this is my fixation du jour: how friggin' much wholesome people scare me.
the world would be better if everybody's outsides matched their insides.
maybe it's because i've spent today working my way through a bottle of tanqueray, but i'm utterly devoid of content.
the only way to drink your gin & tonics is with a crazy straw.
irony supplement
from an ad in overheardinnewyork.com:
"alienated? buy a kafka poster based on absurd letter exchange, perfect for office."
post-goatse = "PoGo?"
this blog shows up on an msn search for "straight male anal stretched:"
"... ass-reaming if you drink it straight from the bottle: painful but ... at the expense of male genitalia. posted by malachi trizec @ 12:09 ... it's the perfect shape for anal stretching a la 'goatse'." ..."
i think "porntastic" will be the word of the night...
what is with the Rich, White Frat Boy's facination with bob marley?
please don't ever use the 'words' "luv" or "lurve." a flying kitten loses its wings every time you do & the world doesn't need anymore of the cutsey little fuckers.
deliberate misuse of ♥s
i ♥ fart jokes.
i ♥ my spleen.
i ♥ technological illiteracy.
why hard liquor is better than beer: no piss breaks every half-hour.
because vulgarity is chic
i'm currently quaffing dubonnet & listening to 'piece montee des grands jours' by thomas fersen. to counter the suavity factor, i'm drinking the dubonnet straight from the bottle -- it just wouldn't do to become suddenly irresistable to the ladies as alone as i am in my locked & filthy room: babes can sniff out sophistication from a mile away.
in case you were wondering, yes, i am the elaborately constructed persona of a fifty-year old billionaire who jerks off to your comments; i don't get to jerk off very often. while we're at it, "i'm" a large-breasted blonde schoolgirl who loves pillow fights & getting tickled so why dont'cha im me so we can cyber?
oh yeah, i almost forgot: LOL!!!!111!!oneone! ;)
word of the night:
"man-teats."
please let these be isolated incidents
1. remember the 'ugg' phenomenon of yesteryear? today i saw a rotund, miniskirted woman in sheepskin sandals -- sheepskin sandals with fuzzy pom-poms.
2. another halifax archaism: "tit for tat."
3. uniforms seem to be a optional thing for the bus drivers here, so there's this one guy who wears his wraparound sunglasses & very fringe-y black-and-white leather jacket while driving...come to think of it, that's kinda cool; would that all bus drivers were that interesting, i'd probably be able to stand spending at least 1 more semester in halifax. but yeah, "je ne regrette rien" & all that.
i mean, you've got only one life to live so you better screw it up in the most melodramatic manner possible & slitting your wrists is, like, so passe... running away to make it big in The City, on the other hand, is frikkin' timeless.
desperate for gift ideas?
--this is sure to be a hit at those boring office parties...
--for the more artistically-inclined man in your life.
--who doesn't have a fond memory of grade school science fair volcanos?
--just the thing for your recently promoted co-worker.
--the must-have accessory for that next keg party.
--one more for the hell of it...
adventure awaits the bold (& the stupid)
i just cancelled all my course selections for next semester and told the residence-admin people that i'd not be coming back after winter break.
let's hope that Fortune favours the bold/stupid as well, too.
[i'm not drunk or anything. this is dead serious.]
boy do i have some bad karma, must be the beans...
carminative [kärˈminətiv; ˈkärməˌnātiv] adj.
(chiefly of a drug) relieving flatulence.
it's been raining non-stop for more days-in-a-row than i care to remember; it still hasn't snowed in halifax yet.
queef. it's what's for dinner.
found aphorism:
"Drinking is for people who have holes in their souls."
the cheapest place for a tattoo in canada.
word of the night (reprise):
"eavesdripping."
not-so-great american novel:
"the catheter in the rye."
when i was a little kid -- we're talking like 6 years old here -- my mom used to buy me those de-alcoholized 'wine cooler' thingies that they sell in supermarkets because she figured that something with pictures of fruit on the label was bound to be better for you than plain old soda... so i'd be sitting there in the lunchroom alone, washing down my crustless wonder bread sandwich with toxic-coloured 1 proof alcopops (i liked the blue one the best...it was some kinda berry flavour); it was one of the very few perks of having parents that don't know english.
i guess i've always been a 'problem child.' not the Downright Psychotic kind, but the Ominously Silent type. i was placed in special ed & 'english as a second language' classes up until the seventh grade despite the fact that i was a freaky little bookworm even back then: i read 'beowulf' for the first time when i was 10 & knew, at least in theory, how to embalm a dead body egyptian mummy-style by the time puberty hit. then there was that entire year where i had to do my homework every day in the principal's office after school because i Couldn't Focus in Class.
now i'm typing this & self-medicating with tequila while i'm supposed to be at school. studio practice is the only class i'm actually doing good in & i'm willingly screwing it up 2 weeks away from the last class. my parents would be proud.
word of the night:
"massacre." (pronounce it 'mass-a-cree.')
word of the night:
"bimbo-beatific."
nerd potty humor
i got to rewrite my chemistry exam earlier today. i think i might have done better on it this time..."better" as in 'not drunk & had managed a 3-hour inadvertent nap on top of a bunch of metal coat hangers that left bruises on my face'...i might have even passed! nonetheless, all i remember from it, 3 hours later, is that one of the answers was "iron(III) chloride" -- aka 'FeCl.' that's right: "fecal."
yep, i'm veerrry mature & the role model deluxe for the youth of today.
word of the night:
"hobohemian."
checks & overdue balances
every time right when halifax seems like utter hell, something decent happens to bring my state of misery back up to the bearable anguish of mere purgatory: just now i had some random bearded fellow call me "honey" & ask me if i smoked weed.
this tiny scrap of weirdness is doing what it can to balance out the $3,059.64 that is the way-overdue-third-and-final-notice bill for my residence & meal plan fees, the squooshy black banana i got in my bagged lunch, my unfinished essay, & my insomniac caffeine twitches.
word of the night:
"dicknippled."
boredom. discontent. ennui.
if i wasn't so antisocial, i'd consider taking up smoking just so i'll have a voice like tom waits'...i'm bored...drinking the last of my kirsch.i don't think i'll buy another bottle...it lasted for more than a day: i must be losing my touch or something. i'm so un-motivated right now i don't even feel like tossing my empties out the window. i have an essay due tomorrow morning; it's so stupidly easy i don't want to write it.
would it be morally reprehensible to fake my death & set out for more civilised/debauched climes?
tips for student living
-- 'nile spice' brand coucous lentil curry soup-in-a-cup is so good it doesn't need soy sauce or ketchup to make it palatable; who cares if it costs twice as much as the non health-food brands: it's still just 2 bucks.
-- spam is such an un-meat that a half-eaten tin dug back out of the trash still tastes the same after 2 days.
-- as is perhaps already apparent, alcohol is your (only) friend.
i, asshole.
this is the view from my window. it's from the same batch of film i shot my sticker-project photos on: this panoramic picture postcard vista is what i have to deal with every. single. fucking. day.
that's the town of dartmouth on the other shore -- the staten island to halifax's manhattan (if i may make such a sacrilegious analogy). a place even more crappy/picturesque with great swathes of quaint little colour-coordinated houses in shades of bluegreenbeige that'd make martha stewart cream her monogrammed panties.
-- notice how the exact same photo in black & white could be of any coastal town in the fifties?
i live on the seventh floor of a former infirmary five whole blocks away from the harbour. everything i hold true tells me that there's no way in hell i should be able to see the water.
the reasons i'll never belong here all stem from me being the paranoid townie asshole i am:
--i need traffic noises & stores that stay open on sundays, crowded subway rides downtown & summers that smell like sewage.
--i need the feeling of anonymity/security that comes with being a small fish in a very big pond.
--i still do double takes whenever i hear teenaged girls talk about boys & fashion in one breath & how this year's crops are doing the next.
--complete strangers being nice to me for no discernible motive scare me far more than any dark alleyway can. halifax is the only place i've been where i'm consistently referred to as a "lady" as opposed to "that...person" by shopkeepers.
--i haven't had a single 'hey, mister' directed at me once &, sad to say, i miss even that too.
--jokes at the expanse of the obese can last me only so long. people-watching in this town is an excercise in frustration.
i've been working things out with my family enough that i can move back to toronto after i'm done foundation year: that's how bad it is.
all the maps in my head are those of new york & toronto -- i have to keep my halifax address written on a card in my wallet because i still can't remember where i live.
schizophrenic mixtapes
previously i'd bitched about people's deplorable lack of musical taste as evidenced by the residence's shared iTunes playlists & said i'd put up my own as an act of public edification.
that was last month & since then i've been doing a weekly playlist called "the schizophrenic mixtape" as one of the many little self-imposed tasks i do to keep me sane in this limbo of a town. my selections could euphemistically be called 'eclectic:' classic punk, throbby techno, spoken word, traditional celtic ballads...just semi-random stuff i like that i think goes well together.
as may be expected, i don't get many listeners, maybe 1 or 2 a day.
what makes now a reason to mention this here (besides boredom) is that there's apparently 3 people (or 1 nutjob with 3 computers) listening to my current mix right this instant & they've been on since around 6pm.
...so either people are Very Desperate for entertainment, or there's something about this particular playlist that pumps their nads:
1.merkury burn -- let's get international
2.ashe -- i don't believe in love
3.the future sound of london -- the mello hippo disco show
4.lylah -- bullets when we kiss
5.the giraffes -- help my blood count
6.the mountain goats -- inscription at salonae
7.leonard cohen -- ain't no cure for love
8.jimmy d. lane & double trouble -- 24/7
9.tom waits -- had me a girl
10.the cure -- lullaby
11.hawksley workman -- jealous of your cigarette
12.old blind dogs -- roslin castle
13.gogol bordello -- start wearing purple
14.solas -- the maid on the shore
15.redemption -- disillusion
16.vampire division -- lightning gun queen of evil
17.the blessed virgin larry -- sick
18.social security -- loder runner
19.rufus wainwright -- matinee idol
20.jesse malin -- tko
nad-pumpingly brilliant, no?
i blow my nose in your general direction
while on my liquor-run i was passed by a jogger in a lime green tracksuit. he was doing the 'air hankie' & alternating between nostrils in time with his steps...left. right. left. right...
old jokes aside, i believe that the 5 second rule applies to bugs fallen into one's drink -- especially if it's an almost-full mug of tequila & there's no witnesses.
in the name of Broadening My Horizons, i bought a bottle of "schloss-kirsch" because i liked the font used in the lable: it is the taste equivalent of an unlubricated ass-reaming if you drink it straight from the bottle: painful but potentially addictive if you're into that kind of thing.
saw my first properly mangy halifax pigeon today. i still have yet to see a mutated one but i was getting kinda worried about how unnaturally clean & *glossy* they all were, like they'd been airbrushed or something.
the frequent rainstorms could explain their cleanliness but telling people back home that the pigeons here are genetically engineered & selectively bred for picturesque-ness by the board of tourism & rec makes for a better story anyhow.
a brand new low.
i don't know if y'all have ever gotten spam for child porn, but i was just checking my e-mail & got this piece of crap:
"In our memberzone we have 1000 exclusive hardcore photos with little, tasty children and over 300 Megabytes of high quality hardcore C P videos. By joining our site, you'll no longer have to search for other cp sites on the net. You will find MORE ABSOLUTELY FRESH content If you was our member. We care about our members. [then follows the e-mail address (which i absolutely refuse to put up here) that the potential pedophile is supposed to contact for further details]"
...i couldn't care less what 2 (or more) consenting adults do to each other. you can get your penis eaten; have sex dressed up as disney characters or in head-to-toe pvc; insert tab 'a' into slots 'b,' 'c,' and 'd' all you want, but leave the kids out of it.
growing up is fucked up enough as it is.
niche-market wanking material?
that kind of day
i've suspended a banana from my window using wire, nails, & a safety pin.
i just made instant vanilla pudding in a ziploc bag.
i ate lunch shirtless perched on the windowsill because it's really foggy out & no-one looks up anyways.
remember, kids...drunkeness & boredom do not mix
...especially if one has a pair of scissors: i decided to give myself a trim & now i bear a less-than-slight resemblance to zippy the pinhead...maybe now i'll receive fewer unwelcome advances.
(because you can't have half-dead sorrows now, can you?)
tequila & cherry soda: the new breakfast of champions.
halifax archaisms galore
"bedsit."
this was from a guest lecturer for intro to visual culture. but he's a british expat, so i don't know if that counts.
some very retro 'swear' words i've heard people use are:
"darn."
"dang it."
"gosh."
"gee."
"jesus h. christ."
"rats."
the last 2 are overheard from fellow university students. really.
i've heard "motherfucker" maybe twice since coming here.
some slightly more sophisticated laughs at the expense of male genitalia.
i don't understand what the big deal is about weddings. girls half my age already plan with their friends what kind of dress they want & who's coming, who they're gonna marry. diamonds may be forever but you aren't, so why not live a little before having 'the best day of your life' before a quarter of it is over? what else is there to look forward to if the "best" was in the past? if i ever do bother to get married, i want it to be on my deathbed, right before i get my lethal injection.
mission accomplished
i bought a pair of green plaid pants because they were the lesser of many evils...now i know why so many people in halifax dress like besequined & spandexed rejects from the early '90's: that's still the kind of clothes they sell in malls. on the way back, i shared the back of the bus with one of halifax's rare packs of wiggers. halifax needs more wiggers.
better luck was had at the liquor store -- a bottle of tequila, cherry beer, & a sickly-sweet bottle of "sheridan's layered coffee liquor"...definitely a 'girl drink' if anything. i'm laying off the chartreuse for a while.
an obligatory post about clothes-shopping:
buying a new pair of pants is something i can no longer put off: one can hide badly-mended rips at the crotch for only so long before people start wondering why the trenchcoat never comes off. & while making a point of never owning more than 3 pairs of pants concurrently is very anti-establishment & therefore admirable, i have to admit that my raggedy pair of $10 jeans need replacing.
i've always found it much easier to find tops that liked -- if it's fairly uncommon & comes in black, i'll take it -- i just buy guy's t-shirts & layer them with a sweater or two in the winter. for pants i still tend to go for menswear (no flattering of ass & gams for me) but it's nearly impossible to find a pair that doesn't look familiar, like you've seen it on a million other slouchy asses.
if anything, one has got to keep one's buttocks differentiated from the masses'.
you know you've had enough when...
you look at that corona bottle & think "it's the perfect shape for anal stretching a la 'goatse'."
especially if your back door is virgin territory, so to speak.
don't you just hate it when bits of lint get in a cut & it scabs over all fuzzy?
blank generation
since monday night:
-i haven't gotten angry.
-i haven't gotten sad.
-i haven't gotten excited.
-i haven't felt tired.
-i haven't felt hungry.
-i haven't laughed or cried.
today i got into an elevator & just stood in there waiting for it to go up...
i didn't realize i hadn't pressed any buttons & was still on the ground floor until some girl opened the door. catharses aren't supposed to get rid of everything, right?
w00tness
look, it's mini-me! (hair & scarf somewhat dramatized, although i do wear pointy boots.) damn, must be endorphins or something: i don't feel like shit at all.
(make a mini-you here...)
rootin' tootin' self-mutilatin' fun.
performance art is fuckin' awesome. i've just barely woken up from passing out on the floor...but i didn't get here on my own...no, i had help from persons unknown who dragged me back from class where i did a piece that essentially was me standing in the middle of the room, chugging half a bottle of chartreuse, offering the rest to my classmates (2 people wanted a taste), assembling an x-acto knife, dipping it in locally purchased ink, & slicing away at my arm in order to "get halifax under my skin" in the most literal way possible. i'd been drinking tequila since morning to make sure i bled more easily & then there was a gallery opening with free beer, so i was already pretty far gone even before i did my piece. i don't remember much except quietly sliding down the wall after i did my thing, having lots of blurry people ask me if i was ok, someone mentioning an ambulance, me puking (not a lot: i made sure i didn't eat much) & saying 'fuck' much more than usual.
so yeah, i'm expressing my amazement that the absurdly kind people of halifax made sure i got back ok despite my being adamant about being left on the sidewalk (i may or may not have been screaming) & to mention how i woke up with almost all my belongings where i left them: someone apparently went through my bag & took my knife, the roll of paper towels i stole from a washroom, & the remaining chartreuse; my empty tequila bottle is gone too. i'd hate to become a local legend only to have been placed on suicide watch.
my arm hurts but i'm actually happier than i've been for months.
pipe dream
here's another fun thing to do:
-go to the school of visual arts' website
-fill out the online form to request a catalog/prospectus
-wait until it arrives
-drool over its slick production & hard cover (even the ink smells nice.)
-reflect on how nscad's catalogue is printed on newsprint in shades of grey, & on how there is no way in hell you can afford sva short of winning the lottery or comitting robbery
-despair
double standards
today is one of those days where it's too cold to wear a t-shirt & too warm for a sweater...how come when a man is all sweaty & smelly, he's "virile" & "sexy" et cetera, whereas if a girl smells like anything that doesn't come from a tube or bottle, she's "gross" & "letting herself go?" i like stinky girls...is there something wrong with me or society? i've kept away from 'normal people' for as long as i remember & as such never really got socialized/brainwashed into the status quo. that's the reason i post such things as i do; to me, the world is one big study.
me jane goodall, y'all chimps.
while i may come across as all quaint & lovably eccentric on here, i seriously don't think most people can cope with my disassociative observations, impulsive stupidity & hair-trigger depression in real life.
(i do not know how to 'chat' or 'gossip.' ask me if you look fat in those pants & not only will i give you a soul-shredding assessment of your appearance, i'll segue off into a muttered monologue on The Marketing of Unrealistic Standards to Naive Fuckheads that ends in an offer to obliterate our collective sorrows at the nearest pub.)
i've also previously mentioned that i couldn't fake a smile even if my life depended on it -- not a good thing if one wants to make it at all.
here's a little activity to depress you: for today, or however long you wish, make one tally of all the people who you see 'smile' & one of how many of those smiles are the genuine, almost involuntary, ones. (the key is to look at the eyes & not the lips: during a fake smile, the expression on the top half of the face doesn't change.) naturally, some people are better at this than others but it still shows, you just have to watch them when they're interacting with other people...that smile turns on & off like a switch...can you notice yourself doing it, too? try not to fake-smile for a day & watch as your friends, family, co-workers & complete strangers ask you if something is the matter, are you feeling well, are you ok.
hah. me with my arrogance & french liquors...with any luck, i'll end up dead in the gutter in some far-off, exotic locale.
a little
something to give you nightmares.
i've got a tequila headache.
big may be beautiful, but 'gargantuan?'
today i saw a woman literally roll off her seat & onto the floor when the bus turned a corner...the guy sitting in the 2 seats in front of me would undulate every time there was a bump in the road.
while upholstered in nasty-ass multicoloured fabric, the bus seats here are the same standardized size as those elsewhere; to avoid getting smothered by some stranger's fleshrolls, i usually sit with my legs up on the seat next to mine & rely on my natural Spookiness to keep people away. (it works about 70% of the time. of the 30% where it fails & i get asked to move over, i just give them my seat too because, quite frankly, they need it.)
i'm not skinny myself, but dont'cha think you ought to maybe lay off the quarter pounders when your upper arms are the size of my thighs & you look like a balding marshmallow in a brown leather jacket & khakis?
brown leather jackets...my queer eye is half blind, but even i know that's wrong.
completely unrelated news: the new stickers are actually being written in, & while nothing particularly Profound or Witty is evident -- the sticker with a picture of a banana had the caption of "i am a banana!" -- at least people are doing something.
tits on the radio
i got kicked out of drawing class a couple of hours ago...i wasn't doing the assignments & i have no-one to blame so it was entirely justified. the thing is, i dropped metalworking/woodshop on tuesday which means i'm only taking 2 classes (studio practice & visual culture) where a full schedule is 4. i still have to pay for the 4 courses because it's after midterms...i know that's how university works & therefore shouldn't be whining about it but i still feel bad.
some of the stickers already got ripped up in the half hour between my putting them up & my walking past them to go to class; it didn't really matter when the old ones got destroyed 'cause there was only writing on them & the same several phrases anyway, but with these i'd actually taken the time to draw something different on every one...fuck.
what i'm worried about is that i'll become a properly cliched Art School Dropout, learn to play my guitar beyond 'one chord played over & over as fast as humanly possible,' start a keyboard-y band that overuses the synthesizers & become famous overnight for my regurgitated ironic-cool 80's pseudo-glam. the specter of potential fame-&-accompanying-loss-of-privacy haunts my dreams constantly.
-- 0 days sober --
(forgive me, liver, for i have sinned. the whole thing's off: i need something to keep me sane & my outlook on life isn't nearly peppy enough to do so. "peppy" is another halifax archaism, by the way.)
been putting up my new stickers ( i'll have photos by next week) since 5-ish. cold weather & nipples definitely do not mix.
an offer you can't refuse.
...you heard it here first: give head or die!
You scored as Getting Murdered. Sometimes you just don't give head to the warning signs, and you walk right into a bad situation at the wrong time. Other times you know you shouldn't do something, but you do it anyway. Either way you're going to be killed.
Getting Murdered | | 71% |
An Accidental Death | | 63% |
Committing Suicide | | 57% |
Death By Heart Attack | | 43% |
Dying Of Old Age | | 34% |
Dying Of Cancer | | 29% |
Realistically, how will you die?created with QuizFarm.com
every year for as long as i remember, i've always gotten severely sick (as in 'can't get out of bed, piss in a bucket' sick) around the beginning of fall... it's like i'm completely fine year-round & then i get all the accumulated minor colds & fevers owed to me in 1 big, jumbo-sized package o' disease. i still don't know if that's a good deal or not but my throat's been killing me for 2 days already; the puke-&-delirium stage isn't far behind.
-- 3 days sober --
i hate myself today, just like yesterday.
without the insulating properties of perpetual drunkeness, i'm feeling again like i did when i first got here. namely the "nnooooooo....what the fuck have i done ?" part. now that i don't have to worry about smashing facefirst into lamposts & other stationary objects, having to constantly step off the sidewalk to get around the slow-moving & supersized citizens of halifax is driving me crazy.
-- 2 days sober --