i don't ever want to live like i did that day

i'm making mental notes all the time.

it seems like summer has slipped by, that i've missed it or something, because in five weeks i'll be back in ottawa, living it up in leeds, reverting to old ways and making new ones. you know? and meanwhile, i feel like i haven't spent enough time lounging on a beach, getting a sunburn, taking in life. i'm not even sure if i've actually had a nap on the grass yet...

did you ever play rolling-pin when you were a kid? i never did. but someday i'd like to.

extreme ways

"moby?!?" i squeal, my hands involuntairly flying up towards my mouth in a physical exclaimation of surprise. "MOBY!"

after the nearly heart failure inducing day of swimming in georgian bay, we all came back to my house for dinner [chicken, fried rice and a salad, followed by a dessert worthy of a restaurant i might add] and then headed into town to see the bourne supremacy.

now, i saw the first movie at the drive in with my brother, and all i really remember is my awe of the car chase. i mean, they drove a mini down a stair case. down a fricking stair case, man. the car chase in this movie was equally stunning, although i wish there had been a mini involved somewhere. instead, we had matt damon in a russin taxi bleeding everywhere and pouring vodka on himself and karl urban in some sort of jeep type vehicle with an enforced front end looking all scowl-y, like normal.

and then, at the end of the movie- new york. downtown, the empire state building, you know, typical skyline shot. and the soundtrack was moby.

and damn i just want to see that man do it live.

this life is more than just a read through

"that's it..." i can hear the vox whispering in the sudden death like silence that has gripped me as i lunge forward under the water. "i think that your heart is goimg to stop..."

plans were made for me today, which was amazingly awesome. kate and leslie and laura and candice and i all piled in the van and went to cyprus lake for the day. after daring the rough rocky trails, the crowds of people one lobe snake which only i saw and miniature rock climbers who were barely old enough to walk, we made it to my most favourite place to swim. i was the first one in the water, naturally.

and damn if it didn't almost give me heart failure.

the prince of peace embraced the gloom and walked the night alone

it's a funny thing to see and entire family, an extended family i mean, in hysterics.

as a celebration of my uncle sean's birthday, he and his soon to be wife alison, cousins mike and jay, hane and kath and raisin and mom and tom and i and a few creatures and nana and grandad spent the evening catching up with each other, lounging around a pool. just as the sun was going down, tom and sean began to do giant cannon balls into said kidney shaped pool.

and thus began the hysterics.

take it out on me

"i don't CARE what you think, buddy!" tom's voice reverberates from the back of the shop, smashing into the front where i'm serving a customer. "we're human beings, and sometimes we screw up. the people here are more important that you, so i suggest you GET OUT OF MY SHOP!"

i slip into the cooler, feeling slightly ashamed, partly exhilarated and totally giddy all at once. the reason for the shouting match in the back? ha ha ha...that would be me.

once again, the fish shop has become the subject of my imagined audience here, but things are once again getting to be total shite. all the orders are fucked up, no one works together, the customers yell at me and as far as i'm concerned, everything's gone down the pan. normally, i couldn't be arsed to care, but sadly human nature caught up with me when all the afore mentioned shite reached the point where i had an old american telling me i was a "stupid girl."

"sure buddy..." pipes up the inner vox, silent for these many days. "stupid am i eh? that's why i'm where i am right now in life- going to school, paying for a lot of it myself, surrounded most of the time by excellent people- i'm here because i'm a stupid cow right?"

he seemed to think so.

so after he throws his fit, telling me he'll be back to pick up his [damned] fish when he's ready, i also childishly and in a very juvenile way- throw a fit of my own.

namely: i cry.

when mr. bode comes back in, he recieves the tounge lashing recounted above by tom, and i am left feeling slightly guilty.

in a sick and twisted gleeful sort of way.

this ringing in my head, is this a cure or is this a disease?

sadly, i've always been a fan of those dorky car commercials.

you know. the ones with the spiffy new cars that are little standard hatchbacks with low front ends and a sunroof? the ones where there's always a nice looking man driving a nice looking woman in high heels around. invariably, she's wearing some sort of top that glitters, or a brighty coloured tank top with large hoop earrings. he'll be wearing khakis and some sort of brand name top, but they're both pretty generic. the sun shines through the trees and the woman will wave her hand through the air as she's escorted around. and there's always a catchy tune as a soundtrack.

imagine my delight when i found myself actually in this car commercial.

a nice little hatchback, silver. standard, with a little front end and headlights that are not buggy at all. the man driving is not however generic. he's wearing a t shirt that has the sleeves cut off [a job done entirely on his own with a pair of rather dull scissors i might add], displaying tribalesque tattoos. his feet are bare, so he's mangling the clutch slightly. oh, and let's not forget- he smokes. the girl in front, well...she's in a hippy shirt matched with rolled up jeans, her hair blowing in the wind with no earrings in sight.

and the soundtrack? rage against the machine.

not generic at all, but i still swung my hand through the air and watched the sun dance in the trees. i even took a picture of my feet on kevin's dashboard to commemeorate the event.

who needs generic when you've got family?

kicking through the darkness just to reach daylight
 
a sudden thought strikes me as i'm slowly mesmerized by rain dripping down the windshield. "my dreams are simple."
 
what i want is simple, i mean. i want a house with room for other people. people i haven't known, or met before- i want room to sit down and talk with these people and absorb things from them. i want children. oodles of them, if i may use a poor expression. i want a garden that has vegetables and a tree for shade. i want a cat. i want to bake bread every day. i want good music. and i want to be able to see and hear georgian bay while having all of these things.
 
maybe i should write these things down physically.

she said "hang the rich"
 
i had a crap day.
 
ok, that was whiny and quite juvenile, but the day part was crap. the soap opera drama continues, and i'm friggin sick of it. just as you are of hearing about it, so we'll move on to the good non-crap part of these past few hours.
 
me and kate watched the core. it's horrible. i mean really horrible. but it was fun to hang out and say stupid things. i never knew the word magma could make someone laugh so much. and the dialogue...
 
 "feel free to throw up. i know i did." score one for the writers of the crap movie.

i want a perfect body i want a perfect soul

i sit resolutely, refusing to turn around and acknowledge the person that has just pulled into the yard.

"yes, because pretending that they don't exist means they'll leave, right?"

ok, so it's childish and not real kosher to pretend someone doesn't exists, but quite frankly, i've had enough of consumers for a few days and just wanted them all to go away. until the consumer revealed himself that is...

i'm transported back in time by the way he includes everyone, even the damned cat, in a conversation. his hair is no longer even remotely dark, but stands straight up as always. [the direct result, or so i postulate, from the electric shock treatments obtained in morocco as a youth]. his shoes are even still held together with bits of string, and his belt is the same damned one that is about five sizes to big, but, as he says, "gets the fuckin' job done!" i'm reminded of a dozen never-ending evenings spent at his house in his back garden, sitting in arm chairs and watching fires demolish wood to build citadels out of ash. in the summer we'd have wine, and in the winters, our fingers would firmly clasp mugs filled with steaming tea. just like those nights, our conversations this evening drifted and tangented with no clear direction.

i'm reminded of the comfort of old friends, even though he's twice my age and then some. i'm also filled with a sort of nostalgic feeling.

does anyone else want to have a bonfire?

you just can't let it go

what is it that makes bad t.v. appealing?

last night i was too knackered after work to really want to do anything, so i decided that i'd watch some t.v. afterall, it was friday night- surely to god there would be something with some quality on.

ha.

i forgot about the badness of cable. however, i was presented with the alluring choice of buffy the vampire slayer. so i sat myself down with some forbidden ice cream and prepared to indulge guiltily.

buffy was melissa's soap opera in high school. i remember her talking about it with karen, who also watched religiously, at lunch. the plotline was as complex as humanly possible, and yet it also remained as hokey as can be. i remember one day both karen and melissa were squirming about the episode from the night before.

buffy, after turning invisible because of a mishap with some boys pretending to be villians, goes to the vampire spike's house [why she wasn't slaying him is beyond me, because she's the vampire slayer afterall...] where she proceeds to get it on with him, while she's invisible. of course, xander walks in on it, but because buffy was invisible, he didn't know that's what it was.

i can see and hear melissa now, describing all fo this to me: "horrible! it was HORRIBLE!" she'd exclaimed, a la mary katherine gallagher.

and after viewing said episode, i concur.

it really was horrible. scar-you-for-life horrible.

people they ain't no good

i finally got my act together and went on a letter writing binge.

what is it about mail, i mean real mail that makes one feel warm and fuzzy and happy inside? is it because you can see all the little idosyncrasities of the person who wrote it? the selfsame spelling mistakes? the smudges their hands made when they hit ink still wet from the pen?

i don't think i really care regardless. i'm just in it for the molasses sweetness.

i was unrecognizable to myself

bridget's voice rings out across the nearly deserted theatre: "chastity belt?? HAHAHAHAHAHA!"

monday was one of those days where things seemed to coalesce into something sweet, like molasses. my cat woke me up, poking me with her damned cold nose, attempting to hog the bed more than ususal. i managed to get my laundry done. i went for a walk. i even got a phone call.

[pretty impressive, especially if you consider it was the first call in two weeks for me that was personal, and not some damned telemarkter asking if i am interested in some sort of product that will clean my toilet bowl in half the time of regular cleaners.]

kate and i had planned to hang out. you know, some quality mAte time. then, leslie joined in, and so did candice, and then laura and then bridget. we descended on the ho wan- [insert joke about 'eating the ho won here'] - and then we went and saw shrek two.

yes. again.

regardless, i wouldn't mind another day of molasses sweetness sometime soon.

closing her bedroom door leaving the note that she hopes would say more

i swerve slightly, pointing and exclaiming to no one in particular: "holy jesus! patchell you fucker!"

i was always under the impression that patchell lived in own sound. he might still. but on thursday when i was going down country [..."suck a hickish thing to say!"...] there he was, in all his glory, strolling down the highway with his girlfriend in alvanley.

yeah. alvanley.

can anyone else explain this to me? i think he's stalking me.

graceless lady you know who i am

today i rocked out to elton john.

maybe i should explain this. or maybe... i am beginning to question if i should even reveal this to all of you. the damamge will be irreparable.

meh.

pardon me while i pool my money for an elton john cd.

i rarely pray but tonight i'm on my knees yeah

me and my mom were chilling and discussing heather howell. yet again.

sort of a side note here, but i'm finding this to be a sort of strange deja-vue sort of situation, because all i ever do anymore is work, sleep, eat, and talk with my mom about heather howell. can someone save me from this? anyways, less tangent, more wit right mates?

once again, heather howell had pretty much fucked up my day.

"yeah, because her cutting up some fish is so personal eh?" so the vox has a point. i got pissed off because princess cut up some fish.

how juvenile, i can hear the chorous now. however, it was like, the thousand dollar day on the counter and i needed it. end of story. mom asked me what i thought heather earned from all that fish. i know she was looking for an answer that reflected a deeper sense of maturity, both emotionally, and spiritually. however, i couldn't resist what i really wanted to say.

"what has she earned?" i look marmee in the eyes. "my undying disrespect."

i have to admit even i was impressed with my wit.