Part of the Process

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Location: British Columbia, Canada

Yeah. I got nothin.

Friday, September 30, 2005

Things I Learned Yesterday

I was going to post this as a comment on Erica's blog, but it's a little long.
I learned something new yesterday! Gotta love this: a number of years ago, the BC Gov decided to stop welfare fraud, cause they were loosing around 7 mill. (That's about the equivalent of one seat on a fast ferry). So they came up with the brilliant idea of not mailing checks to those in East Van. Instead, they would have to hit the office on Main and Cordova, and sign a form.
Okay, East Van is pretty big. So for those who don't live on the East Side, dragging their kids down to the office is, first of all, a pain, second, demeaning as shit. For those of you who don't know Vancouver, Main and Cordova is not the kind of place you take the kids day tripping.
Here's the kicker: the forms they had to sign were written in such legaleese that a lawyer who got wind of the forms couldn't figure out the meaning behind them without help.
Now, if a lawyer with twenty years experience doesn't know what he's reading, do you expect the average layman to? Hell, no. But it's all just government mumbo jumbo, so people were signing away.
And guess what they were signing away? Well, to help hunt down welfare fraud, the gov't decided to make the search easier by refusing to release checks (that's blackmail, folks) to anyone who didn't sign away their right to privacy. Yup. Any access to any gov't info. Privacy Act null and void.
Oh yeah, and when you signed, you signed for life. Someone on welfare for one fucking month would have no right to privacy for the rest of their lives.
Oh, and you got kids? Yeah, their lives too. Cause you're signing on their behalf.
Anyway, aforementioned lawyer called news stations, news stations ate it up, things went over rather badly, happy ending for welfare recipients.
Course, if that lawyer hadn't of been there....

Thursday, September 29, 2005

Let There Be Toast

We're cranky around here. And when we're cranky, we eat toast. And we speak in the third person. Why, you may ask? Well, fuck you.
We certainly don't put on tunes, Raging Bull on mute, and curl up on the couch with someone while talking about nothing, or not talking at all. Cause that would be nice. And we don't do nice around here. We do toast.
Hell, we don't even put on tunes, Raging Bull on mute, and curl up on the couch with a bottle of beer, cause we're out of beer.
So we eat toast, force ourselves to focus on editing a friend's article, and seriously consider doing dishes or cleaning out the litter box, hell, maybe even studying.
With toast.

Crank Magnet

Something about being cranky just makes me a magnet for additional crank-factors.
Family's off to Mexico next week. Yup, that'd be everyone but me. (Well, no, that'd be about 20% of the family, but what ev.)
Anyway, they've spent the last two weeks arguing over who gets to break the news to me: while they're gone, I get to watch the cat.
And this ain't just any cat. This is the fattest, the stupidest, the most annoying cat in existence. And him and Satan's Cat, they hate each other. They're like yin and yang.
Him: fat. stupid. slow. succeeds through brute force.
Satan's Cat: tiny. wiley. speed demon. believes revenge is a dish best served cold.
Oh yeah, and the best part: he's on dialysis. What the fuck am I going to do with a cat on dialysis?
If that fat fuck dies while he's here, he's going straight down the garbage chute.

Wednesday, September 28, 2005

On Boobs

So Porny's birthday came and went, and I maintained my role by not living up to any promises I may make.
The night of Pornstar's birthday, I came up with this wicked idea for a post, which involved prep work by taking a lot of pics of our breasts. Although a very productive and worthy venture, by the time I'd sobered up, I'd forgotten what this post was supposed to be about. Just that it involved a lot of boob pics. Still, I promised Porny I'd post the pics, and lo and behold, I didn't.
Well, people will only wait so long, and Porny posted the pics herself. So I'm gonna cheat and slack of, and link ya'll there. See if you can find mine!
Yup. All in a good days work.
Yeah, I know, they ain't naked, but come on man, I've got class.

Would You Like Some Cheese With Your....

So I've got a bit of a cold. Nothing to bad, just that all day yesterday, my lungs were on fire. Skipped accounting so I could write those damned assignments for finance. Did one in the morning, headed to the doctor. Got prescription, but there was a three year wait at the brand spankin' new London Drugs, which is now conveniently located up the big hill, rather than across the street.
Made it back to school in time to find someone with an office who's computer I could use for the other assignment, and couldn't log in to the program. Fucking computers.
Got home, and my lungs are still on fire, and I'm fucking exhausted. Went to bed at 8:00pm, passed out cold, but needed to get up at 12:30am to take a pill. So I set the alarm. Got up just fine, took a pill, hit the sack. Alarm went off again at 12:37am. Okay, forgot to reset it. Set it for 6:00am. Alarm goes off at 12:44. Hmmm. Turned it off, then back on. Checked that I'd reset it for 6:00. Alarm goes off at 12:51. What the fuck? Turned it to alarm 2, turned off alarm one, set alarm 2 for 6:00.
Wake up at 2:00am as my arm flies out and smokes the snooze button. Vaguely recollect tossing and turning, and continually thwacking the clock, as the alarm is still working with the theory that it's on snooze. Unplugged the clock, turned of the alarm, reset the alarms, hit random buttons, and the fucker keeps going off every seven minutes until 6:00. At which point it quits, and I sleep in.
So now I'm fucking cranky, don't get no shower, didn't write the hardcopy of the one assignment I did do, and have a test in one hour. That and I'm a giant, mobile bundle of snot and phlegm.
Somebody's going down today. I don't know who, or why, but I'm not gonna be happy until I've had a chance to kill.
At least my lungs aren't burning anymore.

Monday, September 26, 2005

On Smudging and Guilt Trips

At the park yesterday, a friend of the Spiritualist smudged us. (Performed smudging on us? I dunno.) I have to say that if I was going to take up a religion, I'd have to go with one that smudges.
We were sitting under a tree in the park, and when the Spiritualists friend began smudging us, every crow in the area flew to the tree over us, and set off on the loudest, most raucous cawing I have ever heard. While The Spiritualist was being smudged, I just lay on my back on the grass looking up at the crows, and laughed my ass off. They were great.
And that's all I have to say about that. Maybe it was one of those you had to be there sort of things, maybe if you had been there, you still wouldn't have gotten it. But it was the icing on the cake of a utterly unproductive in only the best of ways kinda day.

Guilt Tripping
My instructor stopped me after class today. We have ten weekly assignments over the course of the semester, each of which is worth one percent. The first one was due last week, the next tonight at midnight. The third one is due on Wednesday. I haven't started any of them.
Instructor: You haven't done any of your assignments. I wanted to know why.
Me: I left the first one until the last minute, then found out I need Java, which I can't download because my computers an AMD 64. I'm going to do the next one today.
Instructor: Oh, do you want an extension? I can give you until the 27th to do the first three.
Me: Um, no, you don't need to do that. I left it to the last minute. And I can use the computer in Heidi's office for the next ones.
Instructor: Well, it was partially a hardware problem, that's understandable. I should give you an extention.
Me: If you want to, well thanks.
Okay, maybe the first assignment. But an extension on the one due tonight? Come on, I've had a week to find a computer say walking my sorry ass up two flights of stairs to the computer labs.
Meanwhile, I've got this little audience of people that are actually having problems in the class (don't get me wrong, I still think they're all fucking morons if they can't get this shit), and they're not getting any extensions. Way to make friends and influence people.
Sure! I love being cut a break cause I'm a lazy assed fucker who can't even be bothered to lie about it!
So now I'm committed to doing the bloody assignments. Damn it all.

And In Other News
I recently joined the modern world of communication, and got my first cell phone.
Today, I got my first cell phone bill.
I owe a whopping negative $60. Out of my three phone companies, I don't think there's any doubt as to which has one my heart. Oh yeah, negative bills rock my world. Who needs sex and chocolate?

Wait a minute, I just remembered that I stashed fudge somewhere in my apartment. My bad, I got caught up in the moment, and lied. I'd ditch the negative bill for sex and chocolate in a heartbeat.
And now I'm off to trash my apartment in the hopes of finding that elusive fudge. Wish me luck, and hope The Kid didn't find it first.

Friday, September 23, 2005

Night of the Inane Comment II

I'm not liking my posting lately. It's missing something. Here's the thing, this blog was supposed to be an outlet, and lately I've been writing what I say. Don't need that shit, you can get that at school. To much rant, not enough rave, that's the thing.
Might be I just haven't been drunk enough lately. I need morose, burning rage, mixed with a slight sense of nostalgia, and maybe just a touch of longing for things I never had.
These days, I'm just angst, prattle, and whine.
So here's to an experiment....I've got one beer down, only one left to go. But I do have a couple of inches of rum left, and I vaguely recall a dribble of vodka hangin' in the back of the cupboard. So lets switch up the tunes, ditch the Mando Diao in favour of The Kills, huck Raging Bull in the DVD player on mute, and see what happens if we invite the creation of another fine edition of.....

Night of the Inane Comment: The Night Bites Back

Okay, I got nothin'. I'm going for a smoke. And when I get back, I'll quit typing things like I got nothin', cause that'll fuck your prose right up. And while I'm out there, I'll try and take some time to think, look at stars, look at bridges, and listen to music. That's what's been missing lately; quiet contemplation.
When I lived in Banff, down time was such a scarce resource, it took me a while to find it. Then I found the grand piano at the Banff Springs Hotel. That was beautiful. Not my playing, the only song I can remember how to play is Fur Elise, but the time to get into one's own head. Sometimes I'd finish the song, and realize I had an audience, (some people will listen to anything if it's played in a marble encrusted ballroom), but they never got in the way of my time to myself. There's something about a piano in a public place that makes one feel truly alone. It's a great feeling, to be able to just turn off the world around you, without having to hide from it. An ability to make everyone disappear at the touch of a note.

I've still got nothing. I suppose you can't force these things, but it's been bothering me. I feel like a piece of me is missing. There might be something wrong with missing being morose, but I do. I think it has to do with having been depressed when I was younger, depression is an addiction. Maybe I shouldn't try to feed my addiction, but the way I've been feeling lately just seems shallow.
I think the thing is, I'm happy, but I have nothing to be happy about. Life I need it to be more. Even if more is sad, scared, confused, angry. These days, nothing changes. My classes are redundant (and I mean that in the most literal way), my budget is relatively close to being nearly manageable, my daughter isn't going through a psychopathic stage, and even the cat hasn't tried to kill me lately. Don't get me wrong, these are good things, but not enough. If life is going to be good, it should be great. I miss ups and downs. Real ups and downs, not just annoyance, and mild amusement.
Okay, I don't know what I want.

Did you know that you can't taste vodka if you mix it with water? It's true. I hate vodka, ever since I was a teenager and the drink of the day was a mickey of vodka, straight up. Yeah, I used to chug that shit straight. We'd split a can of coke between four of us to use as a chaser. Since then, vodka kind of makes me want to rip my tongue out, then jam it through my eyesocket into my brain, as punishment for having considered drinking it again. Vodka seven? Not on your life. But mix vodka with water, and you can't taste squat.
Maybe this is common knowledge, maybe not. But if you don't believe me, I'm willing to lay bets.

The other day, I counted running shoes. Or not, I counted the number of people in my class that weren't wearing running shoes. That was easy, I was the only one. Where are they going in such a hurry, that they need to run to get there? And why can't they just take a cab?
My classes are full of young people. They're always in a hurry. Life is so busy, what with homework, and the after school job at the gas station, and Mary's parents are out of town, so there's a party there this weekend. They make me feel human, they're so small, and self absorbed, and convinced that the rest of the world is exactly like them. What they don't know created the modern post-secondary system.

At SFU, I sat with a girl, K, who had five kids. She had custody of four of them, her ex-husband had custody of the eldest daughter. Her ex-husband's girlfriend liked to rape K's boys. (And yes, when talking about five year old boys, a hand job constitutes rape. Don't argue that point, I'll hunt you down and fuck you up.) She's also applying for an at home daycare license. So word to the wise, if you live just west of Chilliwack, and need a daycare, go licensed, not at home. Cause somewhere out there is a fucked up bitch who hasn't yet had her court case go through, and until then, is allowed to provide at home care for other peoples children.

Che, if you read this, and feel guilty, good. This is your crusade (anti-crusade?), not mine. Write that article. Che's friend, Mohammed Muhammed (who I write about because that name's just too much fun to write), wanted to have his mother out for a visit. Customs and Immigration ain't having none of that. Why? Because she's old, and from Iraq. But we're not racist, we hate her just as much because she's old, as Iraqi. They made that very clear. Thing is, she's capable of getting into the States for a much for Canadian compassion, or whatever the fuck it is we're supposed to have.

I was a shitty wrestler, in high school. But I could suck weight like a madman. When I lived with my dad and stepmother, they would drive me home if they were picking up my stepbrother from hockey that night. So I could wait for them, or do the two hour walk home. Obviously, I'd wait. They'd sit in the hottub at the pool, and I'd think, what the fuck, I've got a tournament this weekend, may as well drop a weight class. And I'd throw on whatever extra clothes I had, and hop in the sauna. One night, I dropped ten pounds in one sitting. Of course, keeping it off for the next twenty four hours was painful, (for those of you who have never had to drop weight, that loss is all water, so you can't drink). But I did it. There should be a sport that focuses only on everything that one does to fuck up their bodies for sports.

Is it worth mixing Triple Sec and coke? Or is that just stupid? And who owns Triple Sec, anyway?

Holy shit, I'm giving the Triple Sec and coke a go, and I think I just lost three teeth. That's candy, distilled. Don't go there. Do not go there.

'Cause I'm all feminist and all, I like to say I was raped. But I still don't believe I was raped. To this day, us girls are indoctrinated in the view of rape in a dark alley, shadowy man, preferably with gun.
So how 'bout this, you be the judge:
Forget I exist. Picture, instead, a girl, seventeen, had sex with two boys before. Skinny legs. Much better skin (oddly enough). Cheap drunk. House party. Me, laying on the bathroom floor, a cigarette in my hand, eight butts floating in the toilet, mixed in with tendrils of stomach acid, everything that could have been puked up having long ago been flushed.
Greg walks in, there's whining, his and mine. He wants to get laid, I want to be left alone. He thinks I'm hot, I think that's great, but I'm rather busy dying right now. He wants me. I have no fucking idea who he is.
Here's the kicker: Cathy knocked on the door, and I didn't open it. Something about a girl who I'd known for three weeks walking in on me, my face pressed into a puddle of my own puke, my pants around my ankles, just didn't do it for me.
But you know, sometimes "No" don't mean squat. Just because you've puked up the last of your strength doesn't mean you can't fight back in other ways. But nobody knows these things, when they're teenagers. "I have herpes." "My dad works with your dad. And trust me, he'll find out." "Cathy, open the fucking door, and call the cops."
I dropped out of school after that. Butner had friends, they knew, I had to face them every time I walked into that school.
Don't get me wrong, I'm pretty fucking happy I dropped out of school. If I hadn't, I wouldn't have moved to Banff, met The Ex, had my daughter....and life as we know it would not exist.
But still, there's something lacking in sex ed today. Learning how to put a condom on a banana is all fine and dandy, but girls should know how to castrate a boy with a word. That's not something you should have to find out through trial and error.
And the whole concept of date rape, or who-the-fuck-are-you rape, needs to be made more mainstream. The fact is, society still accepts the idea that if there's no dark alley, there's no rape. And if you really think we've solve these problems, take a minute to visualize the different feelings you have for Dark Alley Girl, and Drunk, Not A Scratch On Her Girl. Sympathy just dropped there, didn't it? Well, now, picture your drunk assed best bud killed in an attempted mugging. Yeah, he deserved it, cause he was drunk. Fucker.
See, at one level, we don't need to explain these things, but down low, they're still there. If you look, you can find them. I know they're there.
The feeling of one's cheek sliding back and forth across the bathroom counter, aided by the lubricating effects of a thin layer of vomit, shouldn't leave one questioning if what happened was rape or not. Something is wrong when you can question this shit.

Can you beleive this spell check doesn't even have "tendrils" in it? Can't they just link to a dictionary or something, I mean, seriously, tendrils. Get it together, man.

And suddenly, it occurs to me what I've been missing. I've been playing Chopsticks on my blog, when I could be diving into Fur Elise, where I don't care about the audience, this is mine. Maybe it only works right in my head, but that's okay. Cause it's mine.

Wednesday, September 21, 2005

Who Writes This?

Right now I'm watching a movie where Sarah Michelle Geller has a magic crab that turns her crap cooking into luv juice, which she unwittingly uses to score with a narcissistic businessman who wouldn't look at her twice if it weren't for the crab crackcakes.
Seriously, this is what's on these days. And yet I pay for cable.
Which leads to the question, what the fuck is wrong with me?

Look! To the Left!

I made a links list. Don't have links on it yet, but hey, I had a template that didn't include links, and now I've got links. You have no idea how proud I am of myself right now...I have conquered my computer. I'm down right giddy. Look ma, no hands!

And it works! It works!

Oh yeah, I'm good.

Monday, September 19, 2005

Things I Learned Today

1) Adding guacamole to a grilled cheese sandwich will not make processed cheese slices taste like real cheese.

2) Telling The Kid that she can't have a cookie until she eats her crusts will not make her want her crusts. It will make her want a cookie.

3) Replacing breakfast, lunch and snacks with vast quantities of coffee is not a good cost saving technique. It's just stupid.

Yup. That just about covers it. Maybe I shoulda gone to class today.

Sunday, September 18, 2005

On Happiness

Been reviewing my current posts and I've realized that I can come across as a little....angsty. But I'm not an angsty girl, I'm a happy kinda girl. Okay, so I do love a good rant, but my recent posts do not at all provide a balanced view of my current lifestyle. Contrary to how I make myself out to be, I'm not actually a bitter, vindictive, chain smoking drunk. Well, so the chain smoking part is accurate, and I am an incredibly cheap drunk, but, when put in context, I spend much more time sober than drunk, and I only smoke outside, so that cuts the consumption dramatically when I'm at home.
So here's to a normal day. Not exciting posting material, but hey, we can't always live our lives for the amusement of others, now can we?
Slept in this morning, managed to convince The Kid it wasn't morning yet until 10am, at which point guilt finally dragged me out of bed. Downed a couple of pots of coffee while The Kid watched Dora and ate, then finally mustered up the courage to review the damage M's wedding, Porny's birthday, my stalwart refusal to buy groceries, and a shopping trip had done to my budget. Found out that I am not, after all, preemtively screwed for the semester. Joy! Buoyed by this success, I had an urge to calculate how many credits it would actually end up taking me to finish the second of my two year degrees. And you know what? I'll be done 120 credits worth of schooling in 112 credits. Score. That's what I call efficient, and if there's anything they beat into my head in economics, it's that Efficiency is God. So I'm cool.
Took The Kid to the Quay with C., her husband, and their daughters. It was children's fest, or something like that, so they got to tempt llama's to spit on them, tempt ancient pony's to bite them, and tear around like chicken's with their head's cut off, which fully constituted a good day from the kids perspectives.
Then went to the grocery store, where I actually bought groceries for the first time in, what, three weeks? More? (The Kid and I have been living off of school cafeteria food, free food from the student union, free food scavenged from any booths and whatnot in the school concourse, and the occational delivery. Which takes a bite out of my wallet, cause I always figure if you're gonna get it delivered, may as well make it steak and tiger prawns, and throw in some bacon and scallops, and mushrooms neptune for good measure.) Didn't go nuts on the groceries, but got enough for the first home-cooked meal (yes, I know, prepackaged, cut me some slack here) we've had since getting back from Campbell, and a weeks worth of lunch fixings for The Kid.
So tonight I think I'll ride this responsibility role I've been on, and start in on the two assignments I've got due on Tuesday. Oh yeah, I'm a good scholastic citizen. Oh yes I am.
Oh yeah, and I'm pretty sure Psycho Midget had mixed my number up with someone else's, and was not actually trying to contact me. Just very easily confused. Remind me later that there is no such thing as a free lunch. And keep reminding me of that, often, and repetitively. I learn well with repetition.
Ohhh, and maybe tonight I'll branch out into being a good corperate citizen and see if I can find the stack of bills that must be kicking around here somewhere, because according to my budget, I haven't paid bills in a pretty darn long time. (Wow, I'm really am on a role here, no swearing in this entire post, and I just typed because rather than cause. Maybe I'll go back and edit my kindas into kind ofs. No, that's just pushing it.)

Update: My bad, forgot to carry the one. I am rather preemptively screwed for the semester. Well, could be worse. At least I have some great shoes. And a weeks worth of groceries.

Saturday, September 17, 2005

On Crankiness

Who Put the P in PMS
Who ever the fuck thinks that women are cranky before their periods haven't met me on day one. Cause ain't nothin' compared to bloated, yucky, and unwilling to do anything that doesn't involve maim and kill. Find a high place, somewhere safe, and you'll see my teeth sink into the rump of whomever has pissed me off, growling and snarling, spittle flying and jaws grinding.
Went to the Quay for coffee with Erica. Ran into a friend who I haven't seen for a year, who manages to happen across me while I'm feasting on a chicken panini, first thing I've eaten since Thursday. Trying to carry on a conversation with sauce dribbling down my chin, and herbs from the foccacia liberally adorning the spaces between my teeth.
Meanwhile, my phone's still jingling away, as psycho stalker ain't leaving good enough alone. Listened to one of the messages, apparently he's confused my number with that of another Impulsive (same name), as he referred to "last night." Either that or he's really gone off the deep end. Feel sorry for the girl, I mean, eight calls in one hour? Not a good first impression, that.
Headed down to London Drugs to stock up on feminine hygiene products. London Drugs is having a closing out sale. Everything is on sale....Except tampons. Ever heard "got you by the balls?" I guess London Drugs believes in "Got you by the uterus." Fuckers.
Get home, and turns out the jeans which I picked up off the floor and threw on before heading out the door had a chocolate in the back pocket. I was sitting in those puppies. Right on the chocolate. Double fuck.

On Psychotic Midget Stalkers

Remind me not to give out my phone number to psychotic midget stalkers. I thought he was gone, hell, like a month ago. But no, know my phone is ringing, and gone to voice mail, and ringing again, and oh yeah, he calls back a third time, and now that's four.....What the fuck is wrong with you, buddy?
Advice: if a girl doesn't return your phone calls for a month, there's a pretty good reason for it. Maybe it's the fact that you think you're from the Irish republic and served in the British army, as a paratrooper, when a little research show's you're actually an American, and served in the fucking cadets as a teenager. Holy shit, delusions of grandeur, anyone?
Advice: if a girl goes out for lunch with you, just for shits and giggles, then insists that she pay for her own lunch, just so you don't get any ideas about her 'owing you', then ditches you for the waitress, you've got problems. Give up.
Advice: if, on leaving, said girl insists you don't call, then doesn't call you, that's a problem. Give up. Don't call back. Then call back the next day. Then call back the next day. Just give up.
Advice: seriously, give up, a month ago. Maybe over a month ago.
Advice: if the only reason said girl was talking to you in the first place was because the theme of the night was incredibly short guys, and you, amusingly, fit into that category, that's not an auspicious start to a relationship. (Seriously, by short, we're not talking 5'7" here, these guys barely came up to my chin. No lie.)
Advice: if the only reason said girl went out for lunch with you was cause she was bored, and always up for anything that'll make for a good retelling at the coffee shop (Kelly has a keenly honed sense of the absurd), don't even go there.
Advice: if you didn't even score out of the deal, cut your losses, then run. Especially if said girl has let you know that any intentions you have of scoring are severely egotistical delusions on your part.
Advice: Fuck off.

And now the cell phone is going off....and it only rings ten times....

Now my daughter's freaking out cause the phone's ringing, answer it, dammit! The phone is ringing! The phone is ringing!
Nothing like trying to explain the concept of screening calls to a pre-schooler.

The Kid Feeds Fish

The Kid's still obsessed with feeding the fish. You'd think the death of all the fish in the big tank would have deterred her, but no. And she's got a long memory.
About a year ago, one of the goldfish succumbed to the ravages of my shitty tank cleaning policies (how my fish manage to generally live so long, I chalk up to wicked levels of bacteria naturally present in New West's water supply, there's no other explanation).
This morning:
The Kid: Mom, can I feed the fish?
Me: No, I already fed them.
The Kid: Can I feed them again?
Me: No. You know you can't feed them twice.
The Kid: Why? Cause they'll die?
Me: That's right.
The Kid: What about the other fish? Can I feed the black and orange fish?
Me: What? ?!? I don't get it. (We don't have a black and orange fish, haven't for a year.) Um, no.
The Kid: Why not, cause we can't get it back from the toilet?
Me: Memory comes back to me. Yeah. That's right. Once they're down the toilet, they're kinda gone for good.
The Kid: What about the toilet?
Me: No. We do not feed the toilet fish food.

Monday, September 12, 2005

Fuck Today

I just spent a day at school either in class or studying. I spent so much time in class or studying that my smoke breaks were taken about once an hour, and lasted one measly cigarette in duration. This is not my style, how can one be expected to learn in an environment like this? Bloody Mondays, everyone is either has back to back classes all day, or aren't there at all. I need my down time, I'm a social learner.
After that, I get home, and my apartments full of smoke and my fish is belly up. Not dead, of course, that would be too easy. Just hangin' in that half dead phase that you know there's no returning from, occationally getting a bite taken out of it by one of it's rather foreward thinking tank mates. I hate that point in the fishy life cycle, but I just can't justify expediating it's end by sending it down the inferno of flush.
I can't even chain smoke to make up for my crankyness, cause as smoky as my apartment is, at least it's better than outside. Fucking wind better shift soon. There's something wrong with it being too smoky out to go out for a smoke.
Dammit, I hate wasting crankiness on not PMSing, cause if I gotta be cranky, can't I at least get bloated and zitty out of the deal?

Amendment: Okay, so maybe hoping for the wind to shift is a little insensitive, even for me. If the fire isn't heading towards houses right now, it's probably best that the wind doesn't shift.
Less wind, more rain. How's that for sensitivity? See, Impulsives are people too.

Amendamendament: One thing worse than half dead fish: when half dead fish mysteriously vanish. What the fuck!?! Where the hell did it go?

Sunday, September 11, 2005


So maybe now's the time to post the one hundred things about me:
  1. I live in Greater Vancouver, not real Vancouver.
  2. I don't bike.
  3. I'm an environmentalist, non the less.
  4. I eat meat.
  5. I don't eat pork.
  6. Unless it's bacon.
  7. The last god I believed in was a pig, he'd kill me for the bacon comment.
  8. Now I listen to Aphrodite.
  9. She's not always right, but she's pretty smart. Take a listen, you'll see.
  10. Aphrodite told me not to wear makeup....
  11. I don't. Usually. But sometimes I just want to look pretty.
  12. The world doesn't agree with me.
  13. On the nights I get prettied up, I end up the wing girl.
  14. I used to be hot.
  15. I used to be the hottest chick in Banff, which is saying a lot.
  16. Now I'm just me.
  17. And that's okay, because I'd rather be me than hot.
  18. But sometimes I wish I could be me, and hot.
  19. I like blue.
  20. And brown.
  21. I like fish.
  22. I grew up on the ocean.
  23. Not really, cause I'm from the prairies.
  24. But since childhood, the ocean.
  25. I used to think that barnacles were cool cause they gave good traction for getting out of the water.
  26. Now I think barnacles would land me in the hospital, with broken, bloody feet, waiting for nothing less than a transfusion.
  27. I revel in the fact that I can write this publicly, but no one is reading at this point....
  28. I hated my life, as a youth.
  29. I've gotten over this, somewhat, but not completely.
  30. I try, I fail, I loose people I love over this, repeatedly.
  31. I was wealthy, as a child.
  32. Yeah, not really, but my ma planned around us being wealthy.
  33. My dad was in med school, got to be a doctor, one day.
  34. Haven't really talked to him since.
  35. That kinda sucked, back when I was looking for parental support and all that.
  36. Mom always went with the 'for me, or against me' theory.
  37. The culmination of that was the day she attacked me with a meatloaf, and an axe.
  38. Yes, meatloaf+axe=crazy. But that's okay. Cause we had money. And if there's anything people with money have a right to do, it's threaten to kill their kid's.
  39. I hated myself.
  40. It's hard to explain how something that has so little with how I am now could have shaped my mind, but, I hated myself.
  41. I couldn't feel pain. The day poor Che walked in on me, I wasn't trying to hurt myself, I was just trying to find out if I was crazy (cause in I Never Promised You a Rose Garden, lack of pain proved you were crazy.)
  42. I have a big, fat scar on my arm, which I tell people is from a pot of boiling water.
  43. It's not. It's from however many cigarette burns it took to make a scar that big.
  44. I was just waiting for it to hurt.
  45. When I was younger, all I wanted was to die.
  46. Now, I would do anything to stay alive.
  47. I am terrified of leaving my daughter.
  48. I worry that I'll die, and she'll end up being like my mother.
  49. But I am not my mother, which makes me worry that in not dying, my daughter will not learn what is wrong, therefore will end up like my mother.
  50. I hate raising a child.
  51. I hate being accountable for something that I am so emotionally invested in.....How am I supposed to be unbiased in my opinions of what she does?
  52. I have come to realize that people who do not have children have not lived.
  53. On general principle, I hate kids, but after having one of my own, I realize that there is no such thing as emotion until you feel what you do for your kids.
  54. I used to think that parents were cheezy-assed bastards, but now I know that the whole "you'll know when you're there," thing is true.
  55. In the meantime, I wish people (including me) would understand that single mother's are humans, just like the rest of us.
  56. Some days, I thank some damn fucker (pick a deity) that I'm not native. Cause being a single mother is bad enough, and in Canada, being native is just about the only way you can add to that. ( Hooray for racism!! Tradition rocks!!!).
  57. I'm 5'10"
  58. I'm 135 lbs.
  59. My hair is brown. No blond. Yeah, maybe brown. No, I'd say more get the picture.
  60. I was once in the hospital for over a week, or so, in a coma, or something, I don't really know. That was back when I was a hormonal teenager, with a 'slightly' skewey mother, and an absent father.
  61. It was two years after that before someone explained to me the concept of Situational Depression.
  62. Before that, I lived every day waiting for the day that I would choose to die. I didn't know that I might get over it, no one told me that someday, I might realize that dying isn't an option.
  63. I'm still bitterly angry at everyone in my life for not telling me this. Sometimes, you are in a situation where you would be better off dead, but, someday, this too shall pass, and you will realize that life is all you have, so eat it up.
  64. I now have no forgiveness for people who can't handle depression, I suppose I'm a hypocrite for that, but I hate anyone who thinks they have a right to end their own lives.
  65. I love my life.
  66. I love it more so for the Prima's, who told me that she couldn't see how a single mother could afford to live in her building (despite the fact that her building cost the same as any other building in New West).
  67. I still fucking hate Prima. Someday. I'll find a way. Then she'll know.
  68. I take my associates degree for granted, yet I revel in it.
  69. Six months ago, I was a high school drop out. Now, I have a degree.
  70. I wish my degree was of the type that could get me a job, yet not really, cause I really want my bachelors.
  71. Deep down, despite the fact that I'm more likely to get a job with my finc diploma, I still want my BA.
  72. I'm getting tired, need to end this.
  73. I rant.
  74. A lot.
  75. I'm a feminist.
  76. I'm a socialist.
  77. I wish I was Swedish.
  78. I love three (of four) boys, but none of them are in my bed tonight. Okay, that's a lie, I don't believe in love, I just believe in.....Something.....
  79. I hate my past. I hate these blank moments when I have to try to come up with something to say, and that one year, the year that is a void to me, seems to fill up everything.
  80. I hate the fact that, no matter how much I think I've moved on, on nights like tonight, all I can think about is the rape, and the suicide attempt.
  81. I hate the fact that these things still mean anything to me, I am older now, I know that what is me is in my head, not my body, therefore I can withstand all physical assaults.
  82. My feet are a a size 7 1/2. That's exactly average.
  83. I wear a lot of neutral colours.
  84. I refuse to let the spellcheck correct my Canadian terms to American. I like my u's.
  85. I have had sex with more then fifty men
  86. I have never cheated on a boyfriend
  87. I have never (knowingly) slept with a man who was married.
  88. I have once (unknowingly) slept with a man who was married.
  89. I have never had a one night stand.
  90. I have gone through 90 questions, and still don't know what I define myself as.
  91. I am a student.
  92. I am a mother.
  93. I love my daughter more than you could ever imagine.
  94. I am trying.
  95. I hope to succeed.
  96. I hope I find out what success is, before I get there.
  97. My favorite colour is blue.
  98. My lucky number is two.
  99. I like fish, and cats, and dogs, but not so much small dogs.
  100. I hope, someday, to come to terms with my past, find peace within myself, and discover the joy of self fulfillment, the calm of forgiveness, and balance, more than anything, balance.

Wednesday, September 07, 2005

On Beauty

This time of the evening is perfect, right before twilight. The river glows, the roof of the market glows, the walls of the building down from me glow, the smokestacks before that glow. You wouldn't think mustard yellow paint and moss encrusted brick could glow, but they do. Neon mustard. Neon brick. Mount Baker is outlined against the sky as a pastel cardboard cutout......

When I first moved to the Rockies, the mountains around town were impossibly fake. They were two dimentional figures, or the earliest manifestation of a blue screen. On shrooms one day, Leslie and I stalked those mountains from every angle, and proved they were fake. No way they could shift position like that. Sure, things look different from different angles, but if Sulpher Mountain is west of Mount Rundle, it should still be west, no matter where in town you stand. How many years ago was that? Half a life time......

Two years ago, I was mourning the loss of Adrien. We didn't say goodbye, he went surfing his last week in Canada, said he would call if he got back early enough before his flight. He called. As he was packing the car, on the way to the airport. Easier to pretend you'll be back, than to admit you're gone forever. Do you want a coffee for the road?.....

The Kid, laying sprawled out on the couch with her head in Adrien's lap, staring up at him adoringly. She didn't care who he was, back then she was obsessed with men. Adrien laughing, looking up at me, shrugging, 'Don't know why she do this, she just came and sit like this!'.....

Sitting in a brown vinyl rocking chair in a florescent lit hospital room, nursing. The Kid, lightly tanned with slight jaundice, formed like the smallest three month old you've ever seen, eyes wide, shocked by that sweet nectar which could be drawn at will, shoulder's pulled back, murping continuously. Like a man who's discovered the oasis is real. Me, memorizing the moment, the perfection of it, I will never forget this......

Sitting it a hospital room, with a dragon on the end of my bed. Technicolour fog surrounding everything, no fear of the dragon, only concern for the little man fairy I cradled lovingly in the palms of my hands.....

It's sunset now. The sky over the Queensborough Bridge is fuscia. The industrial park below the bridge is morphing into a trekkie's dream world.....

Climbing up the arches on the bridge over the Qu'appelle River. Kids, we revel in this freedom, the slim concrete arch, the river a thousand miles below. The slopes of the valley walls form endless nooks and crannies which entice us to escape into them, climb to the top of the valley, the prairies stretched out for miles, a perfect replica of my grandmother's watercolours.....

It's dark now....

There's so much more....

Sunday, September 04, 2005

Fucking Spiders Won

I thought I'd escaped those creepy little bastards when I left Campbell. But no, they got me back. I have a spider bite. On my inner thigh. And it itches, and burns, and hurts like a son of a bitch. And of course it's just far enough down my thigh that I feel like I can justify scratching it without looking like you'd need to double up on the protection before walking into the same room as me. But I'm probably wrong...I can scratch all I want when I'm nekkid, but toss on a pair of pants, and it may be a little more difficult to judge the exact point that I'm scratching. So I probably look like I'm running around, groping at my burning, itchy crotch, when it's really my burning, itchy thigh I'm groping at.

This means war. I'm gonna hunt me down that spider, rip off all it's legs, real slow like, one at a time. Then I'm gonna tie a string around that fucker, and hang it from the ceiling so Satan's Cat can work off some of her angst batting it around. Oh yeah, and I'm gonna force feed that little shit some flyjuice on occation, just to make sure to extend it's misery for as long as possible.
This could work. If Satan's Cat appreciates the sacrificial legless spider enough, she may quit those sneaky attempts at aputating my limbs while I sleep. It would be a fitting sacrifice, anyway. Course, she'd still have the Death of a Thousand Knives to fall back on.

Come to think of it, maybe I should dangle Satan's Cat from the ceiling for the spider to bat around.