spontaneous house party grows to fantastical proportions + being observant theoretically pays off

it all began with a dish date with my brother (we got them all done) and it morphed into a fest of beer and vodka and wine and reef and fried vegetarian bolgna with ketchup and faux tuna rolled in steamed swiss chard and chocolate soy milk and homemade oatmeal raisin chocolate chip cookies and a game of ratrace (li'l j won) and a casio keyboard dance party to the paula abdul demo. not bad. and i even got my laundry done today and had enough money for rent. and visited matlock and he had cookies and fine hospitality. in today's most tragic news in this house, my library books are overdue, and for no reason, as i live three minutes from north branch. 25 cents. fuck.

p.s. finally somebody saw me in the shower last weekend. so i'm ringing my hair out, looking out the bathroom window while standing in the shower, and dude walks by, looks up and says, "good morning," so i say, half-shocked, "hey, how's it goin'?," to which he replies, "good darlin', good." and continues to walk by, not staring at my tits or the nape of my neck, whichever he could see. but finally someone looked up and acknowledged me standing naked in the shower. and it wasn't creepy or awkward (like my brother's experience with the military dude). yes and yay.

mayosaucestyletypedressing naiseyishesquestuffthing

i found this in my fridge (and swore not to reveal the identity of its owner). check it: sauce style mayonnaise type dressing. that's four words and two steps away from actual mayonnnaise. what the fuck?

greens for supper forever + wet t-shirt contest

let's play a game. what does this image look like? (it was left on my shirt after i finished making a triple batch of bars)


the swiss chard is growing so christly high (or that shitty shed they're building beside charlie's is blocking its precious sunlight) that it's beginning to wilt. i guess it's obvious what i'm having for supper for a few days.

canopy of trees, gossip where we please

this is the canopy of trees under which i screamed blissfully yesterday afternoon.

we also swam, picked bluberries and spearmint.

this afternoon, surretti and i went to one world and ate tvp and rice and spinach and gossiped about everyone else because comparatively our lives are tame, or at least free mostly of scandal and tragedy. knock on wood. now i'm going to knitting club to knit myself a pair of cool fingerless gloves.

last year on this day, dilem and i went all out (like usual, but worse). this probably marked the beginning of our downfall.

some fine urban art near where we swam today

yahoo you or yahoo me, you're a yahoo: dude from austin, texas.

my period: proud to be the one and only result for the yahoo search for "playful, middleaged women who love to perform belly dancing to others on video for free." how? je ne sais pas! dude from austin, texas must've been sorely disappointed to find i was not the playful middleaged woman he sought.

sauerkraut post #2: a song

i love reading cookbooks because i love to cook and love to eat and love to read. while i was reading thru some cookbooks this afternoon, i found a lovely song i thought i'd share with you:

old song about sauerkraut

sauerkraut is bully

sauerkraut is fine;

we ought to know it

for we eat it all the time.

put the cabbage in a "bar'l,"

stamp it with your feet,

when the juice begins to rise

the kraut is fit to eat.

put it in a pot,

set it on to "bile,"

be sure to keep the cover on,

or you'll smell it half a mile.

printed in the Dutch Oven: a cook book of coveted recipes from the kitchens of lunenburg, by the ladies auxilary of the lunenburg hospital society, 1953.

*this cookbook calls for cod or pork fat in almost every recipe, but i love it a lot. it also includes hand-drawn illustrations on every page (many of which are racist or horrendously cruel to animals) and the most racist recipe i've ever seen. what's up, 1953?

if i can't push you into a pit of lava, at least i can talk back to you and not care because THANKFULLY i'll never see you again and if i do i'll....

i just moved the last of my stitches from the only house i've felt at home in while living in halifax. difficult, but i had strict instructions to "not get too emotional" so i pretty much heeded them. i tried to leave a couple of sketchy pieces as sole pieces in a drawer to freak out g's mom-- the single-most negative nancy i've ever known. all i could find was a used lube applicatior (also used for other things) and a burnt weed pipe filter. sorry, meat-- it's all i could find. i drank lots of gin there and checked my email and talked back to her which was second to punching her out and pushing her into a deep pit of red hot lava and sealing it up so the most-ever keen search team would never find her.
on a lighter note, i sold 2/3 of my hot new product today.

one bloody candle for you, my period.

happy birthday dear blog/ happy birthday dear blog/ happy birthday my period/ happy birthday dear blog. you are a big fantastic one year old today (but i like you so much i'm using three extra candles). check it. i dedicate my one year anniversary entry to emilar, who altho sceptical, was around for my period's conception.

i'll be flounder's bat any day for twenty dollars.

i just found the extra $20 i thought i spent getting trashed. seems i did get drunk on the usual amount of whisky. perhaps anger and speediness helped me along.

our vegan meatza complete with three types of meat analogues: faux feta, veggie bacon, and marinated tvp.  

my week in an eh to zed format

eh) wednesday brought a rep dinner including chickpea nori salad and peatty scotch whisky at the wooden monkey. included were good times and a free product of my choice.
be) i made jam thursday. seriously-- strawberry jam. it was my first time. it rocks my socks off everytime it touches my tongue.
ci) thursday was mustache and the new tragedies at gus's. a stupid army guy tried to get to know me, but did a terrible job. the show was killer. lots of great stunts. gives me chills!
dee) i got my first cheque for writing an article (due to be published in october). it's nice to actually get paid for this finally.
eeee!) friday we made amazing kamut pizza and vegan meatza the other day. so effin' good.
eff) my brother and i saw a really bizarre light in the sky. neon green and streaky. probably UFOs or something else. pretty trippy. documentation attempted and failed.
gee) i don't actually hate my job most of the time.
eightch) i won the soundtrack to it's all gone pete tong, but haven't picked it up yet.
eye) i'm obsessed with contests.
jay) soy yogourt is amazing.
kay) the two days where i didn't look at the people around me-- at how they perceived me or at what they were wearing or at them at all was very telling. i was uberkeen to be alive because i didn't give six shits about anyone else. note to self: do this more often.
elle) saturday, lucia and i went to oneworld cafe to see laura peek and mark grimson. peek was amazing, as per usual. she made a citrusy cake with coconutty frosting and it was rad. mark grimson is a new fave. i was overemotional and almost lost it.
em) we also went to the breezy waterfront to see zuppa circus's open theatre kitchen where ben eats a raw onion and more. triggered many heartstrings. the soup was fucking astounding after watching them prepare it, and it being a chilly eve.
ehn) my ex- mother in-law is a bigger raging bitch than i even imagined. she came to freak out at me at work on sunday.
oh!)i tried to make several gifts for crm for his birthday and failed miserably on many of them. i lost general greivous's head for the card, the bath bombs didn't set, the tiramisu was probably less than extraordinary.
pee)sunday was the ole birthday. ran into him on the street. he looked fly and carried armloads of fabulous gifts. had lovely and sad talks. made pacts to not be sad. kept said anti-sad pact for several hours.
cue) spent sunday night finishing up gifts, not looking inward like i should have been.
are) myself, g, em, and crm went to stage nine for shadowplay where glenn played a good gothy set and crm yelled for michael jackson. we wore black. some did not and felt odd and left (or didn't make it at all) even tho we, nor anyone else would care.
ess) proceeded to drink a fuckload of whisky and water. decided before i went to get fairly drunk. this always works.
tea) had a couple of breakdowns. cried in the bathroom and not in the bathroom. was fine. had a pretty good time. rocked out.
you) after a couple calls, was admitted to the VIP room at the palace (i'd never been to the palace before, and was told this doesn't count-- phew!). don't remember much of this. met lots of casinofolk. got tired of crying for no reason, decided to leave without telling anyone but crm. walked home and cried the whole way. i'm not so sure why, but it's funny now.
vee) told my brother all about it. laughed a lot, probably lost it a couple of times. tried to vomit.
double you) woke up in my clothes, having not written in my journal, taken my black pills, with a garbage can beside me. unbeknownst to me, i threw up, passed out in the bathroom for an hour and spent twice the money i remember spending. daddy goodtimes. thanks for taking care of me, bro.
ex) spent yesterday totally hung over. got up. ate. went back to bed. dreampt of mice again. got up. smoked. went to one world with bro and had dahl and rice and a wicked salad. smoked. ate. watched family guy. smoked. watched night gallery. ate. went to bed again.
why?)i'm about to launch my first product. helped design a logo with mat. more later.
zed) enjoyed a good day with maven. ate sushi and dio mio. made out on the hill and the balcony. the night's not over.

PAL/VIP

hungover today. missing pieces. more tomorrow.

jack on, jack off

maven and jack (taken on murray's lawn). jack's a mega-life-sized wooden sculpture of a Blackwatch soldier complete with medals earned by murray or someone else. he was created with a chainsaw. jack's a cool cat that makes everyone smile photogenically and he has a speaker under his kilt so murray can talk to children from his house. jack is a cool cat and was instrumental in making murray's 65th birthday a success in 1995.  

hey baie-- way okay

our small vaykay was awesome. maven and i bussed up to the baie and spent two and a half days with my parents and puppy and everyone seems reasonably keen on each other- so that's rad. went swimming in the cold but not-so-cold-right-now northumberland straight in a pseudo-swimsuit that really didn't do the trick at all. i was forever tit-flashing everyone, but i made do. really fucking relaxing, was in the nude enough, and i even got a little sun-stain on my goth coating. blah (but probably i look better now). crappily, the stars weren't out at the end of the road-- too cloudy-- but hey. lots of making clams piss and feet in slippery clay and sinky muck and sand in the crack of my ass and everywhere and lots of kissing and reading on the old-people patio swing and lots of sighs of blissful disbelief. picked hellloads of un-sprayed strawberries-- the ones the crows and squirrels didn't maw on. picked crow's feet (a.k.a. sandfire greens and i've also just now learned, mouse nipples) on the marsh for dilem, gathered bladderwrack from the rocks to make pudding. mom made vegan carob chip and molasses cookies, potato salad with ridiculously wonderful tangy homemade mayo, tofu "chicken" fingers, vegetable soup with a lot of umph, pancakes and a million other dishes to make me phat. nextdoor, murray added life-sized geese and horses to the clan of other law-ornaments. someday i'll post more photos of murray's lawn-- because it's amazing. scored big at PEDVAG, each of us scoring a cute sweater, a frame, an ashtray, a few gifts and an object from which we'll construct the sweetest bong ever. cheap score at $4.25 all told. eff yeah.

revenue canada might be proud

sometimes being gemini is very taxing.

by the beard of zeus, i'm smiling

1) we got a new fridge because my brother stabbed our freezer with a butter knife and hammer while trying to defrost it. it's even smaller and shittier than our last one, but somehow it's way more rad.

2) the star wars themed episode of the muppet show starring mark hamil is the best television appearance by a celebrity ever.

3) everything is pretty cool right now.

am i impatient, or are you just a dick fuckslut?

it's not terribly often that i bitch about or even mention work, but this weekend warrants mention. holy fucking shit, people. taking charge of your health means actually doing research-- yes, that means reading books, magazines (Canadian ones, not women's day or women's world and not just the ads), and medical journals. the internet is not your doctor, but if you learn to use the internet, you could find out how much gluten is in barley if it fucking even mattered and you weren't just trying to waste my time and yours.

"hi, i'm losing my hair, i have an acidic stomach which is also fat i just can't seem to lose weight i don't have time to eat vegetables i try to eat well but i just can't i think your pills made my stomach hurt i also am an asshole who wants to eat up all your time yes i've seen a naturopath but she doesn't even know what to say to me anymore if i take these pills will it help will it help the four problems i have will i lose weight will i get my hair back will my stomach stop hurting will it help my thyroid will it help me be less demanding and annoying and such a slut and what is the difference between this and that and will this also do that and that and that and do you have one cheaper and that's easier to swallow when do i take this how much is it will it work when will i see it work....."

i actually walked away from this customer, told her i'd come back and never did. in fact, i strategically avoided her.

yesterday i kicked a box and pulled my hair while talking to a customer and threw styrofoam in his direction. my throat actually hurt from repeating myself (oh, and from complaining about him) like 4 times per fact, even though he understood exactly what i was talking about-- he's just a fuckwad. he was in the store for about three hours. i almost blew a gasket.

stop fucking bothering me.

i get paid precious little money. i'm not a doctor. i'm not a dietitian. i'm not your gall bladder or your husband or you-- how about you make your own decision? go home and eat your mother's ass for lunch. i can't help you because you don't know what's wrong with you except that you have a horrible diet and personality. come back when you're a decent, sentient human being, and not a minute before. i don't know how you'll digest wehani rice and i actually don't fucking care. i don't care that you can't swallow that capsule-- try harder, you fucking pussy.

don't ask how much it is when the price is on the top don't ask about something that you don't even care about don't interrupt me when i'm talking to someone else don't ask me to order something obscure and interrogate me, a fucking vitamin clerk, unnecessarily because you didn't do say your buddhist rosaries be nice to someone this week just once you piece of jerk.

ok, i'm impatient, but you're still a dick fuckslut.

morning mud

in the morning, the mud on the commons is purple (and i like it).

you brought her, you picnic (er, um, yeah)

most. amazing. day. ever.

after many choice words of the complicated, edgy and melancholy nature, we decided to say fuck it and give it a go in the wild. shopped for groceries. packed soy mayo in a tiny baby mustard jar. made sandwiches, prepared other foodies for picnic and headed off up route6away, into the woods, along the tracks (which oddly had me feeling very petranoid) and thru the brambles and thickets scratchyscracthscratch up into the coolest clearing ever where nobody treads but my lover. he had built an amazing inukshuk, a cock-n-ball and a coupla random piles of rocks. i was so inuit that i stripped off and ran around the rocks, letting the dry moss crunch beneath my feet. we smoked our prepared bowl, and settled in for the coolest, sexiest picnic ever.

we enjoyed:

-samosas

-rye and kamut sandwiches with hicory-smoked tofurkey slices with greens and soy mayo

-calamyrnia figs

-plump and juicy thompson's raisins

-peach soy yogourt

-carrots

-carob coconut chews

it was surreal. i was so high i choked on my samosa because it felt like it was swelling in my throat when i tried to speak and laugh and recall stupid observations. then some specific oral action, during which i saw verdant meadows full of hundreds of pink bunnies bouncing in synch amid brilliant yellow flowers. that, and hundreds of other ulta-saccharine (but heavenly) images for about 20 blissful minutes. we found the water reserve, once again stripped down and dipped in the lake. i used to hate lakes because i'm an ocean snob, but this was phenomenal. we did less swimming than i expected, yet we were in the water a long time. and no, HRM, we didn't screw in your water reserve. the night continued to be awesome at home, minus the discovery of 15 or so horrific-looking bug bites, 8 or so of which are on my neck. looks like, but unfortunately isn't, evidence of a vampire gang-rape. despite the lack of vampire gang-rapes, the day exceeded any princess and pony/barbie dream house/pessimist-idealist expectations i'd been gathering of the perfect dreamy afternoon.

best. fucking. picnic. ever.

thanks, maven.

my old black hole

look into my wound: i feel like a fuck. i mope. i read but can't stay awake. i rub satin on my face and breasts. i listen to scandanavian symphonic metal or german industrial or something angry and european. i drink water. i wish i were different, or that you were.perhaps we feel like punching each other, but i'm sure it's still love. i wish i was in the chilly sea last summer when love was always in the air even if it wasn't supposed to be. i'm hungry, yet have no will to eat. two days ago everything was perfect-- isn't perspective a serious fucker? loud music is so much more satisfying when i'm mad-- it's like cutting yourself for your ear canals. german industrial with closed eyes puts me in a smoky goth bar, wasted and smoking black clove cigarettes and having huge german men and women kiss me while i dance. when i open my eyes, i'm only here in front of my screen and i'd rather spit blood. i'm reading canlit that couldn't speak more to me now. i've read it time and time again, but this time i too, feel consumed. everything is more relevant now. please go reread all the shit you read when you were a know-it-all, done-it-all teenager. you will laugh piss when you see the layers you never suspected. perhaps it hurts plenty more, but introspection is fun (then why are you crying?/good question). ass ass double ass. ass bananas.

what happened to the days of yore?

where is the shit you've been looking for?

where is the basket you want so badly?

it's hollow and broken, go cry to your daddy.

quel temps fait-il?

il fait michaud.

my brother and i got a little overzealous in preparing cereal the night he returned from montreal.  

everybody defecates

my name has now been associated with diarrhea, i.e. "i have a case of the beanys" (wetsand, cred). last hallowe'en, it was suggested that perhaps i should dress up as a whoopie cushion (wetsand and crm, cred). my father cleverly gave me the acronym "bowel movement h_____." everyone always confesses nasty bathroom trips and accidentally shitting themselves to me because i should know all about it. ok, i have a bowel disease-- get over it. actually, i don't care. keep it coming. we've got to talk about our bowels. everybody defecates.

pope palpatine?

exhibit a: compare this image to the one of palpatine below. this has been posted on many sites, but i couldn't resist pointing it out to my readers! nbsp;

exhibit b 

exhibit c 

hey beany-- your reward for being awesome is soy sauce!

i decided to reward myself because i was actually 8 minutes early for work today, rather than sliding in with one or two moments to spare, or skulking in five or ten minutes late. my reward was a bottle of wheat-free tamari for the sushi i'll make in a day or two. luckily for us, our newest boy paduan learner chose to stay with us in halifax rather than accepting the more interesting and better-paying position in new brunswick. i, for one, am super-grateful. he's one rad dude and a crazy mofo.
last night i took puppy to visit friends and came home with some mad pot (thanks, dude) which i got into a bit ago after the puppy'd shit on the floor (not the newspaper i had laying there), puked and/or shat in his fluffy white bed, then shit--but didn't quite finish-- managing to collect feces in his flowy white tail and all over his hind end. he then sat on my bathmat and various other places/objects, scattifying them. yeah, i needed some weed and now i feel fine. made some carrot-sweet potato soup-- still feeling fine. everything is interesting, and some things are even enjoyable.

now you can see for yourself: my piss is alkaline.  

acid or bust

this week has seen my complete dedication to an alkaline diet. there are a couple of problems with this: a) there are six cuntillion different ideas of what constitutes an alkaline diet. lots of contradictions in the lists i found, like serious ones that i won't bore you with but that pissed me off. instead of doing what i would normally do, which is ignore the foods i don't like on some lists and make the most attractive list to suit what i dig, i actually used the strictest list possible. b) consequently, i was only able to consume say a quarter or so of my usual amount of protein, and besides being so pissy i wanted to punch everyone including myself in the face for three days straight, i was seriously sharving for a handful of my usual mainstays.
my diet could consist of:
all vegetables, not including tomato and eggplant (which i never eat anyway)
potatoes, sweet potatoes and corn (starchy veg)
bananas
dried fruit (dates and raisins)
avocado
almonds
date molasses, blackstrap molasses
soymilk and soy yogourt
... and that's it. that's fucking it. oh, yeah, and spring water and most herbal teas.
one more day until i can taste sweet acidity.
i'm tempted to give myself a yerba mate enema, stuff a steaming bowl of brown rice with bragg's and tahini in my anal cavity and fuck myself with a block of tofu. i am so ready for monday to come.
on the upside, my ph strips say i'm akaline.
on another positive note, when i puked on the second day of total alkalinity, my vomit tasted much better.

NOT GUILTY. 

slayer's kerry king, back in the day.  

reign. in. blooooooooooood!

i'm so glad that metal is alive and well and coursing through my veins and the protruding veins under the forearm tattoos of a few dozen longhaired metal fiends in this city and in cities and hick towns throughout the world. it tucks me in to bed at night. saturday night, war ensemble-- a slayer tribute band, played at the attic. i generally hate the attic, and prove it by getting fucked up pretty much every time i go there. i hate the people who randomly go there. i hate the too-skinny barmaids (but love their tattoos). the only time i enjoy the attic is when there's a serious rawk or metal show there with a huge built-in crowd. metal crowds tend to be the friendliest i've walked among. the indie crowd is generally just plain annoying and pretentious. i feel if i look too metal or don't have sufficiently crooked hair or enough stripes or my pants rolled according to the current method or whatnot that they mentally spit on me. i'm not sure i care, but it's nice to not feel as if i'm on the judge judy show with the jerk indie fuck playing judy, screaming, "how stupid can you BE coming out to the show dressed like that, you WANK!?" many of the indie scene kids are lovely and kind, but the shit ones ruin it for all of us. the metal crowd's just so polite and kind. there's a serious unspoken kinship between us. i don't even consider myself part of the metal scene in halifax, but i feel the love.
war ensemble itself was as awesome as they were last year after the slayer show. i went alone, randomly last year. from what i remember, i had a wicked time drinking my face off with an old friend (read: flame). i want the lead dude to eat breakfast with me so i'd feel even more metal as i drink my greens and soymilk. i'd cook him veggie bacon and scrambled tofu to go with his beer and we'd listen to south of heaven at 7 a.m. he's so metal i could cum on my hand.
rose wanted some pizza so we had to go down into the dirty bowels of the dome-- which was terrible and odd. the music was predicatably wretched, but not only that, nobody was dancing. i mean, pacifico consistently plays terrible music, but at least people do what you'd expect should be done at a dance club: fucking dance already. i kind of felt like showing those lameasses how it was done, but i was too busy trying to distract myself from them. everybody was just kind of looking around. guys in awful awful shirts just keep looming and staring at girls. not such a good tactic. everybody was tanked and could hardly hold themselves up as they swayed around. i'm not used to this crowd-- it was bizarre yet uninteresting. if these people can't pick up at these bars, they should seriously check their method. i'm sure all you have to do is kiss or grab someone in your attractiveness range at them and you're in. what the fuck is so hard about that? i suppose some people can't figure out which attractiveness range they're in, but alcohol blurs this line to far that it doesn't really matter until morning.
back at the attic, some attic-regular hootchies discussed picking up while doing their makeup in the bathroom. "uh, like, i guess we could have any of these guys we want, since we're like, uh, the only gitls here. we could have any of these guys from his motorhead crowd. i just have to find my metal friend ryan and we can have our pick of any of these guys in the motorhead crowd." sad thing is, they probably could've, but it's pathetic that they didn't name the crowd by its real influence-- SLAYER! fucking sluts.
when war ensemble's sets were tout fini, i totally wanted more, which is strange for three a.m at the attic. i didn't get more, but i came home and played seasons in the abyss-- putting the metal to my veins for another night of endless dhark.

lenore modelling windy city scarf 

a yarn: first knitting project done like dinner

finally finally finally i finished my first "big" knitting project. i'm sure many of you are laughing that i consider this scarf a big project, so eat my armpits if you're one of those people-- because i do. i don't knit a lot, i knit a little. this is why i finished a scarf that i probably began in march in june. yes. anyway, i'm pumped to have finally finished it. it's a cool scarf that has an opening to slip one end of the scarf through so you don't need to tie it. it's called the windy city scarf, perfect for our fine windy city that wants to eschew and chew umbrellas because it's never just rainy here, it's always windy as hellbent fan on a sweltering day. so here: my first large knitting project done done done. i've made probably eleven or so wristbands too. they are more fun for me because they can be finished quickly. wrist bands are my true love.

grape vines getting ready to grow  

wine tour with bonus tour of my stomach lining

yesterday brought a free wine tour, courtesy of my brother. normally the afternoon would've cost a well-deserved (but bloody unlikely)$95, and all it cost me was a litre of red vomit. the worst part is, i didn't even get drunk. i blame it on trying probably close to 30 varities of wine, including one made soley from fermented maple syrup (jeebus, take me now). it was blessed amazing to see the valley. the sun spied on us for a few minutes as we imbibed red wine and ate lindt chocolate on the steps of grand pré wines. our jovial guide initiated a wine essence-sniffing game which team 2BH (a reverse-namesaked homage to the 2HB pencil) lost, but won when we correctly identified the book (the clockmaker) and author (thomas chandler haliburton) where the character sam slick appeared.
upon arriving home from the ocean with 8 loose nearly rotten bananas and other various foodstuffs, we arranged a barbeque. our plan was again foiled when nobody in the city had any propane left. my brother will surely annihilate the next clerk who promises him propane and doesn't actually have any. after 8, i proceeded to vomit and suffer the worst headache of my life. i kicked my feet together, groaned and held my head until i fell asleep having written two lines on the first page of my 54th journal and having been too miserable to take the black pills that keep me alive. the moral of the story is, i probably can't drink anymore. every time i do, i either can't get drunk, or i puke anyway. but if i do drink wine this summer, and i surely will, my picks will likely be saint famille's rosé and l'acadie blanc or Gasperau Vineyards' maple wine(yikes) or domaine de grand pré's "whatever i had with lunch".
*first french accent i've ever bothered to find out how to type. hooray!

US court makes another dumb decision, the hazily medicated cry

it is now illegal even to smoke legal medicinal marijuana in the US, because there is no longer any medicinal marijuana in the US because their government is full of twatheads. this is the dumbest, most closed-minded scaredy-cat-we-need-something-useless-for-our-cops-to-do decision ever. soon gay sex will also be illegal (in every state-- not just Texas, Kansas, Oklahom and Missouri). they'll be sending anti-gay sqauds in to the dance clubs and bath houses and hair salons and bedrooms of america and busting gays for being gay because these p'lice are insecure and ignint and christian with their right wing flapping. holy fuck, this is warped. i can totally see (altho not endorse) the US simply never decriminalizing this sweet leaf, but making what has been fought hard in 10 states to be legal in special medical cases illegal is just crap. crap i say. get over yourselves. any americans who promised to move to canada after bush won and pussied out? come on over the border-- we have legal gay marriage, medicinal marijuana with regular mj soon to be decriminalized and lots and lots of friendly folks to bang and to smoke with.

oo-ee sticky icky

two unfortunate problems i have because it's summery:

1) i have to work and i really don't fucking want to
2) all the toilet seats in every bathroom are sticky

fuck off, i want gin.  

a letter from the gummint

dear beany,
a cause du your recent change in marital status, we've over-estimated your happiness, oops i mean GST cheque earnings. you now owe us $53.00, payment to be remitted immediately. you're going to have to put that quart of gin on your credit card. you're a slut. welcome to summer.
signed,
taxes co.
p.s. wouldn't it be awkward if you weren't talking to your ex-common-law? then it would've been awkward today at the laundromat. but it wasn't. too bad you couldn't ask him for the money, but he owes you so much already.

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

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.

where is the crack in everything?

i'm listening to prog metal-- but that's not all: the prog metal is on the radio. an entire station. no talking. 24/7. on the internet(s). on our computer. my brother and i have officially entered the 21st century. hi-speed, mofos. yeah. oh gawd. if you called me right now the phone would ring. what a novel idea. prog metal-- an entire station. life is good.
we also got a very efficient and effective b o n g so our nights have been more rightoutofit yet we're wayway inuit.
a new:
bong (dear lord)
and computer
and a new pair of (relatively) expensive shoes which bring forth contentment in myriad ways
and i've knit four wrist bands
and i fit into three more pair of pants (merci, kickboxing)

and i'm in charge of my own fertility

and tomorrow i can be satiated.
life is (nearly) grand.
pessimism is killa killa.

it's been... three weeks since you've blogged at me

yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yoyoyoyoyoyoyoyoyo.

yeah, i know.

my brother's computer's been assraped by a gang of feathered monkeys or something.

it sits gathering dust and pus in the corner of the green room that we've tried rearranging several times.

the mouse still finds his way in and dances around in the night to the tune of glasses of romulan ale clinking at quark's bar on the promenade. one mother fucking mouse left. he shows up in my dreams, between me getting meat and punculation scholarships and flying on angel's backs and refusing to (or complying to) have sex with boys.

little mouse remaining: please leave.

it's spring: happy ostara.

halifax has been sunny enough for spring jackets and watching the action at the bowl and writing outside without mittens and feeling pathetic because being holed up inside this winter hasn't provoked me to produce

anything

anything

anything

anything

oh, and uh, anything.

... but i'm content, except for the odd tuesday or wednesday full of tears and icelandic metal gods.

seriously. this winter has been unlike any other. it's warm in my house. no toques necessary. joy. joy. quadruple google joy.

but yesterday's printemps observations begat a vommitous spree of beating the shit out of myself: on paper and in speech. i didn't weep. i was just huffy.

slackers write plays and slackers play shows and slackers end up with their face in stale rose.

a small but strong pinko meeting rescued me from my self-loathing cocoon. je suis pret for taking down the man (again). peppermint tea primed my left wing into sharvin' for some organized flapaction.

but other than that:

i'm going to see nine inch nails in toronto. we paid an inordinate amount for the tickets. i am too stoked.

may brings such amazing events:

motorhead in halifax

nine inch nails in toronto

e p i s o d e t h r e e

my birthday

sunny days: whisky on the balcony

things may just be falling into a reasonable place. it may be snowing today (your hair looked fine anyway), but spring will rock our socks off. and our clothes off. and we will run to the south shore and whisk our fall and winter catalgue of assorted blues and greens away in the christly frigid sea. this is my wish for all of us.

p.s. i hope the next time won't be so far away. we are on the lookout for a great new com pu tear.

je suis amelt

flower petals leading to fresh dates on my bed.
seriously.
... laid carefully on a skull shirt, as to not stain my bedsheets.
no joke.
and a note in a scroll.
i am amelt.

dear readers

dear readers,

i haven't been writing with your desired frequency. i'm sure i'm sorry. everything lately seems to be intensely personal or tragically boring. since my most likely temporary decision to not give so much away about myself (as i always receive much less from most of you), there's not so much to go on about. bro and i always have each other for this. the most mundane or depressing or exciting thought we promise ourselves not to bother to tell the other-- but it's impossible. it gives us the most pefect comfort to drop the basket or bomb as soon as we step over the threshold. so i haven't been saying much lately. someone picked up on this while wishing i blogged more. she said, "yeah i know she's okay-- this is how she was last summer." blush.

whoa, consider my life last year at this time: my job, house, roommates, cashflow, my relationships--both romantic and otherwise were different than they are now. this is so fucked in the face. but the best part (not my favourite part, which is thankfully shrinking) is: i'm way more content. life is often rad. darkness still swoops down, but i would never ask it to not. it is my pocketsleeve (kind of like panty bundler), my geminian other half.

three partial days in five unrelated paragraphs

i woke up with pissy pants two days ago. yup. seriously. i'd not pissed the bed since days of toilet training. i took two mgs of melatonin in liquid form before sleeping, knowing full well that it was probably too high a dose because liquids are assimilated into your system very very quickly and efficiently. melatonin's a hormone that helps you fall quickly into a deep, natural state of sleep. now even tho i woke at least once in the night, i apparently didn't have to pee or didn't bother until my unconscious and apparently ultra-relaxed bladder told my body that all systems were a go for pissing. i was mildly embarassed and didn't tell the boys until the end of the day, upon which they both enjoyed a round of hardy chortling as i joined them.

my walk home from work on sunday allowed me to close the chapter on the curious mini flags i'd been seeing as i whizzed by (perpetually late for work). after three or four walks past them, taking miniscule observations each time, i realized now that the mini flags bore an image of our favourite dimbulb president complete with the everpresent jerky ignorant cuss expression under which the url www.pooprotest.com was written. oh yes, and the flags were mounted in dog feces, hence poop protest. it was fucking absurdly hilarious.

yesterday was a day of playing catch with a 55" exerise ball with our feet and choosing hypothetical wild acryllic nailjobs and buying an aquamarine and cobat blue porpoise toothbrush with a suction cup for the low, low price of $1.49 and beating records that can only be beat by yourself. we baked a top effin' notch onion pie. i had to make pastry for said pie, and instead of using my intuition and not pouring nearly a cup of cold water into my near-perfect flour/salt/marg mixture, i did. "this isn't even DOOOOUGH!" i howled, and was met with laughter and a comparison to lucille ball. so i effed around with it, added more kamut flour and fat, and eventually came up with something that altho far from pastry, was, er, some unreasonable facsimile. i'd now made way too much, so added cinnamon and raisins and wasted not and wanted not by forming them into bread cookies that went over swimmingly, despite his usual despisal of the taste of my sweet wheat, kamut. before we even tasted the pie, we decided that the accidental bread cookies were worth the potential pie failure. to be fair, i believe ech may have originally made bread cookies worth the effort in july. anyway, the pie was the christly bomb, despite the bastardly shite british measuring conversion process which i blame for potentially mucking up my pastry.

nothing is cooler than blogging in my bed listening to slayer. i have kindly been given access to two new pieces of shoddy techinology- this sketch laptop that has a couple of sticky keys and a screen that fades, as well as a discman whose headphones are broken and have to be stuck under a tight hat. i complain not, tho-- i am used to broken things. in the case that objects i'm using are perfectly useful and smooth sailing, i begin to question their charm and integrity. normally, i lose access to them. i am not meant to have nice things.

waking up pre-crack o'dawn is, well, difficult when it's been a while. it used to be a mainstay when i hated my job in tantallon, and many days last summer it's when i went to bed. this morning, p.c.o.d was tolerable with the buddy-system and a steamy shower. it's like nine o'clock and i've gotten so much done and shit. so as i sit here with seasons in the abyss metlin' up my tiny chamber and cotton with colloidal silver and sea salt attempting to draw a potential infection from a pussy pussy wound from an ingrown vday suprise, i bid you good effin' day.

vday for the nosy

since you asked (nosy nosy), vday 2005 was killer.
slept in and woke up in a beautiful way, and the day proceeded as such. got to eat some dietary no-nos like vegan grilled cheese with ketchup, a sliver of dark chocolate with cranberries and almonds, and one of muriel's gingersnaps. we let a mouse go. visited the photo booth in dreadful scotia square and took a strip of fab photos. went cd shopping (i bought nothing), wished the boys at random play happy vday. returned home, had an amazing bath and we went for supper at satisfaction feast: cashew carrot loaf and mashed sweet and regular potatoes with mushroom gravy and cranberry sauce, a soy chai and some take out desserts (me: strawberry apple crumble, him a peanut butter ball) to eat during the movie that made us cry. then to a rock show at the khyber-- dog day (kc and crystal from the hold and seth and nancy from the burdocks-- it doesn't get much better) and sharp like knives-- yo rodeo's paul's dance-rock band. i stood on a chair to see. then back home for, well, stuff it's best you do at home. jojoba oil and stuff. and then to bed. and i got to sleep in again the next morning.
so there.

p.s. at the restaurant, there were two straight couples, two gay couples and two groups of bitter girls. balanced, no?

what kind of (my) soulmate doesn't have long hair?

today i was given a reeses pieces trail straight to my apparent soulmate and passed up the chance. i don't think i need him. the commons smelled like adzuki beans cooking. but why? it would've been our five year anniversary today, so i loaned him $200 and we bitched about his crankcunt mother. yesterday was pissy. i couldn't manage to leave my bed. all i could do was bitch about corporations and wonder why they wanted to cheat and lie to me. it hurt my face and heart, so i stopped thinking about it, or tried. i couldn't clean or be productive for the longest time, until i got some aural soy juice and rubbed beige satin on my face for two hours and was rejuvenated and went until the wee morning. watched queen of the damned (aaliya, you were so fucking surreal) and bought two cds:-- blood brothers- crimes and finally brent randall, altho i've enjoyed it many times already.

i can hear the mice chewing on something in my kitchen. how many fucking more remain?

10 ghosts of valentine's past

you, the lucky reader get a glimpse into my valentine's day past, from 1994 onward. something you should know is that our school sold balloons with messages on ribbons as a fundraiser to be delivered during the last two classes of the day. it was a big deal as you can well imagine.

1994: w bought me 9 balloons. i feel as if i'm married to him. i'm in love. he bought me duff mckeggan's solo tape. he talked about suicide.

1995: i got two valentine's from the kids i babysat, one from a 48-year old prisoner, and none from my family. i watched natural born killers with r and ate easter creme eggs. i received no balloons but delivered one to a boy i liked from another girl. n said i could have hid drums if he died.

1996: i miss a. r gave h bride 20 balloons. this was revolting. altho twisted, i wish he could be with her so he could be happy. i like n, but i don't want to ruin what we have.

1997: we had supper with apple wine. shake n' bake chicken, frozen vegetables, rice and pumpkin pie which i made myself. i dressed in black velvet and my slippers. we even shut oprah off to eat our dinner. we made passionate love. n gave me five balloons, which were supposed to be black.

1998: n was in the city, but said the bus from dartmouth was too dangerous so he couldn't come see me until sunday.

1999: in kentville. we argued about image and i deliberated over cutting my hair. begrudgingly, n agreed to watch a documentary on sex, and we used what we learned to have "great, heavy and erotic foreplay and wonderful, pleasurable sex." i also suffered from my first intestinal spasm and had a shitty ride home on an acadian lines bus.

2000: i broke up with n a month ago. i wanted to call him and apologize for my abruptness on the phone last time we spoke. love is being calm, patient, honest and real, happy, satisfied, adventurous, open-minded and empirical.

2001: went to see hannibal with g. we ate harvey's veggie burgers. my ass hurts and i have to go for surgery tomorrow. i haven't had sex in weeks. my vag hurts from solo action.

2002: a dumbass day that supersucked. we tried to watch atlantis but it was crap and we were tired. oh this is pointless. vday is pointless. g had good intentions with renting atlantis.

2003: three bourbons and not being drunk. i miss having g in bed. i wanted to have sex today.

2004: (a poem written late, while stoned)

i didn't spend it with my lover
i didn't spent it 'neath the cover(s)
i didn't even celebrate
tho bro and i (got) inebriate(d)
off licker if that (sicker) counts
off pot i mean
and not off bounce
and watched gay tv until we were right RAIGHT
and he is not and i am straight
i'm fat as whales
bejeesus those
eat skinny chips, fuck pantyhose
our parents parents are cooler than guessed
same clothes tomorrow- i'm already dressed
goodnite, yo self
goodnight so quiet
not loud no streets no college riots
just cows (so calm) and lovely fam
so fun so fucked
i say HOT DAMN.

mouse liberation front

big j, yo bro-- i got forgot to tell you-- you're both part of the mouse liberation front with soymilk and i. when a mouse makes plastic shaking noises because he's trapped in a grey live-release victor, it's a pair of us who leads him to freedom-- whether he needs to be shaken to leave the dark box, or whether he leaps out at us and bounds down citadel hill like a greyhound who's just heard the shot that means go (i guess we know which mouse this was-- ahem! jumping out of the cupboard at us-ahem!). we are the mouse liberation front. we catch mice using good-for-nothin'-else whole wheat snair's bread and some shit brand of peanut butter. not one, but both. a mouse fucking sandwich. this is the way the mice at maynard like it. two in a week is our count so far-- two mice tempted by the very food on which ernest hemmingway wrote all his best works. we're not finished yet, tho. another mouse has been spotted-- no fucking surprise. the traps have been reset-- thanks to agent yo bro. the beads of sweat and piss, the caked on shit has been removed to the best of our collective ability. the smell of fear has been washed from the traps. come out come out wherever you are. we'll release you with your family on the hill. we won't stop until the census at maynards street shows:
mouse population: 0.
you're lucky we're kind-- else we'd annihilate you.

he pants she pants we all pant for pants

the orchestra was a gay ole time.
r was on fire. captivation to the extreme.
my mind was elsewhere almost the entire remainder of the time.
elsewhere=everywhere.
my back was numb.
what are clarinet perspectives and why should i care?
what are neti pots and why should you care?
i can fit into my first pair of pants-- july's incentive jeans.
i was told my ass looked good in them.
i spoke to c to the r to the even tho he couldn't speak to me so easily. this saved my heart from sliding any further into muck.
i saw hick today with his fiancee. my seventh ex-boyfriend to get married.
congratulations (read: better you than me. oh, and i'm better than her.)

bizarre bitch tits and hummus

i'm used to people googling bizarre sexual things and finding my blog. at least every couple of days, some cat looking for fucking machines or to be machine fucked or for instructions on brazilian bikini waxing or to see someone being fucked on their period is directed to my site. occasionally, a student looking for a margaret lawrence bio, to listen to the skeletor/beastman cky4 song or to learn about MBT shoes may be slightly enlightened-- or not. but last night, i found a real doozy of a pair of googlings that inspired a serious chuckle and then quizzical noggin scratching as i wondered what i wrote about to direct enquiring minds to my period when looking for:

1) bizarre pumped saline tits

2) bitch tits and soymilk

but nevertheless, ha.
and then i was partially comforted and felt a little better about myself when someone was innocently searching for:
hummus + "nova scotia" truro, but at the same time, a little disappointed.

ababaabbaabb

while the snail was a slimin'
the mouse he was fleein'
as i cleaned the snail shit
and i was so mad i was peein'

i was outsmarted my a mouse
i was outsmarted in my house
i was out-run by a snail
i feel conquered enough to be in jail

i am so so so relaxin'
this day has been far from taxin'
oh yeah oh yeah oh yeah oh yay
twice for both in just one day

youbroughther, you truro

after a breakfast of the succulent medjool dates left on my nightstand, i rode the bus (with soymilk) home. it was cool until dartmouth where a generous handful of loudmouthed yeahyeahyeahs (really nopenopenopes) got on, sat behind us and forced us to reach for the tunes. at one point, tho, i yanked out my earpiece because a girl behind me was telling an adoption story and i was hooked. it got happier and happier and i got sadder and sadder. she read the card her birth mother sent her "i was saying how this year was gonna be a good one and now it is because i'm gonna meet you, i can't wait, i was gonna look for you this year but you've found me and it's gonna be so awesome bla bla bla..."

"and oh isn't that sweet oh you must be so excited bla bla bla," blas the friend...

and my heart breaks.

and the girl continues on,"yeah my mom's a journalist and she lives in vancouver and even tho she's gonna come down here to meet me i'm also gonna go there to her place because she just has so much to show me she couldn't possibly drag it all along with her."

" yeah, she must have so many photos of her family that you must look so much like... omigod!" blas the friend. "yeah her and her partner are gonna have dinner with my parents and i and like i just don't know where to sit, i don't want to sit between the two families cause i don't like want it to be like a battle even tho i don't think it would be. i think i'll sit between the two moms..."

i'm trying not to listen. i'm plugging my ears. soymilk's tuned into tunes and when i let him know what's going on, he quickly offers me his headphone too. i crank the tunes. i can still hear them, possibly because i'm straining to do so, despite my geminian best efforts to not listen. i'm crying. he's consoling me. i request beastie boys. i rock out as much as possible. thankfully the girls get off the bus in truro: where my who_e mother pushed me out of her vag once and forever.

five alive: more dead than alive

it was so rotten to get out of bed today. no shortage of hate and misery. a shortage of cash, tho, thus explaining why i bothered showing up at work. the moments worth being alive for today were five:
1) wake and blake
2) the kisses i received on quinpool road
3) the piece of chocolate almond fudge clif bar
4) the huge snail that came all the way from california on the collard greens
5) the farway voice that altho a bit off himself, was still so comforting
and the sixth best thing about today is about to happen: falling asleep.

a ding-dingin' at my door

who the christ rang my doorbell three times at midnight?
yeah, we were up, but we were real comfortable.
and it was midnight... and it could've been a hood.
we would've been more likely to answer our phone.
sorry if you needed help or were in trouble--
but it's not as if we had a block parents sign in the window.