who's gonna be my saviour now that i've learned to believe?

i'm eating my dinner out of a pot when robin calls me.

i'm aware that it's not good manners, nor is it particularly classy to eat out of a pot, but in the world of the uni student, i think that the basic equation of the less dishes the better means that pot-eating occurs more than one could assume.

robin invites me down to watch downloaded episodes of will and grace. not the best show, but so mindless that it was exactly the perfect thing right at that moment.

afterwards, sprawled on her dream puff of a bed, i talk while staring at my feet about things that have been bouncing around in my skull for the last week. it's all things that have been said before, all things that have been addressed and will be redressed and will just be.

it was good for my soul.

spend a day there

i don't buy fashion magazines.

ok, i lie. sometimes when i am feeling particularly girly or if someone like johnny depp is on the front cover, i'll buy fashion magazines. but generally, they don't interest me. they claim to empower you to accept the 'real you' while simultaneously telling you that really, you ought to be six feet tall and be able to wear a plastic bag and still look real good.

i'm only five ten and really, brown paper is more me.

anyways, melissa left her girly magazine here when she left. i was secretly over joyed, and it distracted me for a good, oh, hour and bit last night. i particulaly enjoyed the articles that were about things you should do more of- pamper your feet, eat chocolate, buy that expensive handbag and have a banana facial were some of the suggestions.

i snarfled at all of them- pampering my feet means maybe possibly washing them after a day of abuse in my book, eating chocolate is not the best idea for me [given that it really just applies itself directly to my waist AND makes me so very hyper], the expensive handbag makes me laugh because never have i owned a handbag and to be honest- i'd eat the facial.

i guess i'm not cut out to be a fashion magazine girl.

now it looks like this

i'm describing the night to melissa.

"fucking stoners and their warm baked goods."

that really sums everything up.

my eyes have now opened to a world where madness creeps

"i heard you stirring so i got prepared."

for about five seconds after this comment, i stare dumbly at the stove while peter laughs at me.

after my bra-shopping adventure of yesterday, i returned to my room, ate leftover curry and got really bored really fast. a cure for my boredom came in the form of an invite to the boys' house to make a paper mache penis chicken and cookies with tuesday and peter. [i know. i know. hums kids, remember?] anyways, after trucking over there with banana cake, extra newspaper and a bottle of wine, the evening very quickly progressed into hilarity as we slowly began raiding the house for objects to act as forms for the penis chicken.

[if any of pete's roommates are looking for the top to the pepper shaker i refuse to tell you what we did with it. really. and believe me, you don;t want to know].

anyways, by the time we were finished all of the various "parts" [because tuesday would be horrified if i wrote testicles] and cleaned up the kitchen and ourselves [mache. was. everywhere]it was far too late to move beyond the couch, so tuesday and i conquered the living room for a sleepover.

the drugs had nothing to do with being unable to move, i swear.

this morning, after coffee and early morning cookie baking, we baked and assembled the penis chicken, or chenis if you will. and tomorrow, while chez plays their psychedelic rock show, we're going to paint the bugger purple and green and give him feathers and strands of beads and have an all round general good time.

maybe i should do some reading?

even for one more day

have i told you that i'm what could be described as a busty blonde?

well, if i haven't before, then i have now. i am what could be described as a busty blonde. i'm not a rake thin busty blonde though. rather, i could be described as someone who could weigh down a good lot of paper, mostly with the large nunga-nunagas i own.

anyways.

the humanties section here at carleton is a close, slightly inbred and definately incestous group of people who throw one hell of a formal every year. this year, the theme is the nineteen thirties, so i've been bashing my head against a wall to find a dress. i did find one- that fabled little black number that every girl is supposed to won is now in my possession. however, i have since then proceeded to bash my head around while looking for a bra to hold down the basoomas.

i bought a bra today. the inner monologue went something like this:

"ummm, hello. are these...ahhh- HOLY CRAP I COULD SERVE DRINKS OFF OF THESE! and then, just. wait- wait. can't these be classified as some sort of weapon? i could totally take someone out with them. PERSONAL FLOATATION DEVICE! holy.....just. erm. um?"

i'm still flabbergasted.

buried deep in a telegram i'm sure i never got

curled up on my side, the pillow robin made me for my birthday squished under me, i watch as the images flicker across the computer screen. my legs are seizing and my arm has fallen asleep and i just can't seem to move.

melissa and i woke up late today and proceeded to take four hours to get moving. well, we moved, but not in any comprehensible direction until about one thirty, when we finally made it to the art gallery. we looked at mondrian and rothko and that stupid idiotic pillar of flame crap piece. i told melissa it had no purpose, and then we proceeded to debate about modern art loudly for about twenty minutes getting stern looks whilst wandering between masterpieces.

[also- melissa will be angry if i contine to call voice of fire pillar of flames, so i had better maybe say it was voice of fire, and not piller of flame. it deserves to be a piller of flame....]

anyways, after art we walked home.

i'm not sure how far it is. i can't tell. i think i was acting a little crazy and a bit wild by just bashing through the crowds and going like there was no tomorrow, but sometimes i feel like i need to move. it's the staticness of late.

we later gorged on too much chocolate and smartfood and watched lost [oh sun, why can't you be a good husband and just love your lovely wife?] and then watched eternal sunshine of the spotless mind.

does it make me an uber-ubergeek that i was excited that they pulled the title of the movie from pope's eloise to abelard series?

pack up, don't stray

the jeep cherokee comes to a complete and full stop. the street crosses another street and both are void of any traffic. i can hear the music pounding through the windows- it's u2's miracle drug- and at the wheel is a young boy, beaming, screaming out the words, dancing in his seat, fingers drumming out larry mullen's drum beats, and just being.

he lets me cross and i'm smiling the entire time.

wait- they don't love you like i love you

jen and robin are dancing to something indefinable while melissa and i are trying to find some way to not get attacked by the terrible elbows of the prom-type princesses that have swept onto the floor. i turn to melissa- AND AM HORRIBLY HORRIBLY SCANDALIZED!

behind her, on the floor are two girls, wearing mini miniskirts- like, hello, my vagina is hanging out mini-skirts. they're making out with each other. and a boy at the same time. and the boy is, well, reallllly scummy. and there's tongues everywhere.

now, i'm a pretty liberal person. i'm not too concerned who you're macking with, when, where or how you choose to do so. however, my mouth just can't seem to close at the absolutely scandolous spectacle that is occuring in front of mine eyes.

"AAAAAAAHHHHHH!" i yell, pointing at them, catching jen and robin's eyes. they too are scandalized by the sliding tongues and the hello!vagina skirts.

we leave shortly thereafter, hearing no u2, and proceed to be involved in a taxi showdown that involves out taxi driver telling the other angry taxi man who claims that we called him [and we didn't, i assure you] that he's an idiot and to fuck off. an entirely pricless an totally fucking decadant evening.

holy vagina!skirt batman.

everything will be alright

disater. complete and utter disaster.

my hands feel heavy, there's lines in my vision. i have a vice that is slowly being tightened around my head, goverened by the angry evil wee scotsman that lives somehwere deep inside me. trying to make a grocery list is impossible- grocery shopping is a disater.

next time the gods above decide to let me run out of coffee, it had better be on a day when i'm in bed with some wonderful being who will go and get some for me, regardless of what the time is really.

you don't have to go

somewhere, somehow, in some place, someone really cares about the interpretations and translations of ancient texts of jewish law. normally, i would too.

but as of now, i give up and go to dream.

knowing me, it'll probably be about the transitive use of the verb 'to acquire' in jewish law as it pertains to the marriage of women. bam.

we get some rules to follow

"YOU BASTARD! IDIIIOOTTT! WANKER BASTARD! GAWWWWWWWWWWWSSSSHHH!!" i scream at my computer, hoping that it might help. of course, it just serves to make me more angry.

i'm a horrible horrible person, but i kept telling compy that i was going to euthanize him and that he bloody well deserved it. i haven't decided yet if the virus i got was worth it- i mean, it did start with a picture of a topless lady brandishing pink fuzzy handcuffs...so maybe.

but just maybe. i'll see how well the machine recovers from the attack of the naked handcuff-brandishing lady.

only the trees and river laughing at you and me

anna's eyes gleam as she extends her hand towards me, an orange heart grasped between her fingertips. i eventually focus enough to read it.

'fax me' it declares.

we both collapse into giggles as kyle shakes his head at us and continues to mix the chocolate chip cookie batter.

i don't want to live forever

somedays there are really beautiful things that i am convinced everyone else misses.

the colour of avacadoes under flourscent light. grey snow, grey building, grey tree set against grey sky. golden butter in a coffee mug. a vat of sliced green peppers. red blue yellow green sleds piled on top of each other. sunset under a bank of clouds. buildings on fire. banjo music. kelly bray's hair in discussion group. people playing music they love loudly in the room next to mine. talking late with anna. prolonged and frequesntly interrupted conversations with my brother. orange and blue. the inside of a kiwi. hot pink. finding my own version of jim morrison at the cloisters in new york city in ottawa.

some days i want to capture it all.

so let it rain, rain on he

i remember once when i was about sixteen i was cleaning our living room at home. the carpet is this old matted brown matter that's been present ever since tom built the house for his mother and aunt. in order to make it look especially clean, you really have to run the vacuum over it a lot of times.

anyways, on this one particual day there was this piece of fluff or some other random carpet bit that just would not get sucked up, no matter how many times i went over it with the vacuum of doom. [because the vacuum at home would suck your face off, given the chance]. finally, i picked up the fluff, inspected it, and then physically stuck it in the damned vacuum head.

my mother saw the whole thing transpire.

when i turned off the vacuum, she couldn't help but remark on it. "you know, we're a strange set. we'll actually take the time to pick up shit off the floor, inspect it, and then throw it back down and try to get it sucked up."

i had to agree with her. i mean, once you pick up some damned fluff that the vacuum rejects, why not hold on to it and then just throw it out?

the reason for all this?

tonight i randomly decided to vacuum my room [due to some random happenings that include sticks and flour and crumbs. don't ask] and did the same damn thing. i mean, i vacuumed over a piece of something four billion times, picked it up, examined it, then threw it back on the floor to get sucked up by the vacuum maybe hopefully possibly probably never.

god, i am a dork.

the whole world's come undone

his right thumb traces the pattern across my forehead as he murmers "remember that you have come from ashes and will return to ashes. be free from sin, live in christ."

randomly i went to the mass they held in the basement of our residence building for ash wednesday this evening. i'm not a particularly religious person, but i have a lot of faith. i enjoy mass, and there's always something very comforting in the tradition of something as old as it is.

i have to say though that i began to question said faith a bit when the homily for the evening was based entirely around bacon fat.

seriously.

make a deal with god

i'll admit it- i illegally download anything and everything. i've justified it by actually promising to go and buy a lot of cds and then doing it at some point or another... except of course, ricky martin.

there was no excuse for that.

anyways, i've been in a sort of music funk lately and have been searching for cover songs because i want the comfort of old but am in desperate and dire need of something new.

all i can say is kate bush covered is the best thing i have ever heard in my entire life.

i hope you don't mind, i hope you don't mind

i woke up this morning to a wonderful soft green filtered light surrounding me.

when i was much younger and didn't really see the need for practical beds, i always dreamed of this magic bed that would hang from four chains in the middle of a room. it could be put at different heights and actually yaked up to the ceiling for a much larger living area during the day. the most important feature, however, was a thin and gauzy canopy that would hide me but not really.

part of my dream bed has come to be in the form of a neon green mosquito net courtesy of my sidekick from downstairs.

now, even more than before, i want to spend all of my time in bed. feel free to join me. you know you want to.

slow down to control

"so....coffee?"

nburwjkgiopqjhnpfioendklsgrfesbndbjvdkjblcsNKCKShtsghncjnj ygrgrgaga ncosiHNALDJXKNSbkd cbsjBNCJKSLDNXKLSAndfdsxukslJN NCDKLShncdsjCFHUDWAherwKFCJLhnjartfDNFKLDLgbfdsagfdNKge FKLNMCgreFKK

what kind of question is that?

february of last year

so, i have this issue where i never learned to type and mash keys really horribly when i do try to type. seriously. these posts are edited carefully before i ever hit publish and they still come out mangled ninety nine point six seven seven three eight four percent of the time. [as i am sure is quite evident].

anyways, this evening i was typing in the address for this page [because yes, i am a vain child] and instead of blogspot i typed blogpsot.

there's something terribly amiss, yet entirely hilarious here.

the sweetest thing

i just spent an hour on the phone with my younger brother.

i challenge you to find a better younger brother- the prize will be a dinner of majestic proportions cooked by yours truly from the leftovers in the bottom of my fridge, which currently include an old pepper, a quickly fading head of lettuce, some cheese and carrots.

but then i know i don't have to worry, because your quest will be entirely unsucessful.

muahahahahahaahahaha!

[and yes, that muahahahahahahahaha right there was evil. very evil. like, the most evil of evils. more evil than the evil dead- ooooo bruce campbell. you better believe it].

sunlight, sunlight fills my room, it's sharp and its clear

"ooohhhh gaaaawwwwddd!" i creak out, my left arm flug carelessly above my head, the blanket over my face. "what's the time?"

[secretly, in my head, when i ask this i can hear gandalf in my head. you know, in rivendell when frodo wakes up after his near death experience with the nazgul and asks what the day is? well, i just hear gandalf answering. i'm a dork].

robin starts laughing. she tried to make it home last night, but was too tired so i had to arrange her and put her to bed. besides, we all know how much i love a sleep over.

"happy birthday megs!" she says.

oh yeah. what a way to start twenty one.

help me someone help me please

i had the misfortune, on my nineteenth birthday, of partaking in too much raspberry flavoured vodka. this left me with possibly the worst hangover i have ever experience in my short life. kate, who also had the same experience as i, spent most of the night vomiting up all that she had consumed in an amazing display of fountain-like proportions. like, there was no horrible heaving or anything- just streams of vomit bubbling from all of the orifices in her face. astounding. you really should have seen it.

last night, i saw the same thing from some random first year, as he struggled to make it to the back door of the kitchen. intoxicted to the nines myself, [and being serenaded by some old due named george who told me i was beautiful and sang REM to me?], i could really only watch in pure amazement as he hit the top of the stairs, vomit streaming from his nose and proceeded to coat everything [and everyone] in the vicinity with nasty red alcohol vomit.

[was that too much? sorry.]

needless to say, i came home in the most unclean of states and am currently doing some much needed laundry in an attempt to rid my room and my clothes of that vile alcohol vomit smell.

fucking hell.

complicate this world

dance moves with mike temple to tom pettey. feeding trish a triscuit and telling her she was my girlfriend. dancing downtsairs and up. and entire bottle of merlot. telling peter that seeing his mullet made my life. using an australian accent to describe people descending the stairs. anagraming my name so that dave would remmeber it to my excellent goulash. an entire bottle of wine. mmm memrlot. actually staying away from the seventeen year olds. maybe possibly taking off sebastians shirt? not losing ralph [my new favourite possession of life]. getting vomit all. over. me. EWW motherfucker. watching vomit come out of noses. feeding liz wine and then cackling as she switched to vodka and gingerale. peanut butter at home with jam. stealing sara's cab. not making a single move at all.

tonight, my friends, was anight of good, solid, and sadly very very very wholesome debauchery.

and no, i didn;t make the moves on anyone- not even first year dave. i think i need a round of applause. yes. now. i want to hear it. call me up, you know. you looovvvvvvveeeee it.

heh,.

your heart is my home

robin is about to leave when she stops, shakes her head and says "no....no. i have to tell you now." she's not really talking to me, but rather herself. i can tell by the inclination of her head and the set of her jaw.

i prance back into my room, hissing, which causes some giggles to erupt from the power-booted girl behind me. in typical robin fashion, she orders me to sit, and starts telling me what i already mostly know, because of a dream i had, but really needed confirmation of.

"the safari trip....it's, well. dad's not funded for it, which means that it's pretty much an impossibility. which means, that, well. we might have to go on imagination vacation for real." she doesn't really falter, but her speech pattern is off.

truth be told- i'm not really disappointed. ok, well i am, but not really really. if that makes sense.

after all that boethius we've read, i can freaking prove to you that there is no such thing as chance. [go on, ask me to. heh heh heh. oh, and yes, that was an evil cackle, fif you were wondering]. however, i still believe in there being no such thing as coincidence. and then there was that dream i made mention of, which was so explicitly clear about africa that it really left no room for interpretation.

i must confess, however, that now i am now really freaking excited about planning an imagination-vacation. like, possibly even more excited than i was for the maybe-possibly chance of safari. [does that make me a bad person?]

anybody here want to go to switzerland?

only then it gets a chance to speak

"no REALLY." i say, my hands waving in front of me like usual "hot wax is the absolute worst thing that could happen in any situation."

yesterday, although still more then slightly fever-ish, tuesday and i ventured on a shopping trip extravaganza in an attempt to find dresses for the humanities formal which is slowly creeping up on us. we decided to go to st. laurent mall, mainly becaue neither one of us had ever been there before.

sixteen dresses and three hours later, we hadn't found anything so we gave up and headed for the market to meet up with a group of people for victoria's birthday. when we got to the rideau centre, we decided to stop and try on some more dresses because we were there.

eight dresses and forty-five minutes later, we leave that mall, again empty handed, and wander around the market eyeing the sights and searcing for the restaurant/pub we're looking for. our path is slightly deterred by a man getting arrested, but we eventually find fat tuesday's and meet up with everyone.

we ended up taking over a single long stretch of tables covered with drink advertisements and burning candles. they of course offer me the opportunity to voice my opinion that hot wax is indeed one of the worst things that can happen.

my theory is almost proven correct when peter, while playing with one of the glass holder, drops the candle into his lap. luckily, it has been out and the wax has been slowly colling for close to twenty minutes.

"ha HA!" i gleefully crow. "you see- right there? hot wax was the worst thing that could have happened, yeah?"

of course, he couldn't but agree.

i am the master of the fucking universe.

so you think you can tell heaven from hell

"c'mon meg." leslie says. "what's the worst that could happen?"

without thinking, i shoot back my response.

"hot wax."

the next five minutes are spent by me describing how this is the worst thing that could happen to leslie, with her laughing her guts out, squealing for me to stop.

what's in a day of this dandy life?

when i close my eyes, i see shooting lines of bright white.

my feet and hands are alternately hot and freezing cold. i've got the shakes which, as have been aptly described by a smart man, are impossible to get a handle on once they have a handle on you. my joints feel like they're all being slowly pressed in a vice. my back is sore. and so is my neck.

"i have spinal mengitis, cholera, yellow fever AND that weird disease that killed the first captain of the starship enterprise, you know- chris pike." i tell melissa.

actually, it's the res plague. and it really just needs to fuck off and die now, as i haven't time for feeling like positive shiete. bah.