what's whut?

what's a piper without a drummer?
what's a couch without my imprint?
what's a computer without whirrr?
what's a rep without free samples?
what's an invitation without sincerity?
what's theory without practice?
what's a heart without longing?
what's a fantasy without it making you hot?
what's a room without a mate?
what's a horror movie without a sex scene?
what's ketchup without veggie bacon?
what's gin without pineapple & vice versa?
what's going to bed without it being three am yet?
what's a night without rain?
what's a morning without a kiss or a stroll in a graveyard?
all: nothing to me.

bags of mostly water

...apparently a star trek quote-- one of the aliens commenting on us pathetic humans.

when it rains it pours in the thirsty land of my bag of mostly water. when i get really effin' thirsty, i'm not worth being around. it's all i can think about, and i might just scratch your eyes out if you get in the way. thankfully, i convinced greg to go to ken kennedy's and get me some dasani (i didn't specify, but this coke water is secretly a fave), and now i am a happy girl, having also enjoyed mint and special herb smokes while i was waiting.

before blake came home from work, i asked crm to stop by and say yellow and we got to watch my favourite clip right now-- it's a song from cky about skeletor and beastman. it's heinously funny, but not everyone agrees. does everyone agree than bam is hot?

yeah, so it was moving day for everyone but me in this house-- but i got to feel all the agony and wrath right along with them. greg's stuff was still strewn around the pad from yesterday's welcome back fry, and today em emigrated, and blake im.

so there's a hole where she used to be

and a pile where he wants to be

and fuck-- it was so messy and absurd for a while that all i could do tonight was listen to tunage and look at the walls.

but now we worked pretty much like champs and all we have is to figure out the computer sich and the couch ish and where to hang a mirror and where to put my coffee subsititutes and we're pretty much clear.

and the transition could've been worse, oh much much much (i could've had to pack shit up)and now we host a married couple: brian and meaghan move in on tues for a week prior to asia.

and then back to some sort of normalcy-- perhaps less debacherous than the last bunch o' weeks, but the longer i consider it-- not likely.

what i learned in school today

eyes are so heavy that i can't muster anything remotely entertaining or enlightening.

learned: nobody knows where western is, but it's a good school (but really fucking easy to get into, so what does that say?); that i don't usually bother to remember people when i meet them (sorry, dudes); that the vegan poppyseed cookies at diomio aren't worth bothering with; that pacifico can be fun if you dance ironically (thanks, bro); that absence makes the something something; that if you ask people to help you, and they're bored-- they'll oblige; that a lot of people are getting married around now; that finnish metal is a good time (i knew that, i know); that three weeks of not going to bed before three am eventually catches up to me; that i can't go to bed before three if i try; that EPA is more helpful than DHA in treating depression, and that i'm not so into the avalon enzyme facial scrub i got a sample of-- so i won't bother to get that one, that i put my arms over my head a lot-- in triangular form, and i also tend to grab my hair and muss it up--and gee, mom-- that's what i learned today. not much to work with, huh?

flatter, hotter, better

i looked hot when i woke up this morning. my belly was flatter, hotter, better. i wish you could've seen it.

and then i ate something. yeah, pretty stupid of me to eat spelt, seeing as i'm highly allergic, but em and i and chris wanted to go for breakfast and we couldn't leave quinpool because chris needed to buy the morrisey tix at 11:00. the adzuki bean brownie was pretty okay, but i can make 'em better. why the fuck do we keep going back to that place? like freeman's, it's handy.

so i was pretty unhappy about going to work this afternoon-- even moreso than normally: i felt like puking again, and crying. i had so much G D work to do that i had to forget about it. i got some cashiers to tape price tags. good delegatin' yo! i was on high effin' speed today, as i had a million more things to do than usual. and i also got to help some folks out who have finicky bowels--my bruthas and sistahs. they were really appreciative, so that helps ye ole spirit. and then em called and said she was staying for a few more days, which immediately painted me with a lemon yellow crayon. oh so comforting-- like tomato soup when i'm sick (of old). then i did something kind of dumb-- took three internal flush capsules to perhaps rid me of my spelt, which is dumb because it has casgara sagrada in it, which makes my bowels do something that they have no problem doing on the worst of days, but it's been been better than i expected. dribs and drabs. nothing too awful, just a bit of discomfort and feeling pretty acidic. what's up, rash? yeah, that's what i thought. ) and i had another good day with sterling-- telling him my health history. he relayed a story of a woman in romania who subsisted her whole adult life on eucharists. livin' on g_d and wafers. that's seriously fucked.

and so today i finally got a flower essence i've been meaning to buy, and i felt pretty swell after i took them for the first time. and i returned home from work, then went to the grocery store for: water, soymilk, an avacado, flax meal, buckwheat waffles, nairn's scottish oatcakes, garlic tofu, refried beans, and i don't remember what else. i ran into the meat manager de superstore, who calls me beyonce, and we had fun shoptalking. then to shopper's for chocolate discs for stressful nights and a rolling stone magazine (even tho there's nobody in particular i'm keen on, especially the cover's tom cruise-- who i don't give a hell about-- but i wanted it. i wanted to buy myself something indulgent and unnecessary. what a glutton, eh? em also gave me meagan's cosmo, which i always find haha to read, so haha). i am eight dollars away from my 34,00 optimum point level. i'm remarkably excited. i will have to spend it i think, because it's not possible to acrue more points--- and get rewarded for it at least. this many points entitles me to $75 worth of free whatev. i've been collecting these points for like five or more years-- more like six or something-- since i took medication. you can collect points from buying medication, but not use them toward it. funny, no? politics, yes. my meds gave me optimum points (lots, since i had to get some every week) and many side effects. nice work. also, in the points category, i officially have more than $200 worth of PC points-- which i can spend on groceries, travel, books, movies etc. I am so pumped. i love collecting points. i never spend them until i can truly cash in. i guess i'm a saver, and i'm not sure what that says about me, but it does.

so now i've poured myself a good gin et tangerine spritzer, am smiling for some reason (don't jinx it, dude), and listening to the chitter chatter of em and chris getting geared for asian hotog crib. and g fresh returns tomorrow-- and i'll be so up my own ass with whatev, etc to even enjoy it.

blick

black

block

ha.

blahg!

balls!

eff!

screw!

piss!

shit and carry four!

geezis h. murphy on a bicylcle!

(vomit: from fear, from emptiness)

i think i'm balding (emotionally).

would you buy my bile, even for only 25 cents?

where is the drink i was going to make myself when i got home?

have we committed crimes against humanity, or just ourselves?

is it the apocalypse yet?

blahg.

carlito's way? who the frig is carlito?

what the eff?

i covered em's ass today at work, and remarkably it was awesome. i was kept busy, asked the wizard lots of questions, and generally the day blew by pretty quickly. so then i made some rice pasta and broccoli wirh pesto, artichoke hearts, olives and mushrooms, drank some of the Bowel-T that i formulated, wrote, and got poised to watch Carlito's Way-- a film I've been meaning to see since getting in an argument about it with Michael Rushton in grade 9. and it was worth waiting for-- just like losing my virginity.

then late late, i hooked up with crm, and in lieu of watching Hellraiser (which i may or may not have seen in grade 9, but'd be a doughhole for not remembering apparently)-- because the disc was scratched, we chilled avec la soir, in the froid noir (acadie 400!), and i again got a tour of some of the favourite drinking, smoking, vandalising and tit-feeling hotspots of a central-halifax youth. i wish in many ways i had been as devious. oh yeah, in many ways i had.

and then, on to an old classic: windsor street sobey's-- for some choice yums. tonight: a package of inari (which i ate while chris was retrieving his marvin the martian fig and mini magnetic strobe light from their respective vending machines), a bag of what i envisioned would be natural hickory sticks, but were natural bbq chip-flavoured hickory stick look alikes, and a package of veggie bacon. and on the way back home, a 28 (say) yr-old woman who was destined for the drunk tank, harassed us to call the cops for her because someone locked her out of her house. a guy or something. she fell on her face and she lost her spectacles. and then she made one of herself. and we gave her a quarter, and she didn't want it, and two cop cars went to her rescue (so she thought). and here i am, and now i've had a waffle (with real cumberland county maple syrup-- thanks, uncle jack) and soymilk and found kelsey online who i haven't spoken to in a year since she's been in australia. and what a time. and i miss her. and she comforts me. and why the FUCK am i not in bed? it's probably carlito's way.

heavy hearts

i saw the sunrise again this morning.

i wish the rays could heal the hearts of the hurting (not even me).

i hope she has it in her to try, altho i'm not one to wait for miracles (just blake).

yesterday soir, a grand thyme.

i ditched em's friends once again (i'm not sure they noticed/cared) to go to stage nine and see ruth's cd release. i can feel it i can feel it i can feel this heavy heaaaart. everyone looked awesome, dapper, sexy, ready. weird shit going on in the hallways-- including but not exclusive to brothers picking up crying, drunk girls who look like they're crying because rthey want the assistance of several cowboys at once. and the washroom not labelled men's, has a big W on it and a drawing of a tree or something. i guess it was where my female piss was supposed to be.

was nice to see stage nine for the first time. a great place to be. very comfortable, the faces and the general tone. was packed last night, actually. our camp was small-- j. maci and wife jennifer, CRM, and j a watt (nice sound), as well as debby george and jennifer's friend joanne and a dude named fabrizio (nice name).

chris was drinking, which was fun to see (ruth minnikin-- always an occasion), and we enjoyed ourselves enjoying ruth, as well as shared one of the best slow dances i've had in memory. also, jason acquitted me of shell-shocking him at the last show. it wasn't even me fucking him up that night. finally (see: maracas).

later: gathered up emily, said see y'around to her friends, and met em's good pal jill who has a louis vuitton wallet. we freaked out, appropriately. we found chris, and made our way home, stopping at freeman's for hummus and french fries (it doesn't get much better than this). then home. then smoothies for em and i. i was the dj (hang me), not the rapper.

discuss: heavy hearts.

see: sun rise.

get up: late.

fucked about: all day.

eat: banana, tofu sandwich, veggie wrap, waffles, soymilk.

frankly: am surprised my cells are able to regenerate, as i don't ever sleep.

diggin' for it

it's not unusual for me to go digging, rooting, mining thru my belongings.

mostly, it's paper stuff- i inherited the unfortunate trait of packrat from my dad, thru my late grammie. i am so trying to abdicate this seemingly inborn duty. it comes in fits. i refuse paper. i try to go thru what i have accumulated pretty often, yet i'm still astounded at what i decide to keep. today, i was in hucking mode. i got rid of the equivalent of a couple reams of paper- and this happens every time. doing this is so worth it a) because i have more space (which i subconciously decide to replace with more shit, even tho my conscious self says no no don't b) because i find stuff I'd been looking for/putting off doing (applications for this and that, shit i should've mailed years ago and so now i'll still do, altho it's irrelevant now) and c) because i unearth some gems-- some of which i return to where i found them so i can look at them the next time (like coverage of my first and only rock band, and projects i may or may not ever start/finish) and shit that was tucked away, like a couple Infinitesimal (my band) set lists-- some that we did and didn't use. yes, we were a cover band, because we weren't really good enough or able to get along well enough to write our own songs (altho i did find lyrics to a song that i wrote for us). Check this out:

Peter Pumpkinhead

Mr Jones

Mama Said

Every Rose Has its Thorn

Black No. 1

Head over (?)

My Sharona

Good Riddance

Sex and Candy

Back to You

Violet

and another (these were our choices-- we each got to submit a few song choices:

forgiveness- collective soul

hootchie cootchie man-- eric clapton

(bruce)

____

monkey wrench-- foo fighters

come down- bush

desperado- the eagles

breathe a sigh- def leppard

(amanda)

_______

magic carpet ride-- steppenwolf

see you on the other side-- ozzy osbourne

6th avenue heartache-- the wallflowers

little miss can't be wrong-- what the fuck was that band's name? jesus!

(amy)

_____________

maybe-- collective soul

we only come out at night-- smashing pumpkins

shitlist-- L7

gold dust woman -- fleetwood mac

(jayme)

______________

down on me-- jackyl

love street-- the doors

are you gonna go my way-- lenny kravtiz

sweet leaf- black sabbath

(me, eek)

_________________

who was in my room last night-- butthole surfers

i will survive-- cake

mrs robinson-- lemonheads

crash into me--dave matthews

(melanie)

______

and we were terrible @ agreeing. we were together because we were the only girls in my shit town that played instruments. we had boys in our band to help us with the shit we couldn't play. we did, tho, win a couple of contests-- with our songs "eight days a week" by the beatles and "mr jones" by counting crows. the funny thing about that set list was that it was a wish list of songs we wished we knew how to play together. the songs we actually played were much different.

anyway.

and i found a few pieces of creative writing and some old poems about boys and it's awesome to remember the days that i bothered to express myself.

of the seven intelligence types, i'm mostly an intrapersonal/literary learner. what type are you? find out at http://www.mitest.com/o7inte~1.htm

which is good because all i do is look thru my stuff and write and write about me me me--and you, if you come into the picture.

so today, all i've been doing is leafing thru shit, listening to tapes (alice in chains, nirvana, metallica, dinosaur jr, megadeth-- how's YOUR 1994?) because my cd player is an ass-wank. i've also eaten (see my new food blog) a few items, gone to the grocery store for some berries, soymilk, water, veggie chicken burgers, buckwheat waffles, an avocado, bananas, and a bottle of artichoke hearts. i went dressed kind of like a ho-- which thought was funny at 9:30 this morning. funny-- nobody else was dressed like a ho. i guess there are appropriate times for dressing certain ways. that's why there's an evening wear section in the sears catalog. i like to fuck with this.

and, also, i've been searching thru blogs. blogs are my new entire internet. i am keen to troll thru descriptions of people's blogs, waiting to find something worthwhile.

hi. my name is beany and i am a literary voyeur.

i have been writing in a journal (ok, 50) since 1993, and this is the first time i can flip thru the contents of thousands of people's open journals. it's so fucking exciting. what do ppl eat? do? wear? feel? it's facinating. it's much MORE fascinating when i know them, so i pumped that i was in part responsbible (inspired of course by crystal) for the small ongoing blog-revolutionin my our circle(s). thanks to the dudes who've started a blog. more of you: please do. it's as good as cinnamon-os for me (read: crack). of those of you who don't/won't blog-- why not comment on mine? i'd be into that just as much. just click on where it always says "0 comment" and make that 0 look like a 1.

to: you

just because you like it
here it is:
(even tho i almost shut NG off)
this one's for you--->
thanks for the chinese morning
and everything since the talking parrot
and the lilies
and the dishes and pennies
and being you
because that's more than good enough--
in the rain or lightnin'!
or in the frigid waters
you are mine mine mine
and for that i am grateful.
______________________

for you: because you are you
and because i love you now and have for a while
your charm lies in your simplicity
and to steal a word: you still intrigue me
and i hope your ills fall to the wayside
and that your return to the shire is a smooth one.
____________________

yeah you: fuck.
thanks for the hugs tonight.
i'm glad we could finally chat
but sorry i had to cut it short for nosh
this has been so amazing, and i wish for it to not end but soon it will and well, hopefully it won't really.
here's smokin', i mean hopin' (oh yeah, desole, again.)
_________________________
and now you:
the boat sank. and the other one looked fast
(but since our minds don't function in 3D-- who knows?)
and thanks for the wine
and for not showing me a plate full o' carnage.
enjoy yer final day tomorrow, and remember: only one call to the consumer bitching hotline on your behalf tuesday.
and come on-- as if we're not 11s. trust your first calculation. as if. as if. as if.
pray for the moon phase to change--
seriously:
we need all the help we can get.
_______________________________

i'm jesus

did i go the the show with the female-fronted metal band?
no.
one wanted to be watch dvds
one was asleep
one had to shower and eat meat (and shower himself with meat?)
so nope.
i had a little nap
which wasn't remotely restful
tried to find thomas's phone number so i could meet some folks at reflections.
ne pas listed.
didn't go.
brian and meaghan, however, invited us to their semi-vacant apartment. both of us were beat: greg is more smily and delerious today than mopey and spacy as in the past coupla days + my body is finally staging a mild protest to my not sleeping many hours per night. my bowels are starting to get tight and stagnant. but hey-- we went. we took the number one bus-- got on at the oxford. got off too late, backtracked to tobin street.
both brian and meaghan were in fine form, lots of stories,
lots of cheer.
and brian showed us rough cuts of a made in the world video
which was fun
and lots of old liverpool footage-- dating back to '94.
it's a fawkin' classic, buddy.
canadian fire. people's. the mind grind.
and vintage, and i'm talking vintage
brian
darcy
mike murph
greg
so effin' glad to see that.
and la la la along like that and metric was half-expected to show.
and when the door opened, in came:
joe whitty.
no, seriously.
and so serious (a little later).
i know so much more about this man than perhaps i should,
and have seen him in various incarnations, impersonations.
a surprise for brian and meaghan before heading to liverpool.
a real geezis treat for me-- my virgin ride with joe fuckin' whitty.
i was SO nervous when he walked in, that he would give me the meaghan treatment and say something about my small tits, but i was really lucky (altho my nervousness followed me thruout the nite). he slapped my knees, really getting into some stories.
blake-- you picked a shitty time to go to liverpool-- because we had him here in halifax.
"who the fuck are you? what's yer story? what're ya doing here? fuck! I can give ya a hug anyway."
and this is how i meet joe.
"i know where that is-- it's the geezis blueberry capital of Canada-- yet you can't buy any geezis blueberries there."
sad but true, joe. sad but true.
within minutes, i heard him jones for vista phones, yack about jacking cable, and horrang every fat fuck in town.
the tales: unbelievable.
he was on fire-- and i'm the only one there who hadn't experienced this-- i did my best to contain myself-- but cackled contstantly.
he relayed a lot of fantastic stories that nobody there had ever heard-- perhaps trying sending brian off with something fresh: episode ideas or mersey dreams.
and he kept screaming at stogie for taking so many pictures.
and so he was talking about eating out, and how waitstaff must get crushes on their customers,
"seriously, a lot of good looking people fucking eat-- think about it!"
and so it went for three hours--
crime afoot, ingonish, LRHS staff, dirt, cussing, and lots of classic moments.
gold.
i'd do no justice to a joe whitty story, so i won't relay any.
"four and half fucking years, huh? you and greg should have little fucking gregs running around, fuck."
na na nope.
i said if i did, i'd send them to liverpool with him.
"i don't want yer fuckin' kids."
and that was my first real taste of joe jesus
and i can't really express how awesome it was.
i was pretty sure my evening would be terrible sans:
1)metal
2)drinks at freeman's
3)dancing at reflections
which were my original evening's plans
but joe whitty made a meal out of taking the sheal.

i'm fucking metal

i wear an x-ray vest (or might as well),
with lithium spears in my brain
and copper marbles in my mouth
and dirty iron lungs
and tin twisted into my ratty hair
and steel eyes, but not pretty ones,
and shackled ankles
and nine inch nails in my wrists
with barnacl'd anchors in my pockets
and an aluminum outlook anniversary
and some sort of heavy fucking backpack:
thankfully full of tools,
and a silver (and cold) soul--
with a rusty lining
(gonna break my rusty cage and run)
and a battery acid smile
and i weep iodine
(or something).
and so now all i wish for is a gin dream come true
or even a mineral water one
(or a funereal one)
or even a wet dream
or a pipe dream
or just a pipe
or just a ream.

the more you ignore me the closer i get?
you may see it like that,
but i've not seen that, yet.

i can feel it

i'm into the feeling i get when i consciously decide to cross the road on a one-lane road when there's a car coming each way and they're too far to (probably, but not definitely-- depends how quickly i scoot across) clip you, but close enough to make me (romantically) curious about persishing.
autosandwich, bloodyautosandwish
and then i sigh and sometimes i'm glad and sometimes i'm unfulfilled.
normally, i grin nervously for a minute or two.

and yeah--- phones that take photos-- only look cool if you know how to use them.
and yeah, fuck.

friends give friends friends
and then everything gets messy
and things said and things left unsaid
and there is jealousy and awkwardness and dumb love polygons and friends that haven't been friends long enough and some too long and you hope to be a good pal by giving other pals pals but then you realize you want them for yourself or nobody knows your friends like you or nobody entertains your friends like your friend even tho you don't want them to and really then if your friends like your friend then who do you have?
nothing is left untouched.

and chris was here to play a superstore staffroom crib game with em and they had barrels of larfs using architecture trees as pegs and xend their board asian hotdog
they: it would be great to have mozzy dogs
me: ozzydogs?
they: no, mozzydogs
me: who's lozzy?
and i make granola bars and if you are lucky, i have a piece with your name on it
and em and i sucked on some herb
and i gave her a backrub
and then we realized greg wasn't delerious when we saw him frantically wiping something off the kitchen floor, half-dazed-- he couldn't tell us what it was.
we totally thought he was out of it-- somnambulism even. but silently he went to bed without making much of a fuss-- just silently wiping it up.
a fucking quarter cup of sticky as geezis brown rice syrup all over the floor
and if we hadn't noticed-- the ants would've carried the house away to middle-ant-earth in the night. so against my deepest desires, i cleaned it up (with emily's kind assistance, amid laughter)-- i will miss her) and consequently had to chuck a lot of my baking stuff and then we covered the organic sarlack pit with borax to keep the ants away (mayhaps)
and greg is still sick and i felt like drinking my face off tonight but no one was inuit and so we didn't so there's always tomorrow.

ain't it fun when you love where you are and twelve hours later you abhor it it and maybe you might come around a bit later but your skeleton and soul are just shaking so badly you might vomit if you had the strength?

pretty on the inside

i had a fear that if i went outside that my day would get worse.
when i'm inside, i know what to expect-- and inside this house was perfect today, or nearly.
the effin' most sublime sweater-necessitating breeze-- it mimicked my beloved autumn.
i didn't think anything that i'd find outside would make me more content-- except booster juice (ah-say-ee!)-- but i didn't go.
my afternoon yesterday, as today, was a 7-8/10. today i just chilled to some tunes: dinosaur jr (j mascis, oh j mascis), bauhaus, norwegian ambient death metal, new pornographers, white zombie, type o negative... i was just flipping thru cds until my shitty stereo fucking broke-- which i expect to occur about twice a year-- and then it stays broken for at least a month or two because i never make it out to bayer's lake with my big hunka stereo because it's awkward and i'd fuck it up on the bus so cool my stereo is broken and i'll spin cds on my computer NG (not gonna) until the fan grows louder and i can no longer do that either and then emily's discman as last resort if we get desperate and maybe i should persuade sears to give me a new one-- i did that once but i doubt they'd do it again. drat! rats!
well, i guess i'll just dig out my tapes-- i pretty much only have metal on tape. wicked!
but today... i just wrote and read and ate yogourt and noodles and swiss chard and tofu and strawberry soymilk and wallowed in smiles and can't believe the delightful spot i'm in and am frightened to think of what will become of me when it ends no no no no no i don't want to face it. stay away terrible. away. far. i don't miss the comfort in being sad-- not today anyway. don't make me go outside (only for soymilk or batteries) or stop feeling light and lovely. this is all too rare. sometimes i think i might vomit and i will fill up once again with bile and hate. i fear it coming to me often thruout the day.
i might catch it like a cold if i go outside.
inside is safe and predictable and as long as i'm the dj, i won't end up crying in a heap on the kitchen floor for endless hours (altho it's comforting sometimes too-- in its predictability).
but today-- no crying on the floor. just hanging out with grins. the saline, icy, gargantuan tide did it to me, and good company (including but not limited to substances) has helped ward off the hateful bile-demons.
keep it comin'
and beware of my inevitable fall.

break in case of emergency

i have no soymilk.

it happens every once in a while, and everytime it's as tragic as the next.

when will i ever learn?

the worst time i was without soymilk was during hurricane juan-- i couldn't forsee an end to the dire dearth of my beloved bean nectar.

so, i thought, i'd better stock up

and was very good about having a stash of tetrapaks (yes, blake, tetrapaks, aka shelf-stable , UHT, the brick, aseptic packaging, etc. check out www.tetrapak.com-- games and all) around just in case....

in case of emergency.

clever emily conjured up a bright idea-- to buy a whole slew of tetrapaks and store them in my glassed-in cupboards and fashion a sign that read, "in case of emergency, break glass." and so we bought four cartons and lined them up nicely behind the glass, and even put an empty (but rinsed) one there too, to make like there were more-- but never got around to making the sign. but we knew. and our soymilk was there and to us it was funny and comforting simultaneously.

and then greg came home and ruined it. "i didn't know why they were there, and the empty one was gonna attract bugs or something." good going.

but that couldn't dampen our spirits, so we kept buying soymilk, but we also continued to be lazy and not buy more to replentish our stock, and soon we had one and then we had none and now we still have none because I got distracted and didn't go to the store tonight.

and not having soymilk in the morning, simply put, hurts.

no milk for our tea, no drinking from the carton, no cereal, no drinking from carton, no glass of soymilk with carob powder, no smoothies. those who drink cows' tit juice must feel the same when there's none in your fridge door.

it's plain foul.

i wonder if this is how brian feels when he's out of chips?

i have wondered why i love (soy)milk so much.

i consumed embarrassing amounts of milk as a child. we went through so much of it. i drank it until the cows came home. ok, the cows were home-- our house was actually surrounded in more than four directions by cow pastures. altho we got ours from the store (except for once or twice when we had illegal raw milk). i drank enough to make myself sick, and sick i did make myself.

anyway, now that i'll not ever drink the vile runoff again, i comfort myself by sucking on soybean extract, filtered water, evaporated cane juice, sea salt and vitamins (soymolk, i love you).

i wonder if i'm so keen on milk because I didn't get to breastfeed, so i'm trying to create some sort of bond which will never be formed.

and maybe that's what makes me such a nipple whore.

freud would probably agree anyway--

and i'm not sure that it makes me feel more at ease or not.

soyberry fields forever.

the rain in Halifax falls gently on my yellowflax

when it rains it pours, they say.
they, huh?
they are some of my least favourite people.
they have been saying for the last four years that a 2:1 calcium to magnesium ratio is best, and now you're telling me that 1:1 is best? hmph!!
they say that being vegetarian is too expensive and that it's like eating rabbit food or hay.
they can blow it out my ass.
oh yeah, it is pouring, actually.
perhaps they were right for once, although it's probably a rural thing
like knowing when it's gonna rain when your joints start aching
or the cats start acting crazy
and you know when it's gonna rain harder when the sky gets that look, or that smell
although maybe cityfolks know these things too,
but they probably got it from us
cause they're too busy running for coffee or "going downtown"
where you can't see the stars for looking.
i wish the rain were a little hotter--
temperature-wise, not sexier,
because rain can't stand to get much sexier
as it already gets the top weather prize for that
(ok, thunder and lightning storms take that cake, who am i kidding).
so em and i went out in the rain tonight--
she to smoke and i to watch her
and although we were on the stoop we got rain splatterings
and we wished it were warmer so we could go get soaked in it and laugh and yeah yeah yeah but we just shot shit and got splashed
then my new upstairs neighbour, who machinefucks her fellow nightly, came home drenched and it wasn't the opportune time to confront her about the stairwell smelling like artificial watermelon/bubblegum mixed with rotting garbage and consequently I have to put essential oil on my wristband to stand to be in our front room.
and i saw an old friend from nutrition school which was great. she looked so beautiful, and so did her husband, as always, they are lovely and sweet-- refugees from yukoslavia who have three boys, one of which was in a babyseat when we were going to school and now is growing so tall and making me feel like an old hag who hasn't used her schooling like she should've. but she dug my article and she gleamed like always and she is the same age as my biological mother and she says i am the little daugher she never had and likes to touch me and kiss my head.
so yeah, i worked today, as per sunday-usual, and since i got twice as much sleep last night as i have in the last two, probably combined (which still isn't much), i had a few less-than-confident moments where i was glad to the max that the customers were "new to this whole healthy thing" and that even though i was stuttering and stammering like a pimpled 13-year old, I still probably impressed them. i at least got to go through my gluten-free/wheat-free spiel like someone was kind enough to do for me seven years ago when i walked into great ocean having no idea what gluten was.
near the end of the work day, all i could think of was going home, going to the well to get some fresh water (or rather to shoppers, to buy shitty xenoestrogen-infested Life Brand water [hey, whatever gives me the optimum points-- i only have like 220 to get until i reach the highest reward level possible. thanks, years of prescription drugs], then to change into something cool, with a tall glass o' aqua and write something worthwhile, because i've been slacking on my writing duties both cyber and with a pen in between my digits. and that happened for 7 minutes or so before i resigned myself for an hour's nap which turned into three which is equivalent to the nights sleep i have been getting, and then got woken up by the phone-- and old friend who lives in moncton and we caught up a bit since we hardly ever speak anymore which always seems okay to us which is a g_dsend because well that's pretty much how it works for us and she told me more about her "other" (me being the other other) crazy friend in who's been living in Guatemala for a coupla years and how she has a little boy named Andre something and is hiding from her boy's padre and and i wish i could go to guatemala and lycradog just showed me some great photos from his time there and they were some of the best travel shots i've seen and i should go there i should just go there i should just go to south america like i've always wanted to and well i probably won't but yeah and um ya.
you know something i'd rush out and buy if i had a disposable income?
mbt shoes.
yup, masai barefoot technology shoes which not only look really cool (they have souls which look kind of similar to about five pairs of shitty-acting but cool-looking shoes i've owned), but are vegan (and well-made--finally) and they can actually help your body change shape-- yeah, like lose your cellulite and stand up straigther and (well, this is marketing talking, but..) consequently make you feel better and more perhaps more body-confident and make your shape more true. they also absorb shock in a cool way because the sole is shaped like a rocking chair rocker and fuck-- you know, i used to have a pair (but i didn't know what they were until i saw the exact pair on the internet just now) and they felt kind of weird on my feet (because i was actually walking properly? and because they were a tad big) and since the sole was shaped oddly i thought they would screw my feet up, but the opposite was true so i gave them away, just as they were given to me by a girl in university (who probably also thought they'd screw her feet up but didn't care about mine) who i think is from truro who i thought looked so cool during orientation and was vegan and i didn't really know what that was then and i find out years later that she stalked a friend of mine. i can't believe that i had these shoes and i didn't know what i had til it was gone, joni mitchell style.
and after i woke up, i made myself some kamut toast with herbed tofu and pesto.
pesto, what a dream.
i sometimes feel kinda shitty about paying five-fifty for a jar of pesto, but then realize that it would probably cost me near that much to make it and this keeps longer than mine would and it's such a good condiment to have in the friggo and i so love so love so love to put it on everything since i don't eat hot sauce and am comme si comme ca on the mustard and good vegan mayo can only be found, oddly, at the west end mall or other far, hard to reach locales, and i'm not really a big sauce person and i shouldn't really be eating much ketchup.
thanks, le grand maison de quebec ne pas libre, for making me a pesto sans fromage parce que you're the seul compagnie who's ever made one comme ca. oh, merci.
bonne fete 400, acadie!
i would never have deported you if it were up to me.

all i need is what i have and oh maybe more

and a few glasses of wine and gin and some herbs and good friendship is sometimes all you need to make a smile happen all night and shrug off the ridiculous toxic worries of the day. it also helps to share how much you hate customer service jobs and to reaffirm how the customer's not always right and then listen to tool and other angry music and realize you're not as angry as that altho you may aspire to be and drink til your mouth is cottonny, even tho you're not proud of it and then swallow enough water to make a camel jealous and hope and pray and hope and pray that your liver functions smoothly and also hope to wake up with a brazillian smoothie or brazillian warrior or brazillian bikini wax or brazillian lap dance or even a brazillian flag by your beside. then the day should be ok. operative word: should.

outside is sometimes an enemy

i'm not one of those people who complain about how hot it is in the summer and then someone says you should enjoy it while it lasts because it'll be winter soon and then won't you be sorry?
no.
i'm just one of those people who complains about how hot it is in the summer.
i vote for autumn, or even spring, or summer nights or warmish winter days or winter with warm socks and sweaters.
who effin' said i said i wanted it to be hot?
whoever-- punch them in the soul!
i need shoes, see.
and i pretty much need to go to the mall to get them, and i wasn't keen on walking there today because a) i didn't feel like applying sunscreen and the time of day i was considering going, it would've been necessary. see, the last time i applied sunscreen [and then powder, let's be fair], my face turned hot, red and itchy. that, and i was purely too lazy to put sunscreen on. b) it was too hot to walk and i felt like a dork for taking the bus for such a short distance and because "it's such a beee--you-ti-ful day" and because i need the exercise which oops i didn't get.
so frig shoes.
i guess i'll continue to wear my gardening shoes to work
it's not like i'm wearing then gardening.
so i went to roger's to visit chris and we sat for 40 minutes at the little table they've so generously provided for us while we fill out our ballot to perhaps oh yes please pick me pick me chance to win (they pick everyone) a chance for a free week pass at nubody's.
just as i opened the door to go in there today, it smelled and felt like ambassador video-- a previous roger's incarnation-- for some reason. and so it continued to feel as we chatted, except it's been five years since we worked there together and we are more grown up now.
in a sick way, i long for a summer where i had bowel spazms and random edema of the gams, yet i was still a pretty child and just watched movies and read books all summer and worked part time.
oh wait... i guess i just miss being a pretty child.
and so bremily was in a negative headspace at suppertime and we didn't want to cook ourself/ves any dinner so we decided to go to andy's and as em said they might as well have cooked minute rice 80 times because that is how long it took
and we saw casey out the quinpool window
and then chris came over and did the pre-liverpool dishes and chris was ashamed of us but shit he has a dishwasher so blah.
and he cleaned my sink
and then rolled 11$ worth of pennies (he is a high-speed roller, mygawd)
and then a pinner for laytah
and oh yes, how can i fotget
we made (or started) a papermache deathstar
and it was a pain in the dick to manage
pie goo everywhere in my hair on our dirty dishes in the bathroom on the wall floor arms pants
i have a bread cast gauntlet--
it's organic whole wheat, good thing.

memory fades

... and my memory fades to black, as I took in hardly any nutrition and did nothing but kill healthy braincells on the weekend.. but I promised I'd finish the wedding weekend.
so, we were dancing... and then the dj kicked us out, and we requested one last song (i don't remember what it was now) and he obliged and then finally we had to leave.
so onto the beach we went, as the festivities were far from over.
there was a nice fire already going, so basically everyone kept drinking and smoking and chatting and standing by the fire and going for walks and coming back looking dishevelled-- unsuitable for a job interview.
there was a back-to-back joe whitty video viewing which several of us missed- but i'm sure we'll eventually see it. joe jesus in his briefs is not to be missed!
and blake and i and janice went swimming again which was awesome. lovely that we went swimming while drunk, eh? i have to say i was kind of concerned, not about myself, but about either or both of them. janice and blake swam in their underwear, but since i had none on, i had to swim in my (ok, emily's) dress-- which was a good time, anyway. lots of screaming and the surf was much rougher than the night before. got pulled under a few times. lost the top of my dress once. chris got that peep show. i eventually covered my tits when i figured out what happened. so eventually we got out of the sea of course, janice went off somewhere (maybe with mark?) and i had to help blake find his clothes. it was funny that he was running around freezing in his underwear, having no idea where his shirt, pants or shoes were. oddly enough, they were separated and he never did find his shirt. ha. then he went back to get one from the room.
and i should've gone to change, but instead i stgayed by the fire, put on another shirt, eventually greg's suit jacket and even after that, a beige shirt and grey joggin pants of brian's and looked so odd for me apparently, that i was walking beside em and she didn't recognise me-- "I didn't recognise you not in black."
and i don't really remember many of the specifics of the night besides that i didn't make out with janice, but luckily for her she got her fill. it might've been a good time, tho, if i had.
and that everyone was a champ and fun to be with and funny and made me wish that everyone lived close altho then the novelty would wear off but at least it would be fun to live by the beach oh so fun i miss the beach desperately.
so i went home at 3:30 or so with the rest of the crew besides Nataliie an hour or so before that, and andy came at 5:30 and Greg at 6:30. He was chuckling about something and i told him to shut up and swore at him until he finally did.
and emily and chris woke up at 10am and said hey we have to check out in an hour and chris became mollymaid and started wiping the place clean and we signed out shortly after 11. on our way out, we saw janice and crew (andy called them something funny that i wish i could remember), ryan, casey, crystal and meaghan and her family (who kept staring at my porno for pyros shirt dissaprovingly and then said they had to go). it sucked hard to leave, and as i was checking out, i told the girl working the front desk what a wonderful time i had and i got choked up.
we had our group of seven packed tightly into the grey durango and got as far as bridgewater before we needed to stop to eat. i was a badass and got subway. i wish it had tasted better, but at least it didn't make me as sick as i predicted it would. and the ride home was a blast, we listened to hiphop a good part of the way, and of course discussed the weekend and also laid low for parts. and we dropped everyone off and it was sad to see everyone go-- the worst part about a roadtrip- the end of it. and chris went to work and i went to andy's (the restaurant, not patil) for sushi and wrote for a long time, and everyone did their own thing and i felt like calling everyone to hang out, but being alone was much needed too.
at least being there revived me in many ways. my mood is way better and i am smiling and i feel fresher and more positive which i was in dire need of lately because i was a living (but barely) sour dark lump (which is definitely a good time sometimes, but can get old and disabling).
and i can only retain so much of what went on since then.
last night i guess i watched 13 going on 30 which made me cackle which is what i like in a lot of movies now. i used to enjoy deep, dark films-- but now i have to be in the mood for them. now i just like to be amused and maybe cry for a few minutes, but have the ending happy. so that's that. and i saw mr. hubley, a quinpool classic, who is cool because he calls me madeline (a la the cartoon) and he lost 40 lbs by starting to smoke again which he didn't want to tell me but he says he feels 100% better now, so whatever works, i guess. seeing folks like him around remind me how much i love living in halifax, and specifically in the hood i live in. i like events that make things constant, things that are due to happen anytime and then they do.
and today i slept in and hung around the house in my pajamas and i don't even know what i did besides talk to greg and argue about dividing up the trip expenses and then i had a nap that was interrupted by mom calling which was nice because i hadn't spoken with her in a while and she told me nana is in a lot of pain and i then cleaned a bit and wrote and watched some morning television and drank a smoothie and then ordered a kamut pizza for supper and saw chris's head zooming by the TD back and me running after him altho i couldn't see him for all the people in front of me and nobody gave way to let me by altho i was running and wondering if it was him because i also saw a white shirt and thought it might not be him but it was and he had his headphones in and i ran into him and he said he almost punched me and i said well i guess i would've deserved it and he said well no but i would've felt bad and then he came to the heartwood with me and em came and then we ate the za in chris's backyard which is a great backyard to be in and then she went downtown with the girls and i went downtown too because blake called and said i have one small word for you-- acai and so we went for smoothies and i really wanted to go to diomio and he also really wanted icecream but we used our willpower and got smoothies and he wished he'd gotten acai and i can't get anything else but because you can'y get it anywhere else and it's amazing and it's my crack-- that and cinnamonos which i would also love to have right now and then we went to the library where i discovered that there's a huge biography section in the basement and got a margaret laurence bio and an exercise DVD which I probably won't do and blake got a cool gay murdermystery book and a canadian scifi one and then he had to return to work after a 19--day vacation and of course he didn't want to and me i'd probably rather shove a knife in my milkglands and on my way home i experienced one of my fave things about summer which is summer nights and how they are the perfect temperature and what a nice tone everything and everyone emits and i walked thru the citadel and they're building a stage for an acadie show on sunday night which i should go to and maybe will but not likely and got a red pepper and some frozen blueberries at the superstore and i wished they'd had avocados and garlic tofu but no such luck so i got chocolate and a fitness mag at shoppers and came home and no messages oh wait one from em saying she was drinking with the girls and so i poured a glass of mineral water on ice and sat down to write and realized i should do this and now there are knuckleheads with acoustic geetars and jimbays (sp) on the front balcony and i feel like pushing them off because it's right beside where i want to read because the breeze is there and i'd join them if they were good but at least they're not terrible and now my wrist is hurting as badly as it did last night, so i must go grab my frozen cranberries and do it riiight up.

Weddings aplenty

Plenty of them for me, cause I don't need one myself right now.
Plenty of weddings, and plenty is one. But this one was a fun affair.
Waking up on Saturday was fun. Blake and Chris went for a walk first thing, Chris never eats breakfast and Blake wanted to go exploring. They found my blue wristband that I had left on the beach the night before. Greg wanted, as usual, nothing less or more than cereal, but we had no spoons or bowls so Chris went to get him one, and was taken to the mealhall or whatever it was by White Point buggy. Greg finally had three bowls of cereal. Emily and I made do with drinking granola, bananas and soymilk from coffee mugs earlier.
Then we hung around and watched dumb tv for a while, while everyone was waking up.
Eventually we went to get some eats at the Seaside Takeout. What a cute little spot. Pretty homey, and if they had had a seventh burger, say a veggie one, I would've been in heaven. I enjoyed a bunch of fries off other people's plates and filled my void by filling out a comment card like such:
"This is the most charming take-out I've ever been in, and the best around so I hear. It would be even greater, though, if you had a veggie burger as an option. You could even keep them in the freezer and make them to order. I wish I had been able to eat here, but I have a lot of sensitivities. Keep on rockin' it."
And so I came home and ate another muffin and probably some bread and realized I'd be eating at the wedding later anyway. So we drove around Liverpool, saw another couple wedding parties, got a tour of all the notable places, and then dropped Chris off at Mike Murph's. I wish we'd had time to walk around town, which I've never been able to do (maybe next time) but it didn't fit into our itinerary. We did, though, drive a loop through somewhere whose name escapes me, but we saw Hunt's Point, where Janice and Harris and some other folks lived, and some remarkable sights. I want to live there so I can always breathe salty air. it makes me want to bother to live.
After our tiny Liverpool adventure, we came back, smoked a little, got prettied up, did a photoshoot by the doin' it rocks outside our cabin, and drove to the ceremony.
It was kind of unreal when we arrived. Darcy and KC were playing guitar, and everyone was in their finest (it was unusual for me to see this crew look so formal, let alone so beautiful). After receiving one of four of the collectable wedding programs (the nicest, most tactful, least wasteful and most original I've seen) and refusing a bottle of bubbles in case someone more apprciative might want one, I was seated by none other than Patrick Whitty beside none other than Jonnie Turner.
We got situated, looked around for any notables-- there was Cory Lav, Janice, Allie and some other rocker girls who later were informally introduced to me as Beth Bowers and someone Zwicker or someone (she left before the party started, or something), and Jason Oickle and mostly people I didn't know and would never meet.
After what seemed like a long time (only because Greg was not taking his own usual advice in being patient-- "get on with it. ") and must've seemed even longer for the wedding party, the more specifically wedding music began and the wedding party walked quicklier than usual (to my utter satisfaction, because I hate ceremonial slow walking) to get to the "front" of the "scene" where the "x" marked the spot for the "wedding" about to take place.
Everyone looked awesome, and Meaghan looked even awesomer. Her dress was perfectly suited for her and she glowed as she began the moment she'd been pining for for again, what seems like an eternity, but really seemed to occur all of a sudden, and was over so quickly.
And you couldn't hear anything save for an occasional word, but in my selfish opinion that was best (altho i know, not in general, and really not at all) for me specifically, because I am an emotional wreck and I would've lost it. This only made it necessary for me to brush a few tears away. Hearing it would have made me lose it. It's like how girls watching porn doesn't usually do it for us, we'd rather you talk to us in a sexy way. Janice was not so lucky, and was near "blubbering" (the new word for Hunsley-man crying that Greg learned at my grandmother's funeral).
Apparently, Armand Wigglesworth married them twice, which I kind of thought I caught, but wasn't sure. And we did hear Susan read Corey's poem, which was lovely, and saw them kiss, which was lovely and bizarre (because shit, Brian and Meaghan are married now).
Next, we mingled with the Liverpals and I finally got to meet Cindy and Darryl which was amazing. Apparently Pat Fry has told Cindy countless stories about Blake and I(she doesn't eat meat and now Greg doesn't eat meat and well at at least they aren't malnourished maybe being vegetarian made them fat blake's gay you know i wonder if she'll like all her presents from eddie bauer why doesn't she want to go to smitty's she talks back to me sometimes ans she never has the right kind of tea when I come over...)
So then we go to join Chris after learning nothing new in the receiving line (Poor Debbie and David must've been shellshocked), and the first thing he said was to Greg, "Where were you? You were supposed to have a boutineer and stand somewhere or something (my memory trails off)" and apparently Greg didn't know. Brian had said his preence was optional, and then we left Chris there for pics and flew back to our temporary home at White Point to drink before the reception (Greg didn't drink, for the record. He worked on his speech).
So drink we did and Chris returned eventually with an obsene case of beer, obsene mostly in comparison to the numerous bottles of wine, other cases of beer, coolers and 40 of Stoli we had already in the room. And we put the finishing touches on Brian and Meaghan's card and then got jiggy with the reception.
And we got there and it started pretty much when we got there. Our timing was indeed impecable. And soonafter I got there I had to return to retrieve the CD for the dance that for some reason was in our room and because Greg for some reason forgot it. Blake and I each did a shot of vodka before we returned, and on the way I made him pretend that it was 5 am and that we were Oprah and Stedman on our morning powerwalk.
The reception was pretty fun from my perspective, we got to listen to Greg, I had no idea that things weren't going as planned as far as desserts and cakes etc. I was at the significant champs table which was a good spot to be sitting because we had a sweet view of the ocean and were as close to the podium and the headtable as any table was. Mostly, we spent the whole time larfin' it up and arguing over which song to sing with love in it because we wanted to be original and sing something cool and nobody knew the same songs and i wanted to sing a medley to "consolidate" as Greg would've said, our choices, and then the jerks at the next table apparently overheard my cool idea and sang a medley and the only original thing our table did was not bother to sing which was probably a good idea because some of us were drunk.
The food was awesome. I'd never considered chickpeas and corn together before, but it was good. There was a lot of vegetarian stuff already there, so Gunner and I decided to have everyone else's food as an appetizer and then scarf down our tofu stirfries. I stuffed myself because I knew I wasn't gonna have dessert.
And then the speeches, which were more intersting than the ones I've heard at before, and Brian's especially, was a panty-bundler (which I'm sorry Greg, didn't turn up on urbandictionary.com or even in a google search, even tho I really wanted it to).
And I got really emotional and had to wipe some dumb tears away and it was a dumb time to be sitting fair in front of the podium. What a dumb time to mention that they're moving to Japan. All it did was make me upset. Dumb jerks.
And eventually the reception was over so we went home to chill and drink some more before the dance. And then we were at the dance and I decided to dance my face off. I wasn't trashed and I stopped drinking as soon as I got the worst drink I'd ever tasted from Casey the bartender. The lime and vodka I had tasted like koolaid concentrate with extra sugar and extra sour. And then I needed some water to dilute it with, and he gave me warm water. not room temperature, but warm. I can't believe Blake wanted to do this guy-- if he couldn't make a drink, how telling is that about his dryhumping skills?
Oh yeah, I started dancing. And by this time the official dances were over, and there were mostly a lot of 80s songs, etc and I pretty much sat down for the 50s ones because I'm not so into them, and since the older folks weren't into dancing (perhaps because they were intimidated by our cool dance stylings?) the dance floor was empty sometimes. But in general everyone was a good sport and danced a lot-- I did most of my dancing with Crystal which was really fun, because I've never spent much time with her before, and she's such a cool girl. And also with Blake (who is always a fien dance partner, especially to that sexy dirty song whose name escapes me mostly because i don't think i ever knew it. our dancing probably freaked the elders out, and probably would have moreso had they known we were siblings) and Janice (who was sharvin' for it all night, and wanted to make the elders feel uncomfortable by getting fresh with me which was fun and hot and she's also a great one to have hung out with, altho she is always in montreal) and it was cool that Casey was on the dancefloor for a good long while and Cory Lav and Jen representin' all night and Greg up to dance when he sobered up a bit, and of course the lovely Bride and Groom and Emily and Chris who danced once and won the spot dance prize which is whitewater rafting or something in shubenacadie or something and a bbq or something and something and clover, and mike murphy and everyone who danced and it was awesome to cut a communal rug with all those champs at once. I love so much to dance in good company, and to decent songs, especially ones I don't have at home.

And man, as much as I hate to, I must finish for the night because my wrist is aflame with pain because of an old work injury and I will finish later. Ablast afire ahell ahno.

I, oh, uh- I'm still a-live...

Altho I'm supremely tired and decided a minute ago to have a quick nap, I realized I was kidding myself, that I wouldn't wake up, and I'd better get bloggin', because I owe a couple of entries.
I was, of course, in Liverpool this weekend for Brian and Meaghan's wedding.
After much discussion, much anxiety and anticipation on many people's parts, it finally happened.
Friday's drive down was fun, but relaxing for me-- it was mostly Greg and Andy chatting about the music scene, with the ocassional comment from Blake and I, while Natalie napped so sweetly on Andy's shoulder.
Had we gone in the other vehicle earlier in the day, the story would be different, but this is not my story to tell. Bride and groom were apparently feeling a bit anxious, yet good times were still had by all, so the story goes (shit, that wasn't my story to tell).
We arrived in Liverpool at 6 something, checked in at Whitepoint, were blown away by all the bunnies laying in the most bizarre areas, returned to the Liverpool Superstore for some good groceries, and went to David and Debbie Lingley's for the rehearsal dinner/party.
When we arrived there, predictably, everyone was pretty in the sauce. I have no idea who was there as far as relatives, but we quickly found a comfortable spot on the Lingadingdeck to catch up to everyone else's wastedness. I had a couple Pursource coolers (which were a tad sweet) then quit there. The buzz I got came quickly and lingered for a good while, and I was content chatting and sitting in lawn chairs until the skies began to piss, and we made our way to the Lingadingbasement. BASS!
Spontaneously, after a day of relatively cooperative intestines, my bowels began to protest and I spent a good portion of the evening in the bathroom (both upstairs and down), both shitting and crying. Something came over me in the basement, not quite sure what, but I got emotional (yes, about your anus) and decided it was best to take my cry face somwhere else. The last thing I wanted was to bring attention to myself crying during an event that had nothing to do with me, and everything to do with Brian and Meaghan's wedding. So when I wasn't in the bathroom for one purpose or another, I spent my time in the basement doing anything possible to make myself smile and enjoy it, because I knew I was enjoying it in theory. It was the kind of party that I would generally find really killer--it seemed so nostalgic, as if we were all 16 and our parents were away. This is what I have been so keen for lately anyway, to feel like I'm 16 again. Air hockey (or fooze ball, I have no idea, I don't remember. Oh shit-- was it both?) and listening to old metal on vinyl, checking out neato relics of David and Debbie's-- like the first edition of Interview with the Vampire, a million wicked pieces of vinyl, etc, and watching Emily spend a long, long time cutting Brian's hair (she did a fab job), while both perched atop the pool table. I flitted around a lot, but my thoughts were elsewhere. I took a couple of good swigs of Casey's rum and cried in the bathroom. Heather noticed (sweet of her to voice concern, along with also offering to make me supper and grant every wish I might ever have-- altho unfortunately I didn't even make it to her house). Blake noticed. Finally Emily and I went outside and sat on the Aliant steps (and I felt like a scab). A guy passed us and said what's up and shot a cool hand in our direction. and i cried a bit more and Greg and Blake and Natalie came outside and all was eventually better, although I still felt like a louse.
So we went back to Whitepoint and who knows what we did there for a while besides eat cookies and shoot the shit and maybe watch tv for a while. Chris wanted to go for a walk, so we wnt to the beach.
And we put our feet in and it was cold as a cabbage in a snowbank. I'm not sure I had ever felt colder waters, or seen them so choppy. Oddly, we kept venturing farther out into the water, and it grew colder and colder.... And I had never, in five years of knowing him, heard Chris show so much emotion as he did as the cold dug into his body. And, like addicts, we for some reason CRAVED the icy grip of the sea. More, more, more. Chris stripped down to his boxerbriefs and raced into the choppy dark sea, screaming wildly the whole time. Not to be outdone, I did the same. We mucked about in the ocean for quite a while, to the questionable delight of the folks at the campfire, and the folks taking pictures. When finally, we thought we'd had enough, my eager brother comes to find us and tempts us back in the cold ocean deep. And again, we screamed bloody murder, like I've not done before, and challenged the waves to pull me under. Before we jumped in, Chris and I felt like doing a Mick Mars-- passing out in the sea and waiting for someone to fish our cold bodies off the beach the next morning. Such was the tone of our moods, before we jumped in. After we all frolicked in the frigidness of the sea for a half hour, I think I can speak for all of us by saying that it revived us. I was able to go to bed without thinking the saddest thoughts. Mostly all I could think of was how I thought my body temperature might never rise.
So I was lucky (?) that I got to sleep between two hot bodies-- Blake and Emily. I HATE sleeping in the middle, but since I was drunk and cold and exhausted, I figured it wouldn't matter, and it was nice when I eventually got to sleep, but then it wasn't nice when I had to get up every hour to shit a river, my ass aflame, and apparently wake Chris up every time (or maybe he never got to sleep). Emily said I felt like a bag of frozen peas, which I like to think is the worst insult I've ever received while in bed with someone.
Before we went to bed, though, Blake was still wired, and went exploring and took Chris with him. This was awesome because we used walkie talkies and Chris reported the important parts of their hike in proper CB radio fashion. They found lots of bunnies and frogs and asked for backup. So I sent Greg. And they returned pretty late. And Blake wanted to go adventuring again. When he returned and opened the patio doors, the most specific stream of light shone on Greg's face, which we had noticed when we all settled down earlier. Somehow it was way more hilarious when we'd all been dragged out of sleep. Probably a lot funnier to us than ist seems to you now.
And now I am beat, with a such a meager (not meagher) amount of sleep, and I must pass out, only to share with you the remains of the best trip to Liverpool yet, hopefully all tomorrow.

you may be right

you may be right,
chris,
when you say you're only interested in the blogs that reflect my day.
something that may have a glimmer of you in it
so you can put the two side by side and compare.
it's like looking through a batch of photos and hoping for one of you
to see if that's how you remembered it,
if that's what you really looked like.
altho i needed to say what i said yesterday
because i was feeling it,
i think this is more important.

i can't forget yesterday's scoops game--
we taught blake how to play for god's sake:
chris gave him some fine tips using masturbation analogies.
he caught on rather quickly
and i was almost ashamed i hadn't thought of it:
it's all in the wrist.
scoops is an 8 pm game, huh?
well it worked out fine at 1130pm last night.
i finally worked up a little sweat
which i generally hate doing unless i'm met with a pretty sweet payoff.
xfiles for four hours and vanilla-basil mashed potatoes with mushroom gravy--
blake's new speciality.
and i, glutton, wanted more after i'd had the first taste--
altho i have to say, our appetizer was also an appetite stimulant.
this is what you missed yesterday--
that, and finishing off with some Canlit (again).

au jourd hui
making lists for what to take to the wedding, and i dumbly left it in my apron.
tonight we four were like worker bees (but not like the any colony in my kitchen)
i made muffins
emily painted her toenails
e: this is anatomically impossible
b: no man, no it's not. i'll show you but i'm making muffins now.
*she assumes a better position
e: how many coats do i need?
c : three
b: well, you need an initial primer coat, one, but probably two coats of your colour, plus another clearcoat on top, for protection.
e: well, after that speech, you are never allowed to make fun of me again.
b: (in thought) touche'
and she grated me 1.5 cups of carrots for my muffins
and chris made hummus so fucking good i wanted to fuck either him or the hummus or both or say him covered in hummus.
i dig the garlic--
i'd be a vampire, but i love garlic too much.
and oh yeah, greg is home, so he got working on the wedding card after he got finished air-drumming to Rush. I threatened to turn it off.
we became a cutting factory, emily and i, so much so that greg couldn't keep up.
she made us stiff drinks (the way i like 'em) and our eyes got wasted so we took a break that ended up lasting an hour and consisted of greg and emily talking in the livigngroom (with a rope) and i and chris in the bedroom (with a candlestick) and we had lovely respective chats, then made fun of/admired the binder-shaped cooler with strap and everyone fell into bed (because tomorrow is day 1 of 3 of crazy liverpool wedding days) yet here i am here and i haven't even written in my paper journal yet. but now i just HAVE to.
and i will miss this blog while i am on the south shore, bub.

Summer is too hot

Summer is too hot, so I sit in my house, and go out at night instead.
I don't understand why anyone would want to go outside and exert themselves all day. You sweat while exerting yourself in room temperature, why push it?
So I stay inside and read. It doesn't create memories, but it keeps me in my comfort womb.
Today's novel was not about escaping, but about feeling it.
Thanks, Margaret Laurence. Rest where you are, you have done well, and receive the Beany Satisfactory Prize for Writing that I Will Revisit, 2004.
And reading in the summer, although not a new concept for me, reminds me of the first summer that I began reading rather than playing.


The last summer of my youth, I stopped watching movies in the afternoon or playing boardgames with my family, and instead read vampire novels. I read and read and read and read. I read, that is, betwixt visits from friends of mine- male, dark (in spirit), hardworking and enthralled with me. Anne Rice was my saviour that summer, as I craved being anywhere but where I was. The first summer that reading was a getaway-- to New Orleans, to France, to ancient Egypt-- anyhwhere where they creatures of the night roamed. I so wanted to be a vampire.

Nobody told me I had to appreciate my summers at the cottage (not that I would've listened). My brother was still building sandcastles, as I longed to be with boys who played songs for me, sent me bootleg tapes in the mail, came visiting to to play guitar in the sun, or make out with me at the end of the beach road.. This was the last summer of my single life. The last summer wandering around the beach as the "kids" there-- sheepishly trying to talk to the generation in their midtwenties, because they seemed cooler-- trying for a peek into the crystal ball of adulthood-- hoping for some common thread. Mostly that thread was beer or guitars. Those "adults" didn't want to talk about being an adult any more than we did.

When we go to my beach now, we awkwardly fit into the new 20something generation. Yet we haven't blessed the beach with a new breed of beach kids, we don't have cars to get us there, we somehow don't quite fit the mold. So it makes us laugh, my brother and I. And we know that this is the real world, and we would do anything to make it permanent. In or parents' wills, we've refused the house. We'd sell it for cash to stay at the cottage full time. What job could we keep to be able to be in Baie Verte all year round? Writing? Prostitution? Growing illegal drugs? Winning the lottery? Cabinetry? Or just shrugging off the world as much as possible and save cash for a few years. Or work for a few months, and make enough to pay off the property taxes.. And eat less because you live longer doing that anyway.. and maybe live our dreams by kicking the people off the beach who make it a hateful place to live-- the gay bashers, the party poopers, the hypocritical Christians. We'd even keep a handful of seniors-- because they're amused by us. And we could learn from them.. There is, in my life, a paucity of wise elders. I could learn from them by actually listening. I have that knowledge now. When I was young, it was common practice for me to not believe adults when they tried to offer me a life lesson. Whatever. Maybe it they had been a little more liberal in their youth so it would be more realistic. I might've listened. Probably not.

The last summer of my youth, the last one before "going steady" and getting my first job, and thinking too hard about university, while not having the slightest idea what it might be like. Forming ideas about others, mocking their stupidity, their mispronunciation of words, thinking I was smarter than so many others. Wishing I were dead, but conversly being more alive then I would ever know. My last real chance as I would let myself see it. The most romantic kiss I have seen to this day. The hottest time to love and be loved-. My first (or hardest) glimpse of unrequited love or really love that we chose not to reciprocate. We chose hurting ourselves instead. That summer I still wrote poetry, yet had never gotten high.
The last summer of my youth, I hung out out with my best friend, but we were really growing apart. I was moving away from conventional mores, and it was difficult for her. And her father woudn't let her hang with my radical longhaired friends. The last summer of baking cakes that would be eaten in laughter, the last summer of swinging on the swings and bounching on innertubes, of walking up the road late at night to discuss crushes, reading choose your-own adventure books outloud; or each other's journals, or planning the wedding she would have and I wouldn't, of botched bikini line waxing, and watching old tapes of the Smurfs. It was the last summer that I spent on Mason's Beach, and I wish I had paid more attention.

It was, the first summer that the tide began to speak to me, though, and the salt water became theraputic. The first time that I started valuing time alone, time to write and explore and consider growing up. But lucikly, I wasn't frightgened by it. And I had confidence. But I couldn't just live in the moment anymore-- it was truly the last summer for that.

until the end

If I keep drinking and smoking like this I might just get thru the summer
or someday my liver will cease up
but less likely with me
because i consume antixidants, phytochemicals, bioflavinoids, etc
your liver can be 40% shot before it shows up in bloodwork ya know.
fuck.
ate some toast
walked with em to the bank to deposit my hobo paycheck
then to superstore for amenities
and came back, got back, rejammied and chilled with margaret laurence
and got aroused by the story
which konked me out for a couple of hours.
canlit always explores sexy topics.
we are so much more exciting than our neighbours.
and then em came home for lunch and i ate tofu
and i called blake and he got a cute faux-hawk
and called his fe-barber in gratitude
and i waited for him
and chris came over and we went to great ocean
and then to the superstore for clifbars and liquour
and then blake finally came over
and we drank and smoked
and chatted and are so grateful to be siblings
and are living together in the fall
which is awesome but i will miss hoesley :-(
and blake checked out my blog and loved it
and ate beans and rice crackers
and he read fashion mags
and em came home and we ate more beans etc
then i had a cold shower while under the influence
and shaved delicate parts
(bad idea) then we got pat
and went to freeman's while em went to the mall
and i ate hummus and lettuce
and now i've made myself another drink
and might go see the dean malenkos and it's 10:04pm
our pipe is dirty
i wish i had something more convenient to clean it with than kleenex and a bobby pin
oh wait
pipe cleaners
not only for crafts
and i don't have any
oh if dad were here....

and i'm gonna go grab my book.

Bacchus's Itinerary

awake 6:30
really at 9:30
take my good bacteria
drink lemon and water
read margaret laurence
em wakes up
goes for coffee
read more
eat soy yogourt with bluberries, banana, raisins, flax seed meal, dry oats, almonds and cinnamon (instead of scrambled tofu) and then a glass of soymilk with carob powder
em returns
listen to the doors
(better in the daylight)
yet still get depressed
drink gin and lemonade
mope
more gin
chris comes over
a little more moping
em makes brownies to cheer me up
natalie comes over with two bottles of champagne
both of which we drink
and eat wicked brownies
and chris leaves
and natalie's husband comes over
fresh from a sad funeral
and he is nice
i had never met him
sushi
at hamachi house
with them all
and it rules and i am stuffed
and i forgot us girls ate veggie burgers when drunk
and the sushi hits the fucking spot
and i also have a salad
upon which is a piece of egg
and the server asks me if i want another because she can tell by everyone else's reaction that i don't want it.
those who have dined with me in years past would have been proud.
and they pick up the heavy bill because they are champs
then we go to blake's
and haley and craig are there
playing jeopardy and reefing
and then we do
and watch kids in the hall
and then go for dio mio
me: soya magic chocolate orange gelato and lemon sorbet in a waffle cone
em: rosewater mint and pina colado sorbettos also dans le cone waffle.
effin' decadent
especially because we are so full
and blake and haley get mcdonalds
and then we see troy at bookmark
and hang with him for a bit, even outside
then walk home
and my stomach is so bloated and hard from the oral abuse
now home and defecation
and ice water
which seems to help
and what a wicked day
i'm glad halifax was born today,
a lotta years ago

Peace Frog

Feeling 90% better than yesterday-- at least my mood is tolerable. Actually, it was great at work today. I was on fire avec the knowledge.
Nathan put two copies of the Source on my desk this morning-- the local health food rag, not the American hip-hop one (which would've been cooler-- I remember getting copies free from Roger's). My first article was published-- that's all right I guess. It's ok. It's entitled "Stellar Nutrition for Pennies a Plate" and can be picked up at any health food retailer around NS. If nothing else, I taught Nathan alternate meanings/usages of "imperative" and "gamut."
Emily got home from Pictou Island at say quarter to five, we had a clothes bath (only my feet were in), while drinking gin and shooting the shit. Greg called. He got an nice suit for the wedding.
The we got sushi and soup at Andy's place. We watched Quinpool Road and saw Pat and Craig, as well as Jimmy and Anthony Marcioni (sp?) going to get fast food. For shame! Man, our waitress (and all waitresses at Japanese restos) was tiny. I'd definitely go to Japan if it would make me skinnier. And I fucking love Japanese food.
Then we came home and thought about seeing the fireworks, then didn't. We were talking about the Doors, a band I was obsessed with in Jr high, but haven't listened to in 5 years or so. So instead of going to smoke out our lungs at the special show at the Seahorse, we smoked here and drank Jack Daniels and sang to my Doors box and talked about what it would've ben like had we known each other in high school. Emily said "it wouldn't've been as special."
She's probably right.
And now she's in bed, and I sit here with candles and The Doors and think about being s teenager and hanging out alone in my room, or with boys, and listening to these albums, and writing poetry and dead roses in my black room and rock tshirts and dour thoughts and having no idea what being an adult would be like, and not even trying to think about it, luckily, because it would've ruined it.