and now for something completely different

on a lighter note, i went out tonight with some friends. we went to the bar (a great little dive that's practically my second home) and i'm not shit faced. not even drunk. exhibiting a little impulse control is cause for celebration, i think. where did i put that bottle of crown royal?

too much information

i am 28 years old. my room mate is 48 years old. my neighbour is 44 years old. i've been thinking about aging a lot lately, and how may/december relationships work. my room mate and i started sleeping together less than a month after i moved in. (yeah, i know.) of course, i think i'm in love with him. however, he is very clear about the fact that he is not in love with me. i'm trying to figure out if this is crushing my heart or my ego.

i've said to him that i can't understand why he's not in love with me. there are a lot of things wrong about saying this to someone (like, how can you possibly respond to that kind of statement, etc.) but the worst thing about it is that what i really meant was "how could you possibly not be in love with me, you old fool? i'm 28. how can i not be the best thing that's happened to you in years?" i know this is faulty "logic." i know it implies all sorts of crappy things about my character (like shallowness, inability to grasp reality, etc.) and i know there's a good reason he's not in love with me: i'm just not the one for him. (which obviously means he's not the one for me either, but it's extremely hard to get my head around that fact for some reason.) it's got nothing to do with whether i'm "good enough" or not. it's not a reflection of my lack of sophistication, beauty, intelligence, or any number of other things. he's said all this stuff to me, by the way, in an attempt to make me feel ok about it all and to ensure that there are good relations between us (to keep the possibility of sex open, of course.) hmmm. i wonder if i'm being bitter here or i'm having a moment of clarity.

at any rate, i can deal with this. i am choosing to deal with it by continuing to live in the same house with him. (yeah, i know.) i've discovered i'm one of those annoying sickos who only feel comfortable when there's a certain amount of discomfort in my life. a disturbing pattern is emerging from my limited experience with love. (my ex-boyfriend is a junkie.) i hate admitting this about (to) myself. i mean i really, really hate it.

why is it so easy to choose or gravitate towards really great friends? and then make such shitty choices about partners?

beckett fences

i was reminded recently of a dream i had about my grandmother shortly after moving here. i was riding a bicycle on a dirt road through a field of rolling hills. the light was red, suggesting sunset in the way a staged production of a sunset would look. in fact, it felt very much as though i was riding through some sort of set, like a stageplay of Waiting for Godot. But the road was very dusty and i wasn't on a stage. my grandmother was sitting sideways on the crossbar of the bicycle. she was slumped over, her head against my neck. she was very sick and i was trying to take her somewhere to get help. but i had to stop riding the bicycle because she was too heavy. she became like a big rubber doll, like she had no bones and was full of wet sand. i don't clearly remember anything else about the dream. i think any impressions or feelings i have beyond these images can be attributed to embellishment after the fact. it's pretty hard not to automatically assign the "obvious" meaning to a dream like this one. my grandmother died in the winter of the year i moved away.

hmmmmm.

RIP Susan Sontag. you wrote terrible novels, but everything else you did was pretty good.

glumpy

well thank god that's over with. x-mas wasn't really horrible or anything, it's just that's it's always a bit of a let down. there's too much build up even if you stay outside of the wal-mart/consumerism x-mas vortex.

however, i did get a bottle of crown royal at a gift exchange. thank you baby jesus.

jane says i'm done with sergio/ he treats me like a ragdoll. . .i'm gonna kick tomorrow/ i'm gonna kick tomorrow. . .
i haven't heard that song in ages. the first time i heard it i was in high school and i didn't know anything about what jane's addiction was talking about (or anything else for that matter.) unfortunately, it was one of those meanings i sort of grew into. but only peripherally-- my ex-boyfriend has a bit of a drug problem. every now and then i would meet people, "friends" of his, that would remind me of this song. looking back on those days is not something i do very often-- it makes me feel sick. all that wasted time, all the little compromises i made that eventually turned me into someone else entirely.

i think i should see a horror film tonight. speaking of drugs, i've got some fabulous hash. i called my friend's radio show last night when i was high-- i thought it was funny, but i'm not sure it actually was. i don't remember what i said. possibly something about how pets are like high maintenance room mates. and stuff.

now i have to think of a way to deal with new year's eve.

methamphetamine

i took myself more seriously when i was younger.now i'm less afraid.i feel like a foreigner in this wave of pop culture. watching tv, something i used to take for granted, feels like i'm spying on people. i'm not comfortable with the implication of this feeling today. it's a perverted kind of surveillence-- what's going on out there? i'm farther away from everything than i thought. maybe that's why i moved here.

i'm quite possibly drunk right now.

i hate this christmas. i was so angry today.

none of the words i write look like they're spelled correctly.

i was a better person then

i was a better person when i wasn't watching tv. this morning i saw The Surreal Life. i felt vaguely nauseous and uncomfortable the entire time. that's my review.

i've decided i don't love house sitting as much as i used to. when i was younger, it was fun to get away from my parents and into the city. but now i'm considerably older and i'm in the city of my choice and my whole life is away from my parents. i don't need to escape anywhere. it's no longer novel to live in someone else's house. frankly, it's getting a bit annoying. i found a week's worth of dirty dishes in the dishwasher-- it was fucking gross. moldy, stinky. and the cat litter. i didn't think cat's were capable of turds that size. i want my "bohemian" mattress on the floor, my own closet, and my crazy room mate. i really miss him the most. even though when i stopped by my house the other night i was greeted with "oh, it's you."

stoner's delight

cable tv is gross. i'm house/dog sitting for some friends and what this really means is that i've got access to cable. which is a little bit like crack to me: i don't want to do it, but i can't help it. as soon as i smell cable, i'm gone. at my house we've got fuzzy cbc on a 13 inch tv from 1972. at my temporary digs, i've got a giant tv (with remote!), 74 channels AND a full supply of junk food. in the first 48 hours i ate 97% of the junk food (mostly chocolate) and spent about 73% of my time on the couch breathing through my mouth.

but now it's monday and i'm on the other side of the bender. i feel greasy and bloated. i don't even really like tv. i stopped watching it when i moved up here, about a year and a half ago. maybe i should start writing reviews of the skankiest shit i can find on cable.

stay tuned.

the horror

the more i see photos of serena williams at red carpet events, the more i believe that she is actually a drag queen moonlighting as a tennis player.

Team America: World Police

it was good

assface

I was going to begin this entry with "My room mate can be such an assface sometimes" because I thought he did something inappropriate last night. It turns out I was wrong-- just an innocent mix up this time. I love the man dearly, but we have a bit of a contentious relationship (for reasons I will no doubt get into at some point.) He's a bit of a drama queen. And loud, and some (I, in particular) might say, pompous. And yes, even charismatic (when I'm feeling generous.) On the other hand, I would consider myself a lot more "low-key"-- calm in a "constantly stoned" kind of way. (I'm not constantly stoned, by the way-- only some times.) So we often have difficulty relating to each other-- or in other words, I think he's an asshole. He thinks I'm a slacker (which, for the most part, I can't really deny without losing any credibility I might have.) It bothers me that I'm always so quick to judge him harshly, though. But then again, I'm always the first to defend him. So I guess it balances out.

I'm going to see "Team America: World Police" tonight. I know this title should be in italics or underlined, but I don't seem to have that option. Can anyone help me with this? I'm using a Mac OS, if that makes any difference. It's a very sexy computer, too. Anyway, if I can keep it together long enough tonight I might write a review. That's a big "if," though.

it burns

my friend asked me if i thought i had a drinking problem. valid question, definitely. but i would say it's more like when i drink it sometimes creates problems, which is actually ok with me (for now.) and this is an important distinction. i'm certainly not in the same league as my room mate, who averages a bottle of scotch every other day or so. i just like to get shitfaced every so often (sometimes it's more often than not) and stir things up a bit. that's ok, right? right?

anyway.

i've mentioned previously that i write everything out long hand before i post it to the site, and right now i'm composing on the toilet. this reminds me of a margaret cho special i watched where she does a great bit about shitting herself while driving. something to do with a particularly unhealthy diet. at any rate, it was fucking hilarious because sometimes that happens, you know.

i'm severely hung over today-- thank god i've got a job that generally demands very little of me.

long hand

I got my portrait done today by an amazing textiles artist. She uses an old push pedal sewing machine with thick, ropey thread on canvas. She does a lovely job, and it only takes her about 10-15 minutes. It amazes me, the sureness of the process, the confidence in her ability to create something so original and "beautiful" in such a short time.

Yesterday when I was walking around downtown doing my X-mas shopping, this little round woman grabbed my hand at the crosswalk and asked me to help her across the street because she "didn't want to get killed." Sounded reasonable to me-- I don't want to get killed either. So we went across, holding hands. When we got to the other side, I said "You cool?" She nodded and I said "Thank you." Maybe I'm just ridiculously polite and subserviant, but I probably thanked her because that was the most uncomplicated human interaction I've had in a long time. From out of nowhere I was holding hands with a stranger who wanted my help. No strings attached, just an honest desire for assistance. I suspect her world is a lot scarier than mine, and I was glad it happened to be me standing on the corner just at the moment of whatever inner crisis she was having about getting across the street.

I take too much for granted. After all, I have the luxury of worrying about what people think of me and how and when I'm going to muck around with my neighbour again.

dubonet on ice

unhhh. i drink too much. and that means i do all sorts of stupid things on a regular basis. for example, i get horny. which leads to sometimes hilarious fun, or more often, ridiculous trouble. oddly enough, i'm a fan of both-- getting into trouble keeps my problem solving skills sharp (that way i don't feel like i'm lying when i put "excellent problem solving skills" on my resume.) however, with that said, i have to deal with "icky feelings" and "embarassing situations" from time to time. i don't mind acting like an idiot, i just hate feeling bad about it the next day. i've gotten pretty good at doing away with the morning-after guilts, but every once in a while there's actually a valid reason for feeling like a shithead. like when you're rubbing your crotch against your neighbour's leg and arching your ass into his face in what you think is a titilating, sexy manner. oh yeah, then you try shoving your tongue down his throat. and really all he wants to do is go out with his buddy that he hasn't seen in months-- not deal with the horny, drunk neighbour who wasn't even invited over to begin with. so that's what happens sometimes when i get trashed. it also probably didn't help that that i was indulging in other substances that make me "act funny." but, i was reminded of an important lesson: when someone turns their head away from you when you're trying to kiss them and they laugh indulgently (or was it uncomfortably?) at your sloppy persistence, it actually means they DON'T WANT TO KISS YOU. imagine that. i don't know how i managed to forget that one, but thank god i get drunk often enough to be reminded of these little bits of social etiquette.

i changed the background of my blog. i was trying to get rid of the city and province/territory where i live because i realized it might be pretty easy for people who live here to figure out who i am, which is fine by me, but possibly not for the people i'm going to be writing about. for some reason deleting that info out of my profile wasn't taking it off of the page. anyway, i think this background lacks "panache" so i'll probably go back to the other one again. the excitement never ends. . .

oh mike, that feels really good

I'm only doing this because of breadmaker-- we've even got the same background template (it really is the best one, though.) Blogspot seems like the fast food of self indulgent public expression-- it seems just a bit too easy, you know. But I know very little about blogs or computers or anything to do with information technology, so maybe not. Besides, I can't really judge because I'm too lazy to take the time or make the effort to learn how to build these things myself, so choosing from a limited menu suits me just fine.

I went over to my neighbour's house last night. (We'll call him "Mike".) We finally got it on a few nights ago after months of flirting and innuendo, and I wanted to gauge the "emotional/interactive atmosphere" post drunken screwing around. It seemed ok, I think, but then again I am a poor judge of just about everything, particularly relationships, so who knows. More on this later. . . Anyway, I announced to Mike that I now have a blog. His response was immediate and genuine: Who cares? I was taken aback for about half a second, but then I already knew that he's right-- who cares about anyone else's self absorbed, poorly written thoughts about anything, let alone about the blah, blah, blah of their day to day life? Am I that desperate for validation/recognition that I'm participating in this particular cultural phenomenon/fad just because it's so bloody easy to do? Yes. Besides I'm hoping it might make me a better writer if I know there's a possibility that others have access to it. Plus, feedback from strangers is exciting in a fetish-y kind of way-- for me, that is. I don't know about
you. . .

Another weird thing about having this blog is that I can not compose anything directly with a computer. When I sit down in front of one with the intention of writing, nothing happens. Or at least nothing good happens. I find it intimidating, so I write everything long hand. For example, this posting was written hours ago while I was at work, where I have nothing better to do other than think about myself. I think this blog thing is really going to make me look productive to my employers. I'm liking this more and more. . .