, I realized. And I also realized that I was being a big shmei half the time, but I would shmei to no one in particular, just the world-wide web. This, I realized yesterday, was a very bad habit I have to break, and I can't just break it with the promise of anonymity to those I shmei of either.

Shmei: To gossip, but with relish. It was all bupkeh (chattering and clucking like a chicken)!

Another thing: I have to stop being so g.d. ego-centric, as I fear it may transpose itself onto my everyday life more than it already has. I need to write about other things, because anyone can artfully whine, but it shouldn't count as honing a skill. I've just been sounding like a very bitchy person more often than not. I used to say, "cynical", but really, it's not. I'm also butchering my writing style I noticed. Mr. Smith used to call me on that, but for some reason, he stopped. I endeavor to be clever, but in my own way. I will continue to be honest though, and frankly, I'll be frank as usual too. And going with that, corny as ever- that never changes though.
 
Death involves an injury?

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