Sunday, May 29, 2005
  The trippy carnivalesque of Emerson. Don't step in it.
As of late, Emerson has had her fair share of melodrama occurring. Firstly, and most importantly, her fish seems to have died on the weekend and left nothing but a rotting fetid carcasse in its tank in her absence. She eventually helped him into the porcelain after-life, but alas, parting is such sweet sorrow. Edgebert is not alone however, and instead got transfered into Leonardo's tank (Emerson's grandfather's fish). Leonardo is terrified of him, this little misshapen snail who looks more like a homeless man crawling around in a cardboard box then a mollusk.

Additionally, Emerson has been having problems in her personal life. That is, she can't control it, and cannot seem to ever do things in an uncomplicated manner. However she has established a few important things over the weekend.

1. It IS a good idea to spend $55 on a cab ride to the rez to see your ex at 1 AM, because he still loves you, and still wants to make this work in the most gentle and easy way possible. Emerson and Mr. Pink seem to have arranged that they will remain each other's paramours, but try not to have any expectations of the other past a commitment of love for each other. They spent a luxurious twelve hours cuddling on a single mattress, talking and listening to the little snores of the five kids he was babysitting filter in under the door, accompanied by a giggling little-feet-running wake-up call at 8:30 and the sound of the birds at sunrise. No sleep was had by Emerson or Mr. Pink. Emerson did not get yelled at by Mr. Pink's mom as her presence was discovered in the house only as she was leaving to catch her ride back to home.

2. Vespa Boy has got to go, and though Emerson has technically cheated on him, with her ex, she is not upset about it, because she was following her heart after all, and additionally, having done something "wrong", she is now in the crucial position of being highly dumpable. Which is a-OK.

3. Who gives a fuck about Star Wars Blind Date anyways? She was interested, but now it is out of the question. If he does give her another call, Emerson's course of action will probably be to just befriend him, if at all possible.

4. New directors sort of suck. Emerson discovered on Friday that the new three-day old director is making her crew start 10 hour shifts on June sixth. They will work four days a week, and have three day weekends. However, they will probably start at 6 am, which means she will have to rise at 4:45 AM, and be in bed by 8:30 PM. She still vows to attend Raving poets, but is understandably irked about the whole thing. The most disturbing part is that no raise seems imminent, no second job seems feasible now, and the illegality of only three fifteen minute breaks in a 10 hour shift. Illegal! Illegal! Emerson's father has advised her to take action on this, and she will ASAP. Damn the man! Protect the working class! It is kind of cool to now have three day weekends for the rest of the summer though, she has to admit.

Why third person, you ask? Because Emerson felt that she needed to put things out as subjectively as she could for herself in the small course of this self examination and review of the weekend.

My parents bought a two man kayak. I'm in heaven. I took it for a little spin this morning, and it's not the most graceful of vessels, but it'll do. Additionally, I scored a beautiful amazing amazing armchair from my parents. It's green, huge and so so comfy. Also, I have spice containers, and banana split bowls. The latter seems sort of decadent and ridiculous, but maybe the task will to be to find some other purpose for them. Like crystal jockstraps, or a cocktail weeny plate. I don't know.
Thursday, May 26, 2005
  My bladder is less stable then yours.
I am Jack's seething dissappointment. Typically, when a boy meets a girl on a first date, pleasantries ensue. Both are well put together, and jive nicely, because yes, they do have a lot in common. Good first dates don't involve infectious diseases, nervous rambling, constant interruptions, burns on religious people, temper tantrums, and watching thursday night FOX. I totally fucked this one up. First nice guy in a long time, and wow...I was so nervous. He was so hard to read, and it completely threw me off. I mean, I'm not a manipulator, but I am an interpreter, and I got nothin'. Which is why I automatically assumed that he had a friend of his call him on his phone and bail him out a half an hour into coffee, with the excuse of "being on call." I mean, yeah, it was a completely wrong and irrational thing to assume, but I had myself totally convinced of it at one point. I have never been so at a loss for words. I mean, understandably, it was a first date, and jobs are important...I was just bummed out. I was so incredibly excited to get to know this person, and to see what made him tick, and now, he probably thinks I'm the most self centered, immature and egotistical girl on the planet.

To make matters worse, I didn't get out of sight of my home, and felt the need to stomp part of the way back when I thought I was out of sight, and probably wasn't.

Part of me is like, "well, fuck it. He likes it or he lumps it," but the other part of me is thinking, "am I just romantically repellant, period?"

And he was so ...I just liked him. Anudder wun bites de dust!

I'm going to go have a bath and sulk.
Sunday, May 22, 2005
1. Bitch
2. KJ
3. Koala

1. Emerson Emergency
2. Solipsist
3. 0_o

1. My sense of humor
2. My assertiveness
3. My adaptability

1. My poor physical self esteem
2. My spare tire
3. My huge uncontrollable sex drive.

1. Irish
2. English
3. Scottish

1. Dying alone.
2. Going deaf
3. My life will always have meaning, so I'd have to say, injuring my right hand.

THREE OF YOUR EVERYDAY ESSENTIALS (aside from food/drink/air/etc):
1. Music...especially the portable kind (mp3 player/discman/whatever)
2. Pen and paper (or keyboard and computer).
3. Cigerettes (I'm working on that...)

1. Grey zipper sweater .
2. Green cargo pants.
3. Blue tie-dyed Hanes Her Way.

1. My Chemical Romance
2. PJ Harvey
3. The Dears (so I'm behind the times, I know...it's the dialup)

1. This Mess (PJ Harvey & Radiohead)
2. Atmosphere - Fuck you Lucy
3. I don't know.

1. Living on my own
2. Performing my poetry live (this should be happening on Tuesday).
3. Working two jobs at once

1. Someone who loves me just as I am.
2. Someone who gets along with my parents and realizes the importance of family
3. An equal.

1. I have red transformer underwear and a reputation with strangers because of them.
2. I can't drive anything with wheels.
3. I am not a virgin.

1. A nice smile.
2. Strong hands
3. Expressive eyes

1. Cut people from my life cleanly
2. Be insensitive to deliberately cruel remarks
3. Give up on people.

1. Reading.
2. Writing.
3. Listening to music.

1. Get better.
2. Get another job.
3. Graduate.

1. Teacher.
2. Writer
3. Artist

1. Belfast
2. New York, New York.
3. Alaska.

1. Hannah
2. Anna
3. Banana

1. Write a book (or 40).
2. Have a child.
3. Find love.

1. Hydrass (just for kicks)
2. Sejwick
3. Mooke.
Thursday, May 19, 2005
  You're not listening anymore
So I realize that I’ve left out the details of everything lately.

The other night, was, to say the absolute least a complete drama fest. I never should have let it get that far. I suppose you are all wondering as to what the “truth” that I will be sharing with him is. Ok, maybe you aren’t, but I am.

The absolute truth is horrifying, so I’ll tell him this: Our maturity levels are so different. I need to be with an intellectual—someone more aware of their surroundings, and someone who has a sense of humor that doesn’t consist of really bad ethnic jokes that yes, I did actually find enormously offensive, even if I’m not native.

As to other stuff:

I’ve been on the weedeating crew for the last week, which already, has been a welcome vacation from mowing with the girls. For a even bigger bonus, our foreman Big P managed to scam most of the nightcrew from last year onto days, so I am among familiars again. Familiar boys like Slackjaw, and Jim, along with a very good acquaintance of mine whose ex-boyfriend I am currently very interested in, Blondie. Man, pseudonyms get pathetic after a while if your imagination is running dry.

Anyways, hanging around Slackjaw and Jim is not the epitome of pleasurable, but it is still ok. I am getting used to Slackjaw’s completely selective/non-existent listening skills again, as well as all the “latest” slang terms that the St. A kids use apparently. Or did use, three years ago, when Slackjaw was still in high school. They’re both pretty jovial guys though, so it’s nice. And weedeating is a pretty lax thing to do, especially when you have the tunes plugged in. Funny development: We had to get used to being around each other again, and I let slip about being a past user/maybe still a little occasionally of herb, and from then on, it’s been fine as apparently (and maybe not so surprisingly) both are very enthusiastic about this type of indulgement—which maybe is a little too painfully apparent sometimes.

Today we ended up weedeating the haunted museum and Jim had to leave with the truck to go to the shop. Slackjaw ran out of gas, and I couldn’t start the second walk-behind. We sat there with nothing to do for like a half an hour, and then took our fifteen minute break when Jim got back with Blondie. Tough.

I applied to a few different places for my second job today, and funnily enough, my best luck will probably ride in the video store, and I say ‘funnily’ because a huge storm hit just as I left the parking lot. I dropped off my resume and thus went for a bike ride in the rain, and it was beautiful.

I also, against better judgment, bought a tee-shirt today. It’s superfantastique! It’ll do until I get a tattoo I suppose.
Wednesday, May 18, 2005
A friend summed up last week what would be the eventual outcome of this week halfway through.

“God Emerson, your life is such a soap opera.”

And it has returned to being thus, right out of the blue. It’s like it never goes away. I am destined to repeat the same mistakes at least three times each until I actually learn my lesson. Funnily enough, at least I’m realizing this, and thus becoming aware of the fact that I do it.

Vespa boy came to the poetry reading that never was, yesterday. I wasn’t nervous when I showed Fenton my poem. I did get nervous as soon as I ran into VB though, which is fucking odd. And then the tone was set for the night. Nervous, and disgusted with myself to the point where I got physically ill. That has never happened to me before, and with some thoughtful cheering up on the behalf of Fenton and WestJet, I realized that what was a small maturity gap between V B and I two years ago, is now an ocean. I can’t see the other side, he’s just that impossibly immature.

The good thing is, is that I haven’t done anything with him, and now definitely don’t intend to. I feel like shit about all of this, so save the “you bitchy wench” for in person. I guess I’ll just tell him the truth.

Meanwhile, I have to figure out a way to control the hormones. Holy crap. This blog has surpassed the norm of "embarrassing" lately.

As for relevent events, the poetry reading was rescheduled for next week. I was mildly dissapointed but I got over it. Next week is still good. And plus, I had an excellent coffee with many boys.

Btw: Fenton and WestJet were insufferably nice to VB. I was shocked, and madly grateful.
Sunday, May 15, 2005
  Shoot my head
Today has been the most boring day ever. I ended up thinking of the brilliant plan to invite Vespa boy over to my house the other day for today at 5 o'clock, meaning that I would have to wash the diesel covered laundry before then, and similarly, clean the house. I cleaned, I scrubbed, and paid meticulous attention to my personal effects, which, in short, means that Emerson was planning to seduce Vespa boy-- only it didn't work. He didn't show up because his dad "last minute" decided to leave to godknowswhere NWT for three weeks to work in a diamond mine and craved an emotional family audience at his last supper in E-town. To top it off, VB was home by eight thirty, and felt too tired to come out. Which is actually good, because I'm so sure that I would have jumped him as soon as he came in the door.

Seductress: 0. Victim: 1.

I've had a great weekend though. The boat went in the water ok, with no problems, and I also got to hang out with the boys on the same day at Bellan's house. Tres enjoyable-- I do enjoy Bento's boy's friends, they're a riot, as well of course, as my own friends.

The news right now, is that there is a poetry reading at Remedy on Tuesday. Signup is at 8:00. I'm going to do my first piece. Please come out and support me! And Fenton, by extension.

Additionally, I've been working on my volume for most of the day, and I'm surprising myself with how well it's coming together. It's funny how a loose theme sort of puts things in place. I'm still feeling apprehensive about showing it to anyone though, so even when I do finish it, I might just sit on it for a while. We'll see. But the manuscrip, she is halfway done. I talked to my dad a little bit about it today and he said that he's really impressed, and all of a sudden Mingus' old dilemma came to mind. My parents will read this eventually. Mind you, my parents reading my poetry is the absolute least of my worries of people who will read it at the moment. But still, exciting stuff. I'm really proud of it. I will have to start putting away some money so I can put together some books I think.

WestJet has been hanging around lately and getting back into cling-mode. I don't know what is up with it, but I'm finding that I'm much more tolerant at this point about it then I was last year. It just confuses me a little though, because we can hang out, and not say much of anything, and he's still perfectly happy with that. I mean, I don't mind hanging out with people, but there's hanging out with me, or there is coming over to my house to watch tv and eat my food, and say less then 150 words to me in the span of two hours.

Ok. Bedtime.
Saturday, May 14, 2005
  I'd rather burn
Well my funkity funk FUNK is over. It was a day pass into sad and pathetic land, and I've overcome it. I got my Fenton-slap, and all is good now.

For some reason, it's days like this, Friday the 13th (insert cheesy attempt at macabre music), that brings out the edge in some people. All day at work, the social aspect has been something akin to a gong show of weirdness, myself of course being included in some folly. Ok, by folly, I mean screaming flammable disaster...

I test drove a demo mower today, a John Deere with the handle bars (much like a Bobcat) that control your movement. The mower itself is incredibly fun to drive around, but unfortunately, it is (the deck specifically) not meant for the rugged terrain or tight spaces that we deal with, but rather, a golf course. You can even alter the blade cutting height. I considered making a green on a boulevard today (a really large wide one) but before I could even giggle and rub my hands together in glee and contemplation, I ran out of gas. After flagging down another City truck, I got the garage guys to come out and fuel the machine up enough to go over to the pumps (across the street, and ironically right next to the first piece of grass I was cutting) and fill the tank completely. Yadda yadda. Got over there, (and another thing, this mower cannot climb curbs worth a damn, as the wheels are mounted to the front of the deck, and ...this is hard to explain) and started filling the tank, but stupidly, I thought momentarily that the pump wasn't working and lifted the nozzle up out of the tank. Diesel diesel, everywhere. Everywhere! It took me my lunch break to clean it all up, and I was running away screaming from all the smokers who congregate outside of the garage at break, and similarly, dropping my coveralls to around my ankles (in the event that they ignite, I figured I could kick them off relatively easily) whenever I had a smoke. Generally looking mentally handicapped, and smelling like ass. It was pretty hilarious in retrospect though, however, my eyes and nose watered/ran from the fumes until I ran home and jumped into the shower.

On a more serious note, there was a bit of a hullabaloo at work today also, regarding a mechanic whom I know relatively well (let's call him Cap). I had just come from the Signs department after whining after a guy for some cardboard for a safety display when there was this discernible tension in the air, and voices were humming with "what's happening? Do you know what happened? What's going on? Why isn't anyone telling us anything?" Apparently this morning, a girl whom I know well, and also dislike quite a bit, got chewed out by my mechanically inclined friend, and in turn she filed a harrassment suite, and he found out about it after our second break, which is when all the questioning started, because he flipped a gasket I guess, and threatened someone injury. When I was driving around to recycle though, I saw this ambulance whip out of the parking lot of our building, as well as observed a firetruck perched next to the front door. So, I fretted and made my way back. Apparently "nothing" happened, but....the city foremen, they're like the MIB, they cover up stuff like crazy. Ah ha ha...this is me losing my job for getting too gossipy on the internets...

Bottom line is, Cap lost his temper. And I'm worried about him, because the girl in question, is very manipulative, not to mention that Cap has had two heart attacks in the past. And we all know what effects apoplectic rage has on the old ticker. I hope they don't fire him.

However, the absolute biggest news of the day is that I dropped $15 bucks on a Smith-Corona portable typewriter at a garage sale. It's beautiful, and it comes in a carrying case, even though the fucking thing weighs eight pounds. It's amazing, and probably one of the best investments I've made in a while.

Boat goes in tomorrow with a 7:30 wake up call. I'm horny, and sleepless. What else is new?
Wednesday, May 11, 2005
  I can't go far enough.
So...Everyone wants to know about my spectacular holiday eh? Well, nevermind. What happened in "Nevermatter Land" stays there. Unless you ask me, because I really don't want to recant it on here. It was excellent though.

Work sucks. I started on Monday, and I am staying on days this year so I can actually have a life of some kind in the evenings. I'm working with two of the Ethic-challenged girls I worked with at the end of last summer though, which has been predictably annoying. As usual though, I spend the day fuming and planning things to say to smarten them and their behavior up, but never say anything. Found a dead rabbit today, which was gross, and also ratted out a guy for dumping dog shit over his fence to Bylaw.

I really still have nothing to say. It's all just thoughts that are driving me crazy. It's like I never went away, and that sort of disappoints me. I had all these goals for mental growth and such, and I don't think I achieved them. So I'm sort of relaxed, but more because school is over then from my actual vacation, but my head is still going crazy from overload, because I just seem to have been dumped right back into it when I returned with no resolutions. Plus, evidently, I'm fat and ugly. Awesome. Why is no one up front about this, STILL, with me when I ask them? Like, be fucking honest. Give me some closure. I mean, hints would be that I attract desperate guys, but in the event of pursuing...sit me down and tell me what the fuck is wrong with me, because I can't fucking deal with this anymore.

Agh...I just need this week to be over.
Death involves an injury?

August 2004 / September 2004 / October 2004 / November 2004 / December 2004 / January 2005 / February 2005 / March 2005 / April 2005 / May 2005 / June 2005 / July 2005 / August 2005 / September 2005 / October 2005 / November 2005 / December 2005 / January 2006 / February 2006 / March 2006 / April 2006 / May 2006 / June 2006 / July 2006 / August 2006 / September 2006 /

Link Sluttiness
evil // mad // adam w-b // shane // jaden // ben // robyn // thomas // she took the bomb // the great // ink // my flickr // vasyL // massive missives // street rag
comics of note
questionable content /// able & baker /// bunny /// a softer world /// creatures in my head /// nothing nice to say /// dr. mcninja

Powered by Blogger