it was so sunny this afternoon on the balcony we were jumping for joy and for pleasure and for everythang.  

sushi cake, so hard to make

coolest effin' cake ay-ver. credit to em for making it, credit to me for having a birthday to inspire it.  

sushi cake in mid-sabotage

christly good. indescribable.  

sushi cake sushi cake cake cake

the sushi cake was fucking astounding. i made a big deal out of making sure there was a cake at my party, because i'm a cake-whore. in the past, i've had to finish my own cakes, decorate them myself, etc because the baker had more important things to do. not this year. it was supposed to be a surprise, but not a heavily-veiled one. i knew nothing of the nature of the cake, so that was indeed a surprise. em made me a cake last year-- a vegan chocolate cheesecake which far far surpassed any chocolate cheesecake i've had-- and it included plastic ants and berries and flowers. this year's vegan chocolate banana sushi cake made from kamut flour paid much attention to detail. it was shaped like a gigantic piece of sushi topped with actual sushi rice cooked in vanilla soymilk, in the centre of which were a variety of fruit made to look like sushi inards. the rice was covered in three boxes of orange nerds made to represent roe. the side of the cake sported shaved chocolate and around the base of the cake laid thinly sliced watermelon to resemble pickled ginger and dollops of faux wasabi made from vegan cream cheese and (*sigh*) powdered greens. the wasabi was my favourite part from a taste perspective. there were tiny pieces of sweet sushi alongside these two faux-condiments as well. the cake was stabbed with four pair of pretty cool chopsticks. this double-layer cake was not the first edition. em the baking-perfectionist went to the effort of making another one when the first was not quite acceptable. sure makes my lame birthday gift look pathetic. a big fucking thanks.
whoa.

peter's sushi socks, worn only this once.  

sushi socks, but it doesn't suck

the par-tay was killer. different than anything i've hosted before, but not worse. i didn't drink to excess or vomit. nobody vomittted or made much of a mess. guests from the bruns and amherst--so fucking fun to see these dudes again. em made a crazy sushi cake shown above, which deserves its own entry. lots of videos taken: chewing faux-wasabi with my mouth opened, an interview with three GO girls put on the spot to say something nice about me, drunk girls on my trampoline, drunk girls dancing in my kitchen, me saying "my bondage pants are getting to good use," one of a bruns fellow defending his decorating philosopy, an argument about who would win a fight: darth vader or batman (no clear winner-discuss if you will), a post-party survey of the premises. i heart my digital camera.
the sushi party left me with enough sushi to feed me for the following breakfast, lunch, supper(shared), breakfast (shared). i'm still not turned off sushi. in fact, it's a serious aphrodisiac. when i wasn't eating sushi in the last three days, i've been doing it. i still thank you all for making sushi and to peter for sporting his sushi socks. i missed brian and meaghan being there. the sushi theme made me sharve for them even more.

everything and i mean EVERYTHING should come out of this R2 cooler, not just aqua fina. i mean, i should even crawl out of this after a long night of interrupted slumber as thugs trail into needs and steal cigarettes and buy slushies. R2 cooler: fucking killer.  

anne heche and my higher gayness

offers of everything i ever wanted and dreamed on this day of my birth barfed 26 times. even tho this mom-athon began yesterday, i thought of her a lot today because she might've been thinking of me. i called her a whore to a practical stranger in the last few months and she's like a stranger to me. i thought of her when i first opened my eyes. i had a happy birthday song in the next 20 seconds. and an etch-a-sketch happy birthday baby and another heavy blinkers reference in my inbox and a ciao bella from roma, italy and a sumo wish from j-land and an early call from my one and only and a hungover wish from my bro and periodic calls from my lover and a visit from pals and random calls and emails and yes yes and from my parents who stopped listening to me halfway thru me telling them important drivel.
but you can fucking FORGET a plain simple vanilla birthday wish from he whom i spent nearly five years with. i still buy his vitamins. i saw him last week. i ask him about his whatever girl. it sliced me with the grain: i am so used to this. i'd say i don't care, but i'd be fucking kidding myself. all i can say is je ne suis pas surprised. you're fucking lucky i'll forgive you, mais je me ne souviens, or whatever translation. perhaps je n'oubliez pas or something. fuck. forget it.
i smoked and knit so much i got dizzy, i had a glass of gin and i split a sundae with my bro and i had my second breakfast made for me (thanks, cafe vienna) and didn't even have supper. and i ate the same thing at the end of the day that i did in the beginning: two pieces of kamut toast with creamy soynut butter and guest apple strawberry jam.
i got a pentagram and moon cycles and a nudge from bridgewater and a shuffle and a mitful of advice about living and some inspiration to keep on keepin' on c/o my horrorscope and maybe i'll even do something i want to do. anne heche was also born today, but i'm probably gayer than her.

more clever than paris hilton

for five minutes there were naughy pictures of me on the internet. it was strange and exciting. i was less frightened than i expected, but not un-freaked enough to leave them on there for chance-- even tho i couldn't find them when i searched. i hope my brother never finds neglected pictures of my tits while looking for a bjork song. i am arguably more clever than paris hilton, and more wise. but she is skinnier. oops, i don't care.

star wars and sobeys: together at last 

anakin is "dill-icious" lay

CRM and i ventured to sobeys for the much-anticipated middle o'night star wars merch photo shoot. after the ridiculous onslaught of spiderman 2 merch last year, i considered photographing all the products at sobeys, and then just didn't. i decided to save it for epi 3. some serious disappoinment on the relatively weak effort on the merchandising. entirely possible but not done: pasta shapes in cheesy tomato sauce, bandaids, helium balloons, birthday cake, fruit roll-up type candy, granola bars, flavoured milk, and last and most obviously missed opportunity: breakfast cereal.
all in all, there were 52 items at the windsor street sobeys pertaining to star wars: 8 m&m snack packs, 5- 2L pop, 4 cases of pop, 4 magazines, 24 collectable m&m packages, 6 chips and 1 killer yoda superpack of mini chips.

conclusions: 1) lots of missed merch ops. 2) star wars fans eat like shit. 3) the anakin "dill-icious" product placement was entirely intentional.

a new hope or DIE

revenge of the sith: A-fucking-1 --
but i feel raped in every orifice.
it's a new hope or probable suicide.
waiting for so long
and i get fucked in the mouth with darkness.
not so unsuspected, sure--
but it's enough to make my bowels sad.
you think i'd be plenty used to the dark by now.

my two partners
were stellar--
we roasted unhandsome solos until the start was nigh:
these are not the dorks you are looking for.*

mandrepheus andregon in full effect,
two purple lightsabers and dark locks--
and bitches on every arm.

gee loo, you done your thang well this time,
but
never has the darkside looked so unattractive.
a new hope or DIE.




*CRM, cred.

eff yeah! oh gawd. 28 hours. fuck. i procrastinated a lot waiting for this. midnight showing. mr. octagon himself will be there. it excites me to no end that starwars.com is so overwraught with hits that it doesn't even work a day before the premiere. wooooooooo!!!!!!!!!!! 

nothing pervy going on while home alone with jackson, culkin says

yes!
as i believe in my little ticker that michael jackson is indeed not a child molestor and that he is simply a tortured soul who genuinely loves children and writes (or wrote) unbelievable pop songs, i was pumped to see that macaulay culkin may indeed save the day by testifying that nothing sketchy happened in his time hanging out with M.J.
yes!
michael jackson is innocent!

eat dirt, drink soymilk

altho toronto was a good time, i was so gleefully stoked to be home, i wanted to sink my teeth into the mucky earth on the commons as i was crossing with my backpack fresh off the eleven o'clock airbus. swallow dirt. make it all worthwhile. three things i missed the most: love, soymilk, grass.

more later.

p.s. bonne fete emdilemn + big j.

"it's not the band i hate... it's their fans."

ok, so i hated the band(s) too.

and i left early because i was bored. i don't even get bored staring at walls.

the drinks didn't even work: nothing is much worse than that.

we were like last summer, if you squinted real hard and used your imagination.

discussing love with the one you loved is bizarre but apparently fairly easily handled-- with vast preparation and a healthy dose of the golden rule. this part was okay.

but, lots of cringing, lots of self-restraint. lots of hoping, lots of observed quasi-hating.

probably this is totally construed.

but...fuck it all so hard your ears hurt.

keanu: whoa

holy fuck:
i've knit half a scarf
jacques ponay is gone:
("someday this will all be yours"-- he wasn't kidding)
motorhead is one LOUD motherfucking band
nine inch nails and toronto in one week
so many shows this month. ah!
this wine is hot shit
the dishes are done, but we didn't do them