well shit the bed!

so many good shows coming up i might just defecate before i get there. ok, so i will: several dozens of times. but still...

rawk!

can anybody say eff yeah?

(eff yeah!)

moon bono puppy piss

1) what the fuck is the moon coming to? strange confessions by herbed-up senior citizens of unwanted masturbation. word. fuck. the end of the grocery world as we know it. nice try with the champagne fountain, you. the tequila shots were a nice goodbye, and the baby's arm gagger. wickedywack. i can't beleive i found eaglewood by bus-- so effed up and all.

2) aw, bono's "bewildered" and even "annoyed" that paul martin's a lying jerk. bono was duped. it's ok, he's not around to see paul's scaredy-cat face. earth to bono: we have alanis morrisette to help us out in times of political emergencies (ok, so we don't, but we have bryan adams around to take photos). doesn't ireland need you or something? or the kids in africa dying from mosquito bites? thanks, bono, but you can't save the liberals now.. but i guess you know that.

3) puppy piss and shit on my floor. why? because i had him "out to play" but really that meant me checking my email and asking him to stop chewing on my socks and not really watching him (sorry, big j). the worst part was not knowing about the feces, and not being able to get my company's bag thru the door until i picked up the shit, else the door would smear it all o'er my floor. daddy good times all right.

c'mon and vomit in your sink

it fucking figures that something i'd been looking forward to every day for over a month goes to shit. i was in no shape to go to c'mon on saturday night, even after they'd eaten c'mon kabobs from my grill. i was so stoked. whisky got me primed. vaggie dogs and kraut got gave me juice. geeky rock boys helped me get on it. whisky stopped me flat out. i still tried to go, with my pants around my ankles and panties riding down my ass. i was thankfully(?) stopped outright. i hear it was a good show. the only things i've ever regretted: not going to shows. fuck. fuck me. next time: less whisky. i can hold a ridiculous amount for a wee girl-- but obviously not that much. christallFUCK i am fuck. this hardly ever happens.

cowabunga dude: smoking skulls!

no amount of smoke from a skull with red eyes is too much: the stank expectation was there. the shit i forgot to shower for a week oh well i'm going to the khyber contingent was surprisingly low thank fuck. being prettysmall is far out for getting to the front-- it always works; nobody ever questions me. smile cutely, but act tough ci necessare. there to catch hallowe'en-coloured feathers, and pocket them so nothing tragic occurred. i need them for my hen. nest. henpen. nestpennestpennis. the best part was no annoying invasions. the best part was i've seen you before but it doesn't matter. the best part is i won't watch you dance because i'm at the front and i can't. the best part is i don't care what you think of my ass. the worst part is always that i've the body of a twelve year-old but it takes so much slog to get me feelin' it. speed is the key, but it's been a while so i brought out the caution key. my horoscope suggested the now for curing myself, so i at least shouldn't stray too ridiculously far. yer dual heart-head BS stings still, but i made it to the show. look at me and ask me no questions. some of all y'all are nice to me. this is how i prefer (sh)it. ok, i prefer even more charm and love. luckily i have enough. midnight (or rice pudding) is the answer.

tonight: mitch and lots of feathers.

tomorrow: c'mon.

maple sorry on my floory

all day in bed with hothotheat on my paunch and pain up to my tits.

aversion to food

intermittent pain, pressing inwardly

wants small sips of water

heat makes symptoms better

washing or bathing alleviates symptoms

feels cold yet body is warm

symptoms worse during period

and i finally feel okay and want pancakes and make them-- banana blueberry-- and eat them and they were fucking scumptious and i used about a tablepsoon of maple syrup and i go to put it away and i think i have my soymilk, butter and syrup piled up oddly so i move them and change positions and what kind of idiot doesn't screw the maple syrup cap on? oh, it's me and i scream, "NOOOOOOOOOO!" but the no let yes happen and there's a cup and a half of delicious cumberland county maple syrup sticky as a slut on my floor and i want it i want to lick it off and i imagine the mice coming running and lapping it up and getting stuck and for a minute i want to leave it and a) see the mice get stuck, feel sad and like an asshole for doing it, and rescue them-- wiping off their little feet then putting them in a box and letting them go in the usual spot on the hill b) lick it up myself c) leave it because i had no idea how to clean a cup and a half of maple syrup off my floor. i spill water constantly, but always leave it to mold under the carpet or soak up the ink on my bills. i almost called mom to ask how, or looked it up on the magic box. with syrup running down my legs (not the only substance today-- like a sundae), tucked the tails of my nightdress into its neckhole and scooped the sweet sap up onto various pans and dishes (trial and error), spilling it on the way to the overfilled sink each and every time. mopped it up with dishtowels and dishclothes and hotwet ones and hoped i got everything else up but know i didn't but it looks okay now so leave it i will. what happened here, bean? they will say, pointing to their slippers stuck to the linoleum. i dunno, but i hope the sap's running well this spring.

rice pudding is nice pudding

rice pudding*

1 c. brown rice
2 c. soymilk (original or vanilla)
1 c. raisins
1/3 c. maple syrup
1/2 tsp. nutmeg
pinch sea salt

Bring salted soymilk to a boil, but watch it so that it doesn't scald. Add rice and simmer for 45 minutes or until rice is soft. Add raisins, maple syrup and nutmeg and a little more soymilk if desired. Stir and cook for a few more minutes, until mixed well and heated through. Serve hot or cold with soymilk or soy cream.

*this is mom's healthy vegan variation of her own less healthy and much less vegan recipe. what a doll she is.

so spookily perfect

shit is panning out okay.
lots of ideas. the funny thing is: will i do them?
(ha!)
there was a crisis, but it's been averted. patience is bliss or annoying or rewarding or a virtue or something.
i'm excited for mitchell on friday and c'mon on saturday. lots of various rocking, lots of variations on intoxication. very well. up this morn early with the hens. pain lured me back to sleep and i shoved the hotpad on my flat stomach and laid on it like the unattended invalid that i was until i was woken up by my work's number to be reinvited to a knitting party but i'm doublebooked-- so nope for the knitting. next week in its stead. blake and i got prepared and watched the gay marriage simpsons episode which was just what we needed. went downtown and watched a teller drink coke and get off early. had another teller be a jerk and not allow him to pay his taxes. fuck the bank. fuck the bank we went to. fuck the bank. the local record shop was sold out of the misfits album i was looking for. asshole! used the bathroom at my favourite public loo (like i'm telling you). borrowed space balls from the library. got a japanese cookbook i've had out atleast four times before. now i have fried tofu pockets-- things are very different now. went bag shopping. no success. got some icecream-- greatly successful. two scoops: 1)roasted pear with riesling 2)soy chai. so perfect. i'm going sans sucre again pretty soon now (excepting perfect occasions) and i had to get the diomiourge out of my system. finishing up our icecreams, we arrived home to find some homies on our porch. no neighbours anywhere. we chortled and excused ourselves and a.j. asked us, "hey, you don't mind if we smoke this joint on your step, doya?" and we're all like, "no, man, no-- go ahead." it was awesome. one fewer gang of homies that might swarm us. we laughed endlessly at this initiation into spring in our hood. now-- just finishing up the pot of rice pudding i made this morning, listening to the wiebe episode of let's get baked with mat and dave, putting off laundry and getting ready to watch some spooky show whose name i don't recall, but i'm sure i won't be able to forget after i've seen it. i still fit into my pants. so pleased i think i'll dance.

it's mitchell and a tiger casserole. RAR! 

summer oh four, meet summer on fire

bremily can fit into small spaces (like charlie manson), and
we could make suggestive noises upon request ($).
we'd consider doing events like weddings and children's birthday parties:
a fine marvel to see.
there's even room to walk by us
and we no longer look like two slugs mating in the night.
or get our fat stuck to the kitchen table on a sticky day.
we let it get away.
you should see us now--
we're a hot commodity.
look out look out, summer oh five:
no one here gets out alive.

sauerkraut and vaggie dogs

a new love: sauerkraut.

brother was frying up some vaggie dogs and altho they tempted me like a pretty slut in church,

i was all like: ass_fucker, i can't, omigawwwwwwwwwdddddddddd ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh i can have a fucking northendfriedveggiedawg.

yeah, this was easily two a.m.

i do this a lot. i bet the girls downstairs are all over it.

blake deemed it the best reaction ever. i tend to outdo myself in these states. you see, i so love veggie dogs and i hadn't been able to do more than salivate over them for three months and so i was all like oh yeah, mama needs a soydog so i wrangled two of the tiny ones up for myself, fried in leftover leftover mich-ling canola oil and did it riggggght up with sauerkraut and ketchup. can i hear a.... fuck yeah?! (fuck yeah.)

anyway, those v-dogs were just the thing and

a night of potential slackerdom did breed staler laundry, but also manifested extreme happenings.
i stayed up til 6:30 a.m. and had to threaten myself to make myself sleep.

editting files. making notes. laughing.
stay tuned to potentially see me do something.
no details.

christFUCK i'm exhausted.

at work i was so jazzed i felt the need to be stapled to the walls.

ritalin (or learning factors) or tranqs or choroform or a sharp blow to the head would've been a fitting prescription.

coffee (or yerba mate) might've given me a heart attack.

whatever the case, i had none and almost pissed my sagging pants all day until the cool evening's breath welcomed me to reality. lucky for my audience i'd come down a coupla notches.

never enough notches.

has someone written a textbook about being more awesome?

i should look into it.

update: the crack in everything

the crack in everything exists, as the last week has proven:

i got pissed

and sick (and let you get hurt)

and inspired the theft of your camera (sorry)

and hopeless

but all is as average as it gets-- which lately has been pretty swell.

tomorrow is the end of my ban on edible allergens, but i'm not diving in very deep.

i will take clif into my mouth, which will be sweet and jizzy.

i will take the wood into my mouth, which will be all right. my belly will not swell.

the muting pain didn't make me cry-- my mysteriously fallen progress did. my brother was there to comprend.

i did my taxes and cleaned my room today and felt the rays and seasonal breeze thru the open windows. i am a procrastinating dork.

i am knitting up a storm (or a scarf) and it will be wickedywickedywhack, yo.

i am shaving years of emotional eating off myself with free library tapes and just not doing it anymore. i've sloughed off 196 energy bars and more pants fit me.

i'm wondering where the toxins (yes TOXINS, mr. harper) came from and am trying (but not hard hard) to get them the fuck o-u-t.