bang your head

you know there are very definitely days where i wake up and think to myself this isn't going to work. i wake up make sure i wake up so i can say goodbye and instead get an itemized list of the shit you need me to do today take out the recycling take pictures of the stuff to sell on craigslist yeah i know i'm sitting here beside you but please jump up from what you're doing and go measure the table oh and i'm going to conduct this phone call and turn down the program you are watching 'cause well it's work so it's clearly more important than you.

yeah i know i sound like i'm whinging and i am but when i say i've spent the last two mornings reading through all of the bullshit on fucking visa applications and i can't see the difference between these two options telling me to go back and look more isn't going to make me happy. i'm not stupid i've searched and searched and really can't see how one is significantly better or worse than the other.

pulling the bullshit guilt trip about how you're doing the extra work and putting in the extra hours so we can afford *my* visa 'cause it's *me* who needs it after all is just going to make me less happy.


makes me want to say fuck it i'll borrow the money off my folks and go home where i *can* work and fuck it if it's just me who wants this needs this.

fuck it 'cause i don't need the bullshit and for all your big talk about how i'm contributing and the stuff i'm doing is important like finding the apartment finding all the furniture doing all the cooking all the cleaning except the dishes and the garbage (oh wait i am doing the garbage and the recycling) fuck it 'cause when you say bullshit stuff like that it shows me what you really think.

hit play

the wind is lashing lustily and the trees are thrashing thrustily

unintentional porn courtesy of the freakydeaky mind of poohbear. he's all hopped up on honey and rainwater, bouncing through the clouds attached to a sky-blue balloon. watch out for the palm trees, pooh, they're bound to knock a bear down to size.

ya ya ya

the sister's on her way to jamaica, currently, and (though my friends back home insist i have no right) i'm more than slightly jealous. the two moves in two months and fucking 1.5months rent damage deposit it cost to get this place, coupled with furniture acquisition and a trip home for christmas (of all the fucking expensive holidays we had to move right in time for...) have left us just to the right hand side of flat broke.

and therein lies the reason why i haven't taken a class joined a gym started yoga begun a hobby. the demon greenback and all its entrails.

whatevs, though... today we start the process of getting me legal. so i look forward, not backwards and stay positive even though i'm feeling a bit trapped by circumstance. today i shall bake cuppity cakes and because it's d-day (the day the architect's divorce is final!) i shall inscribe them with a red letter A. i'm so witty. oh and then i can get a job, maybe something fun in a used bookstore, or a cafe making lattes and bantering with the suits - something with no stress and no take home anxiety or drama - something that i can keep doing on a not full time basis and maybe just maybe go back to uni. i'd like that. but remind me, then, of how i was bored staying home doing nothing all day being a good little urban housewife.

god hates

excuse for my ignorance, but isn't one of the basic principals of new testament christianity love thy neighbour?

those fucking bigoted misanthropic assholes over at the westboro baptist church are going to picket heath ledger's funeral b/c he played a gay man in that movie that a few people saw.

i noticed that they have posted a phone number. i wonder if it would bother them much if they got a few million phone calls from a)heath ledger fans and b)actual decent members of the human race.

fucking assholes.

why buy a mattress anywhere... else

i've been listening to the jeff o'neil show via the innerweb and they were just discussing the fact that phenomenon of minor injuries caused by playing with your wii (heh) has become prevalent enough to be considered a syndrome - the wii syndrome. now, to me that sounds like something you get when you are a bit insecure about the size of your manhood.... causes you to head out and buy a really big truck or perhaps a flashy american sportscar in bright yellow... or maybe how eddie vedder feels when he's got his pellet gun..

but i digress.

not that i was talking about anything to begin with.

but still.

i'm feeling some pressure to perform, here. i went back and was reading a bunch of my archives yesterday, and was rudely reminded of the fact that i *used* to be a better writer... like i used to actually have interesting things to say.. like i used to be cool.

fuck i think i'm off my own bandwagon (i've been poaching liberally from the jeff o'neill show today. and i've spelled it differently both times in this post.. i'm such a badass!)

you know, there's a long established link between creativity and mental health - that is, it takes a certain amount of nuts to produce good art. i wonder if the meds aren't just hiding my crazy, they are also making it so i can't write well anymore. i mean, i'm still fucked up - if i were to go cold turkey i'm sure i'd self destruct in a glorious blaze of drinking and drugs and sex that would put frickin britney lohan to shame - but maybe i won't be so f'in normal.

ah i dunno - it's probably not worth it. certain aspects of normality have their attractions (boyfriend, apartment, not being on a rollercoaster of frickin' emotion and drama all the time). might be an interesting experiment, if i weren't thousands of miles away from free healthcare, but not so much here.

i think my life is passing me by

so it's 9.30 and i'm in bed eating cereal, perusing anthony b's blog and wondering wtf to do with myself today. at least the sun's out - yesterday it was rainy and conducive only to cranking up the heat, putting on fuzzy sweatpants and baking cookies.

(as an aside - i invented a cookie recipe yesterday and it turned out really well. let me know if you are interested and i'll email it to you.)

mind you i kind of feel worse about doing nothing when it's sunny - like i'm wasting it, or something. but really, there's not much *to* do. we did a huge grocery shop this weekend, so while i should get some buns to make turkey burgers for dinner, there's not much required there. it's not warm enough for the beach, or else i could take the bus that way. i guess i could go to the library, but our furniture expenditures of the weekend have sort of limited our disposable cash, which means no new-to-me book purchases till the end of the month.

le sigh.

i guess i could clean.

someone amuse me, please. i feel like that green day song.

bored

not that i'm bored or anything but i just dyed my hair and gave myself a haircut. looks fine from the front, but i'll have to wait for the architect to get home to learn whether or not i've butchered the back of my head.

got a mouthful of love

have we talked about trader joe's yet? and how much i love that sweet sweet establishment? and how i'm not sure how i lived from day to day without it previously? 'cause it's true - i don't know how i did it. i'd say that on any given day i consume at least one trader joe's product (already finished today's: maple frosted shredded wheats mmm) and $2 wine?! get out of town! it's cheaper than orange juice!

other than that, not much is going on. we bought a bed this weekend, so no more sleeping on the floor, but haven't 'christened' it yet, if you get my drift, 'cause on saturday night we went to see some local bands at the casbah (think richards on richards without the perpetually overflowing toilet) and the architect drank lots and was passed out before i finished brushing my teeth, and last night i was tired and somewhat grouchy.

maybe tonight. who knows?

i did actually make it out to the book club on saturday and i'm so pleased that i did, because the folks there were tonnes of fun, and it was awesome for me to talk to people who weren't selling me something, or pouring my coffee. i was really nervous, though, 'cause ... well... meeting new people isn't the easiest thing in the world, for me. but it's done and the ice has been broken and off we go.

dingadingdang my dangalonglinglong

how can you not love a radio station that plays jesus built my hotrod followed by bob marley at 10am in the morning? it's nigh on impossible, i'm telling you.

ok i know it's not ten yet - this was yesterday but i'm sure this morning they are cooking up similar pots of awesomeness, i just haven't gotten out of bed yet to check.

so our furniture acquisition has been coming along by leaps and bounds. chateau craigslist is actually starting to look like a home - down to a *real* bed that actually matches our dresser (ikea malm, black/brown). darn comfy, i do say.

we also bought two small bookcases yesterday - most of my books are still in storage, so these are more than adequate for the handful i brought with me, as well as the few purchased in the last couple of months. yay real home, almost!

next step - getting some stuffs up on the walls.


OMG i'm going on line in 10 min to buy tickets for the Black Keys at HOB on March 21!!! sorry slightly distracted, there. it's amazing how slowly time passes when you are waiting to buy concert tickets.

name that tune

here's a little game i like to play with myself.

no not *that* kind of game... perverts.

when i go poking through the traffic for my site, a remarkable number of hits come from google searches for song lyrics. and, fairly consistently, the song lyrics are mostly incorrect. i mean, this isn't a new phenomenon, i know. heck, people have written books about it and made their fortunes. le sigh, if only i'd been blogging 20 years ago. darn you al gore for waiting so long to invent the innerwebs!

but i digress.

the game is, for me, to see if i can identify the songs through the google search that brought people to the site. for example: "here we go again get wicked" is hear the drummer get wicked from the song of the same name, released sometime in the mid 80s (i think). heh clearly i'm an expert.

here's a better one: "its on for any season i got so many reasons" is "a song for any season, i've got so many reasons you're gonna wanna make it some day..." - that's tiga. good song.

i still don't know how many calories are in neo citran, though.

when i do that damn thing i do that there

favicon changed praise the 8lb lord baby jeebus. it's actually way easier than any of the help files i looked at would suggest, and i managed to do it with a .jpg rather than a .ico file (blogger doesn't like those). so i'm pleased with myself. yay me!

i had the worst f'in sleep last night. it took forever for me to fall asleep (probably due to my 2hr midol-induced mid afternoon nap) and then when i did i was having the worst anxiety dreams *ever*. they were so vivid, too - like the dreams i used to have when i didn't sleep on the weekends just took lots of drugs and my body was totally REM deprived.

you know those dreams that people talk about where they are running and running as hard as they can, but can barely move? mine don't go that way - for me it's more like i'm struggling to get up a snowy hill but i keep sliding backwards. the more i dig in the faster i slide down.

last night i got word that an old friend of mine just had a miscarriage. we've lost touch over the years, and it's probably my fault 'cause i really *am* no good at female friendships, it would seem, but her and her husband were always there for me during the crazyjeremy shit, and i love them lots, in my own way. so i'm sending happy thoughts into the ether, hoping they're heard, somehow.

you know there's always tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow

alexisonfire makes me homesick

on the weird winds of ontario

yeah so r/r was right and i knew all along he was right i was just lazy and didn't want to start over.

but i did and the dates are back. out of the mouths of ontarians...

next challenge - getting my raspberry back up in the icon window.

in other news, i have cramps and currently want to kill myself, or at least amputate my midsection. i think i shall take a large number of drugs and go sit outside in the sunshine. if i'm not back in six-8 hours send a cocktail.

the dashboard melted

now i'm no fashionista, but a girl's got needs. so when my m&d gave me a $100 macy's gc for christmas, i thought hot damn! newbootsnewshoesnewclothes! (not all at once, of course - this is macy's, not walmart. sheesh) so twice thrice i've headed down there, now and three times i've been disappointed.

oh not with the quality of merchandise at america's favourite department store. oh no. i've been disappointed by my ability to find something that i feel like buying or wearing.

part of it is, of course, the fact that most of my outings day to day involve walking or riding my bike - either on errands or just for pleasure. this sort of restricts my wardrobe to a certain extent, as some garments just aren't suited. riding a bike in certain skirts is not only awkward but borderline indecent - the wind does have a tendency to ... er... malfunction your wardrobe, as it were.

the other part of the problem is that it's 20degrees out and *january*. when the weather hits 20deg in canada, it's officially summer. down here, though, it's winter to the locals, and they're all running around dressed appropriately. ok maybe no toques and parkas, but in pants and sweaters and dark colours. i, of course, don't want to be the canadian rube in shorts and a tank top but *seriously* - it's 20degrees out! 22 yesterday! we're talking bikini on the beach weather, in my world, or at the very least sitting in the sunshine having cocktails in a sundress.

i feel as though i'm in some kind of wardrobe purgatory. i *want* to buy new clothes but the stuff on the rack is all sweaters and warm things. my brain tells me it's too frickin hot out for that crap, short circuits, stamps its foot and goes for a drink.

on a patio.

without me.

in a sundress.

and there i am, left standing in the midst of wraps and sweaters and knee high black leather boots, jaw slack, arms akimbo until the architect fetches me and brings me around by wafting a bottle of $3 wine under my nose.

needless to say, i've spent the gc on cookware.

the weight upon your kiss; ambiguous

i've been reading a lot lately. like a*lot*. i'm not back to where i was the summer i went a little crazy, where i was afraid to talk to people and never left my apartment unless i was on my way to the wendys drive through for a baked potato and a green salad or down to value village for more paperbacks. those days i was reading at least one, sometimes two, sometimes (on the really bad days) three a day. it was the only way i could escape, you see, escape the voices in my head - i put other peoples' words in their mouths and kept them full of thought other than those which were coming to me uninvited.

i have, however, been reading a lot. this depression thing gets the better of me, sometimes, especially when i've not been so good with my meds, and when there is stress in the air. even the sunshine can't shake it off, some days, and today is one of those days. it's not as bad as it used to be.... i could make polite conversation with the guy at the corner liquor store, but i had to go there instead of the supermarket when i took a fancy for a tuna sandwich at lunchtime. i'm comfortable with him, you see, and i don't know the people at henry's.

so on these kinds of days i sit out on the steps in the front and read my book, hoping that none of the neighbours looks up and sees me, nibbling my sandwich, sipping my gingerale, and reading my book. i just want to sit here and watch, and pet the cat beside me on his harness, and read and, most of all, drown out the voices in my head.

i wouldn't trade one stupid decision for another five years of lies

ok seriously - will *someone* please look at my code and tell me why the fruity heck my dates are no longer there? SERIOUSLY - i keep staring at it and staring at it and it makes me want to scratch my eyes out with a frickin chunk of steel wool.

oh and i'm really hungry. there are leftovers in the fridge, but it's a long way away and i've got a cat on my feet again. we've really started to bond over our mutual reluctance to get out of the nice warm cozy bed. *yawns*.

actually there are *good* leftovers in the fridge. last night we went across the street for dinner to this lounge that the architect did some of the structural design for. it's pretty 'see and be seen' but the food is tasty - especially the pesto hummus which gives me a bellyache but is oh-so-delicious. hm maybe that's worth getting up for.. maybe.

PLEASE FIX MY DATES PLEASE I'M BEGGING SOMEONE ANYONE

stop - you've got to shake the waist-ah!

so the architect's sister is in town this week for work... she came by for dinner last night and we (her and i, but mostly me) drank 3 bottles of red wine. i feel surprisingly good, all things considered, but i've decided that it may be a good day to lounge in the bed with a cat and a nice breeze from the open window.

my life is rough, let me tell you.

the architect wandered off to bed and left us alone to chat. i hope i didn't say anything i'll regret later on when we see her for dinner this evening. heh.

yeah so anyway i tumbled into bed at an unknown hour (but if i had to guess i'd say midnight-ish) wearing my tshirt, socks, and my undies. i had just fallen ass over teakettle onto the floor while trying to take my jeans off, so i imagine the socks seemed too much of a threat to national security and a sure way to wake the architect up.

so.

much.

grace.

heh.

i wasn't actually grouchy yesterday, i promise.

You're fat - and look as though you should be...

has anyone else seen the ads for the 'feasty boys' on the travel channel, or the food channel, or the shopping channel or whatever it is? they tout themselves as searching for food for the regular guy and advocate the four 'bees' - bacon, butter, something and something....

sheesh if america really *is* suffering an obesity epidemic (and i've been to the "south", and i live in san diego which (the architect assures me) is one of the fittest cities in north america - trust me; they're not kidding when they say that) i wonder about the wisdom of popularizing fat as a positive lifestyle choice?

(this, by the way, is part two of the series entitled 'raspberry needs a haircut'....)

caring *is* creepy

so the keyboardist for the shins was arrested in sacramento for assaulting his girlfriend (a former 'america's next top model' contestant) in a hotel room. not that i'm condoning domestic violence, but i'm thinking that spending any time in a hotel room with someone who's taken any advice given by tyra banks to heart - especially one who is the kind of person who immediately publishes an internet journal post including photos in a pathetically transparent attempt to gain publicity, would drive most people to violence.

i mean, come on. this is the best shot whatshertits has at making getting her name back into the public eye. the only time we hear about the former (and when i say former i mean the losing (though sometimes even winning) contestants of any of these reality shows is when they end up in jail.

(i'm not publishing her name. i refuse to pander.)

whether or not marty crandall is guilty (and we are still living in north america - he's entitled to a trial before a judge and jury of his peers, not before a legion of reality tv addicts (unless he's one himself, in which case those are his peers)), his alleged victim has shown extremely poor taste in her actions. i mean, seriously - it's bad enough that our society is so addicted to celebrity that public figures can't even pop to the store in sweats without it being blasted all over the internet by the 'paps', never mind contributing to it yourself.

domestic violence is a big deal - using it for self promotion (which seems to be the case here) belittles the horror that it represents. and you are right - this girl could have very sincere in her motivations for discussing this attack via the internet. however, i am at the point where i am so disenchanted with the celebrity factory that is our culture that i am going to stick my neck out and assume otherwise.