So I am leaving soon. I guess it goes without saying that holes such as the one I am going to, will not have the internets. I wonder if I will be ok with that three days from now. It's been a long time since I've been cut off for more than two days. Funny how these necessities creep up on one and get them into such a stranglehold.
Went for dinner with Bento and his parents tonight, and got to see the new digs. Very Awesome. The place is small, but it reeks of character. I love it.
Speaking of which, I packed up all my stuff today. Godzilla had a big roaring conniption though, on the basis that she had been interpreting all my purposely non-committal "maybe's" and "we'll see's" (replies deliberately given because I didn't want to make her cry--I wanted my dad to do my dirty work) as "Oh boy, you bet I will" in regards to moving in back here at the end of the summer, and staying here for the summer. Uncomfortable and awkward, because one: she doesn't want to be alone, and two: she wants me as leverage to stay in the house as long as she wants to. The second one stings a little, but there's no avoiding the truth in it.
Anyways, all my stuff is packed up. I'm a little panicky about it, because my dad had half of it done before I even got down there, and my music is scattered from-here-to-infinity-and-inaccessibility, but at the same time it's exciting, because the next time I see it, I'll be in my own digs. Even my blessed Lucifer is packed up. Wow. I guess it didn't seriously hit me until today though. I knew I was moving, but I guess I also knew that I could get majorly fucked over if I put too much weight into the thing while things were so up in the air after Grandma died. And I suppose I wasn't letting myself believe it because Godzilla seemed so bent and determined to get her way, that I assumed she would.
My mother and I were trying to enforce this whole idea of me going too, earlier, with Godzilla, and my mom kept saying "she just wants to spread her wings and go..." (all the good cliches, you know?) and I stopped and thought for a moment that it was funny because out of all the years that I've wanted to move out on my own, it was never simply for the reason of "I want to grow up now". There was always some other reason to do it, mostly focussing around me being miserable or something else. I haven't even sat down and said to myself ever that "it's time to grow up now. Let's go be an adult and do adult things".
I guess the funniest thing is that I've never thought about my own growth that much. I know I reflect on the ways I've changed, but I always seem to be reflecting, and not necessarily looking at "things yet to grow into, as I consult the 'how people grow' almanac". I mean, I do, but I look at the things I have yet to do, not the way I will become. But, if I know I'm a good person now, I'm hoping I'll just continue to become a better person.
Interesting thing to think about: I for one, think you start out as a terrible being, and become a better person as you age (like a fine wine). Others think you start out amazing, and become more terrible as you age (mouldy yogurt). I don't need to tell you how, we are all intelligent. But is it either, or both? Or neither?
So y'all think Ahm a * hic * do you?
Your Linguistic Profile:
|55% General American English|
|0% Upper Midwestern|
I'm bored. Did I mention I'm bored? I know we're supposed to be all excited because we're done and all...but I'm bored stiff. I hate it, I love it. I can't decide right now. 
I leave to BC after one more day. I am Jack's Utter & Complete orgasmic Joy. I can't wait to get out of here. I wish I could take some people in my suitcase though too, mind you. I think I might miss my amis...
Bullshit Proof found a cruising spot the other day, behind the Glenora club and around Victoria park. The jig is up....we know where 'those gays' hang out now, oh my.
I got my two dreaded papers back in English today and smashed the shit out of them with two B+. I wasn't expecting that.... I lost marks for again, my old nemesis Mr. Awkward and Wordy showing up and all and what, with my complete lack of concern for looking over my papers past a spellcheck. I do care, but at that particular point in time, I was completely surprised I even got them done.
Have not talked to Vespa boy, as keeping up with agreements made and all (and keeping with better judgement for the time being- not entirely all Fenton-slap). The opportunities are rampant, but instead I will bumble around with my amis and that will be better. Something that struck me: he can't tell me anything about himself. He just doesn't "know". And I mean, various facets come out when he talks, and I know him damn well, but he doesn't know himself
at all. And I'm trying to decide, is that a good thing, or a bad thing? I'm not going like base any of my undertakings with the outcome of that. But are there some people who just don't need to know themselves as well as I try to get to know myself? Because I do try. But, at the same time, with him it makes him come across as being about four inches deep...and though I know that's not necessarily the case, it is aggravating sometimes. What a thing to be aggravated by though I suppose. BUT. But. You know what I mean. Complexity. Not complication necessarily, but complexity.
So I'm trying to decide what I should work on (ie- meaning, what should I bring to work on, and what should I just save for later this summer?) in BC. Writing (putting together poetry volume, or finishing/working on the book, or hashing out more of the new ideas out of the can ) or painting/art stuff? I'm thinking the former, along with some good novels (recreational reading!!) might suffice for the week, but if there's something you could suggest, or give me an idea of to do, let me know.
 Me talking to an old anthropology prof while right fucked up
, is not such a hot plan. Good JOB for those involved. Ach.
Hmm....kind of clever. That might be a catching turnphrase.
 I have an old Chinese Republic tea can that I put all my writing odds and ends (read: stuff scribbled on numerous post-its, napkins and reciepts or other scraps of junk) in. It's getting pretty full.
Look at me with your creatine eyes one more uncomfortable time.
Just felt like voicing my displeasure at an Introduction to Teaching English as a Second Language.
Bottom Up Reading: involves decoding letters, and is a linear process
Squiggly lines => letters => words => phrases => sentences => amazing that you didn't fucking realize this in grade three.
Top Down Reading: reading for gist, or for meaning (evidence from miscue analysis)Language Functions (Halliday)
1. Taking turns (how do you feel about___? What do you think about bukkake? How about you___?
2. Giving a personal opinion (personally I feel___. In my opinion___. I think, I'm going to go kill myself.
3. Agreeing (Yes, I know what you mean. I understand. I agree, you're an idiot. You’re right
4. Disagreeing (You’re wrong. I think you are out to lunch. You are a big stupid asshat. I don’t agree. I disagree. Yes, but keep in mind___.
5. Asking for repetition (could you please repeat that? Could you explain that, please? Pardon me? What did you just say to me, punk?)
6. Interrupting (May I interrupt for a second? Excuse me for interrupting, but your mom’s breath smells like cat shit.)
7. Redirecting the conversation (To get back to… To return to… Anyway, I still hate your guts...)
"Ahh....I don't know why I put my friends through such lengths sometimes (ie- taking the 9 and meeting my sorry ass downtown for a grand hour to convince me not to do something incredibly stupid, and then heading home again, as I walk around the corner and take the bus to go do something stupid anyways.) I could
have helped it. My curiousity got the better of me and I couldn't curb it. I should have though."
Vague enough beginning?
I went and saw the little-talked about Vespa boy yesterday for the first time in two years. It was something that Fenton tried to talk me out of (very valiantly) and yet....the curiousity of how he was doing just kept picking at me, along with the feelings of guilt for just out and out dodging a situation that I created (ie- it was me who invited him out for coffee), and possibly hurting his feelings.
So I took the bus to his house, and I have to say, there is a neighborhood just south of 111th ave that is absolutely beautiful. It's sort of a rough neighborhood, but still really pretty and just "hidden". It's sort of surprising when you stumble across it.
Making a long story short, we caught up with each other eventually at his apartment and hung out. He's always saving kids from his hometown it seems, so the latest two refugees are twin boys from his old highschool in BC. They're fairly nice, though a little immature.
So here's my conundrum: We did kiss. And he did tell me that he wanted to be with me and asked me out on a date. And he can give me what I would want in someone...but that's just it. Wants and needs are different, and you can't have wants and not meet needs (ie- intellectual equality, killer sense of humor, etc.). I don't have this big huge list of needs that are retarded though.
What I think is going to happen, is that I'm going to give this some time, and see what's what, and whether this is going to work. And of course, going with that, I will exercise some self-discipline.
This vacation is going to be good for me in that last regard I think, (to a certain degree), because I didn't realize until yesterday how incredibly frazzled I was from school and EVERYTHING else. I couldn't even think straight. I still don't think I am, or that I have been for the last week or so. I just have to sit in the sun, and not think, for a week. And if I do think, it will be to organize myself and get it all together. A lot of things have been suffering lately for me- namely my interpersonal relationships (as is probably horribly evident), my inability to gain closure on pointless pursuits, my grandmother, man, my grandmother... and just all this shit that I have to do.
I have to tell my aunt that I am moving out with Fenton yet, because she doesn't know, and has been starting to suggest "plans." My parents have told me not to tell her, but like, I'm going to have to, or else I'm going to get cornered into something I don't want to do.
I have to get all my shit in line for IPT and APT, which is a fucking stupid and long drawn out bureaucratic process apparently. Also, register for my courses in time, which apparently, I should have done two weeks ago.
I have to make enough money that I can move out. We have to find a place.
I have two weddings to also buy gifts for (that wonderful "nothing less then $100 in value" rule". Fuck...)
Pass EDPY 416. I hate the course, the coursematter, and I could probably fail it if I don't get my shit together.
I am slowly starting to lose my marbles. The thing I'm worried about the most right now is reverting into this old cycle I was stuck in two years ago. But I will remain proper and do this thing with Vespa boy right, even if it kills him.
This is me being a responsible adult.
I've figured out an additional feeling of angst towards being Lin's maid of honour. It's so fucking grown up. I mean, do we all actually strive to be grown-ups? I view it as this thing we try and stave off (old age) via doing dumb things and being generally inappropriate, but to embrace it by saying, "why sure, I will be your maid of honor", you're just saying, "well, I suppose that this means that I'm old enough to do this, get married, have children, and earn my mini van" too. And I don't feel like that, even though I still have to do this. I stayed up until around five on friday night hashing together basic ideas for a speech, for a wedding that is in August. Because if I'm going to do this, damned if I won't do the best job I can at it. But man...no pressure. I don't know her fiancee that well, which sort of adds to making a little bit of a conundrum...I suppose that it isn't that important that I know him, but still....I don't even know what she sees in the guy, she's never articulated that to me.
The dress is out of the way, and honestly, I don't think it will be that bad. It's actually ...dare I say it...rather pretty. It's just the whole process of getting it that I could do without. In my mind, retail people should be trained to know what style is best for what body and whatnot, so if I go in there and say, "I have no fucking clue" they should be able to find me something that looks awesome for my dime. But they don't, you have to jump into this satin lined abyss of the unknown and come out miraculously with matching tops and skirts that don't clash by texture alone (such a thing is possible). I used to be good at this sort of thing, but not anymore.
Final tomorrow. Must go study Freud. Wooo...
my baby's got rabies?
You don't really want to know about my day, but I'll tell you anyways...in boring minute detail.It didn't end.
That's right. I love writing/finishing a term paper and printing it off in time to run out the door and catch the bus to write the final for the same course. Only if I don't study for it though of course.
Actually, it went really ok, but things that always occur during finals started happening today. Firstly...time passes really slowly. You can't wait to get the hell out of a final but no....there's your arm, just sitting there going at a pathetic speed as you chew on something and will it to write so fast that it burns a hole in the test. Beneath your answer in a nice smouldering way that just exemplifies what you were saying, of course. So yes...time passes too quickly when you don't want it to (read: two days to read six chapters...ah...) and slows to the speed of an old woman shuffling across the road when you do want it to. Move, that is.
The other thing that occurs is that you (ok...apparently just me) get all paranoid about missing an exam. I made Bullshit Proof Vest come all the way to the library and show me how to use Beartracks just to double check that I didn't have another one today. Because I thought I did, but apparently the awesome double header isn't until next thursday.
My term paper is going to be a terrible thing to get back. By the time I handed it in...it was something like ridiculously long and huge. He said we could go over, but I'm guessing that he didn't mean by...oh...double the word count. And you can't look at me and say that I didn't run around in silly willy circles for at least some of that.
I should probably go to bed. I have to hunt down bridal shops tomorrow and go for top fittings. The fucking cup-cake dresses (read : "simply adorable ensembles that make your torso look ridiculously stubby, while the skirt doubles as an aesthetically pleasing parachute, or fortress for small children!") that she chose mean that you get to pick your own top. From a certain brand, that a certain store doesn't carry the good styles of."Sorry, we only specialize in ugly and trashy. You'll have to find another location."
Son of a bitch...
I just found out that I owe the library $12.00 in fines. Fuck me!
The noises behind the fence that I had attributed to zombies last year, are evidently my little charibdae beetle friends. If I stand outside and just listen to what goes on behind there, it is this constant and loud rustling around, but the reason it's so loud, is because there are so many of them fishing about in the dry leaves. Thusly, it was easy to believe that creatures looking to eat the brains of the living were living behind my fence and biding their time for the most opportune of my smoke breaks, but really...they're little shiny copper beetles with big pinschers and no consideration for the great lengths my imagination has been run lately. However, they have been rampaging all over the terrace lately, and I'm worried about squashing them.
This has been another essay interlude. Well. Pre-emptive rambling perhaps.
I have had a silly day. Unproductive.
Invoking my seething rage today was the incident at le papier offices. I had confirmed my desires for a hoody like 3 times, explicitly, but apparently there was still a "fumble in the paperwork." Ah. I see. But, I handled it well.
Did you know that the SU is handing out little pads of bubblewrap to better our stress management? That's a laugh. I say, "if it can't be used in a homicide...fuggeddaboudit." I still managed to methodically pop every single one of them though, but that was owing more to my sheer amusement then anything else.
After coffee with some of the boys, I went home and sort of pondered over things--again-- in lieu of actually being productive. I laid in the front yard and read my shitty irish novel that thusfar, would make better use via masonry, then as an actual piece of reading material. Fuck.
I haven't started the essay. I haven't studied for two finals on thursday. I am not fubarred yet, but ...the time is drawing nigh.
I'm starting to realize how strange I am in relation to the rest of the world (ahhh, yes, the cult of individuality). For example: When I go to Second Cup, by campus, and sit there and just listen to the conversations roaring around me, chances are, I will pick up the same phrases said by seperate people, over and over, on completely different sides of the room.
Everyone else is perfectly happy in this mundane existance revolving around going on holidays to the Shushwaps, or buying shoes, or Jesus, or whatever, and I just sit there sort of agog at the fact that I couldn't be that happy with constant short term thinking like that, if I tried. Or that simple. I mean, I'm envious of it, and horrified of it at the same time. And then I contemplate if people like me are the ones that haven't figured out how to get onto that plane, which is ridiculous, but still interesting to think about. But seriously... we all have niches, right? So I just have to find mine. Or do I find it? Or do I look down at my shit one day and go, "oh, I've been here all along?" Or does it just come flying around the corner and bitchslap me in the face? I'd prefer the latter, at least I'd know it to appreciate it.
I think part of the problem is that I'm hideously bored with things right now. The reason I've realized that I (along with others) have become meticulous event planners is because we're so incredibly relieved that we have discovered something to do that will be fun and amusing, even if only for a brief time. We can't be spontaneous, because there's nothing to be spontaneous for. This is one of the reasons I'm looking forward to Nerrimada. Discovery, adventure, and new people, albeit briefly.
So, I've been entertaining the idea of a lover again. And I say lover because I want to be euphamistic so as to pretend I have an ounce of class. The thing is, my optimal choice...is ...very ...hard to read and an ill-timed surprising-and-bound-to-be-dissappointing thing. And the second choice, I'm still thinking about, but I really don't trust him. There's just something unsettling about the whole thing, namely that he's very mysterious about himself. Red flags abound, and frankly, Elvis would suffice over an STD and well...any man, really. Fuck. DONE! Decision made! MEN = OUT!
If only I really meant that. I've been on an anti-male kick lately, where if my thoughts wander to the opposite sex, I scrutinize the nearest object and describe the details of it to myself in my head. It works most of the time, and I'll begin logging some of them later maybe. Just for hilarity.
I suppose I should start this paper now. My parents bought Starbuck beans for me. Blasphemous, but if I let it go to waste, the work of starving migrant worker's will have been for nothing.
"People say lets just die, faster then without water..."
I'm in a wierd mood. It seems to be this plaguing condition lately, but I also have been in a good mood too for the most part. Not weird depressed, just weirdly non-chalant in a highly untimely moment to be such. I mean, I still have one essay to do and shatloads of finals, and right now, I just don't give a damn. I've been sitting here for like two hours going, "I just don't give two shits about this right now," though the looming deadline for a huge paper is imminent (Thursday).
I get to sleep in my bed tonight. On top of that- it's clean sheet night. Double my fun! I'm thinking that in a flash of OCD, that I will clean my room tonight before I go to sleep. Like a purification rite to dispense with the presence of my parents. Although, I demanded they respect the rule I laid down about "doing things that would make the baby Jesus cry" in my bed, I still have to just get rid of all the crap that they always leave behind (ie- the garbage, the cat hair, shopping bags, socks, and countless post-it notes - this addiction to post-it notes seems to be hereditary).
Saw, "Assault on the 13th Precinct" tonight at El Cheapo theatres, which was a lot of fun but for funny reasons. The movie itself was nothing extraordinary but still quite entertaining in that predictable-yet-action-packed sense. But, when we were walking into the theatre, I remembered when I was a kid and we used to go to movies every once and a blue moon in the summer and spring. Just walking into a gaudy theatre with warm air and the sun just about to set, was quite ....romantic (in the nostalgic sort of way)...for lack of a better word. Specifically I remembered that it was the same kind of day, sunlight and smells as the day that my parents brought us to see Peter Pan in the cold Lake theatre. That was a great day, and possibly the first movie I ever saw in theatres that I remember.
Conflicts as of now: I had to sort of let down two of my friends today, in regards to my trip to Nerrimada. I feel massively bad about it, but truthfully, my brother and his fiancee weren't anticipating that I bring anyone...and guiltily enough, I think I just want one week where I get to focus on myself, and my own personal developement of hedonist activities. I've decided that I'm bringing all my camera gear (in the spirit of catching Ogopogo on film, you know...), and probably a few notebooks and novels to read. NOVELS. Oh my...the possibilities and promises are orgasmic. I also get to use my brother's car during the day apparently, which is my idea of vacation nirvana. If the ocean is less then a two hour drive, I'm going. Somehow I doubt this though, but we'll see. However, Sejwick might still pop on by, and I wouldn't be opposed to that at all, because it's been so long since I've seen her, and together, we've always been a great "Team Hedonism". The world is ours. No border is well patrolled enough. Speaking of which, I was thinking about taking a saunter across the border into Washington, as apparently it's only 80 or so clicks away. Should be good. I mean, as good as the US gets. I wish I could go see Durran, but sadly, I don't have the time or money, which is too bad, because that would rock.
Sidenote: apparently my brother's house is infested with mice--that should be interesting. I mean, other then the threat of hantivirus and the prospect of mice turd being everywhere....I've always thought they were sort of amusing things. Not to mention, I'm always a fan of conjuring up humane ways to trap things, and my brother is not- so I will remedy that.
Welll....bed is calling.
Sister Nunchuku of Enlightened Compassion
See above for my featured Unitarian Jihad name. Gendered accordingly.
I realize that my last post was dry as hell, but I've also realized lately that I have not the time to devote to all the zillions of things that have been running through my mind. Or maybe it's that nothing has been going through my mind. I honestly don't know.
Interesting sidenote: I went to Southgate mall for the first time ever yesterday, to fetch a skateboard for my cousin (he gave me his birthday money, all $68.00 of it), bringing my own shit deck along. The look that the skate repair guy gave me when I walked up to the counter was one of growing horror.
"Do you want new grip n' stuff?"
"Ah, no, not really...I can't afford it..."
*gasps* "Um....are you sure?? Like really?"
And really, I'm thinking that "yay, I can skate" but honestly, compared to say rollerblading and biking, it's muy impractical and dumb. I like that I taught myself how to do it, and that I'm very proficient at it, (I can do anything that I put my mind to), but it makes for a tremendous accumulation of sport stuff, as well as exceedingly unecessary risks of injury. And I hate falling on my ass. So, my other cousin and I reached the consensus that I will teach her how to skate this summer (she's young, spry and inafraid of falling) and just give her my deck. And I think I'm ok with that, although the deck itself is getting kind of thrashed (the bearings are still ok though, but even the trucks are pretty chewed up, to say nothing of the somewhat flexible state of the deck itself. Additionally- since I have no interest in learning tricks, I also find it quite boring to just skate around aimlessly. It isn't the most efficient mode of travel, as I've probably mentioned already.
Last post was, I decided, a blip on the radar. The last little bit has proven to be a time of improvement for me, although admittedly, a little silent and observational for the most part. I think that I'm just feeling a little detached from everything. My up and coming vacation will be good for me though in this respect, because I will have some serious alone time to muddle through things and just recover from the year in general.
Friday was an excellent last day of classes. We had a really good beer with our Marginal Boss and some of the students of the class (apparently this ran all the way to 5:30), as well as getting dismissed from a non-existant English class later on. Spent the afternoon having coffee and good conversation with more fine peers, and all was good. Admittedly though, on my way home I felt a little dejected at the nights prospects. I mean, going to Halo is one thing, but going to Buddy's was another. I really enjoy Halo, but I do not enjoy Buddy's at all. However, apparently no one else was in the mood either, and we walked aimlessly around and listened to inappropriate jokes from the Married Couple. I have never really enjoyed their company to begin with though- they're strange, and though their intentions are always to be nice, the wife is sort of an indescribable cow, and I feel sorry for her husband constantly.
Going to the shindig for le Papier yesterday however, proved to be unexpectedly fun. We seriously had a great time. It is so much easier to get along with staff when they are lubricated with spirits, as well as easier to have really good conversation with them also. And admittedly, I felt more then guilty about the bitching and griping I've been doing about the office lately. However, I am still a Ross sympathizer.
After we tired of the events at RATT, three of us meandered down Whyte with the intention of doing something indecisive, got harassed by Frat boys, and the general late-night drunk Whyte melee. Ran into a few ecclectic friends of Red Jersey, and actually made a decision towards going to Humptys in our half-sotted states. I actually had a really good time, despite the fact that it was incredibly hard to stay awake at times. We winded up leaving the place at about four-ish after much long discussion and debate that had these two little girls at the other side of the table glazing over, but it was a great time for the rest of us. The people that Red Jersey introduced us too were really quite something. Except for those two girls of course. Young, dumb and....
The cab ride home was suprisingly cheap- I suspect our cabbie had Formula racing skillz, and he was quite nice and interesting.
And today...well, today was madness, detachment, and fatigue, all rolled into one cigarette craving mess. Our neighbors chopped down the huge pine tree in front of our houses, as well as one in the back. It is quite a dramatic thing to note the sudden absence of a 75 foot behemoth tree in your front yard. The sun seems more blinding.
Looking forward to my vacation. YES.
I'm at this point right now, where I'm getting in on my own joke. That I haven't been understanding why I've been being the way I've been for the last two weeks, and today, I just sort of "got it."You stupid fuck...you're lying through your teeth! If you were really honest, you'd say, "the last thing I want to do right now, is hang around people that don't have anything to say, and cover it up by saying lots of nothing. And then, talk about all the nothing that he/she said, later, to another person because you feel their nothings are better to hear then your somethings that are depressing as hell."
See, and this makes me out as "shithead" because "you feel like you can't fucking tell us anything?" And it's not that I can't--it's that I don't prefer to. This right here is fine. You read it, and we don't have to talk about it, and you still gain an understanding, unwanted, unnoticed, or otherwise.
I will mention though that I'm tired of not being simple. Of trying too hard to seem complicated. Because I'm not like that. I'm not the all-singing, all dancing, all knowleable and witty ...something...of the world. I enjoy moments, and things that attach themselves to them. I don't enjoy criticism, or being criticized, or criticizing other people unconstructively because I feel the need to catch up and not be stomped on.
I like being nice and happy and wonderbar.
I'm in this space right now however that's sort of confusing. I'm over that guy, completely. But it's been so long that I'm starting to look around and go, "huh? Now what? Do I do something now? Or do I really want to?" I don't really want to though, so I'm stuck in this space where I try to be invisible, and all of a sudden find out that I don't have to.
Fuckbuddies are popping up from all over the place. One even has a Vespa. And I don't want any of them, though they continue to dog me. Right now I don't feel like I want anything from anyone except for absolute silence and maybe being held.
Godzilla started to cry over the dishwasher yesterday, because "she didn't tell me how to wash the electric air filters." It just keeps hitting me over and over that she's not on vacation. She's actually gone forever.
Mum and Dad are back from BC tomorrow. Back to the couch.
So today was presentation day. Contrary to how I felt directly after my really long ramble (why no one stopped me...I don't know), I think now that I didn't do that bad. But it was really unreasonably long and sort of incohesively put together--something I didn't realize in retrospect. But really, I'm just glad it's over. Funny, because I want so bad to be a teacher...but there is little to script in that sort of "front of the class" situation.
Bullshit proof vest and I had a great coffee and a good walk/talk in the chilly weather today for a good hour before he ambled off to skip our English class--for which there was good reason to. Dr. Jiggety-jig just decided to talk about random things until he trailed off into silence and asked for us to suggest things to talk about for "the next little bit here". I was just about to walk out halfway through class, when he sensed the masses were agitated and came up with some incredibly vague summarizations towards our final exam essay topics. Crap crap crap. It was the longest fiddy minutes in the history of man.
Afterwards, I fell asleep on a bench like a wretched bum with aviator glasses on the entrance between HUB and Humanities and waited for Fenton to come and shake me awake for another caffeine infusion at Remedy . Expresso milkshakes, and since the manager who likes me was on, he gave me ALL the milkshake in the container. That's right--ALL. It was worth getting sick for. Bulimia is fun.
So we chatted for a while and headed back to campus to get some pictures of the installation art I talked about earlier. Just in the nick of time too, because the girl was about to start bringing it back in. I have to say though, I sort of liked yesterday's "umbrella rays" better. I like "not understanding" situational art-- that makes it more wonderful. And seriously- if anyone knows the name of that course, please tell me.
When I got home, I cleaned like mad with the idea that I'd have enough time to drag out my bike and do some inspection- as I had the great epiphany that I wanted to further explore my neighborhood, and also just get off my lazy ass--period. I ended up cleaning from seven to eleven though, so no such luck. Tomorrow, I suppose.
I have some other things that have been on my mind, but I am really tired, so maybe another time.
 Note to the wise- taking home half a tandoori chicken wrap and making it freezing cold in the fridge makes it taste unbelievably awesome later. It's almost better then hot...
 Here's looking at YOU my favorite art guy, Mr. Waldron-Blaine I! Do you know?
George Dickie is a dick.
Beryl's ignoring me. And I feel sort of tired and strung out. And I'm smoking too much. And I just want to do anything else but this.... WHINE
I wrote my EDIT 202 final today. Fell asleep in the middle of a problm set of binary code for tri-colored GIF files (oooh...hard...) and woke up refreshed fifteen minutes later. Finished the exam with minimal difficulty, and walked out with a half an hour to spare. I RULE!
There's installation art on campus by the bus loop. I suggest that you all go see it. It's no Saffron Gated wonder, but it's still pretty awesome, if not a little transparent. I liked it, and I eagerly await stealing photos from someone who takes pictures of it, because I am a sad Flickr whore with no camera.
"Your voice smiled- 5 in the morning..."
A few things:
I got an email from Paul Muldoon the other day. Maybe I'll post it later, but it wasn't really that extroadinary. Maybe I was expecting the secret of life, but I got that from Marginal Boss yesterday. He basically just told me that he was really glad I enjoyed his poetry, and also, enjoyed hearing that I wanted to be a teacher and wished me well. Typical fan-letter reply, but I was thrilled. This man is a poetic genius. I'm wondering if I should reply and ask him about the sexual content in his poetry, like, what does it mean to him...but I don't want to throw my essay all to hell either by finding out "the truth." Just kidding. ..
I did get my session transcribed last night, after...oh... more then six hours straight (with only intermittent smoke breaks). The self reflection (2 pages) was a sigh of relief after all that. It is still rather shitty, but I think my TA will be able to get the gist of it. But man, if I see that girl today, she's going to get a punch in the head- crisis or no crisis. *Mumble mumble mumble*
Interesting: I downloaded some christmas carols by Arcade Fire. Hilarity! Additionally, "a penny" by Hawksley, which is awesome, and sort of reminding me of rough-edged Queen. I miss my Hawksley Cd. Yet another victim of the great Cd case disaster of '04. And my precious precious White Stripes and 'Hail to the Thief'....oh the humanity! I don't know how I've managed to sleep at night. However, this said, I just got my GST cheque (<-- Canadian) so maybe I can make some reperations, though scant. People always say "music prices are going down due to piracy" but really? I haven't been getting that impression. And plus, there is so much new stuff that I want...Well "new" in the sense that it comes in plastic wrap, because I want to go get some Fugazi and I want old Fugazi, not new.
Lastly: The dynamic between Grace Kelly and I is changing. We seem really a lot more kindred lately, and getting along quite well. There was all that nonsense earlier yesterday, but she actually came down and helped me out with the transcription quite a lot later, and made me dinner. She's been freakishly nice and easy to get along with, and I am beginning to think that friend dynamic is coming back a little. I feel bad for her though, because she's still quite scattered because of Grandma. She's finding this really hard, but we've also been able to talk about it quite a lot.
Note to the wise: The Donna's don't suck THAT badly. "Hot Pants" is quite poignant.
Signs that your blog is going downhill:
1. Full of EMO CRAP.
2. You begin each entry with an innacurate summary of how your day went, that no matter what, sounds decidedly mopey.
3. You throw around big words just to sound intelligent.
4. You make lists.
Seriously, I had an awesome day....(see #2). I was in a great mood, so great that I came home to any number of horrible events and was still fine. Let me list them off for you (see #4).
a) Someone....fire breathing, scaly and mean....dumped water all over my english notes and hand-outs. Sometimes these things are useful to study for ....FINALS with, and I'm sure they will still be functional once they're dry.
b) got blamed for cat shit behind treadmill. Because, of course I tell my cats not to use the litter box.
c) got nailed for not vaccuming behind the couch or vaccuming out the cold air vent. (blast! I've been discovered!)
d) got blamed for everysinglecrumb in the den, and when sticking up for myself and blaming others, got blamed for not preventing the disaster.
e) Got ripped off $33 dollars for twenty bus tickets.
f) found out that my transcript tape is shit. Rather...indecipherable. I remember watching her put her hand in front of her mouth repeatedly, but still being able to understand what she said...however, tape-recorders lack that. I mean, I will still be able to transcribe the thing, but the volume on my stereo is going to have to be ridiculously high to better record this girl's simpering nasal voice of awfulness. Have you ever not wanted to talk to someone because of how their voice sounds? It happens to me all the time- it is my hideous trait that you all never knew-- that I avoid people with voices that either i) make them sound 'touched', ii) grate against my cochlea like resounding rabbit screams, iii) dull edged high toned nasality and the tendency to uptalk at the same time. Uptalk drives me nuts, even though I'm probably guilty of it occasionally. Apparently Canadian women are really bad for it.
Seriously though, despite all this crap, the day has been good. Interesting epiphanies and weights lifted. I don't know if I'm still doing the bald thing. Bullshit Proof Vest made me think about some things I had not considered thoroughly, and the Cat Lady was horrified I would even suggest such a thing, and threatened to not be my friend anymore (not seriously, but still horrified). Today I passed my little free time with BSPV and the Cat Lady in seperate parts of the afternoon, talking and downing two coffees. The Cat Lady and I had fun with a poll we decided to take. Well, that I decided to take, and somewhat selectively at that. We made the assumption that all boys who carry cell-phones must have girlfriends, and I set out to do sample testings with all the boys I saw carrying cell phones. All of them did, except for this one guy that I just asked an opinion of, who didn't even have a cellphone, but told me that yes, boys who have cells usually have girlfriends, or if not, very nervous mothers, "so...draw your own conclusions from that, huh?" We laughed over it, and the Cat lady tried not to look embarrasssed. So immature, but still funny. Summary: Boys with cell phones == whipped into submission by girlfriends, or faithful Mama's boys. Or of course, the old predictable notion: Drug dealers.
I hate Qucktime
I had to write this upstairs, because Lucifer is hopelessly screwed as far as showing me anything but thumbnails on flickr- don't ask me why, apparently it's a conundrum felt by many, but really, it annoys me a lot. I've been fidgeting around with installing and uninstalling it, with shitty results, because even when uninstalled (incorrectly?) I just continue to get reminders that "quicktime is needed for this task- download at www.applekissmyass.com", and yes, pictures that continue not to download despite the fact that I got rid of the program. Anyways, until I get it sorted out, I blog pictures from upstairs. Le sigh.
In regards to yesterday, it was quite a good day. The memorial was short and sweet, just how my grandmother would have wanted it, as well as joy-filled as we recounted her very interesting and fulfilling life. I got to see a lot of relatives I have not seen for a long time, most notably my cousin from BC and her girlfriend, whom I really love visiting with as they're both quite art minded. Also Harlot's daughter and her husband were there, and I love seeing them. There is no denying that the event was a sad one, but it was sort of bittersweet too because it brought us all together. I also got to meet my new cousin, and is he ever adorable. And my cousin (the one that got shot up in Millhood) has stepped into the father role beautifully. There is nothing more touching then seeing a huge man with long blond hair and tattoos all over his forearms wrestling with a wiggly baby boy to change his diaper. Just to see the expression on the happy dad's face every time he held his son, was amazing. I've never seen him so happy.
Later that night, I made a hasty exit to go to Keegans, thoroughly enjoying the bus ride until I hit the last stretch on 97th from the underpass. A bottle collector sat down to me and we made small talk (ie: "why on earth would you leave scotland to come to this?") and unawaredly pissed off his "ladyfriend" who was sitting adjacent. Words were exchanged, I was called a "whore", and other great moments, but he managed to convince her she was being rash, and I also apologised for giving her the wrong impression. Damn my hot self. The rest of the night was excellently spent watching two very good movies, and playing NES, which I thoroughly enjoyed, though I have to admit, I suck at it--I must have been about eight the last time I played.
Highlight of the night was definately playing around with Hydrass' camera. It's fucking sweet. I hope the one I get eventually is just as nice. Equipment is like men I have realized- never settle for a Sony.
I know I usually devote much more time to the movie end of things here...but I ain't got no time. Or satisfaction.
"I will smite thee ho."
The other day, I came up with a fantastic idea. Like, enlightenment and personal growth, all in one go, and probably a great thing for me to do, if I can gather up the gumption to actually do it:
Bear with me here, because I know it might sound stupid or terrible, but I was thinking about shaving my head bald. Everyone that knows me, knows that I have the tendency to be a little self deprecating and yes, I am fairly comfortable in my skin, but not completely- and when I have low moments, I loathe my body and hold it responsible for my sufferings. So- obviously a very unhealthy thing to do (the latter). Now, the method behind my madness is that, if I shave off all my hair, I will have these things occurring:
a) you will be able to see all the scars on the right side of my head.
b) I won't have the "false" security of hiding the back of my neck or upper back behind hair (though I can't really right now)
c) all my other physical flaws are already fairly visible, so I would be more blatantly showing them off, because no hair would emphasize the crooked neck and whatnot, as well as craniofacial stuff.
d) people already stare, so I imagine they will stare harder
Now, this all sounds very horrible, and personally I'm still weighing it out - but really, it's just hair. It grows back. And the way I'm looking at it, is that I won't be hiding anything at all. You'll even be able to see my little goofy bump on the back of my head- anyways- it's this whole idea of starting from the beginning again I suppose- and I think it would make me stronger. I'm not saying it's going to be pleasant and wonderful, but, I think it's a great way to get over my insecurities. I think too, when I remember how I got teased when I was a kid, I realized that I didn't handle that well at all- so this sort of gives me some weird twisted way of dealing with that all over again (there are still immature asses out there), but also, to deal with it the right way.
Going along with the quitting smoking thing- I may just do both that and the featured above activity on the same day. I think it would be profound and more meaningful that way. So it will go either a) some good self growth and development, or b) the shock of doing both will make me jump in front of a train. However, I'm counting on the novelty of having a cool feeling head to get me past the first two weeks of "aaahh!! What have you done?"
Sidenote: I was considering getting a small tattoo on my head while it was bald- just so it could be there while I was bald, and then, when my hair grew back it would be this little secret. However....I'm not sure if you can do that feasibly either without fucking up your scalp (follicles and whatnot).
Differently but not so much from this sort of personal aesthetic theme- I am thinking about kickstarting the wardrobe again, and just going through and getting rid of lots of stuff. I think I've matured a lot more then I necessarily reflect in what I wear. I feel like I dress like a highschool student sometimes, so I just need to sit back and revamp maybe. I love my tee-shirts though, so that collection will continue. But- I have so many sweaters- so I'll sort through them. And they're all wool boy sweaters for the most part, so if anyone is looking for a really sort of "alt" boy ....who am I kidding. Here's what I have. I have this awesome orange scottish wool sweater that is way too large for me (v-neck, mint condition), so if someone wants that...lemme know. Back on track- I want to mix it up a little (my wardrobe) and make it maybe a little more well thought out, and a little more edgier. Teeshirts and pants and a hoody--> fine, but boring, and I wear them waaaaay too fucking much. But also, I have good taste, but I don't necessarily know that well what looks good on me, or what sort of thing necessarily suits me the most. So, people who know me- give me your predictions, critical commentary, suggestions, or "man, I would love to see you .wear....because it would totally suit you." But, keep in mind, I'm also very picky- so if I don't listen to you exactly, don't be surprised. And I'm serious. For every joke about dressing like a hooker every day, there must be one legit thing.
Finally- I've been gaining weight in the last two weeks- it's amazing how stress makes you eat like shit and more frequently then usual. So- I'm going healthy from here on out. Gonna start rollerblading more ferociously after I get all these final assignments done. But yeah, t'aint good. Je pudge.
There was this thing that I did not miss after moving out of my parent's house so so long ago. I've been doing my own laundry since I was eleven, but inevitably my mom would do some of it too, and always fuck up my clothes (ie- shrink them, or turn them pink- I didn't have a pure white teeshirt until I turned 20). My parents have been here for the last two weeks. My mom took it upon herself to do my laundry. As a result, my new, ridiculously expensive awesome tee-shirt has shrunk from comfortably snug, to innappropriate. More impetus to lose weight, but still. Some things never change.
Lastly.... I'd lost something of mine that is fairly sketchy last fall, and could not remember where I had hid it. I never remember hiding places-like a squirrel who's touched a powerline, but anyways, I had forgotten where it was, and had convinced myself that it was all gone, all smoked. So. I'm looking for gum in my dresser, and I open the top drawer (they're skinny and impractical), and apparently, it's been a while since I've looked in there... because there it was, looking all conspicuous and guilty, right in the middle of the drawer. In my bedroom, where my snoopy mother has been sleeping for the last three or four weeks. My god. So, it is rehid- and ready for the end of finals. Or something.
Cats are here- this means Phoenix- and also explains the one centimeter thick layer of cat fur on everything. She's shedding like stupid amounts.
I'm so mad.
I feel like I'm going to implode, because I can't even talk about what I'm mad about, because it's absolutely retarded. My back hurts worse then it's ever hurt before (stress) and I don't want to do anything, or be around anyone. I want to sit in a body of water up to my nose and just turn around in circles in the deep scowling at nothing, just to scowl, because I feel like a big fat misshapen scowlmonster right now.
Are there preservatives in these?
Miss thang (Elaugh the Anaconda) had feeding day last night, and in the perfected arched neck pounce and coil move, she popped
her mouse. Eviscera everywhere, that of course I had to clean up. Perhaps I should be upgrading to small pigs or Indie boys.
Beryl wrote me again today after I wrote him back a plethora of questions, answering my questions, but asking me why the hell I was writing him of all people. And frankly, I don't know why. Is it his Rodney Dangerfield good looks? His strangely nerdy Texan accent, and overall nerd demeanour? I don't know, but I know words have something to do with it.
Sidenote: I found out recently that my grandma was fourteen years younger then my grandfather. T'aint so bad then. The thing I wonder about obviously, is sure...mental attraction, but physical attraction...that's a whole other thing. I've always had such an aversion to older men, albeit they were old creepy
men in their fifties or forties. Beryl doesn't seem creepy. Odd, but not creepy.
Extra important sidenote: As much as this could be diagnosable- I know that I'm overthinking a lot of things lately, especially this Beryl thing, amongst others. Really though, it's just interesting- and something I've never thought about before (read: being attracted to older men), as well as a bit of a distraction from the current realm of things, which just aren't peachy. So, I'm sure it'll go away, and surely the man himself thinks I'm an insignificant gnat by now- I figure though that I'll just keep in touch until he tells me to bugger off perhaps. Because he really is interesting and awesome.
I still have so much work to do today. And, I recorded my second session today, and choked
again, this time on the summary ("Oooh....and that one's for the point- she shoots, SHE MISSES!"). If only these people were just more freakin' interesting. Two school related flip-floppers in a goddamn row. If only my problems were that insignificant. I totally set my partner up for "good grades ahoy" too, because when the whole point of a session is to practice goal-setting, "I want to quit smoking" is gold. She told me she hoped I would "sober up" in part of her summary, so apparently... AA, here I come.
The world is full of stupid people all waiting to get killed by evil geniuses. Namely the two girls who sit behind me making snotty comments after each conjecture by our professor that he deems profound in the world of teacher-related technology. Today, it was this (the usual) on top of a little Gateway slammin'...As if you could even string together a sentence worthy of our faithfully written crap paper! I'm so glad I sleep through the majority of that class. But I loathe those girls. The worst part is- these doe-eyed venomous people will be teaching your
children. Yeah, that's right, all 2.5 of them. I realized today that the cynicism that I posess will be invaluable in teaching High School- I might even bring it up in interviews.
The Doctor is In.
I feel a lot better today- save for the flinching I am doing right now as my aunt makes more violent noise upstairs then usual. It is understandable, but pity the fool who crosses her path and encounters her laser beams right now.
Admittedly, I'm moody, venturing between depressed or somewhat manic, or just melancholia right now, but also, I am very relieved, and wonder if it's wrong to feel relieved, even though I shouldn't really, because there is no more hurting and waiting. Getting wasted by a bus instantly is one thing, but waiting for your body to give out on you, or watching someone do this, is a completely different hard terrible thing.
Last night, right after she passed, I felt like I was going to spontaneously combust. I got so warm I was hot to touch, but not feverish- my skin was just really really hot- but not sweaty, like standing naked under the sun. My skin felt like it was moving and stretching I was so warm. Ten minutes later after leaving the room, it just left me instantly and I sat in 23 degrees of warmth in the family room shivering. Mom says shock, but I don't know. That's never happened to me before. Mind you, I've never been so attached to someone and watched them die in front of me before either.
In other, more distracting news....Beryl
, the mysterious amazing older (understatement) man I stumbled across in Craigslist, actually wrote me back. He wants to see a picture of me, and know more about me. I don't know what the hell to do, but go check out the site, he's amazing. Some very unusual eccentricities, but very good with words, and intimidatingly intelligent. Anywho...this is just speculative weirdness, so don't get all up in arms about me "pursuing an older man", he is just really ...wow.
I don't feel anything right now. I sat there after with my tea in one hand and the lid to my thermos in the other and didn't rightly know what to do beyond drink more scalding tea. Any actions past that seemed absurd.
She's gone. And I'll miss her, but I'm relieved that she isn't in pain anymore. But there is this impending quiet after someone passes away, like we are all stricken mute as a soul takes one last look around.
They fought and exchanged words on top of her last breath. But she's gone now.
Oh my Pontiff.
As you all know- the Pope died today (and instantly, I become '999 999 served' in the blogosphere for mentions of the late Pope today). Catholics came crawling out of the woodwork today and gathered outside St. Joseph's Basilica in mourning, and they rang the bells. I wish someone would ring bells when I die, faith or no faith. Maybe you should all bring Swedish cowbells to my funeral. Or a gong to hit at particularly poignant moments in the service and eugoogaly <= intentionally misspelled, and ALWAYS mispronounced on my part, in reverance to stupid supermodel movies.
Things have not been so great today. More fighting, and more deterioration on my grandmother's part. And my dad is on the brink of massively losing his cool on some hapless victim because he's still holding it all in for the sake of the collective good. But it's starting to seep out a little, because I told him a joke I'd heard the other day at school on the way home, and he didn't laugh- just sharply said that I smelled really smokey, and asked if I was smoking more then usual. And yes- I lied to him and said no. And yes- he's got reason to be mad at me. Hell, I'm mad at me. But it killed any conversation dead, and we rode the rest of the way home in disgustingly tense and angry silence. I was mad at myself for still smoking, because now my dad is going to go back to hating me again until I quit. And I honestly don't know if I can. I always say I can, and wish I can, but what if I can't? My family doesn't do addiction well.
I was outside earlier feeling sorry for my parents and my grandmother, and a homeless guy came up to me and asked me how I was doing--whether I was having a good night. Not for money or cigarettes or anything. He said I looked sad and asked me who I was visiting, and guessed I was up to see my grandma on the first try. He told me jokes and some stories and gave me a hand-smithed celtic ring as a "friendship ring, even if I never see ya again, just for good luck and hope, you know?" The story was humourous, involving a dropped quarter and mild mood-altering drugs: "When I saw that old silver queen of England land on the sidewalk, I just started to cry rivers of tears. I looked up at the sky, and it looked like this big huge eye staring down at me, accusing me of something, and I just cried harder." I swear to god this is an accurate quote, because I raced inside right away and wrote it down. His name was Frank, and he's "not really homeless. Just wandering. I like to meet new people and party, you know?" At that moment, I envied him, and I wanted to just walk away from the hospital and take off to the unknowns with nothing on me whatsoever. How idealistic and psychologically wrong that was to entertain.
I have successfully hacked through the intro and first body paragraph of the essay. I've never had an essay be such a painful process for me, though by all means, it's incredibly easy. I just can't stand how much of a problem this is proving to be (ie- keeping my shit together).
Offers for sex this week: 4. Offers taken up: none.
I'm so sick and tired of the opposite sex. Maybe not sick and tired, but complacent with what's up now- even though certain points of my personal life are somewhat "what the fuck?!" right now- I enjoy the mild confusion. Honestly, if I even had a boyfriend right now, I'd be just too horrible to be around. Dreadful depressing, and probably slightly psychologically unsound. BUT- maybe I'm like this because I'm starved for physical affection. Who knows. What I do know is that I'm fairly certain that I will never meet the right guy- being realistic, you know? But, hopefully I don't settle for someone awful. God knows I seem to attract awful people.
I. Trapped in a bathroom stall with no escape
Someone asked me to write a poem today
She told me
They were carbohydrates
"That's why kids eat them."
I told her about the man reading Derrida
In the library
Who was apparently lacking
in nutritional enrichment
Slyly and carefully raiding his stash
Slowly behind the covertness of canvas covers.
Not so discreet as to avoid my detection however
Stifled snickers over crisp vellum drawings
I asked her if you could survive
In isolated wilderness
Or arrid desert
By eating boogers
'You know, in a pinch."
She told me I was disgusting
I told her about passionate urination
"Your pee moan
Is supposed to be your orgasm moan."
I told her it would be amusing
If inanimate objects
Could orgasm on a whim
Toilets flushing by themselves
Just for the sheer running liquid
pleasure of it all.
"Because this toilet definately has a sweet spot."
Upon taking our leave,
we noticed the other stall had an occupant.
I would like to mention that I feel like a shithead for some of the comments about le Papier I made on the previous entry. I was not fully informed on some of the things I stated, and I apologise.
Additionally- MOTHER OF GOD, SOMEONE WRITE THIS ESSAY FOR ME. Catastrophic. The good news is that the jigsaw puzzle is complete.