Friday Fun.

This week did not start out on the best of notes to say the least. A Friday and Saturday of unbridled, dangerously enjoyable debauchery resulted in me showing up at my soul-sucking gray hell of a Major Depressive Episode-inducing cubicle on Monday morning without the following items (or, for that matter, a clue as to what in the fucking fuck I am doing with my life):

- iPhone. Lost somewhere between Saturday night's fourteen trillion overpriced cab rides and the creepiest after-hours I've ever had the pleasure of curling up on a couch and chain-smoking in at 4 a.m. A few very nice young Irishmen sporting mohawks - who may or may not have been involved in illegal activity - attempted to help me look for it in said after-hours, but it was not found and I woke up at some ungodly hour the next day bemoaning my existence as a result. Never before did I know how utterly lost and helpless I would feel without a fucking gadget. Eww, am I technologically dependent or what?

- Contact lenses. Somehow I managed to rip one in half while it was still in my eye, which I discovered around the same time that I began bemoaning my iPhone-less life on Sunday. This really smart move of mine left me with no choice but to place an order for a new pair, impatiently wait for them to arrive (a.k.a. bombard the bitchy optometrist's secretary with demanding phone calls every six hours), and wear my broken, horrendously ugly glasses in the interim, lest my blindness wind me up in the middle of an intersection or something equally life-threatening/dumb.

- My dignity. This one I'm not going to get into for obvious reasons. But yeah, it might have gone missing there for a couple of days, I won't deny it.

Alas. To paraphrase the hottest Beatle (Mr. George Harrison), all things must pass indeed, and that they have...

I got my eyes back, I bought a new iPhone, and I have been having a seriously excellent run of good hair days. Tonight brings about a massive and expertly planned (by me, obvi) birthday throwdown for my amazing roommate, and tomorrow the weather is apparently going to be conducive to going outdoors with, like, bare legs and stuff. And did I mention that I also acquired the sickest pair of red, polka-dotted, heart-shaped Lolita sunglasses courtesy of my other wonderful roommate? And that the really nice Australian girl who works at the hostel I live across the street from has offered my roommates and I an open invitation to the delicious free pancake breakfast they make every morning? I'm fairly certain she's a lesbian and I'm also fairly certain that she's attempting to convert my hetero ass, but regardless. Yes, yes and yes.

One more thing to be happy about on this beautiful day: Kasabian are back on form after that trainwreck that was 'Empire'. Having heard 'Underdog' and this one that follows (which is accompanied by the coolest music video I've seen in years...take note, Primal Scream), I expect 'West Ryder Pauper Lunatic Asylum' will be my glorious soundtrack to my glorious Summer Oh-Nine.
Enjoy.

Kasabian - Vlad the Impaler from Kasabian on Vimeo.



P.S. Expect the Shame Sprial that is my life to continue upon its usual course as of early next week, but let happy be happy for now, aiight?

What dreaming used to be.

Snow White.

Between the pages we've colored of fairy tales (that we've known for a long time are not and never will be true), she asks me if it's the prince who will kiss you when you're already dead that's the one worth waiting for. Dead, in the glass coffin that those who have loved you built, and he'll have enough life in him and love in him to save you both. She knows I don't know the answers either, so all I can offer is "don't build the glass coffin in nights upon nights of convincing yourself that the prince who has no life left in him is worth it. Princes with nothing to give to even themselves...your half-dead self won't be able to save them."

But then, I think another thought and it's down the rabbit hole again, spilling onto the pages as another drink spills soundlessly in the kitchen.

What kind of a prince is the one who wants you when you're dead? You're nothing but doll parts to him, to his kiss, when there's nothing left of you to begin with. And that's exactly why he loved you, didn't you know it all along? When you had no needs, all he needed was you.

So April showers will surely bring something in May, but what? We're not yet sure. For the time being we've got gloomy days of wearing glasses with blurry gazes at smoke stacks, photographs, pockets jingling with change and the change in the weather which has come so soon. We've got empty e-mails that mean more than millions of words. We've got last night's words about beautiful bed frames and driving out of this city in cars that we don't own, with licenses that we don't have. Visa debts, work visas to get, and scuzzy Los Angeleno sunsets playing out of our stereo with daydreams of surfboards and drugs we haven't done yet.

And we've got the sense that maybe neither prince is very good at all.

Played out (and still oh-so true)

"I always tell the girls: never take it seriously. If you never take it
seriously, you never get hurt. You never get hurt, you always have fun.

...And if you ever get lonely, you just go to the record store and visit
your friends."

Words from Almost Famous' Miss Penny Lane and the sky of unrelenting sunshine make all of this past week's nonsense feel pretty alright on this gorgeous Friday afternoon. And a photo of my favourite record store friend, of course, thrown in for good measure.

Careful, careful.

Watching women who's words I walked around with when I was only sixteen years old. I thought I knew what they were talking about then - as it turns out, I had no idea.

So I sit, watching, stringing chains around my neck, not unlike when I disrobed and re-robed in his room six nights ago. I won't admit it (who would?), but I'm also surveying in the moments in between all of this watching...now there are others, with their cellulite-free, tanned asses hanging out on his wall. One with an Eastern European last name that reminds me of a person I'm trying quite hard to forget as of late.

And so it is. Moisturizing my face tonight, watching those women who I thought I understood when I was too young to really know anything, I realized that I've never been 'rejected' because I've never let myself be. Careful, careful, because all of the good advice in the world won't do me any good when I'm up to no good, and it's just far too easy to tiptoe about and play this game with oneself.

So it is, so it is, so I keep watching. If I didn't quite comprehend these questions back then, then there's a chance that I may have missed the part with all of the answers too?

Random Thursday Happiness includes...

1. Finding the perfect dress to wear to this wedding I have attend on Saturday. The prospect of being stranded in a place outside of my agreeable realm of TTC service (I honestly don't remember the last time I went somewhere that the TTC did not extend out to..it's kind of terrifying) filled with strangers and family that I hate (Hi, Dad) is emotionally daunting enough for me thankyouverymuch, I don't need the added worry of looking sub-par. And now, thanks to the lovely dress I acquired last night in a post-work power shop, I won't.

I first learned this lesson from a wise, brilliant friend who always sauntered in to our most formidable 8 a.m. university exams looking absolutely and entirely impeccable. When I eventually worked up the nerve to ask her why this was the case, I was met with a bit of wisdom which has not been quickly forgotten: "If this all turns out shit, which it probably will, at least I know I can catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror later and feel better about life."

Moral of the story: A dress that makes your boobs look great combined with a healthy amount of narcissism can go a long way when you're out of your comfort zone.

2. The fact that I have the next four days free to do whatever I please with (with the exception of the aforementioned wedding uncomfortable-ness...but hey, it's an excuse to wear a pretty dress, drink on someone else's dollar and flirt with dudes, so it can't be all bad).

Knowing me this means that the next four days of my life will consist of little more than my usual chain-smoking/drinking/going out/sleeping in/eating food every once in a while, but then again most anything that's not being confined within the beige walls of office hell seems pretty fucking delightful by me.

3. This, this and this article by Kate Carraway for Eye Weekly. I'm pretty sure she's been following me around town given the absolute fucking spot-on ness of her columns lately in relation to my life. Or we're just the same person. Either way.

4. The following photos of impossibly beautiful Scandinavian-by-way-of-Seattle models living out my dreams of summer, being gorgeous and grunge-tastically bohemian. Whoever is the first to find me a hot Kurt Cobain-esque boyfriend, so-ugly-it-borders-on-being-cute floral crochet poncho and a turquoise van to play guitar on top of first wins at life...fuck it, find me even one of those things and I'll buy you a cupcake or something.

Come Down.

My thoughts as of late have consisted of little beyond the following subjects.

1. O Canada: I HATE YOU. People are not intended to live in dark, damp and freezing cold misery nine months out of the year. They're just not. I've yet to let you, winter, stop me from going out and living my life and so and so forth these past few horrible months...but really, don't you think enough is enough already?

So I've given up, you win.

I've come to terms with the fact that I will continue to be bored with the same unflattering baggy sweaters, the same black tights and the same three coats that I wear over and over and OVER again until you finally decide to let the fuck up and go away. I've also entertained the possibility that you will quite simply never go away, and have in fact decided to persist until the end of time. I hate you so much that I'm considering skipping the country altogether and going to live in the desert. Which brings me to my next point...

2. Joshua Tree, California, 24th birthday, road trip. At some point last week it occured to me that I absolutely, positively cannot be in this city on my birthday. I'm not sure why I came to this conclusion - I haven't had a 'Big Deal Birthday' since I turned double digits (pathetic, I know), but for some reason the prospect of being 24 is hitting me like a veritable tonne of bricks. Nor do I have any clue as to why I've chosen Joshua Tree, California as the place I'd like to spend it.
But I do.
And I will.
And I'm totally going and it's going to be ridiculously brilliant.

...and if it's not, there's always the slight chance that it'll actually be warm in June in Toronto and at the very least I'll be able to go about my usual activities of waster-dom in bare legs and sandals again. Not counting on it given the pure, unadulterated evil that is the aforementioned Canadian weather though.

3. Dating or something like it? This one's a bit more difficult to summarize, but I'll give it my best shot: what the fuck is dating? If I'm hanging out with and sleeping with someone on the regular are we 'dating', or just having casual sex *shudder*? Do I even want to be dating? Do I even care? And why am I wasting mental energy thinking about it?

Ugh.


...So yeah. Other than that stuff life is as boring throughout the work day/busy in the evenings as ever. Same old, same old, same old, same old. Whatever.

You never get wise, you only get older.

There's that evil beauty again

in the booths of booze and

slights of hand,

smock dresses and smokers stresses,

party favours through the favours of friends.

Glittering like a speck of sand

hit by the opalescent night.

The night is ours with our

skinny legs taking us nowhere

oh so fast

when we're everywhere

with everything for which

we didn't have to ask.

So get back

to watching videos of

destruction

and corruption

and the Power

of Positive Thinking.

Because our pictures are

in the newspaper box

and on the newspaper box

now too.

It's no crime?

Hello ruby in the dust. Has your band begun to rust?

Some nights there really isn't anything more satisfying than passing the time with a glass of red, Neil Young on the stereo, my notebook and a box of Crayola 64 markers.

Yes, I know I'm lame. But, with that being said, it is turning into a very, very pretty notebook.