emotionally deficient.

emotionally deficient.

made a dr.'s appointment today for "a talk"... really, i want a referral or something. i'm pretty sure there's more going on in my head than should be considered normal.

the peaks and crashes have been more distinct as of late, and i've been doing some reading... maybe it is just recent events, but i dunno. it feels so unnatural half the time.

wknd.

Ya, so I live right near to the bus terminal for Toronto. Given that, and the fact that one of the largest universities, and the largest mall are a block away, there are many hot dog vendors about. The closest to my house is by the bus terminal, so that is the one I go to when I am hungry like the wolf and lazy like Sunday (and cheap like Silus Stingy).

As I have come to notice, there are two guys who man the stand nearby- a shorter Asian-looking Eastern one, and an older prune-looking Eastern guy. Don't let appearances be deceiving, however, they are both thinking the same thing and it has a lot to do with street meat, but little to do with hot dogs.

Episode number one:
Short Asian-looking Guy (SALG) is there and I order my veggie dog. Thanks, yes I remember you from the other night, cool. Smiles, sunshine, I'm a nice person so friendly faces around. Then as the fake-meat sizzles the question is set loose on the world: "So, do you, ah, think, ahhh... one night I could take a picture with you?"

Me (straightfaced): "Why?"

SALG: "Oh, ah, you know... you're so tall. I would dress nice and we could take a picture, maybe? Yes?

Me (dry): "Maybe... we'll see."

Hotdogcookedokaythanksbye! One of two scenarios popped into my mind involving me in a picture with this man: either he wants to show his family back home his Canadian girlfriend, or he [insert crude reference to wieners here]. Ew.

Okay, fine. He was nice about it, not overly creepy, I would simply say no if he persisted- but he left it alone. Fine.

This morning as I wandered home the grumbling in ma bellay struck again and yes, I was both lazy and cheap once more. It was three thirty and I wanted to sleep and had exactly $2.50 leftover from the night's shenannigans- perfect. I figured I'd give it another go since it would most certainly be Prune Man (PM) manning the stand at this hour, if it was even open. To my delight it was, I approached to find PM cleaning the grill, all condiments packed away, but he was nice enough to relight and cook me one before closing up shop. Awesome!

Or so I thought...

Episode numero deux: As my wiener was being fired I stood there watching it. Usually I wander about, looking inside the bus terminal, checking out the taxis/vultures honking horns for fares, whatever- ut the hunger, my friends, the hunger! I had to watch it cook because everyone knows a watched wiener cooks faster than one that is unwatched. Am I wrong?

PM: "So, where do you live?"

Me (guardedly): "Sort of in the area." (Doesn't need to know I live a few doors down)

PM: "You have a boyfriend?" (wasting no time- those wieners cook fast you know- remember, I am watching it)

Me: "Maybeeeee." (shuffling- hurry up you fucking slow-ass wiener)

PM: "What no boyfriend? No kiss-kiss, hug...?"

Me: "Um..." (turning around to pretend i need to watch something very important in the opposite direction)

PM: "Okay miss." (hands me the hot dog)

Me: "Good night."

So there you have it- two new dating prospects in a matter of a week. Holy fuck am I lucky!

i got a letter from zimbabwe today, it made my day flip. what a great thing to get, to do. i wrote my sponsor child about eight weeks ago and he wrote back via the translator. the stamp reads bulawayo, and reads "standard postage". no specific rate.

also, got a call from a certain van halen show in MN that cut out half way through- but it was still a very good idea on his part! hear hear. it was good here, too.

good mood tonight, imagine...

the walk home.

so, earlier i read this.

and, on my way home tonight, as i got on the streetcar with nary a worry in the world, i realized i forgot to check who was behind me to see what they were wearing.

then i imagined that dude grabbing me, just me, only me out of hundreds! eek!

But what can you do for me? Nothing.

I never understood, rather... never wanted to understand the reasoning behind choosing friends based on what they can do for you. You might say that all friendships are based on selfish reasons, otherwise we'd all be content being 100% alone. Maybe friendships are our way of dealing with the fact that we can never be 100% alone- there are always people around, no matter where you go, so you might as well decide which ones to like and which ones to tar and feather. You must decide which people you can stand having around you and which ones you would rather have wait on the porch.

"Must," one of those words that infers obligation. I must go to work, I must pay bills, I must must must. Really, though, there are no obligations in life only things we should do in order to avoid certain feared consequences. No? I say "we" a lot, but hear me out, I'm pontificating...

The only things we "must" do are those things that will hopefully bring about the desired outcome: sticking it out, walking away, finding a way. If you remove the desire for any outcome, then we must do nothing. You might be thinking that dying would constitute a "must" but it doesn't- the word "must" implies that action will follow, something you have to do- dying, even by suicide, is out of our control therefore we are going to die, but we mustn't. Must is a word that must not exist if we must analyze everything to death.

this blog is breathing its last breath...

a slushee is a very good night cap, in case you were wondering. or perhaps you have tried this delicacy yourself, this cold and sweet and headachey delicacy that isn't really a delicacy at all.

let's talk about overused words and words that imply one thing but really are disappointing in the end.

EXTREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEME! - I am sorry to inform you that a granola bar can neither be extreme nor EXTREEEEEEEEEEEEEME! because it is only a bar shaped snack. it exists, yes, was baked... it might even taste delicious, but you are not evel knievel and it is not a motorcycle. documentary is an ugly business sometimes. Also, pitas. Unleavened bread, definitely not something to compare with riding down a cliffside on a hardtail. In fact, the very idea that this bread doesn't contain yeast should be reason enough to consider it less than standard; it has not risen to the occasion or has it even tried. Extreme pita? MOre like floppy bread-like discus.

Gourmet - Mac & cheese in a box can be gourmet. This is one of those terms, like "haute couture," that can mean anything as long as someone uses it as an adjective. Make sense? It's all relative. This is a pure marketing tactic because they know that in our heads we're thinking that gourmet = superior in quality. You gotta wonder if they mean superior then why don't they say superior? Because we're all sheep, that's why.

Outlet - Carpet outlet, clothes outlet, anger outlet? Yes. If it is something into which another thing can enter, then it is an outlet by definition. Outlet doesn't always mean good prices, sales, or even good merchandise. It is an outlet for manufacturers to place their product, whether that product is excess or not is TBD.

Well this post took a nose dive, so let's talk about the weekend:

Went down to old Hamilton to see the parents and to see Stinky-foo, my one true love. Spent time hangin', chillin', eatin', existin'... thinkin'. Recent events, past events, events to come haunt my mind tonight, as they do every night. Why haunt? Does "haunt" imply a negative train of thought? Am I creating and fulfilling my own prophecy? So many questions for a Sunday, for any day, too many.

i have learned to accept some things in life, the shit you can't change like the feelings of others, or The Way Things Are, but sometimes it's hard. Even possessing the knowledge of what to do in certain situations (having been there more times than i think necessary) doesn't make it easier. There's a line in a Fesit song that says, "The saddest part of a broken heart isn't the ending so much as the start: losing your mind for the sake of your heart." Without a doubt, without any question I can relate to this as we all can, I'm sure. but it's quicksand, a hole in the jungle you didn't see coming until you were up to your nostrils in grit, arms reaching out in search of something to hold onto, something to grab, some solid ground. It is quite sad to think that a broken heart is what is needed to come back to reality, but I don't know sometimes.

in any event, i found my way to the edge again and can say that it is good. muscles are sore, brain is tired, but i can walk and breathe so what's to complain about?

in the past it's been really easy to whine about whatever, write long posts about feeling like ass hoping someone will feel sorry for you, but i hate that game. pity is the most addictive drug and i have seen good lives consumed by it for too long. as much as i do need to share my thoughts and feelings with people, it is never an attempt to gain pity. and as much as my heart is calloused it still beats which means i am still alive which means the dead skin will peel away and rejuvenate and i will be me again.

i don't even know what i'm saying, this post is a trainwreck but i need to write, i need to write... sometimes i just need to write.

here's the thing- i don't know how to talk to people. at least people who wave a rolled up rod to get my attention in the loading dock side of our building.

"Hey, i know you couldn't hear me with the headphones on."

"Cool. So... hi."

"Hi. You're really tall."

"I know!"

"Do you play basketball?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"I'm not a basketball player."

"Oh. I'm a coach of basketball so I always ask when I see tall people [girls]."

"Uhhh, cool. Um, so... like a regional league or high school or...?"

"High school."

"Cool. Ok, see ya."

Then again, do people know how to talk to me? If you start with the basketball question, my brain sorta trails off into white noise for a few minutes.

six feet of rope.

let it be known that i have extremely quick reflexes. many a glass have been saved from their shattered fate due to the efficiency of my synapses. you know who also has quick reflexes? jackie chan, the human who's closest to a superhero, at least he plays one in movies. do you ever imagine yourself doing super hero type stuff with your talents? only, of course, if your talents are those that would actually apply in whatever situation. like when i cross the street and cars approach the corner at high speed, i imagine them not stopping in time and me doing some jackie chan shit like jumping up on the hood and avoiding all injury. this, of course, would lead to nods of approval from strangers and at least one thumbs up or kudos from the driver (after he got over the fact that he urinated his non-scotch guarded seat). woops!

sometimes i actually run right over the top of the car and leap off the back, all while ignoring everyone around me (as per usual) and continuing to work. maybe i should start wearing a cape just in case?

last night i got a library card, perused indigo for books i cannot afford, walked around, then went to the bar with SOME ASSHOLE. this morning was brutal in terms of waking up, and getting to work. one of those "all in one go" type deals. i hit snooze until the very last possible minute, shot outta bed, showered, and left. no time for making stuff- any down time at that point would have meant certain death. strolled to mcducats for a balanced breakfast of burrito, hash brown, and Orange Rind Squeezins™ and was on my murky way.

while walking towards work after traveling to the ends of the earth i was almost hit three times by distracted drivers. nary a foot or an eyebrow was raised.

howie mandel would look much much better with hair and a bald spot than his humpty dumpty pedophile skin cap.

that is all.

it is decided.

tonight i am having mcdonald's for dinner and i don't care!

i'm hungry.

every morning, at an hour too early for proper neural function, hoards of people rush off to do things they hate because they must. does anybody want to be up at 7:45AM hustling across dundas st. like those weirdos in the speed-walking races? probably not. even if you're a morning person, that means sitting around the house and being lazy for a few hours before productivity occurs.

from the day we are born we are slowly (then rather quickly) taught that life means doing a bunch of shit you don't want to do in exchange for a few moments of fleeting happiness. yay. and why are we taught this? because the majority of our parents were taught this- no other reason. it's much easier to continue teaching everyone "life skills with an undertone of complete and utter self-loathing" than to say fuck it, i'll make the extra effort and break the mould.

and i know this because up until this very second, the 6:30 wake-up call, the coffee, the shower, subways, empty faces, shifty eyes, 50% of them sleeping... up until now i am still in the group with the rest of everyone who hates most aspects of 'surviving'.

things we must do to survive should be things we hate... otherwise we'd all make the fucking changeover, wouldn't we? oh yes we would, precious.

in reality, if i let myself go, i'd probably just find every which way to be passive and let life swoosh on by with nary a nail lifted. and while i understand that accomplishing things is what brings those instances of sunshine, the brief moments of light and warmth, isn't that just another thing we're taught? is this really the formula for living, are these the secrets we should all know that come from The Wise Ones?

is this diatribe just an excuse for me to be lazy?

within me is a bunch of blood and guts.

flip. today i finally got up and did stuff. yesterday was a write off including: a pizza for breakfast, lunch, dinner; red wine; roaches; what felt like total despair; a two hour walk from broadview station to queen across king then back home; a chocolate ice cream cone; skor bar.

today started off with remnants of yesterday/friday's fowl mood. absolutely fowl, like rotting chicken drumsticks in a garbage can- not that i know what that smells like. but i whipped myself today for it- fuck off is what i told my brain and i started cleaning. first the kitchen, my dishes, then sweeping up the dust that has been making me sneeze and cursing the broom for being so sticky with dust bunnies. i ventured out in the mid afternoon to find feminine napkins (hahaha), a folder for organizing bills, and some cranberry juice for mix.

i tossed all my roaches and ashes in the garbage along with the notion that i will not be buying pot for a while. though i know the past few days/week/weeks have had more to do with me, life, happenings, and the like- i still think it would have been more manageable were i not completely useless, too. 100% death of creativity. 100% death of ambition. 100% rise in the consumption of baked treats. no dice.

today is ok. today is better than this morning. maybe i will go see someone play tonight? maybe not.

i was interviewed this afternoon by the same girl i am collaborating with. well, "interview"... she asked me a lot of questions about photography, methods, processes (that's PRO-CESS-EEEEES, like your university prof would say, emphasis on the "EEEE"), and dark room subject matter. i answered what i could and told her i had non memory of other things.

if only i could forget the things i wished and not a completely random scattering of possibly useful information.

anyway...

this is hilarious. one hunnah pah-cen' marketing drivel.

As a Mac Specialist you're at the core of a customer’s experience at the Apple Store. Today's Mac Specialists continue to fuel Apple's retail success–and pioneered the retail revolution establishing the Apple Store's reputation for extraordinary service. Are you ready to join the history-making, record-breaking Mac Specialist team?

A candidate we’ll love:

• You have retail experience.
• You provide complete sales solutions for every customer.
• You love Apple technology.
• You have the potential to develop the retail sales and customer service skills that are the heart and soul of the Apple Store.
• You think quickly on your feet.

A position you’ll love:

• You translate “techno-speak” into layman’s terms.
• You inspire a whole new generation of Apple addicts.
• You protect assets through loss prevention awareness.
• You provide complete sales solutions for every customer.

Get paid to enrich people’s lives:
A job at the Apple Store is a chance to use your hands and heart. To use your knowledge and experience. To contribute meaningfully to people's lives through Apple technology.

A chance to delight. Impress. Engage. Inspire.

Are you ready to join the retail revolution?

from you know where.

enrich people's lives, alright then chief. remember those campaigns for a "civic nation" and how everyone thought it was pretty stupid (aside from the people they were mocking)? but how so many people are completely sucked into this Apple Lifestyle™ thing and think it is most intelligent above all else? above all else like 8-inch high lego spoilers & ground lights? and how we're all hypocrites so who really gives a shit?

shut up.

THE PEOPLE UPSTAIRS ARE SO FUCKING LOUD! they walk around like elephants thud thud thud, then they play the same music over and over thud thud thud. it's been over an hour now... my head is 'splodin'.

bla bla bla bla bling bla.

mood flipped today, debbie downer mode has taken over, at least for now. later tonight is comedy night so that should prove to help the situation. laying off the pot for a while again, i really don't know how people smoke it incessantly without breaks... i think i'd kill myself if i did. after a week or two, total depression and we're reaching that mark.

so i'm thinking i need to make myself a schedule and promise that i will stick to it. at least to start. i am a person who, without fences, will run around forever and never get anything done. and i'm not talking rat race shit flinging, i mean anything. things that make me happy get neglected if i am not careful and the vicious cycle continues.

i am sipping on Office Coffee™. it is instant with powdered creamer & two sugar cubes- tastes similar to rubber, but just coffee-like enough to make it palatable. plus it's chock full o' caffeine, though i am taking cold pills and a singular allergy pill every morning, so i'm not sure how the caffeine is interacting with the pseudoephedrine sulfate, but i anticipate sexy results.

i bought this box of claritin-D at a wal-mart superstore in rice lake, wisconsin. we were on our way to the cabin on deer lake and my nose had been itching so i took precautions. first off: wal-mart superstore in small town america. it's quite depressing to actually see a town where local stores barely exist because of the monster, and doubly so when you have to shop there out of necessity. shop or starve.

secondly, in the states they're so anti-drugs it makes my eagleheart soarrrr. except it's all complete and utter bullshit, but nonetheless since pseudoephedrine sulfate is used to make meth, you have to register your decongestant purchase with a driver's licence. furthermore, they do not accept foreign licences! so if i were unable to breath and needed to decongest my chest (i hear a song in there) i would have to suffer had i not a friend with a US licence. gay.

that said, the pills aren't doing much for my mood or for my cold, though they used to... maybe i'm just too much of a dope fiend for them to work? or maybe i'm not and maybe it's not a cold, maybe it's the little fantasia men chipping away at my nasal passages...

heh.

snark. like, whoa.

i forgot to mention that, on saturday as i was coming home from the bro's place, a man stopped an older chinese lady for directions. she wasn't of much help, as i overheard, so i stopped and told the guy exactly where to go. he wanted the bus terminal and she was pointing towards the ttc/subway. just a matter of language barriers, but i felt i should send him in the right direction.

nonetheless, i couldn't help thinking it might have been jerkish to cut off the lady mid-explanation... though... maybe not.

wknd.

sunday found me in bed until almost-noon again. after last night's van halen concert i was on such a high, what a great show. it was immediately worth the ticket price as soon as evh played the first couple riffs of "you got me".

today amidst finishing up the movie i started on friday and watching some south park, i've edited some more photos for my site, coming soon. just cracked a bottle of wine my brother gave me. one of two since him and my sister in law don't like red- he had a stockpile. score.

this whole weekend's been a blur starting with gorilla monsoon patio freakery and the musical stylings of dave. some jock who kept givin'er and being obnoxious finally gave the "quieter" hand gesture towards lisa when she laughed aloud. she made fun of his inability to speak and he was all "that girl's an asshole," and then they left shortly thereafter. wuh wuh.

needless to say saturday was a lazy day, up until 4:30 when i ventured out to meet up with my brother and his wife for turkish pizza in the east end. we ordered a chicken and a sausage pizza and shared it amongst ourselves, amazing. then we went back to their place to watch the leafs game and be bored by it until the last five minutes. they won but it was a sleeper.

after there i swung home to pick up a couple things & change my shirt, then met up with raymi, jamie, and phil at the karaoke place. what ensued may or may not have included a collapsible frisbee. we left around two said our "see ya later"s and "nice to meet you"s and i ended up just walking home since transit shut down. was foggy, jack-the-ripper-in-london foggy... somehow enticing.

pizza party @ 5.

i was just in the shower and i heard thudding and scraping. i figured it was the restaurant people who usually make a racket in the alley behind our apartment, but no. thunder! lightning! nature's metal show. mano cornuta to the heavens.

there's this hole in the bathroom door, a tiny one, the size of a nail, but through it you can see light on the other side. around the hole is a wee bit of fraying of the wood, and there's maybe been two instances where i pulled back the curtain and didn't think it was some sort of insect. every time those trickster holes-in-your-door. i guess the last guys didn't know a 4 inch nail would put a hold right through a 3 inch door. math is for poseurs anyway.

now i sit here, post shower, post dishes, a coffee thinking about the new percolator i have to buy since my apparently non-tempered bodum just cracked a chunk of glass off the top. always with the balancing out of stuff in life- the coffee i am using i got at harbuckle's for half price when they accidentally ground a whole pound. it seamed like a deal until This Fateful Day™ when i would have to spend the money that i previously saved.

that being said, it is important to always remember that events may or may not occur tonight that may or may not be blogged about tomorrow.

On the way back into the bowels of the city via the bowels of the city I saw a man. He was an older man wearing safari shorts, a fishing hat, and golf shirt avec shoulder bag. As I glanced up and down the subway car, not giving a shit on this particular evening about who I stared at, stared down, or really giving any shit as to what I was doing... I saw him sitting way down the car.

He had on sunglasses, too.

Something in my brain clicked when I looked for the second time- about the right age, size, height, right amount of baldness, everything: this was Hunter S. Thompson.

For the whole ride I swore it was him and made up an entire scenario whereby he'd faked his suicide and was now travelling around undetected, except by me, for I am the only one who'd be able to pick him out of a crowd (especially given that I've never met him). Me only me, and yes it was him. No question.

Then I closed my eyes for a few to wash away the world for a few and, upon reopening them, saw that he'd taken off his sunglasses.

Along with the image of his stupid eyes came the shredding of my fantasy.

~fin~

the void.

that time betwixt waiting for your brother to call so the party can begin (PARTY! WOO!), and when you get home from work. i am choosing tonight to fill it with vodka, post-crackers-and-margarine vodka. life is good even when you spend your money primarily on...

so lisa's home and we're having quesadilla night which means cheese melted over something, but it's the cheese part that matters most so who cares, really. melt cheese over anything and i'm there- bonus points if i have to scrape it off the plate with my fork, but minus points if i can't get it all off the plate with my fork (what a waste of cheese, assholes).

i've been getting shove-y and shit lately on the subway and in public in general. not asshole-shove-y, but you-deserve-it-shove-ey because some people really do require an elbow in their ribs to realize moving might be acceptable. it may not be okay for you to stand directly behind me, our asses merely three inches away from touching, when the bus is empty. did these people evolve without brain stubs? maybe they are members of the secret ass rubbing society which thrives on touching the asses of strangers in a not-so-secret way.

this post utilized a lot of hyphens. you're welcome.

culinary accomplishments.

tonight i made a box of mac and cheese (healthy eater's choice of the year). half way through i realized i had no milk, so i put in some cream cheese and a bit of water- it was very good, to say the least. ahhh.

most paranoid statement ever uttered in an attempt to sound serious then bursting into laughter...

people who don't know stoned don't scare me. it's the ones who know... frightening.

KNOW YOUR DOPE FIEND. YOUR LIFE MAY DEPEND ON IT! You will not be able to see his eyes because of Tea-Shades, But his knuckles will be white from inner tension and his pants will be crusted with semen from constantly jacking off when he can't find a rape victim. He will stagger and babble when questioned. He will not respect your badge. The Dope Fiend fears nothing. He will attack, for no reason, with every weapon at his command-including yours. BEWARE. Any officer apprehending a suspected marijuana addict should use all necessary force immediately. One stitch in time (on him) will usually save nine on you. Good luck.

fuzz'bum!

my bestest fwend.

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