bag lady thoughts

le sigh, I am torn. I have an obscene amount of homework due over the course of the next two weeks and yet instead of working away at the little bits, all I want to do is go to Whyte Ave or Downtown and take an obscene amount of pictures.

See the problem is this: I have been deprived of a camera for far too long, I miss photography and yearned for it. The best part is that I have been housebound for most of the weekend so almost all of my pictures are of me posing in several manners. Pathetic indeed.

Clearly, I am in a bit of a rut in my personal life . . . this whole antisocial bit is wearing thin. Normally, I like being alone but lately I just feel lonely. It's weird that I can sometimes feel myself shinking into my thoughts, like they will overtake me and I can't communicate outside of myself. I dunno, I just have felt weird lately. Also, I'm starting to be concerned that the older I get the more painfully self-aware I will become. I'll become an introverted bag lady wallowing in the constantness of her own situation.

I think that's what has been bothering me lately, I'm worried the longer I'm in school the more confined I will be to the inner sanctum of my thoughts. That somehow outside of the world of academia, I will fail to communicate with others except those that knew me long before or those who are willing to discuss issues of development in the Third World. That, or I just need to get out of the bloody house.

Clearly, I'm just wigging out. Hallo moodiness!! All I need is a pair of black-rimmed glasses to go with my temperment and I could be emo . . . that, my brothers, sent an icy chill down my spine.

colonial conquests of the chest

My camera's triumphant return!!!

So apparently The Full Monty is nowhere to be found around town so I have decided to fill my evening with my other middle-aged love . . . Bill Murray. Oh how I adore him so. So I'm off to watch Broken Flowers (a Jerry pick) followed by Season 1 of Kids in the Hall. All the talk of it made me wants me some KITH, it's like sweet, sweet crack!

indeed old bean

I think I am going to rent The Full Monty tonight and rock out to middle age men shaking it just for me!! Amazing!! Then it's homework times abounds for the weekend . . . you are so jealous!

a marathon of fear

Ahhh I just had a refreshing ranty goodtime on WebCT. I dashed the dreams of some incredibly idealistic fool from my history class . . . ha! I am clearly the master of funk and evil!! Tomorrow will also hold such goodtimes as I'm fairly certain the person of whom I tore to tiny verbal shreds sits directly beside me. Neat!!

As well, the day will hold yet another amazingly awkward moment in Tory Breezeway. This is mostly due to the fact that I am an autistic git that is pretty much ALWAYS noisy/socially inept. I have a break before my Scottish History of class of which I spend like a nerd, sitting lamely waiting in the hallway outside my class, waiting for the opportunity to enter the room and claim my rightful spot . . . third row, third seat in. Always and forever. The small space is perpetually filled with awesome losers like myself. That, and painfully obvious silence.

When put in such a situation, I have a small nagging sensation to end the silence . . . unfortunetely, it is in the most inapproperiate way. Namely, I feel like putting on my Sunday best and running around screaming ERADICATOR where ever the silence lurks.

ERADICATOR!!!!

captain, my captain

So today was pretty much brilliant! I went to my scary intense PolySci course, of which, I followed up with cappuccinos with The Schmeltrex at Leva. It was goodtimes scheming up how I am going to corrupt her hypothetical mole-sized children. Namely, I would preach communism to the wee bits and follow through with my musky sweater plan of yore. Ohh yes, that stench is certainly the musk of an unhappy childhood!!

I followed up the sweater corruption coffee vignette with a caffiene-buzzed jaunt down Whyte Ave . . . it was happiness abounds as it was sweater weather. That's my most favoritest weather of all!! The greatest part of the trip was the miracle sweater that I picked up for 4 flippin' dollars at Divine. It's navy and red with brass achor buttons. IT'S A CAPTAIN'S SWEATER!! When I walk the street wearing this sweater people will call out "Cappy"!! And I will reply with a grin and a hardy bark to swob the muthafucking deck.

TO DA MOON!!

ohhhh nelly

So I haven't been posting much . . . or at all lately. Don't get me wrong my brothers, it's not for a lack of love for blogging and goodtimes, it's just the life of a shut-in isn't all that exciting. Literally, I've pretty much done nothing all week, the exception being Bak Hauk goodtimes with Tony last night. It was goodtimes abounds especially since the lady beside us kept eavesdropping and then proceeded to talk about internet porn! Honestly, if you are going to be a wretched git and listen in, be less obvious!! Or else Ima start fucking cutting things!!!

le sigh. Isolation has made me bitter and violent . . . ha! That can only be a sign of good things to come. Maybe I'll leave the house and do something today, I'll come back with stories to please the masses!!

Monday is soon to rear it's ugly head. Egads. I rarely mention politics on this blog for a specific reason: this is my escape, politics is my everyday at school and this is my happy reprive. But, my oh my, I can hardly contain myself. Educate yourself for fuck sake!!

welcome to lameville

So, I have been enjoying quiet tranquility these past couple of days. Namely, I have been going to my classes, enjoying the academic goodtimes and then coming home to indulge in fun things like cooking and sewing. I'm trapped in the dollhouse . . . oh nerd!!

Seriously, I'm starting to really love the whole cooking thing, strangeness abounds as me and cooking have been pretty much at odds since the massive finger cutting debocale of '02. But I'm making things that taste good AND not slicing myself in the process!! Smashing success! As well, my stomach has decided to hate all things animal related, aka milk, butter, and cheesy, cheesy goodness . . . so cooking is now a survival mechanism or horrible death. Yesterday, curry almond vegan burgers, today miso soup and coconut curried veggies with jasmine rice . . . tommorow the world! HA!

The whole domestic good things has been part of an awesome promise myself to fulfil my times with more creative or neat things. I'm fighting for my muthafucking right to party with my sewing machine or whatevs. Fuck you, you're jealous!

Anyways, goodtimes await!! Peace out bitches.

laps for clap

ohhh I think I have a friggin stomach ulcer. Of course, I have managed to convince myself it has formed out of the regrets and lost dreams that I repress deep within myself. Naturally, stress and massive alcohol consumption would have absolutely nothing to do with the burning leason of death.

Fuck you broken dreams of pain! FUCK YOU STOMACH!

rock out with your cock out

Hallo my lovely brothers. Oh ho ho, let me tell you about the indie rock disco. It's quite simple in fact: there was no indie, very little rock but a whole lot of muthafucking disco. Amazing!! The breakdown of my birthday evening goes as follows:

It all begin with dressing up smeltrex as an indie hipster. Myself and B had delighted in the fact that schmel has little visual conception of what indie is and naturally since we were going to the indie rock disco I demanded that she dress indie. Ohh my brothers, what fun! My and B were like maniac little fasionistas with a vision, and schmel was nothing but a trooper. The end result was friggin amazing! Wife beater, pearls, newsboy cap and grandma sweater, oh my!

Then the predrinking began. After the crack of the bottle, I felt it necessary to arm schmel with the proper indie attitude now that the outfit was complete. Oh ho ho, we practiced looking generally disinterested with the world for a good solid hour. HOLYPISS!!

After the drinking drunk goodtimes we were off to embrace the night and to dance our little feets off. We got at the indie rock disco at about ten and with tripidation we walked through the doors only to be greeted by a cheesy 80s song. Naturally we asked to pay the four dollar cover I demanded that birthday girls do not pay dammit! Yes, birthday attention whore awesomeness. The radtacular behaviour of demanding free drinks/free attention/free anything because of my birthday situation continued throughout the night.

The disco itself was pretty much empty and those filling room were gay men, a few couples and one cougar . . . so basically the recipe for awesomeness! Me et al. sat with in a booth listening to Madonna pour out of the speakers followed up by Groovers in the Hall . . . it was the music of bad wedding receptions and high school dance parties. It was a disco of LIES AND DECEPTION! But naturally with enough rum to give me superhuman strengths, we hit the floor.

At any point there would only be 4 people on the dance floor at anytime . . . it's an intimidating space, especially when you are one of the four. Whatevs I say!! The dancing ensued and oh my it pretty much didn't stop until my calves screamed in pain and schmel was molested by one of the few straight guys we managed to find. As we were preparing to leave my most favorite person in the world came to say goodbye: it was the cougar!!

Her name was Lynn and I love her because we schmel told her it was my birthday in the gross little bathroom she turned to me with beady eyes . . . and then proceed to rap 50 cent to me. The accoustics of the space where fucking awesome for such a moment!! Everytime she saw me on the dance floor, she proceeded to rap ol' 50 to me. Amazing! At the end of the night, Lynn's speech was significantly slurred so the impact of her speech was slightly lost.

"It's your 21st birthday. You live the year with no regrets because you're 21. You live."

And with that she staggered off into the night . . .

TO DA MOON!

lameness abounds!!

Tomorrow is my 21st birthday.

Birthdays are a weird time for me as I always get really bugged out about strange things. I start thinking about the year in retrospect and start to get the wiggins. I hate thinking about all the opportunities or hopes or whatevs I had about my 20th year and how clearly fucked it up. It's stupid stuff like wasting a day watching TV when I should have been doing something creative or retarded or not calling a friend on their birthday. Or something less lame and introspective.

Fuck that. The truth is, my birthday just a way for me to force people around me to give me constant attention. It's a quasi-legit excuse for my needy love mongering. Honestly, I act all embarassed when people ask me about my birthday but really I want them to tell me over and over how fucking cool I am! I loves it!! On your birthday the conversion should exclusively involve the birthday girl/boy and nothing else as it all sullies the importance of their day. I love it so much I try to expand it as much as possible by including a pre-birthday, birthday, post-birthday and faux birthday goodtimes . . . oh yes, it's fun and goodtimes abounds for like a solid week.

Oh yes, I put way too much emphasis on birthdays but it's the one day a year I have to be an outlandish pig about my attention needs.