Seriously.
My next set is going to be all Bullshit Rodeo.
I know, I have two sets kicking around that I haven't done anything with yet.
Shut up about those.
I'll come back to them after this.
Because it's just too brilliant.
Seriously.

I haven't been replying to any messages.
Incase you hadn't noticed.
I haven't been online much the past little while.
Everytime I login to anything, I just look at numbers and leave with the vague intention of replying to everything the next time.
Which just doesn't happen.

If you want something from me, the only way to get it is to track me down yourself.
You can't email me or call me.
You can't ask to make arrangements with me.
You just have to go.
Find me.
This applies to everyone I know, so don't feel like it's just you.
You that sent me a million messages in the past two weeks.
Asking for another set.
Wanting to take me out for drinks.

Just get over here already.

I need something to replace my 4:20 entry.
Because it's not 4:20 anymore.

Right now, I am wearing black socks with pictures of bright green pot leaves all over.

Fuck, what is wrong with me?!

Oh hey, if you were on the SG chat with me a while ago and heard me talking to my cousin about me being on tv, I am going to be on tv.
I don't know when yet or what channel.
They were filming again today.
When I find out the details, I will tell everyone.
Because this show is going to be rad.

Ballin'.

Shit, I want to write about something funny.
But I can't think of anything.



Oh well.

Well happy 4:20 kids!!!!!!!



That doesn't mean much to me and I kind of feel bad for saying it. I'm not at the VAG right now blazing with my friends. I'm not stoned right now. I have no desire for weed at all right now.
I feel like a failure.

I live in fucking B.C. I love our weed, it's fuckin great.
But I don't feel like I need to run out to the Art Gallery right now.
I don't feel like I need to call someone and get some weed.

I seriously really need to call someone and pickup. But not that.

After all these chemicals, how can you still get excited about smoking a joint?
I mean, I'll do it. I did just a few days ago. But I don't really care.
And I don't understand how my other chemical-tainted friends can still freak out about it.


I am a fucking failure.

Shit, what's wrong with me?


I'm sorry.
Hope you're chonged out of your mind, having a great time with all your friends.

I'm going to go all Elizabeth Wurtzel and lay around all afternoon, then start making desperate phone calls.
Yeah, that's a great way to spend 4:20





Sometimes, I am really disappointed in myself.

I'm trying to think of another good drinking story,
There are a lot of pretty shitty ones.

Um... well last night was cool. Went out and chilled with everyone. The place was absolutely packed though. People I hadn't seen in ages. And by the time I went outside to say hi, everyone was too drunk/stoned to be all "Oh my god!!! how are you?!" but there were lots of hugs.

Some shit was going down and there were a bunch of little girls that I don't like. All my buddies' girlfriends. So I was trying to leave. But this one girl ran up to me with some friend of hers and starts explaining "Oh my god, this girl and I go waaaaay back." and I told her friend "Yeah, we were in Girl Guides together." then her friend was all "Hi, I'm so-and-so." and hugged me. Which was a little weird because we didn't know each other. Though she did seem vaguely familliar to me. We probably went to high school together.
But like I said, everyone was too drunk/stoned to realize what was going on with anyone else.

Awesome.

I was up on the roof for most of the night. And in the bathroom with three of my boys.
Stayed away from the big crowd of people down around the bonfire.
They were throwing ice cubes up at me and my boys.

It was hilarious.

Good times had by all, I'm sure.

Cats make their own vitamin C!!!
I wish I could do that.

Anyway, I wanted to come blog about the time I got hauled out of a bar in Alberta.

I lived in Grande Prairie for a while. In this sick little suburban hell hole with nothing to do. There was a park behind our house. A gas station and liquor store about a 15 minute walk from the house. Less if you cut through the park.
So usually, a few of us would walk to the liqour store and go drink in the park.
Oh, that just reminded me of the Infamous Boxing Day Gong Show. That's another story.
It's Alberta though, so anywhere around -15 felt like a good day.
Once, I convinced the usual suspects to come out on a pub crawl. Barhopping. That was pretty fun. We met a lot of people along the way and ended up with maybe 20 something people. And we had started out with three.




So this night, we went to the liquor store, drank, stumbled into the gas station all hammed, and called a cab.
I think there were four of us. Yeah. Me, my boys, and the girl who's bed was next to mine. Can't name names. Just incase.

So we got in the cab to go to Rock City ((which used to be the Corral)) because the three of them had been before and liked it. I was always at Maddhatters so they wanted to take me to this other place for a change.
I had a Coldshot in each pocket still. In the cab, we heard this crash and got all confused. Then I realized it was one of the Coldshots that had fallen out of my pocket.
We got there probably around 11pm.
At Rock City, I didn't put my jacket in coat check. I went to the bathroom with my girl. We squeezed into the same stall and had a conversation in French about the boys while I drank.
We went out to the table where the guys were. Had some drinks. I was bored and they kept saying "Just wait, things will pick up in like an hour."
And this went on for an hour.
So I left them and went to a table near the dance floor where four 20-ish guys were sitting.
They bought me drinks, took pictures of me with their cell phones, and kept saying "Just wait."
So probably, another hour passed.
I went out for a smoke.
There was a hole in my pocket and my lighter had fallen out into the lining of my jacket. But I had no idea. So this guy let me use his lighter. He tried to talk to me, but I was speaking slurred French. He and his friends left.
I felt pretty out of it so I leaned against the wall. Then kind of slid and sat there smoking.
Some people came by and offered me weed but I tried to tell them I was already too fucked up. I think I may have been speaking French because they left and blazed with some other girl.
A while later, one of my boys came outside and didn't seem to surprised to see me sitting there in a drunken stupor. He picked me up, walked me back inside to our table, where I promptly vomitted on the floor. Not a lot though. I hadn't really eaten anything that day. Not a big deal.
I have a bit of a track record, being the one person out of eleven to get WAAAAAY too fucked up and puke. I think everyone was tired of looking after me. But I probably would have died if they hadn't. And I redeemed myself at the Gong Show.
So my girl took my to the bathroom so I could throw up. She left to get me some water and all sorts of preppy girls in mini skirts and tube tops were cramming their skinny bodies into the stall, asking repeatedly if I was okay.
I swore in French.
My girl came back with water, took my jacket and made me drink. Then there's suddenly all this screaming like women on tv do when they see a mouse.
The Barbie dolls were freaking out because two security dudes came in to take me away.
As we were walking to the door, I had to stop ond throw up in the sink.
Then one of them actually picked me up and carried me out of the bar.
It was about 2 am at this point.
They had a cab waiting for me and my housemates and they were going to pay for it for us. Which was awesome because we always split fare and one of the boys decided to stay behind so we didn't have enough money between the three of us.
I was sitting in the cab while my poor Quebecois housemates worked things out with the security guards.
I threw up a little bit in the cab.
And then outside the cab.
And I think probably some more when we all got home.

In the morning, I quite literally rolled out of bed. I was standing in a pile of shoes and jackets my housemates had discarded beside my bed. I had on the same jeans and halter top ad the night before. My hair was a tangled mess and I had panda-esque circles of eye makeup around my eyes.
With only a vague, blurry recollection of what I was out doing all night.
Standing there, trying to make sense of it all, I noticed two other female housemates sitting on the couch in our little living room kind of area.
They were both watching me, smiling a little.
They had both looked after me on various ocassions in Nova Scotia when I threw up on our bedroom floor. I think they were probably glad they didn't go out with me that night.
I stumbled across the room to go upstairs and told them "Yeah, you know it's been a good night when you wake up in the morning wearing last night's clothes and having no clue what happened."
I have a lot of good nights.


I just realized, I have to go to work in the morning.
Goodnight kids.

x

Alright kids.
This poem is a big fucking deal.
A bunch of teachers took it from me and used it as examples of "good work" in their writing classes. This was the one that got everyone's attention. The one that gave me the chance to have my own book instead of putting my art into a collective piece.



Future?

Glass shatters against writhing corpses.
Starving dogs suck marrow
From the bones of children.
Bloodies jaws snarl and froth.
As ribs unknit audibly.
Beneath a seething skin,
Lymph coagulates lovingly.
A heart stops beating.
Bare feet scorch on hot asphalt.
The smell induces vomitting.
Blood and bile marble on sidewalks.
Crimson is everywhere.
The silence whispers distant gunshot.
Like cold teeth chattering.
An infant lays convulsing in the yellow grass.
Dog with open sores, infected mass, appraoches.
Bones snap against yellow teeth.
Blood spurts.
A young chest heaves once, mouth gaping.
The innocent eyes roll white.
Like a calf abandonned in fecal wastes.
It's back legs bending backwards.
It struggles and cries out.
A bolt slams through it's skull and it falls.
Brain tissue spatters.
To be gobbled up by its siblings.
Pearly bone fragments dripping sputum.
Spinal fluid beverage.

Oh, alright.
Well, thanks for all the messages reguarding my last blog entry.
I'm a little surprised that so many of you thought that was some high-quality writing.
You do know I was being bummed out and drinking alone all night, right?
I have a book in the midst of being published. I should probably email the dude that set that up and see what's going on. Because I kind of abandonned it without word and, you know, fucked off to travel the country and kill all my brain cells.
I write. And it even impresses me sometimes when I come back and read it.
Poetry and short stories.
If you want a taste, let me know.

Anyway, enough of that shit. I wanted to post another memory for you to read and think about. It took me a while to decide what would be fun to share, and found one of the very few light-hearted good times that I still recall now and then.

Halloween 2006

I dressed up as Courtney Love.



It was possibly the best Halloween costume EVER. If you don't think about that hilarious "packaging kink", the fact that the boots I was wearing were kind of too small, and the whole point of this blog - which I will get to in a minute.

(("You have a packaging kink." "Courtney Love IS a packaging kink!!!"))

A lot of people thought I was dressed as trailer trash or some kind of crack whore ((only the die-hard Nirvana fans knew right away what this was supposed to be, and they snickered when trailertrash-crackwhore-Courtney comments were made)).
So one of my Nirvana buddies and I were walking somewhere when we came across a small cluster of our friends. Walking down the stairs, I flung my arms out, did a drunken stumble for effect, and asked in a slurred drawl "Who am I?!"
The people facing my friend and I stared for a moment. Then, like something out of a movie, they backed away to reveal a friend of mine that I nicknamed Kurt (('cause he looked like Kurt Cobain, a lot)).

"COURTNEY LOVE!!!" he yelled, stepping toward me with arms outstretched.

He was wearing a hostpital gown.
And had a syringe taped to the inside of his arm.

"KURT!!!" I exlaimed, completely surprised.

We had no clue at all how the other person was going to dress. It was just a fucking awesome coincidence. I left a smeary red lipstick kiss on his cheek, and a few people took pictures of us standing together.
And that was that.
We went our seperate ways.



No, but really, the whole point of this entry is what happened later that night.
When I went out trick-or-treating with my then boyfriend.

((You know, you're pretty stupid if you don't do all this Halloween shit. I mean, you get to dress up, act all crazy, and run around collecting free candy!!! That's the best fucking idea ever!!! I'm going to keep going out trick-or-treating until I can no longer physically make it outside.))

Okay, so my boy and I were out getting our candy, I've got this silky skimpy slip thing on, knee-high boots that are too small, and this thin plaid sweater.
It's cold out.

We decided to hit up this cul de sac and then go home. At one house, this dude gave me some candy, and then said "Lookin' good."
I thought he liked my costume.
I was mistaken.

The next few houses, people there gave us weird looks.
And as we went to leave the cul de sac, I realized I had a "wardrobe malfunction" that must have happened around the time that dude said I looked good.
He didn't mean my costume.


Ah, I can't wait for next Halloween.

The one night stand that changed it all....

Okay, maybe this is the vodka talking, I probably shouldn't be posting this, and you probably shouldn't be reading it, but it seems important to me right now.

When I lived in Alberta, my housemates and I spent a weekend in Edmonton. We stayed in a hostel near Whyte Avenue. That's your first clue. Apparently this place is notorious for, well, being like Hastings in Vancouver. If you don't get the refference then too bad for you.
Anyway, I can't really remember what was going on, but I think this was the night we all went and wandered Whyte Ave, checking out the clubs and shit. One of my housemates and I were hanging out in this place called the Funky Buddha. Coat check was upstairs and when we were coming back downstrais, there were these two guys looking at me. My housemate wanted to go off and dance, so I went to talk to these guys. They were going on about how awesome I was, buying me drinks, it was cool. Then at around 2 am things started winding down. My housemate was all "Let's go back to the hostel." but I went with these guys to their apartment around the corner.

Oh no!! Bad idea!!!!

Shut up.

I remember one of them was telling me they were from Ontario. Their car still had the Ontario plates on it. Anyway, he went to his room. I guess, yeah, it was his apartment. The other guy was just his friend.
So I ended up chillin in the living room with the friend. Drinking beer and kind of - okay, really - screwing around. I was kind of sprawled out on the couch, drinking beer, saying something about how I should go chill with the other guy for a bit, and this dude starts telling me that I shouldn't feel like I need to screw around with people just 'cause they buy me drinks. I shouldn't compromise myself, and all this. It was pretty intense, and he was right about it all. He told me he had an 8 year old daughter, se he's a little defensive about girls. And apparently his friend was kind of a jerk.

I ended up going into this jerk's bedroom. And yeah, he was kind of a jerk. I fell asleep in his bed and in the morning I was like "Shit!!! How do I get back to the hostel?!" and he was all "I have to go to work." so the other guy walked me back to the hostel. We were talking and he was really nice and I'm actually kind of sad that what I've written here is pretty much all I remember about him.

I met up with my housemates. We were standing in the snow outside the hostel, I wanted to have a smoke but discovered those guys had taken both of the lighters I had in my pockets. There was an almost new pack of smokes in there. A bunch of $20 bills. And they took my lighters.
I was pissed, but one of my housemates gave me his lighter. And the fact that mine were gone seemed to enforce everything that guy had said to me the night before.

Looking back, I sometimes think both those guys were just drunken assholes. But I like holding on to the delusion that the one guy really cared about me for a while. And I like to think he really was right about it all.

So there's something that crosses my mind everytime I meet a guy at a bar.