upon consulting the runes after an evening of bad dreams about The New Boy

The Wyrd
Destiny / The Unknowable
The White Rune
________________________________________________________________________

This is the Rune of absolute trust. In its symbolism, the White Rune represents real hope: a present full of possibilities. Both pregnant and empty, it keeps within it the force of an undiluted potential. All your fertile dreams and your highest well-being are contained in its whiteness. It often requires an act of courage equal to jumping into the void with empty hands.

The Wyrd reminds you that the past obstacles could well become the doors that open towards new beginnings. The Void is the end, the Void is the beginning.
________________________________________________________________________

chocolate croissant

i've gotten into the bad habit of picking up a chocolate croissant and a coffee from the 'bucks down the way from The New Boy's place when i leave in the mornings. at first, i tried to tell myself that it was hangover prevention. however, this morning, being no hangover to ward off, i used the "wow these must be fresh - the shop JUST opened" justification. i can feel my gut grow even as we speak - sadly, my ass remains un-plump.

goshfukkit i need an adventure. The New Boy is off surfing with 'the boys' for the weekend. i look forward to laundry and a market day with my mama. how did i become so dull so quickly? i recall the heady days of fucking in a churchyard in the pouring rain. that was, what, six weeks ago? no.. longer now i think.

hold up here, it's not all that bad - yesterday morning i arrived home at 5.35am, covered in olive oil and sweat - still half drunk on red wine and sex - hopped into the shower and went to work. last night i went to the beach to eat sushi and drink beer. crawled into bed. arms wrapped tightly around me.. slow kisses on the lips, the cheek, the eyes. the neck. whisper in my ear - "baby did you come lots last night?" oh yes. "kiss me. take me all in. make me come with your mouth".

---

(colleague says to me "what's up with rori?" not sure, i reply. he's 'making things work' with his g.f. i only hear from him when things are rocky or he's bored with the sex. "well you wouldn't fuck him anymore anyway, would you? because of The New Boy?" no, i respond. of course not. but that's not really the truth, is it? would i fuck him again? i don't know.... that's the true answer)

x-treme lite

so i'm doing the 'drive of shame' home at 6.45-ish this morning (after having stopped at 'bucks for a grande americano, natch) and find myself travelling behind a trailer with 'X-TREME LITE' plastered across the back of it.

normally i would have applied my clicker and left such nonsense safely behind, where it could not pollute my brainwaves with it's '90s marketing faux edginess, but (being still half asleep) i followed for a while and stared blankly in disbelief.

X-TREME LITE? what does that even MEAN? it's like white water kayaking, but in a swimming pool? rock-climbing, but on an elementary school jungle gym? surfing, but on the internet?

hmphf.

bad joke alert

courtesy of popbitch...

Q: What did the German watch repairer say to his
watch that would only go 'tick, tick, tick'?


A: Ve have vays of making you tock.

help, please

ok so here's the thing. i have this strong sense of foreboding in my belly - like my spidey senses are all telling me that there's something *not right* with me and the new boy.

however, for all intents and purposes, things seem to be fine. we all know my propensity for Le Grand Freak Out. so am i just freaking out? are things just so good that i'm projecting my fears and insecurities onto the situation as a sick way of self-destruction? or are things actually not good?

yesterday when i left his house i called and asked if everything was ok. "of course," he replied. he had just seemed a little off. "relax - everything's fine. don't freak out," he told me.

relax. everything is fine. don't freak out.

except my gut's pretty good. is it my gut? or is it my fucked up head, trying to make a pre-emptive split? you know, the classic 'bust out before you get busted out' move?

advice, please.

tfgif

all i can say is thank fucking christ it's finally friday. this has been a long crappy week - on par with the long crappy weeks i was having at the end of last summer. there's no rhyme nor reason to it, really. i've got the utes a bit, and work has been less than satisfying, but seriously - i had a long weekend last weekend, i got lots of sun, i saw my sister (yay! sister!), The New Boy is grand... i've just felt like crapola.

so hopefully this weekend will bring... a change. a new weather system. a new something 'cause i don't think i can take much more.....

day two

still bitchy. mind you, to quote a co-worker, i'm positively effervescent compared to yesterday...

had a loverly chat with the half-corked New Boy last night... we are going on a quest for loons one of these weekends... since we both grew up in the north, part of what we remember most about summers as kids is being out at the lake listening to loons cry all night long... just the thought of it makes me homesick.

bleh. cheer up sundae.

all aboard the ss grumpasaurus

ever have one of those days when absolutely everybody grates on your nerves? like for the smallest, stupidest things? and even though you acknowledge the fact that you are an irrational grump, but somehow, it's really everybody else's fault?

i'm having one of those days.

top ten

... strangest places to be sunburned.

10 - top of the feet
9 - behind the ear
8 - hair's partline
7 - armpit
6 - behind the knees
5 - inner thigh
4 - bottoms of the feet
3 - eyelids
2 - under the chin
1 - inside your belly button

guess which ones i managed to accomplish this weekend?

touch the heaven

ok i found heaven. it's a hammock in a backyard in victoria, clothed only by 30degree sunshine and a bikini, good novel beside me, beer cooler within arm's reach and the most perfect view of half naked cute boys doing manual labour. i didn't ever want to wake up.....

happy birthday ralph waldo

"I hope in these days we have heard the last of conformity and consistency. Let the words be gazetted and ridiculous henceforward... Let us affront and reprimand the smooth mediocrity and squalid contentment of the times, and hurl in the face of custom, and trade, and office, the fact which is the upshot of all history that there is a great responsible thinker and actor moving wherever moves a man."

or woman, i would add.

thank god for maktaaq. without her i'd figure i was talking to myself out here.... well,, actually, i am. but i never really listen to myself....

baby you can call me al

went to mark farina last night with the divine ms. u... ran into the everylovely swizzalish and her crew of fun kids... i spent every single everloving moment of both dj heather's and mark farina's sets front and centre on the floor, hands up loving every single bass pulsing moment. the two of us crawled into bed with The New Boy round about five am... he was the luckiest kid on the block for sure, except that he couldn't lie between us 'cause we "vibratEd with EnErgy" and it was a little too much for him... (mind you the two of us together are probably a little much for anyone...)

i started off in a boy's tshirt and a thong.. after about an hour he reached down and said "baby i NEED you to take this off" and pulled the shirt up over my head. he tugged at my panties sort of wistfully, prompting ms. u to sleepily remind us of our "company manners"... this morning he said "why can't i wake up everyday to have bras all over my floor and two girls in my bed?" why, indeed....

geyser

i'm bubbling over with a nervous anxiety for which there is no real source. ran away to mike b - curled up in his arms and tried to talk talk talk it away but to no avail. i simply poured food over it in the hopes that i could pack it down, pack it down.

i looked at you across the table last night - i looked at you and thought to myself this could be somebody. you could be somebody. (of course you're somebody, why wouldn't you be? you are somebody with a past and a present and a future and my place in those places is.. ephemeral at best. you're somebody and i'm somebody and the real question is can we be somebody together?)

you see, i'm very empathetic. i can pick up on people's moods like a divining rod zeros in on butterfly tears. but i don't know how, you see, i've never been taught what to do with that information - how to detach your feelings from my feelings and realize that sometimes people shine dark purple for reasons that are their own and have nothing to do with me. ("can i tell you the secret of life?" she asked... "of course". "it's not all about you")

so this morning i came home and got in the shower and started to think - my brain started running down that same old trail thinking about how i only really like the ones that are no good and so what does that say about you when i like you this much? then it got all tangled up in my head and my heart started to pound and hands shaking and breathing shallow and i ran to mike to calm me down, talk me down.

- "can you tell me why you like him?"
- "no.. i just do. i just feel very comfortable when i'm with him. it just feels right. and he makes me laugh".
- "maybe if you don't know then you don't really."
- "maybe. i just don't know what to do."
- "maybe you don't have to do anything at all."

mmmmmmvodka

Vodka


?? Which Alcoholic Drink Are You ??
brought to you by Quizilla

from maktaaq

I will be crushed by a giant duck!



How will you die? Take the Exotic Cause of Death Test

hmph.

so my crazy exboyfriend checked in today for his 'every couple of months' call. he can't get past my high-tech security system (i.e. the kiddo), so i haven't actually spoken to him in over a year.

today when he called, the kiddo finally had enough - he was all set to give him a piece of his mind, when my dad also picked up the phone. so the kiddo hung up. i noticed that, on a little yellow sticky note on the upstairs counter, there is a phone number. so i'm trying to avoid it. my world is a better place without him in it, but still i feel the call of the phone number....

random confession #608

dear indie band bass player.

you know who you are, writhing on the stage in your acid wash denim vest. how i long to clasp the zipper tab and slowly slowly ease it away from its nesting place right under your chin, silkily revealing your complimentary tshirt from the etobicoke corporate challenge memorial ball tournament (circa 1987).

i see you there, flipping your straw yellow mowhawk with youthful arrogance and know you sense the connection between us. sure you've been drinking stella sort of constantly since you hit the stage, and, in actual fact, had to play several songs lying on your back with your bass cradled against your belly because you were weaving too dramatically to keep up with the rest of the rhythm section. sure your proclivity for absent-mindedly spitting on the guy standing directly in front of is a little off-putting. sure you quit school to go on the road at 16 and haven't looked back, counting on your older, wiser lead vocalist mentor to come up with the deep and brooding lyrics that make the chicks wild. i'm ok with all of that. i'm really ok.

you can tell that i'm not like the other girls. i decided to leave my cardigan at home, tonight, and opted for a plain tshirt that doesn't advertise a band - yours or any other. i don't buy into the usual hipster scene, and i can tell that you yearn to be free of it as well.

together we'll make our own scene. we'll rent a studio loft-esque basement suite just off main street and cruise the thrift shops looking for vintage vinyl and eclectic furnishings. we'll host festive social gatherings at which the cream of the cutting edge urban underground music scene gather to inspire us and each other. we'll get a dog which we'll take with us everywhere, and eventually have a baby to clothe in ironicaly captioned tshirts which proclaim our coolness as parents. eventually, you'll quit the band and go on to manage a record store, or a used book store, or maybe even a coffee shop. you won't mind that i make 20 or 30 thousand a year more than you do, and neither do i 'cause really, really, our love for each other is what it's all about.

so, mr. indie band bass player, when you leave the stage tonight and wander through the crowd checking out the girls in their cardigans and weezer tshirts, look back - back here by the sound booth. i'll be waiting.

love, raspberry sundae.

i forgot what i was supposed to say

sometimes my head gets the better of me and i get all swirly inside and i can't rescue the reason from the emotion and your words (or lack thereof) hit me like pin pricks of razor wire deep across my midriff.

i just look at you blankly and try to detach disconnect free myself from the hazy sweeping in from the marshland of memory and dream. i forget who i am, just for a minute. forget that i'm above all this and you can't reach me here. you can probably see the shutters in my eyes closing like a steel apron drawn down on a shop window at the end of the trading day, but do you realize that they are all for you?

holy grail

for me, the holy grail of summer wear is not the bikini. pish posh i say to the bikini. i have one of those. besides - you can buy them in two pieces, so the fact that i have hips built for a boy but boobs built for two can be accomodated.

no, each summer i go on a quest for the perfect white t-shirt. you know the one - soft and worn like the one you used to steal from your boyfriends drawer.. it cupped your breasts with mermaid fingers and slid across your belly, but never clung no never clung. it's the kind of tshirt that men pray to catch you washing the car in - thin like cirrus clouds dancing in the summer sky. i didn't find one at all last year - i usually start about this time of year and then search frantically for a while and eventually give up. if i haven't found one by mid-july when the fall clothes hit the shelves i forlornly hang up my flip flops. i always figured that if i did find one, i'd buy about four so that i could have a summer of respite for the next year or so.

i started this year's search kind of abstractly last weekend - i sort of ruffled the merchandise at a few locations, not really intending to buy (good thing 'cause i didn't see much). i began my quest in earnest on wednesday. i think that, since then, i've tried on probably 15 different white tshirts.

then, today, i found it. the perfect white tshirt. it's not too long, not too short. it is made out of the thinnest, softest cotton i've felt in, well, forever. it is scooped low to show off the collarbones, and hugs my girls like a lover.

so what's the downside, raspb'y? well dammit, this thing costs $60. that's right, SIXTY dollars. for a white tshirt. huh. the shitty thing is that, unless i can find one today or tomorrow, i'm going back to buy it sunday. somebody help me.

the chad

so over at padlock's house he's playing an "imitate all the folks in the blogroll" game. i'm curious to see if the chad will attempt a 'raspberry whining about men', a 'raspberry got laid', a 'lit-geek raspberry' or a 'proud mama' raspberry. personally i'm rootin' for the 'raspberry got laid'. i'm dying to see his interpretation....