Tonight, while doing the dinner dishes (the last of my pseudo-fried-rice....rice, fried up with an egg, some zucchini, broccoli, green onion, ginger, garlic, spinach, soy sauce, hot chili flakes and a bit of peanut butter--YUM) I turned on the garbuerator.
And it made a noise like a screaming rodent being hit with a golf club, and ejected liquid and solid groditude* all over the sink, the counter, the dishcloth, and of course me, and my favouritest t-shirt (the teen girl squad one that says "I have a crush on ever y boy!" on the back--it is grotesquely snug, but I love it so). When I managed to stop the garbuerator and pull out the spoon that was in there being mangled and chomped. it occurred to me that that is pretty much just the kind of day I had (aside: ew, my roommate** just came out of her room with her flavour of the week, clad only in his man-gonch, and they went to the freezer where they proceeded to apply mini-freezies to his nipples and saunter back bedroomward. Ahhh! Mes yeux, mes yeux!). I am glad it is (well past) bedtime.
Tomorrow after work I head off to Vancouver to attend the heart clinic with my parents and find out more about my mom's heart. It is a sobering thought that this one fist-sized, fragile, fluttering thing, like a baby bird tucked away inside the person I love best in the world, is in danger, and is responsible for my mother living or dying. One day she could just stop...like a wind-up toy suddenly slowing and freezing in mid-motion. And that day, suddenly, realistically, could be not so far away.
Please, please cross your fingers for good news. I'm a bit scared.
Back in a few days.
xox
*groditude noun: that which is grody. Pertaining to grode.
**Only......*whips off shoes*....25 more sleeps til bye-bye roommate !
And it made a noise like a screaming rodent being hit with a golf club, and ejected liquid and solid groditude* all over the sink, the counter, the dishcloth, and of course me, and my favouritest t-shirt (the teen girl squad one that says "I have a crush on ever y boy!" on the back--it is grotesquely snug, but I love it so). When I managed to stop the garbuerator and pull out the spoon that was in there being mangled and chomped. it occurred to me that that is pretty much just the kind of day I had (aside: ew, my roommate** just came out of her room with her flavour of the week, clad only in his man-gonch, and they went to the freezer where they proceeded to apply mini-freezies to his nipples and saunter back bedroomward. Ahhh! Mes yeux, mes yeux!). I am glad it is (well past) bedtime.
Tomorrow after work I head off to Vancouver to attend the heart clinic with my parents and find out more about my mom's heart. It is a sobering thought that this one fist-sized, fragile, fluttering thing, like a baby bird tucked away inside the person I love best in the world, is in danger, and is responsible for my mother living or dying. One day she could just stop...like a wind-up toy suddenly slowing and freezing in mid-motion. And that day, suddenly, realistically, could be not so far away.
Please, please cross your fingers for good news. I'm a bit scared.
Back in a few days.
xox
*groditude noun: that which is grody. Pertaining to grode.
**Only......*whips off shoes*....25 more sleeps til bye-bye roommate !
Ugh, what a bag of hammers I was this weekend. Evolution on Friday, of course, where I drank my weight in vodka and the roomie and I lamented the fact that our table was
swarmed by a bunch of folks we did not feel like spending the evening with. Is anything more embarrassing than hanging out with really shitty tippers? Feh!
My hair was shortish on Friday (considering it'd been down to my boobs on Friday morning) night, but not shaped, and still just a bit above my shoulders.
Saturday I got it cleaned up at Aveda, and got lots more cut off, and is the shortest I have EVER had my hair. It now looks like this (and I quite like it--it's saucy!):
edited to add: lookit my big gay cat, Tango, with his big gay pink boa!
swarmed by a bunch of folks we did not feel like spending the evening with. Is anything more embarrassing than hanging out with really shitty tippers? Feh!
My hair was shortish on Friday (considering it'd been down to my boobs on Friday morning) night, but not shaped, and still just a bit above my shoulders.
Saturday I got it cleaned up at Aveda, and got lots more cut off, and is the shortest I have EVER had my hair. It now looks like this (and I quite like it--it's saucy!):
edited to add: lookit my big gay cat, Tango, with his big gay pink boa!
Ah, fuck.
I should never be left to my own devices, let alone be left to my own devices with scissors.
Remember those "good idea/bad idea" little blurbs that were on the Animaniacs back in the day? You know, one of them was:
Good idea: doing your own yard work
Bad idea: doing your own dental work.
And then there would be a little psychotic cartoony bit of a guy yanking out his own teeth and shrieking in pain?
Yeah, well, I wrote my own today.
Good idea: Getting your hair done right before the company Christmas party.
Bad idea: doing your OWN hair right before the company Christmas party.
I came home today and went insane. I decided I didn't want til my nice Aveda hair appointment tomorrow (you know those wienertots tried to tell me it would take FOUR AND A HALF HOURS to cut and colour my hair? yikes) to get my hair cut, and I decided it would be a wise and judicious move to go into the bathroom, grab random fistfuls of my dry hair, and begin sawing through chunks with these weird scissor/pruning shear things.
Yes, seriously.
Then I slathered orange dye on my head--it was supposed to be a nice cinnamony colour, and it was called "Ginger Rush." They should have called it "That Retina-Frying Colour Only Seen On The Vests Of Crossing Guards". Mother of GAWD I hope this turns out better than I think.
The sink is full of fiant tufts of my hair in red, pink, purple and blue. Perhaps I shall fashion a tiny cushion for my hope chest, hahaha.
Who the fuck has a hope chest?!
Anyhoo, it's a sickness--when left to my own devices, I do stupid shit. Let's see how it turns out.
In other news, I cooked! I made ginger beef and broccoli (plus zucchini) for dinner. Yum. Now to go out and breathe garlic all over creepy men.
My head smells like a giant, rotting synthetic peach.
I should never be left to my own devices, let alone be left to my own devices with scissors.
Remember those "good idea/bad idea" little blurbs that were on the Animaniacs back in the day? You know, one of them was:
Good idea: doing your own yard work
Bad idea: doing your own dental work.
And then there would be a little psychotic cartoony bit of a guy yanking out his own teeth and shrieking in pain?
Yeah, well, I wrote my own today.
Good idea: Getting your hair done right before the company Christmas party.
Bad idea: doing your OWN hair right before the company Christmas party.
I came home today and went insane. I decided I didn't want til my nice Aveda hair appointment tomorrow (you know those wienertots tried to tell me it would take FOUR AND A HALF HOURS to cut and colour my hair? yikes) to get my hair cut, and I decided it would be a wise and judicious move to go into the bathroom, grab random fistfuls of my dry hair, and begin sawing through chunks with these weird scissor/pruning shear things.
Yes, seriously.
Then I slathered orange dye on my head--it was supposed to be a nice cinnamony colour, and it was called "Ginger Rush." They should have called it "That Retina-Frying Colour Only Seen On The Vests Of Crossing Guards". Mother of GAWD I hope this turns out better than I think.
The sink is full of fiant tufts of my hair in red, pink, purple and blue. Perhaps I shall fashion a tiny cushion for my hope chest, hahaha.
Who the fuck has a hope chest?!
Anyhoo, it's a sickness--when left to my own devices, I do stupid shit. Let's see how it turns out.
In other news, I cooked! I made ginger beef and broccoli (plus zucchini) for dinner. Yum. Now to go out and breathe garlic all over creepy men.
My head smells like a giant, rotting synthetic peach.
Here's a story that made me laugh so hard I earned a disapproving frown from my supervisor.
My friend Mike was having sex with his girlfriend, and the sex was good. Becoming TOO good, and he realized he didn't want it to be over yet, so he performed what he has coined an EPM--Emergency Pullout Manoeuvre--in the hopes of salvaging the situation and halting in time.
And then, looking down for some reason, perhaps along the same lines as looking down the barrel of a loaded shotgun to see if it's loaded or not.....
Mike came all over his own face. Corner of his mouth right up to his temple, and in his hair.
He said all he could do was laugh. I was laughing too hard to do anything else when I heard the story, and my face wasn't the drippy one. So yeah--laughing = good.
Went to see "After The Sunset" with a friend tonight. I think he liked it better than I did--I found it pretty cheesy and formulaic. Entertaining enough though--and Salma Hayek is hot enough to make up for any plot holes. If "THE GAY" is a disease, she's a carrier for me for sure. Yum.
(aside: why are things so much funnier when you add 'the' to them in a mock-disapproving way? observe: "Bill, Timmy's been smoking pot. We need to talk to him". Not so funny. But "Bill, Timmy's been smoking THE pot." FUNNY! Also funny: "I've been having the sex", "here comes the death" and especially "help I've got the gay!" which is good to taunt the homophobes with.)
Also funny: when someone is rude enough to ask what a rash or something is, smile real bright. "Scabies."
I have actually made myself lunch for tomorrow--I never do this. It is a giant step. I have spicy Thai chicken which I have chopped up and am going to add to a caesar salad I have. That and a cup of vanilla peach yogurt for lunch, and a bowl of Berry Burst Cheerios* for breakfast, and I am looking at a semi-balanced, inexpensive day. Hoorah! Round of applause for the usually inept one.
All the better to spend that extra money on getting off my face and spazzing about tomorrow night....LuluMae, I promise to try not to careen into you when you have your tray held aloft.
*Berry Burst Cheerios rule! They're yummy, and passably healthy, plus they turn the milk purple. Purple! Milk!
My friend Mike was having sex with his girlfriend, and the sex was good. Becoming TOO good, and he realized he didn't want it to be over yet, so he performed what he has coined an EPM--Emergency Pullout Manoeuvre--in the hopes of salvaging the situation and halting in time.
And then, looking down for some reason, perhaps along the same lines as looking down the barrel of a loaded shotgun to see if it's loaded or not.....
Mike came all over his own face. Corner of his mouth right up to his temple, and in his hair.
He said all he could do was laugh. I was laughing too hard to do anything else when I heard the story, and my face wasn't the drippy one. So yeah--laughing = good.
Went to see "After The Sunset" with a friend tonight. I think he liked it better than I did--I found it pretty cheesy and formulaic. Entertaining enough though--and Salma Hayek is hot enough to make up for any plot holes. If "THE GAY" is a disease, she's a carrier for me for sure. Yum.
(aside: why are things so much funnier when you add 'the' to them in a mock-disapproving way? observe: "Bill, Timmy's been smoking pot. We need to talk to him". Not so funny. But "Bill, Timmy's been smoking THE pot." FUNNY! Also funny: "I've been having the sex", "here comes the death" and especially "help I've got the gay!" which is good to taunt the homophobes with.)
Also funny: when someone is rude enough to ask what a rash or something is, smile real bright. "Scabies."
I have actually made myself lunch for tomorrow--I never do this. It is a giant step. I have spicy Thai chicken which I have chopped up and am going to add to a caesar salad I have. That and a cup of vanilla peach yogurt for lunch, and a bowl of Berry Burst Cheerios* for breakfast, and I am looking at a semi-balanced, inexpensive day. Hoorah! Round of applause for the usually inept one.
All the better to spend that extra money on getting off my face and spazzing about tomorrow night....LuluMae, I promise to try not to careen into you when you have your tray held aloft.
*Berry Burst Cheerios rule! They're yummy, and passably healthy, plus they turn the milk purple. Purple! Milk!
How can it only be Wednesday?!? Already this week is sucking my will to live. It's sick how much I look forward to going to the same damned bar and drinking too much and dancing like an idiot to the few songs I actually like and eating a middle-of-the-night tubesteak and having inane conversations and stumbling home by foot or by taxi, by hook or by crook, by camel or rickshaw.
I live for the weekends. One thing I love is brunch. There's a restaurant here, the oyster bar (which has so much more than oysters), which I could happily brunch at every weekend without fail. More food should involve pesto hollandaise, no?
Lately I have been wanting a dog (either a French bulldog or a Boston terrier in particular) like crazy. Don't get me wrong, my tango-cat (a neurotic, eleven-year old Devon Rex with allergies that manifest in him being covered in lumps, leaking from the eyes and nose and constantly scratching) is still the love of my life, but I want a dog, too. I think a small, funny snorting dog would get along famously with old Tango, and we could go on walks and it could fetch tiny sticks--or ignore them in favour of smelling its own crotch, or eating cat poo.
Mm, maybe not. At least not while I live in the condo and work full-time. Bleah. Score one more for the corporate whore (wow, that was practically lyrical).
I am getting my hair cut on Saturday! I live in fear that it will turn out terribly. I have had fairly long hair for quite some time now, but am sick of the fucker, frankly, and am paying a student (SUPERVISED) at Aveda to hack it, shape it, and dye it a darker, brighter red than my natural red. Wish me luck....I live in fear.
(I love reading about both food and sex in great detail, and since I am not getting any of the romp-action at the moment...)
Dinner tonight: three devilled eggs, two salmon mousse-and red pepper on toast points and one butter tart at the silly networking dinner I went to *schmoozey schmoozey*
one enormous bowl of ice cream--banana ice cream with chocolate and peanut butter in it (mother of GOD)
one cheese and pickle sandwich, made with my mother's homemade pickles.
Lord, deliver me from tasty, convenient and entirely nutritionless food.
The good news is that I have not had a sober or daytime cigarette since September 16th. Out drinking at the bar does not count--what am I, made of stone? But still--4 per week instead of 10 per day? Leaps and bounds, kids. Leaps and bounds!
I live for the weekends. One thing I love is brunch. There's a restaurant here, the oyster bar (which has so much more than oysters), which I could happily brunch at every weekend without fail. More food should involve pesto hollandaise, no?
Lately I have been wanting a dog (either a French bulldog or a Boston terrier in particular) like crazy. Don't get me wrong, my tango-cat (a neurotic, eleven-year old Devon Rex with allergies that manifest in him being covered in lumps, leaking from the eyes and nose and constantly scratching) is still the love of my life, but I want a dog, too. I think a small, funny snorting dog would get along famously with old Tango, and we could go on walks and it could fetch tiny sticks--or ignore them in favour of smelling its own crotch, or eating cat poo.
Mm, maybe not. At least not while I live in the condo and work full-time. Bleah. Score one more for the corporate whore (wow, that was practically lyrical).
I am getting my hair cut on Saturday! I live in fear that it will turn out terribly. I have had fairly long hair for quite some time now, but am sick of the fucker, frankly, and am paying a student (SUPERVISED) at Aveda to hack it, shape it, and dye it a darker, brighter red than my natural red. Wish me luck....I live in fear.
(I love reading about both food and sex in great detail, and since I am not getting any of the romp-action at the moment...)
Dinner tonight: three devilled eggs, two salmon mousse-and red pepper on toast points and one butter tart at the silly networking dinner I went to *schmoozey schmoozey*
one enormous bowl of ice cream--banana ice cream with chocolate and peanut butter in it (mother of GOD)
one cheese and pickle sandwich, made with my mother's homemade pickles.
Lord, deliver me from tasty, convenient and entirely nutritionless food.
The good news is that I have not had a sober or daytime cigarette since September 16th. Out drinking at the bar does not count--what am I, made of stone? But still--4 per week instead of 10 per day? Leaps and bounds, kids. Leaps and bounds!
So, first journal entry here. Will I last? Will I persevere? Or will it become another well-intentioned project to be swiftly swept under the porch like a dead woodchuck? Only time will tell.
I figure today is as good a day as any to begin a journal here, as it feels slightly starchy fresh, like new paper or a raw potato.
You see, I have been living with my best...er..one of my best...er....a good fr...ok, um, a friend, for the past 5 months or so. We were extremely close (unhealthily so, according to many), and living together seemed like a natural step to save money and have fun, so she moved in to my condo with me.
And I have been miserable ever since. I've never been a jealous, mistrustful or possessive person, as a rule, but o, this has been an unhealthy (and unholy) union)., and both of us have become catty, secretive witches. I have had a headache for months on and off.
After we decided that this is Simply Not Working Out (read: if the anthrax I ordered from eBay arrives before she moves out, I may have some serious 'splainin to do), she gave her official notice today, and will be out by the end of the month.
I wonder if I'll be a little lonely, I wonder if I'll be a lot broke, I wonder if in the future I'll miss living with her, I wonder whether we will ever be anywhere near as good friends as we were.
But mostly, I feel very, very relieved. I want to stretch out nude and giddy on my couch, cook strange and exotic-smelling food with no apologies, shower at 4 a.m., and celebrate the lack of shitty music here.
And I wonder if I will become a little more myself, and a little less her, again. Identities can become blurry if you aren't careful.
I also wonder when we are going to find out what the company Christmas bonus will be....please let it be decent. I have credit cards that need paying and an arm that needs tattooing.
Nice to meet you
I figure today is as good a day as any to begin a journal here, as it feels slightly starchy fresh, like new paper or a raw potato.
You see, I have been living with my best...er..one of my best...er....a good fr...ok, um, a friend, for the past 5 months or so. We were extremely close (unhealthily so, according to many), and living together seemed like a natural step to save money and have fun, so she moved in to my condo with me.
And I have been miserable ever since. I've never been a jealous, mistrustful or possessive person, as a rule, but o, this has been an unhealthy (and unholy) union)., and both of us have become catty, secretive witches. I have had a headache for months on and off.
After we decided that this is Simply Not Working Out (read: if the anthrax I ordered from eBay arrives before she moves out, I may have some serious 'splainin to do), she gave her official notice today, and will be out by the end of the month.
I wonder if I'll be a little lonely, I wonder if I'll be a lot broke, I wonder if in the future I'll miss living with her, I wonder whether we will ever be anywhere near as good friends as we were.
But mostly, I feel very, very relieved. I want to stretch out nude and giddy on my couch, cook strange and exotic-smelling food with no apologies, shower at 4 a.m., and celebrate the lack of shitty music here.
And I wonder if I will become a little more myself, and a little less her, again. Identities can become blurry if you aren't careful.
I also wonder when we are going to find out what the company Christmas bonus will be....please let it be decent. I have credit cards that need paying and an arm that needs tattooing.
Nice to meet you
