i like this, although i don't understand the url and i don't remember how i got there, or by whence.

I also have a total webcrush on this guy. Do not worry, bryanboyerdotcom, I am not a stalker. I know this because I took a test on the internet.

the account "dishwater.pitas.com" is still available. quick, someone, register it fast! Time is running out! Soon, it may be too late. Toooooooo late. Beeeyotch.

I love pitas because they are tasty and customizable because I am an HTML robot also because they are oh-so-easy. Also because they are purple. Mine is not purple of course; it is pink. However it cannot deviate from its purple-natire. It cannot, so to speak, denature. Pink is a purple isotope anyway, what I don't like is that my pita, sucks. There should be no comma there but it looked too spartan with no punctuation. This used to be interesting at least. Now, this is the most difficult thing I have ever done and I don't feel like writing about it.

I'm sure that somewhere there is someone who thinks I am as cool as I actually am.

Douglas Coupland-esque observation: you are not only what you own.
I like attaching the "-esque" onto things. I would like it if everyone wrote something today, and then said it was Jocelyn-esque.

When I was younger I used to hold my breath going over bridges, until once I had to walk over the high-level, and I almost passed out.
I always think I am to blame for everything.
I throw a frisbee very well. It goes far but not straight.
Someone used to be in love with me, but now no one is. How sad is that? It's nice to look around you and think that at least one of these people is in love with me.
Don't allow yourself to be deceived. Love is a luxury. Happiness is also a luxury.
I crushed a mosquito on my knuckle and it didn't even put up a fight.
I saw chicken run today. I liked it. I don't like Mel Gibson, who I almost called Gel Mibson, wouldn't that be funny.
Every place I go is the same: that restaurant, that orange slide, that grassy knoll, that square of sidewalk, that bus stop. I feel like I am stumbling through a town inhabited by ghosts. I feel like I am banging my wrists against windows so clear you don't know they're there until you hit them, like the display-fronts at the museum. I feel like my friends are moving around me, choreographed as they always have been, exquisite, but I am wearing my shirt backwards, or I am forgetting to close my tags. Like I am strange and foreign. Like I am choking.
I feel strange. Someone used to think I was beautiful, but now, even my website sucks. How is that for a really insightful pita. You will read that and go, oh, yes, this is quality, i'm going to bookmark this one, NOT.

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watch your head-- rebounding can be dangerous Friday, June 30, 2000 @ 01:14 p.m.

question: are the guys who mow my neighbour's lawn not SO HOT? imagine the pervasive smell of freshly mowed grass that followed a person around like a cloud.

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2 new tests Thursday, June 29, 2000 @ 11:50 p.m.

yes, even in the face of difficult interpersonal problems, I have not ceased to pursue the truth about myself. So, yes, I am 24% slut (hey, it's below the average, apparently-- but what were you expecting?) and no, I am not a stalker.

so, how do i look?

i like: toaster pitas. my toaster and i are not on speaking terms.

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please consider grammar when defacing public property Thursday, June 29, 2000 @ 05:08 p.m.

Observations made on an ETS bus:
Apostrophes are used for contractions and possessives, with the notable exception of its, where the apostrophe is dropped to distinguish from it's, the contraction of it is. Therefore, "Motha Fucka's" is incorrect: the correct usage would be "Motha Fuckas", unless you are referring to something that belongs to a Motha Fucka, ie., "Welcome to Motha Fucka's 24-Hour Diner."

The people who vandalize bus-seats are not as literate as they used to be.

I did some shopping today. I bought a yellow shirt, which Meghan informs me is a "boat-neck" shirt; some buttons to transform an existing skirt into a wearable skirt; some linen-type stuff for a tailored tank top to match said skirt; and 2.5 metres of flannel to make new pyjama pants. My old ones are dead. Toby-- who no longer sleeps in his crate but at the foot of my parents' bed-- killed them and then bathed in their blood.

I am a guerilla shopper. Shopping is not a social activity. It should be done quickly, efficiently, and without sacrificing the lives of others.

Total Shopping.

Notes from yesterday:

• lots of hours in the summer.
• saw my first episode of Survivor-- very addictive. Love Colleen.
• Made friends with some mormons.
• I wish this heat would break in a violent storm.
• Alex > Quebec. Bon voyage!
• Eating in bed is fun!
• A little girl told me she liked my barrettes.

Notes from today:

• My new Sim, Theo, got promoted all the way up to "specialist". She is the success I wish I could be. Lots of friends, a healthy relationship with a sexy black man (Rabbi Plastic of course), a high-paying job, a well-manicured yard. But let me tell you a secret: she was so broke last week that she couldn't pay the maid, who stole a lamp in retaliation.

Oh, the places you'll go!

sometimes it just hits you like a tonne of bricks-- or a tonne of anything really, a tonne of touchtone phones-- my life has changed.

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when does this get easy Wednesday, June 28, 2000 @ 04:06 p.m.

that's what i would like to know. just that: when does this get easier, when does it get bearable even, when do i stop missing you?

i am not doing this. i don't know how to do this. i don't even know where to begin.

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transportation, still and swiftly Tuesday, June 27, 2000 @ 05:58 p.m.

the other day, while driving back from my grandparents' house, we drove on an underpass while a train went overhead and my father said, "don't you feel like you are in a richard scary book?"

and i did.

did you like how i revealed a small element of my true identity there in the title? a lot of people don't know that i am chantal kreviazuk, but i am. i am the only person who could have come up with that title. although it does sound a lot like my last album.

you don't even want to know how much i had to pay that girl to be on the cover. she was all like, "artistic integrity blah blah blah," and i said, look, jean (that's her name although you'd think it was something a little more, i don't know, romantic): look at me. would you buy an album with me on the cover? she hesitates and admits, "probably not, unless you were standing among the backstreet boys." exactly. artistic integrity, my ass, i said, here's five hundred and an extra hundred to keep your mouth shut.

it ain't easy being chantal kreviazuk.

now i'm going to go have sex with my husband, that guy from Our Lady Peace.

Legal note: I am not actually, and have never purported or pretended to be, Chantal Kreviazuk. In fact I have never spoken to her and don't know anything about her (obviously) although i'm sure she's a very nice person. Please do not sue me because unlike the real chantal kreviazuk, i have no money. But I don't feel bad about not being Chantal Kreviazuk, because this is the wayyyyy god made me...

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a happy list of adjectives that anyone can use Monday, June 26, 2000 @ 10:41 p.m.

heartbreaking
useless
sodding
bastard
(don't tell me bastard isn't an adjective, because i might call you a useless sodding bastard)
frustrating
disappointing
lonely
worried
jaded
and:
wishing that-- actually i don't know what i am wishing. so never mind that. once i had a dream that dom deluise, wearing a chef's hat, was knee-deep in macaroni and cheese, and if that doesn't make for good pitas dammit i don't know what does.

weeeeell, do you know what i had for dinner? gingerale and Bugles, the kind we used to always eat at my grandmother's house when i was very small. strange.

Meghan won't like this, but did you know that god hates figs? (link pilfered from death peach)

deletia will be taking a short commercial break now, but please, don't adjust your set, you useless sodding bastard.

i warned you i was going to do it.

This is really great: someone searched google for "western front masturbating" and found deletia : relationship central. i hate to think how i am letting people down, letting everyone down really, especially myself.

ooooh, i don't know what. i ought to write something, but everything i can think of writing is private information, too private even for the world wide web. hopefully by the time everyone finds out it will be summer, and no one will care, except me.

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Sunday, June 25, 2000 @ 04:27 p.m.

i bought some clothes i have never been kissed in.

On the way home we saw a white SUV driving the same direction as us, and it had a sign that said ALASKA OR BUST taped in the back window. I am absolutely not making this up. I was titillated, and that doesn't happen easily.

In a huge Nairobi grocery store last summer, I heard a bluesy cover of the old Bill Withers song. You know it: ain't no sunshine when she's gone...

If you really want to know, you're going to have to ask.

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