old & new

i went through my draft folder in all my emails and found out that the draft folder is where all important letters and where all cryptic notes go. notes to ex boyfriends long long gone about problems long long forgotten. a letter of thanks to the generous people that housed me when i ran off to california for a few days. one that said simply, "240".
then i found this... i think it was meant to come here.

best of 2005.

best song: soopadoopa by les georges leningrad

best movie i watched: bleu vs. willy wonka

best party: arts matters vs. my birthday

best anti-holiday: fete nationale vs. canada day

best adventure: griffintown on a full moon vs. drunk in hochelaga at 2am

best worst moment: passing out on the bar at work after my shift on my pre-bday celebration vs. throwing a temper tantrum on st. laurent

best sickness: kidney vs. pregnancy

best injury: spraining my thumb in a performance trying not to hurt my leg vs. minor concussion i gave to myself waking up off the couch

best procrastination tool: lost vs. this list

best move: moving out of my last apartment vs. moving into the new one

best unrequited love moment: some guy expecting i would wait around for him to get back from new orleans during the disaster vs. fending off my drunken roommate while she tries desperately to seduce me

worst moment in public: taking off my pants on a dance floor in ottawa vs. falling off the bus and skinning my knee and my chin wearing an incredibly short skirt

best worst realization: realizing i lost a bag full of my favorite clothes vs. realizing i am about to fail a class

best things that arrived in the mail: a 3000$ cheque from my grandparents

best events: making it official with my love

-----

not to be outdone by a lost list, i bring you...

best of 2006.

best song: what else is there by trentemoller

best movie i watched: shortbus

best party: my garden cocktail party i threw in ottawa

best anti-holiday: my anti-birthday

best adventure: going to work tired and ending up dancing all night at a rave out in the middle of nowhere

best worst moment: throwing up at tom's house after playing drinking games with cheap wine & champagne

best injury: hurting my knee dancing all night at stereo with bad bad shoes

best procrastination tool: west wing, 24 and solitaire.

best decision: getting back together with my love and moving in with my love

best strange moment: seeing an ex and my love defend me from scary men at a club

best worst moment in public: barfing in a lonely corner of a club like an animal then returning and dancing my ass off

best thing that arrived in the mail: a 3000$ cheque from my grandparents and the furniture i bought with that money that arrived in many flat boxes

best event: waking up with sun on my face in my new apartment with my sleeping boyfriend by my side.

the outside perspective

I think you are the best performer in the class.
It is a pleasure to work with a student as articulate as yourself.
A+
I would love to see your production of this show. Actually, I would love to be IN it.
A+
You have come a long way since September.
A+
I love the way you work. Do you need an Assistant Director for your show?
You have way more experience than us and it shows.
Sometimes you get students who stand in a league of their own. You are that kind of student.
A+
You are outstanding in that role.
A+
You have the right to be cocky but you aren't. That's special.

More than half of those were said yesterday. So what do I do? Walk away at the end of the day kicking my own ass because in my opinion, I didn't nail 20 minutes of a total of 4 hours of performance work. 20 minutes out of 4 hours. That's less than 10%. I believe that 10% of what I did in one incredibly long day is less than perfect despite the fact that the other 90% garnered nothing but glowing remarks from my peers and my profs. Or maybe that 10% merited the comments as well and I'm just an anal retentive nutbag.

Maybe I don't believe I'm that good because I used to get turned down for roles when I was really young, dumb and untrained. Now, 10 years later, I am older, smarter and pretty damn trained. Maybe I do have the right to be cocky and believe in my skill.

Maybe I am doing more than following my bliss, and I'm actually following what I am really good at. Who knows... maybe they are right and I am an outstanding performer and director that my profs and peers respect to the point that they want to work with me... Maybe I can just remember that if one of my profs who has been acting and directing professionally for 40-odd years wants to work with me, I might actually be good at this.

Then I should shut the fuck up, stay modest, stay lazy, and stay a perfectionist because this little formula of mine is working in some odd way. Who knows, one day I might just work a little harder than I am right now in order to be at a point when I want to tell myself that I am great at what I do.

Back in Black

de retour

I appear to have moved in with my boyfriend. I also appear to be getting good grades despite the increased wine intake. I appear to have kept a job for longer than 4 months. It appears that my life has been taken over by some strange and unknown creature who can handle a responsibility or two.

So why not bring back the best procrastination tool in the world? Lord knows something must have been going wrong for the last 6 months...

By the way, whoever has been trying to hack into this blog and my account should get a goddamn life. To them I say: Fuck you to the end of this sentence.

My ass not yours

Sure, I'm young, good-looking and smart. And I am a smoker. And if that takes my desirablity rating down a notch or two, I don't give a flying fuck. Primarily because the only people who ever lecture me on smoking are old surly men who haven't had an erection in 32 years. And if my smoking makes their wrinkly penis that much more flaccid, then I have done the world a service.

I say make all public places non-smoking. But I better not be getting any shit for standing near a door having a cigarette. I also better not hear a damn word about my smoking on a patio beside a non-smoker. And if anyone dares to pull a shitfit about my leaving an event for 6.5 minutes to smoke, they can shove all the cigarettes that they aren't smoking right up their ass.

All I ask for is 6.5 minutes every now and again of peace and quiet. I would love to have my cigarette behind a restaurant, or outside a bar in the freezing cold while all the non-smokers have their run of the place. I don't mind. I just don't want any further nagging.

Thank you.

Putting to rest a few conspiracy theories?

Is is just me or does the video of the plane flying into the Pentagon on 9/11 look nothing like a plane?

According to Wikipedia, the height of a Boeing 747 is about 13 metres. The height of the Pentagon is about 27 metres which would mean that the plane in the video should be about half the height of the building. It's not.

Why oh why do we keep hearing about this? Why must we continually lied to? Why the hell hasn't the group who demanded the video to be released to the public actually done some measurements? Everyone with a brain knows it wasn't a goddamn Boeing 747 that did all that tidy damage. Everyone who has flown over the Pentagon can see that there is not enough room for a plane to fly into the side of the building. It would have taken out a huge section of a nearby highway.

Geez Louise.

On an unrelated note, I would like to ask all members of the Jewish community to acknowledge that there are Holocausts happening all around the world as we speak. Maybe the money that is being poured into WW2 memorial services can be put towards stopping more genocides. Just a thought.

Isn't the point of reminding people about the Holocaust to keep more from happening? Stop funding rich kids' trips to Israel and make them fight for cultures that are being wiped out in the Middle East and Africa. If not, why not fund poor kids to get the fuck out of Israel? I hear Canada is nice this time of year.

Welcome to Westmount

I like restaurants and bars because I get to meet and get to know people of all walks of life, most of whom I would never meet in my daily life. On the flip side, I learn things about the world I would have been happier not knowing.

This new job of mine is at a Bistro which is kept afloat by the regular customers. The regulars who think that an extra dry martini has no vermouth. Or that Diet Coke must never be served with ice. Or that Sprite must be served with two straws. Or that I am a disposable garbage receptacle until they need me to lend a shoulder to cry on.

These women that sit at the bar have either been pumped so full of botox they can't emote, or they refuse to get their chin sucked back into their face because they are too damn cheap to delve into their million dollars of inheritance money.

The men at the bar want desperately to flirt with the waitresses and the barstaff, yet they won't because they know that the next night they will bring their wives in. This tells me that they aren't faithful to their wives. They are just smart cheaters.

I think I have learned to fear a man who won't hit on me. It happens so much that when they don't, I think something is wrong. They could be gay, in a relationship, looking for a friend or what have you. But all in all, if they don't flirt, there is a deeper problem. Scared of me, or even worse, just plain sneaky.

It's back

To do:

1. Find a new dealer. I'll take my drugs without a side of hallucinations thanks. The last two times at Stereo I saw things that weren't there. I like my world as is, thankyouverymuch.

2. Write my show. I'm going to Prague next summer so I better have something to put on once I get there for the theatre festival.

3. Relearn how to mix on my computer. I'm too musically inclined to just sit back and dream about how wonderful things would sound if I were making tracks again.

4. Possibly graduate. I have about another year left in University. I should really start getting on fulfilling my requirements so I can get out and start my life. Whatever that means. I guess I will just relish in the fact that I am no longer paying tuition fees. Oh glorious life.

5. Get out of the bar/resto industry. Working at a resto in Westmount might turn out to be a really really bad idea. I may just show up to work one day and decide to tell all those rich bitches that their steel-wool helmet look is fucking ugly. Oh and Mr. Molson? Tip me you asshole.

6. Rekindle all those frienships I let sputter out.

7. Never ever ever get a cell phone. Texting people is lame. Calling people on the bus is even lamer.

8. Break into the restaurant below me via a passage way from my bedroom that leads directly to the bar. I might need some mission impossible gear so if anyone out there has some hot leather and tools, let me know.

9. Use said Mission Impossible gear for other purposes... I heard about a dominatrix class a few weeks ago. Interesting. Also interesting how diversified our economy is that one can actually make a living off teaching others how to dominate. I love this metropolis.

10. Stop watching Trailer Park Boys and The Simple Life. Sure they both are scripted, but they are really destroying my faith in humanity. I wonder if Paris knows how similar her show is to the Trailer Park Boys? Loves it bitch.

Good Morning

Coffee. Cigarette. Coffee. Sunshine. Email. Found love letters. Coffee. Sunshine. Purring kittens. Open window. Fresh berries.

Even this week's heavy schedule can't bring me down. Even a sketchy 17 year old sleeping on my couch can't sour my mood. It's spring and the semester is nearly done. Soon, summer with its plentiful sunshine.

"Oh, Happy Day!"
- John Waters

Self-indulgent procrastination

septima: well i'm organized so i'll be fine.
friend 1: hahahah organized? yeah right.

friend 2: youre so modest.
septima: hardly - my ego is bigger than my white girl booty.

septima: i'm so terrified to get up and do this.
friend 3: but you are always so confident!

I'm settling this once and for all. On this handy dandy site I get to pick the traits that I think I have and then other people pick traits that they think I have. And then I get to muse over the results. Muse? Sorry, I meant check compulsively 80 times a day.

My parents didn't help out one bit with my quest to merge conflicting traits. They have opposite views of who their daughter is. Simply fascinating, Freud.

Mom thinks: caring, confident, witty, warm, self-assertive, loving.
Dad thinks: bold, extroverted, spontaneous, idealistic, confident, searching.

Either my parents have seen two different people in their daughter for 21.5 years or their own personalities are so different that when they compare me to themselves they see wildly varying traits.

As it turns out, boys call me "silly" and girls use warmer adejctives like "loving" or "accepting". I apparently am a little silly and perhaps scary to the opposite sex. How cute.

This is a hell of a lot better than pissing away my time on websudoku.com. Without Vila, I never would have known about this amazing procrastination tool that is both self-indulgent and quasi-scientific. Now, back to "work"... I'm sure I have lines to memorize or auditions to prepare for...

What's on CBC?

Apparently the Olympics are going on right now in Italy. Neat. I haven't read a single Olympic headline, nor have I watched CBC since Torino came flying onto the map. And I don't feel bad.

In the past I have watched the elimination rounds because they are more exciting than the finals. You get to see the "losers" of the Olympics fly in, warm up and bomb their way right back onto a plane back to their homeland. In the finals everyone seems to be at roughly the same level and everything comes down to a millisecond or a millimetre because their bodies have been trained for so long that they all look like clones of each other. Its freaky. All the speed skaters look the same, all the ski jumpers look the same and the curlers, well... whatever. They are a little different from the rest of the games. They are the geeks of the games while the boarders are the cool kids at the back of the class who always smell like pot.

I also used to watch the medal ceremonies, regardless of what sport it was for or for what country the winners were from. I also used to cry excessively at them. I remember sobbing at the Australian games when some Swede won gold for some damn feat of strength or speed. The national anthem started playing and goddamnit she looked so proud. Between sniffles I nearly started singing along with the anthem. Those medal ceremonies will never cease to bring me to a whole new low.

So this year, I'm staying away. Far far away from CBC. I see no need this year to feel like a Swede for 10 seconds nor do I feel the need to sit like a potato on my couch watching the most fit people in the whole fucking world flex their muscles. I would rather compulsively play Sudoku puzzles until my brain hurts.

Happy Valentine's Day

February is a notoriously bad month. We have just suffered through 3 months of winter and the end is supposedly near, but chances are, it's still going to be colder than a witch's tit in a week and the snow is not going anywhere for at least another month. So what do we intelligent humans do? Place a stupid Hallmark holiday in the middle of the Hell Month to spite the already depressed singletons and to stress out those in a relationship.

I generally compensate by breaking up with whomever I am with about a week or so before February 14th. Noone said I had to be logical.

This year, I didn't break up with my boyfriend and we pulled out of our rough patch with a few scratches and bruises, but nothing that time won't heal. So stupidly I began to look forward to Valentine's Day. I haven't had a proper Valentine's Day ever in my whole life and I figured this would be the year to have lovely evening on the one day that TV tells me to.

Fate, which is often superb at bursting bubbles, got in the way of V-Day once again.

After getting out of rehearsal at 10pm last night I went to my boyfriend's apartment only to find him missing in action. So I sat around in a ridiculous outfit for 45 minutes waiting for him to get home. How romantic. When he finally got home, he produced the best Valentine's Day gift a girl could get: tampons and tylenol.

I don't know why I bothered to dress up like a sex kitten only to remember that my cramps are going to impede any possible romps in the sack. Basically I was just a failed tease. A cranky, crampy, impatient girl dressed up like a stripper.

I'm now cancelling all future February 14ths. Take out the 14th, tack on the 29th permanently and the 30th will be the new leap year date.

I doubt that there will be many complaints.

"Anglo McAngloville"

Today I laughed a whole lot. Which is good, considering I spent last night surrounded by white skaters doing hiphop and grafitti who then call themselves underground because that's their fucking tag and their names on xvi are retarded quasi poetic plays on words which reveal their vain efforts to sound like an intellectual when, in all reality, they are just stoned, filthy bums who lost too many brian cells because of aerosol cans. Last night was no laughing matter.

Here's the funny of the day:
In the Eponym, my riding of Westmount-Ville-Marie was described as "That Place Andre Boisclair Wishes Would Be Annexed By Ontario."

Too fucking hilarious. Those wiggers wish they were that witty. Maybe if we ripped them away from their turntables long enough, they might have a chance.

Disclaimer:
I am not supporting the use of xvi.com by mentioning it here. It is an awful cesspool of so-called Ottawa scenesters and speed-addicted candy ravers who still believe that happy hard core is good music. Nor do I mean to offend the author of the Eponym by comparing him to the lame asses I was subjected to last night.

This week in Canadian Politics.

1. A crocodile is now running the country.
2. We have a cute, racially-integrated, left-wing couple in the House of Commons.
3. Scary white cowboy hats are now deemed acceptable garb while making decisions regarding the entire country.
4. Duceppe keeps his title of the Beady Eyed King of Quebec.
5. Paul Martin is no longer leading the Liberal party, but that's not news. He never did much leading at all. Ever.

In other news, Peter Mansbridge was drunk again during a CBC broadcast and This Hour Has 22 Minutes has crossed over to the dark side... convincing people to strategically vote.

As for the rest of the world, edible fish crackers are all over my floor and a guy standing next to me on the 105 impaled my thigh today with his raging hard-on. Consider yourselves up to date.

Dance monkey, dance!

I hate my campus bar for many reasons, and most of my hatred comes from how people react to my answer to everyone's favorite question... "What program are you in?"

"Do you know any Shakespeare?" No. I have been acting for nine years and have never heard of the guy.

"Are you famous?" Damn, you got me. I knew I should have wore my wig and shades to Reggie's. This is the best place in Montreal to celebrity watch.

"Okay, if you are an actor, pretend that a bunny hops in and here's the fun part... how would you react?" I had no idea that knowing how to react to a bunny in a bar separates actors from the rest of the population.

And it spiraled downwards from there until I finally said "If I am going to do a single trick for you, I better get a cookie."

Noone had a cookie so I left.

nothing compares to kraft dinner with hot sauce and ranch dressing in front of a tv that blurs the red backgrounds with faces so i get convinced that my very hot sauce from jamaica is spiked with acid and everything i am experiencing is any where close to that elusive realm called reality

nothing beats the million dollars of fines that i have accumulated with blockbuster and videotron from shitty movies i shouldn't have watched anyway but did out of my intense hatred for will smith will ferrell will whoever and all the other overpaid twits who headline all the movies

nothing rivals a hormonally fucked up me who somehow managed to fuck up her cycle to the point where everything hurt and i was convinced i was pregnant despite the last pregnancy scare which was actually just a major kidney infection from hell that sparked the need to get on the pill which was the precise reason of this month's fury and never ever again am i going to alter hormones again because the beast within should only be expressed in a character on stage and not all the fucking time for no justifiable reason

nothing is more humiliating than accepting the speckles of old crusty food that live permanently on my kitchen tiles that came from tenants of yore who loved belinda stronach and anarchy symbols and these tenants are the sole reason for my recent purchase of heavy duty cleaning supplies that are so noxious they verge on being acid

and that is my month to date

how is yours so far?

procastination for all!

This is killing me....
school better start soon before I start playing Sims again.

Merry Christ...nakah?

Or whatever it is that you happen to be "celebrating" during the Silly Season. Personally, I am celebrating the fact that I don't have to go to Toronto this year to listen to snotty relatives trying to one-up each other. In fact, this year's Silly Season brings a ton of great things that I can celebrate, aside from the usual God-praising, Jesus-blessing and Mass-going that I am always taking part in during the holidays.

The best and biggest thing that I have to celebrate this year is the fact that 2005 is nearly over. If you don't think that's not a cause to celebrate, then maybe you should read up on the last year of blogging. Just to make sure that 2005 will never come again, I sent a letter to Santa Claus and will be watching the calendar on my computer veryyyy carefully to make sure it flips to 2006 and not back to January 2005. I'll have the results January First... 2005 OR 2006? Stay tuned! In the meantime, here's my list to Santa.

Dear Santa,
All I want for Christmas is to never have another 2005 again. I know you don't deliver presents to bad girls so I would like to set a few things straight: what is your take on homosexuality and abortions? I'm sure you already know those two issues came up in my life during 2005 and will greatly affect my haul this year if you follow the Church's teachings. In fact, I have a suspicion that you might be God.
You both have grey beards, at least according to Monty Python and my Christmas wrapping paper. You both supposedly see everything which quite frankly, will strike fear and reverence into every child no matter whether it's Santa, God, or your crazy grandfather telling you so. Lumps of coal or floods and plagues.... what's the difference?
If that is true, I'm screwed right out of a present this year. Anywho, as a little incentive for you, God Claus (you like? I just thought it up on the spot!), it will be a whole lot easier to be a good girl if you never make another 2005 happen ever again.
Cheers!
ps: If you do take pity on my sin-stricken heart this year and bring me something to open on Christmas morning, I would love an iPod and a vibrator. I put two items on my list because just in case you are out of iPods this year, you can always grab a vibrator. I'm sure that not too many kids will be asking for those.

I'm all set for 2006. I have made my list and checked it twice.

Lighter courseload which will bring better grades? Check.
Great boyfriend whom I adore? Check.
Better relationship with my parents? Check.
No more fucking the roommate? Check.
Birth Control Pills which when used effectively are anti-prego pills? Check.

Even if 2006 decides to be trouble, I have some pretty solid armour on.

Happy Silly Season everyone!

Welcome to hell

Winter barfed all over the city at somepoint after this actor was throwing up in my toilet last night and at some point before I nearly puked all over my cat this morning.

There is snow everywhere.

There is no escape.

My apartment is no longer safe

My roommate's boyfriend invaded my territory two weeks ago under the pretense that he was only going to stay for four days. It wouldn't be so awful if my roomie had just asked me if it was alright that he stayed for a while. Nor would it be so bad if the guy would actually be civil to me.

I have to physically bump into him in my kitchen before he mutters a single word, which usually ends up being a barely audible "sorry...".

Granted, the guy does have a damn good reason to not like me, and it's not like I want to be buddies with him, but he is not being mature in any way, shape or form. When my roomie and I had a little "incident" involving wine and an unplanned romp in the sack, it was a bad thing because, first and foremost, both of us were in relationships with other people. However, when you compare how my boyfriend, J, handled it to the way her boyfriend handled it, his ape-man status is blindingly obvious.

Their problems are theirs, not mine, just as my problems are between my boyfriend and I, and not her's. So if J can be civil to her on my turf, so can ape-man. Not to mention the problem of him eating my share of the food, or him using my computer or him leaving his DIRTY SOCKS on MY COUCH........

Ape-man has got to go. Besides, he reminds me of my last boyfriend... a general good-for-nothing who does not have much consideration for other people and who says really dumb things on a regular basis. Also, ape-man has had some pretty psychotic episodes which bear too much similarity to my ex's behaviour.

Tomorrow, I put my foot down. I will reclaim my living room, my computer and my kitchen. I will demand for reimbursement for my groceries and then, in a moment of blazing glory, I will cackle from my living room window as he shuffles away down Sherbrooke Street, all alone, to hitch hike back to whatever hole he came out of.

On all-nighters

Sometimes you go out, pockets full of speed and dance all night long.

Sometimes you go to a bar, drink your face off, and end up at some random person's house to have a one-time fuck fest all night long.

Other times you go out with the intention of having just a few beers and end up at random locations doing ridiculous things all night long.

But most of the time, when you are a student, you end up leaving everything until the last twelve hours before the due-date and end up in front of the computer all... night.... long.

But most of the time, these students, are aware of the actual due date for the assignment and spend the last twelve hours before the due date typing frantically.

Sometimes I am on time for appointments, sometimes I remember my plans and sometimes I do my laundry.

But most of the time I am late, I honestly forget what my commitments were and I rarely wash my clothes.

Most of the time I do my work during the last possible hours, usually the hours that I would rather be sleeping in my large, comfortable bed, which only seems larger and comfier when I'm sitting down the hall from my beautiful bed at four in the morning.

Most of the time, I know when my assignments are due so I can plan my schedule around them. This is very important to me. I am a woman of ritual.

example: Essay assigned October 1st, Duedate 9am November 1st. Procrastinate until 6pm October 31st. Run to library to research 7pm - 11pm. Simultaneously research and write from midnight to 8:30 am. Cab to school and hand in paper coughing from chain smoking, shaking from caffeine intake and bug-eyed from staring at the computer screen for 8 hours straight (I allotted half an hour for lighting cigarettes, refilling coffee, turning my head away from the computer screen to chug the coffee and going pee because that happens alot when you drink 2 pots of coffee in an 8 and a half hour period).

Most of the time, I get an A-range paper and I then I get ready for my next round of procrastinating.

This time, which definitely is not most of the time and I pray it doesn't turn into sometimes, I stayed up all night working on an assignment when it wasn't due the next morning. It wasn't even due the next afternoon. It was due four days later.

When you don't go to class much, the course syllabus becomes more holy and sacred than the Bible. In fact, I think it should be cast in stone. This supposed extension that was given went outside the Holy Syllabus and I was left in the dark clutching a coffee stained, softened syllabus that told me the old due date.

Thursday morning, feeling accomplished and satisfied having completed my ritual, I jolted into class coughing, shaking and much more bug-eyed than usual because I scored a Dexedrine tablet from my roommate for a touch of performance enhancement. The come down off my caffeine/Dexedrine high numbed the crushing news of the postponed due-date, so no tears were shed. That would have been embarrassing considering that most of the time students jump for joy at extensions and sometimes they simply sit in quiet relief. Crying would be extremely far from those two normal reactions, and quite frankly, I had already had enough of going out of the norm for one day.

Most of the time I feel relieved after handing in something. Sometimes I feel proud. This time I feel cheated out of what could have been a well-deserved night of sleep.

I suppose the only thing to do is continue procrastinating until the next assignment is due.