"You don't write anymore, you should write."

"It used to be a true expression of yourself, now it's just vainglorious. Like you are trying to convince yourself of something."

Perhaps.

But maybe it is hard to write when you have your left hand holding a glass of wine and your right hand holding the keys to get out of your apartment... and your mouth is holding a cigarette, all to perhaps,

forget the fact that you don't write anymore.

And I mean write in the cynical way. The way that you make fun of trannies like they are lost and found women who forgot their penises.

(because any self respecting woman has a bigger dick than most of the men we all meet)

But perhaps it is hard to write when my skin is burnt to a crisp. And the reason for the burn is due to my desire to run around like a fool until I forget where I came from.

Where I came from is peeing in the bathroom.

While I attempt to smoke.

Smoke and type.

As he encourages me on.

Dating Rules

A while back a friend of mine and I made up a little list of Dating Rules. Apparently, once printed and framed, they would become holier than the testament and we would have no choice but to obey the rules. And if obeyed, we truly believed that the rules would spare us from all future dating horror stories and we would never be heartbroken. Ever ever again.

We both broke a few rules, but the one cardinal rule that we both swore on, was to never date a guitar player or DJ.

They are bad news. Guitar players think that they are humble gods while DJ's think that they are gods that have the power to smite you all.

Guitar players play you emo songs in their bedroom, thinking girls like emotions on display and that tears from their moving handwritten poems lead directly to sex.

DJ's play you their new track in their bedroom, thinking that their inherent coolness will remove all your articles of clothing immediately.

Guitar players will try to have emotional sex, full of handholding and tender kisses.

DJ's will try to have sex. Any sex. Because their cock is so naturally large that even being in its presence will send a girl into ecstasy.

Guitar players will have awkward moments and toss their emo hair in pseudo bashfullness.

DJ's will have awkward moments and not even notice how foolish they really are.

Now that I know not to get near these types... again... I am going to remount that list of mine. Frame and all. And I will remember to obey the cardinal rule. Never ever date guitar players or DJ's.

Quote du moment.

an affair so ongoing it almost constitutes a relationship.
a relationship so brief it actually becomes an affair.

can you believe...

i went to work on the terrace
only to find it freezing cold

i went to sit at the bar to eat my free meal
only to find a drink in front of me

i went out back to smoke
only to find more drinks waiting

i went to another bar
only to find a plan

a plan to go to new york city for a day
to drink and party and have a blast

but planes are awful expensive
when you don't have much of a plan

so i ended up in quebec city
loaded after drinking warm heinekens on the bus

and woke up to room service
at the chateau frontenac

wondering how i went to work
got drunk
and ended up in another city
staying in one of the best rooms in the hotel

life is good
when you decide it's for the taking

but from now on
i think i should get on the proverbial wagon

so that next time
i don't end up hungover as usual
in another city.... unusual....

here we go...

I'm nervous.

Don't be.

I'm scared. Actually, I'm terrified.

You are? Oh no.
Now I'm terrified too.

Smoke?

Yes.
I'm really guarded. You should know that.

Oh thank god. I mean not thank god. But when I said I'm terrified, I actually meant to say that I'm guarded. Other words came out instead. I have a wall. I keep seeing opportunities to let it down and then boom it comes right back up.

I guess we are involved.

Yeah, I guess so.

I hate relationships.

Me too.

My relationships always fail.

Aren't they supposed to fail? Wow, that's depressing.

But true.

Well, they should. At least now. Until you are old, I guess.

I feel old.

I'm twelve. And fifty.

Me too.

Do you have a condom?

No.

Dammit.

---

Then he played me a song. About love. It wasn't sex, but it will do.

If someone were watching my life, they would probably throw up all over the goofy awkward moments and then decide that it is flowers and sunshine and all the other things that make you cringe.

Fear is making me keep my life preserver tightly strapped to my body. And at this point, what I am most afraid of is the moment where we have to take off the safety measures and actually plunge into deep dark scary waters.

Until then, I will just keep on being terrified and guarded. And completely safe.

God bless the service industry

An after work drink often turns into 8 shots at a nearby bar which can also turn into the fun experience of dining out with chefs. You honestly never know what is going to happen next.

You could end up at a Shish Taouk palace where one chef decides that the tabouleh is the best he has ever had. This chef is next spotted walking out of the greasy establishment carrying 40$ worth of the stuff in a takeout container.

Or, you could end up in Chinatown, eating snake soup and oysters at 4 in the morning. Incidentally, this is my favourite option - nothing beats being the token white girl in a Chinese restaurant where the servers mock me and tell me that the snake soup I'm scarfing down (and incidentally, burning the inside of my mouth) is chicken.

"Ohhhh don't worry - it Chicken. Hahaha, it chicken!!"
"Uhm, you don't worry, I know it's snake. And I love it. Thanks."
"Ohhhh you brave! Hahaha it not chicken!! Very good!"

I should think about stealing some of their serving practices. I think I would love pointing and laughing at the foolish Westmounters who don't know the difference between tartar and salsa.

Once a day

According to my numerologist, I should be working on my "career" for an hour per day.

According to my doctor, I should be "thinking" about quitting smoking once per day.

According to my parents, I should be planning my "life" each and every day.

According to my prof, I should be reading "theatre" once per day.

According to me.... well, I think I need to take a break. Once a day.

So, that adds up to 3 hours of work and 2 hours of break per day. 5 hours a day of scheduled "me time" ontop of the average 5 hours of bartending per day. Not to mention rehearsals, beer and sleep.

Being an adult sucks. I hate every second of it.

The dishes, the taxes, the sweeping, the litter box cleaning, the appointment making... they should all do themselves.

Where's my time to finish that song I've been creating? Where's the time to stare at the sunset? Where's the time?

Where's the time to actually BE an adult?

In this?

If so, I want out.

the sky fell down exactly 3 weeks ago

when the sky falls
you tend to fall with it
the horizon dips away
and with it goes your fears

i realized that when the sky falls
you end up standing on clouds
wanting to sing and dance cheek to cheek

the only thing that is wrong
is that i think it shouldn't be happening
that i didn't know i wanted this

but the sky did fall
and what's behind me
can't be changed or compromised
i just hope that when i look back
i will know i'm on the right track

it's simple and honest and awkward
it's making me feel small
so small i want to crawl inside
and make that last bit of space disappear

it's silly and it makes me want to be a star
for a one-man audience

And I asked myself about the present: how wide it was, how deep it was and how much was mine to keep.

Thank you Mr. Vonnegut. You will be missed.

The jury is still out on this one...

God bless YouTube.

Not only should I be writing a paper that is really late, or maybe the one that is just a little late, or maybe the one that is due tomorrow... I should be at least doing my taxes. From last year.

Instead, I found myself finding 'gems' on YouTube.

The first is relatively amazing. However there is something terrifying about Alanis doing the Fergie thing in the woeful songstress fashion while wearing hoochie clothing.

The second is, well, terrifying. Just because you happen to film cop cars just driving by does not make you "street". But if you sang along like I did, it's okay, because the entire video is hilarious. Not to mention the fact that the chorus is "Where you from? DG!"

Lieutenant Kleenex and the Token Survivor

Jung really hit the nail on the head with his theories about archetypes - they are absolutely everywhere. From Greco-Roman dramas to Prison Break, archetypes and stock characters seem to be at the essence of it all. Now that I have chosen to write a play of my own, I'm starting to analyze my own life in terms of archetypes.

I know where my wounded healer is, who to call when I need a mother and who whisks me away when I have an urge for a magical day. But it is the inconsequential people we meet that tend to show us the way.

From action movies and sci-fi shows, a term was coined for the poor guy that dies to show the impending doom of a situation. "Red Shirt" or "Lieutenant Kleenex" is that man who comes in to die in order for the hero to fight the baddies and ultimately survive.

There are also the token survivors, the ones who magically survive a tragedy of incomprehensible depths in order to allow us to understand a smidgen of the horrible catastrophe.

If I can look at the people in my life and pinpoint most archetypal and stock characters, where is Lieutenant Kleenex to warn me about how horrible it all is? How can I possibly save myself if there is no one here to specify the dangers? What about the token survivor? How can I understand the gravity of my life if there is no one here to tell me about it?

And more importantly... if I can find nearly all the archetypal characters other than the Red Shirt, what does that mean? By process of elimination, am I the disposable soldier? Am I serving as the warning for what not to do? Or, am I crawling from a wreckage dusting off shrapnel screaming about the ferocious force that is life?

These inconsequential characters that are full of consequence could be everywhere - maybe we just have to open our eyes in order to catch these warnings and be all the wiser for it. Or on a scarier level, I could very well be that inconsequential character. If so, who warns me?

Friends?

I got to know a wonderful girl over the last year and only recently we talked about how great it is to have found a friend in each other. Why the validation? And why so late?

I broke up with my boyfriend and when we saw each other for the first time since our last fight the topic of friendship came up. How can we even try to call each other a friend? Is it just an avoidance? Is "friend" status the ultimate demotion? Or is it the stamp of mutual clingyness?

What about all those people who fall into the grey areas... the friends that turned into lovers and back into friends? The boys that became a momentary lover and have been demoted into friend status in order to avoid any further hurt or regret? The people with whom instant connections have been made and yet time and schedules have ceased any regular contact? Who are all these people and why do they all get the same blanket title?

We fall in and out of love, we meet surprising new people, we connect with strangers and turn a one night stand into a long term understanding, we see our coworkers turn from a chat near the dishpit to a bar down the street on a weekly basis....

They all mean something different and are in my life for very different reasons and for that the term friend doesn't seem to apply to any of them. Friend is tossed around so loosely and sometimes without meaning, other times for all the wrong reasons. It seems to devalue why I love the people I do.

How can you go from wanting a sign saying "just married" to forcing a sign on the relationship saying "just friends"?

It makes no sense. No sense at all.

a day in the life

I tried to go to class and ended up dancing in the streets at 1pm.
"Nooooo THIS is how gay men dance."

I tried to see Al Gore and David Suzuki speak at Place d'Armes yesterday and instead ended up with a 1.5 L bottle of champagne in a converted shoe factory talking my way out of the headquarters of an separatist election campaigner. But only after my friend and I used their facilities.
"Uhm, I don't think they can help us break into your friend's loft..."

I tried to go swimming and ended up dancing in my bikini to Kriss Kross and Salt-n-Pepa.
"In your nice jeans, you give me nice dreams, ooo ooo OOOO! when you do, what you do, you make me wanna shoop..."

I tried to eat at a pizza parlour and ended up running away from scary homeless men in the village.
"DAMN, and I left my heroin at home..."

I tried to go to Parking and ended up piling into a one-person peep-show booth with 3 of my friends.
"Are you all friends?"
"Yeah, we are all really close..."

I tried to go home and ended up at Club Date where a queen was singing a duet.... solo.
"That's not versatility, that's multiple personalities."

I'm overstimulated and undernourished. And I have to move far far far away from the village. There is just too much to do in this neighbourhood.
"Maybe I should throw up. That's what people do when they drink this much, right?"

how to survive in today's world

watch inconvenient truth and stop global warming
read easy way to stop smoking and quit the habit
learn about veganism and save the animals (and your body)
buy a membership to the YMCA and live till you are 90
write a play and change the face of canadian theatre
shop at local stores and bring down the big corporations

think about the whole world and become selfless.

or

fall asleep in gore's movie and feel even worse about the world because you couldn't even stay awake while thinking about the world's biggest crisis and to hell with it all because you are tired because of your own biggest crisis to date and if we get sucked into an ice age that's fine because clearly we all suck at taking care and maybe humans just need to be wiped out and let the next species attempt to not fuck it up so bad

buy a new pack of smokes and hide that goddamn book because if you start reading it somehow you end up smoking more anyways and then you have to go back to the dep and indirectly announce that you have bought your one way ticket to the happy land of emphysema

eat a steak and don't think about the animal because you are hungry dammit and there must be a reason we are higher than they are on the food chain but cling to the fact that at least you don't eat higher up on the chain because that's wrong so conclude that as long as you eat chickens trout and cow its okay as long as you don't touch shark

let exercise tapes collect dust and then cab to the bar and announce that alcohol will preserve your body till old age better than exercise and cite keith richards mick jagger and david bowie as evidence that it must be true

decide you can't write and read about other people's pseudo-brilliance and get mad about shitty art that keeps getting grants and decide that you are a grassroots performer but only because grassroots is a better word than apathetic po-mo artiste

go to walmart because you can't afford locally produced anything and decide you like your toilet paper cheap and unrecycled and you like your strawberries full of hormones from california

think about the whole world and hope to god someone else will be selfless for you.

Why a good Irish lass shouldn't go out on March 17th

I swear I'm not a fighter. I would be a vegan hippie if only my favorite animal wasn't steak and if I didn't enjoy showering frequently. But in true Irish fashion, I found myself in a fight on St. Patrick's Day.

I showed up to Cabane 2 hours late, greeted all of my friends with a warm and tipsy hug, ordered a pitcher and did what every well bred lady does: went out for a smoke. Two drags later, 3 of my friends who were accompanying me in the nicotine fix, noticed a group of angry young punk wannabes walking towards us. The only girl in the group was mouthing off about nothing at all and when she saw us, she targeted one of my friends.

Being a lovely little drunk, my friend tried to pacify the situation by saying "Hey, there's no problem here, we are just havin a smoke... happy st-pats!" The angry punk twat (APT for short) flipped out and started giving my friend shit. One thing led to another and next thing you know APT lunged at my friend to smack her. I broke my peaceful silence to say something like "Don't fucking touch my friend!"

That was mistake number one.

Now APT is after me, mouthing off and well, I don't take kindly to stupidity so I keep responding with "Just go fuck yourself" and of course, I added in the ever insulting smirk-like laugh.

That was mistake number two.

APT who has long forgotten my friends walked up to me and hit me twice on my head. I flipped and screamed bloody murder.

Note mistake number three.

APT threw whatever was in her hand down, ripped her jacket open, got in my face to scream "WANNA FIGHT? WANNA GO, BITCH?!" I walked right up to her, raised my smoke in a fist and yelled "YOU DON'T WANNA FUCK WITH ME."

Okay, see that was mistake number four, but it clearly blows all the other misdeeds right out of the water.

Then APT slapped me. Bitch style. I smirked because well, I was braced for a brawl. I was ready for fists, tackling, anything really... but not a stupid bitch fight. Then I think, well, let's play this game.... so I lunged at her cat clawing, bitch-slapping and shoving until it was a flurry of a full blown chick fight.

Definately mistake number five.

Then something happened - I stumbled - and in the split second I felt a bit off balance I thought "Either I get up right this moment, take her down and end this bullshit... or get the hell out of here right this moment because I don't want to fight, I didn't want to fight, and quite frankly - this whole situation is getting really dumb really fast." So I watched myself slowly fall to the snow as one of my friends said "Get inside the bar, NOW."

So I got up, went inside and faced the table full of 10-15 of my friends all staring, jaws hanging and eyes like saucers. They watched me as I beelined for the bathroom to collect myself. By this point I'm wondering why my face stings and I look down to the ground and see blood...

I realize that APT had somehow managed to make my nose bleed despite not being able to actually cause any pain whatsoever. She also clawed my cheek - a series of three little wounds that are the evidence that I got into a scrap. Evidence that I greatly resent.

So, I did what every well bred lady does after a fight and I ordered a round of tequila shots for the table and cheered every last drop of my Irish blood.

After I went inside, APT turned back to the friend she originally attacked but quickly stopped because this friend of mine had turned insane during my scrap and was now being held back by two of my other friends. So APT continued her journey north on the Main, saw some girls heading her way and began instigating a fight with them. I betcha she got hers by the time she hit Mont-Royal.

My night also took me north on the Main to Mont-Royal where I was greeted at an apartment by a guy wearing white boxer-briefs, a tie and a sock on his right hand. This special specimen then passed out on the floor while my friend and I drank some of his leftover beer and laughed about the hilarity of the evening.

I love potatoes. I love beer. But drunken fights on the Irish holiday? Thanks but no thanks. I think that next year, I might just stay home.

tip:
don't fix it if it ain't broke
question:
can someone tell me how to put a border between the main content and the sidebar?
fact:
despite everything that is wrong with this new layout, i am most concerned with a stupid border.

Another move

This is the 5th apartment I have had since moving to montreal and I'm just finishing my 3rd year. 7 roommates, 5 apartments from NDG to Hochelaga and through most of those moves, I've carted two cats with me.

It's time to do it again.

Now that I'm living on my own, I'm face to face with a whole lot of things a 22 year old shouldn't be left alone with. When I had 2 consecutive knee surgeries 3 years ago, I had a good 6 months to work through my mind and it wasn't all fun and games. But in retrospect, it was pretty refreshing. Usually at 19 people just start running - I came to a full stop and I think it's the perfect time to do so. Just hitting independence and fate tells you to shut up and put it all into perspective.

But at 22? It's feeling a bit like overkill. I need to run, I need to fly around, I want to be completely free and sitting around my apartment surrounded by utter chaos is just not working. I can watch another movie, call another friend, cry about past loves, argue with my dirty dishes, stare at the sunset and then when I'm sick of that, go get annihilated at a bar.

And maybe living with someone wouldn't be all that different. Wouldn't we just be doing all the same things together? We watch movies, call people, cry to each other, argue with each other about dishes and when we got sick of all that, we would probably go get annihilated at a bar.

Perhaps that is exactly what I'm missing. A compadre, a partner in crime. Someone that will be around when I wake up hungover and we can giggle about the debauchery together. Someone that will be around to kick my ass when I have another ideological struggle with my dishes. Someone to make sure that I'm fed, watered and not too introspective. And someone that I can return all the favors to.

its electrifying when you see this every day
in a search to find happiness and solace
i think that seeing the sparkle of the city i chose as my home
live and breathe below me is more important than ever
especially when you live in a 1.5
having a view that stretches past la ronde makes me feel like i live in a castle
now the only thing is to get up enough courage to stand on my 10th floor balcony
i might just be able to take a picture of my own
however this view is only about 2 blocks away and for that i bless the internet in all it's glory

Grocery shopping is overrated. But getting taken out for dinner by your boss is incredibly underrated.

I mean, why go buy yourself some milk at the local IGA when you can order a nice bottle of whatever your heart desires?

Why attempt to cook when you can be served 3 courses?

And why get strange looks from fellow grocery shoppers for stepping out of the house in PJ's when you can get funny looks from the entire restaurant for looking like cheap arm fluff?

I mean, the choice is pretty simple here, is it not?

and therein lay the issue

I was afraid you'd hit me if i'd spoken up I was
afraid of your physical strength I was afraid
you'd hit below the belt I was afraid of your
sucker punch I was afraid of you reducing me
I was afraid of your alocohol breath I was afraid
of your complete disregard for me I was afraid
of your temper I was afraid of handles being
flown off of I was afraid of holes being punched
into walls I was afraid of your testosterone

I have as much rage as you have
I have as much pain as you do
I've lived as much hell as you have
and i've kept mine bubbling under for you

you were my best friend
you were my lover
you were my mentor
you were my brother
you were my partner
you were my teacher
you were my very own sympathetic character

I was afraid of verbal daggers I was afraid of the
calm before the storm I was afraid for my own
bones I was afraid of your seduction I was afraid
of your coercion I was afraid of your rejection
I was afraid of your intimidation I was afraid of
your punishment I was afraid of your icy silences
I was afraid of your volume I was afraid of your
manipulation I was afraid of your explosions

I have as much rage as you have
I have as much pain as you do
I've lived as much hell as you have

and i've kept mine bubbling under for you
you were my best friend
you were my lover
you were my mentor
you were my brother
you were my partner
you were my teacher
you were my very own sympathetic character

you were my keeper
you were my anchor
you were my family
you were my saviour

and therein lay the issue

and therein lay the problem