for christmas comes but once a year
Explain to me the Titanic reference in "Oops I Did It Again," the Britney Spears song. Is she just buying into the Leo market? That movie is SO pass-eh.
one year ago: "...now, it seems to me, if someone... were to fall in love with me... if someone were to spot me across the room and whisper to himself, "that is the most beautiful girl I've ever seen," if they were to spit back their drink accidentally as I glid (glode? Glided?) into the room, to drop their tortelettes and pate or drive their BMW into a streetlight, maybe THEN i could become convinced of my own value as a human being."
I don't believe this. Last night Chris and I wandered down towards the river, and stood on that little muddy promontory, amazed at the thawed river and the colour of the earth and sky. It seemed like spring. Admittedly, by the time I came home my hands were too cold to type, but my reasoning stands. The sky was blue and there were a few clouds and there were green (albeit evergreen) trees and the earth was dun brown. Yesterday the weather was lovely. Then it SNOWED overnight. It's making me miserable. Canada is okay, except it gets your seasonal hopes up and then lets you down, at least twice a year.
last night's entry (which I was too lazy to upload)
Can I stop and rant for a minute? MOVIE PRICES. This world is a crazy, fucked-up place. I remember when a weekend matinee would cost you $4, back when I first started going to lots of movies-- around the same time Chris and I started dating, through some strange coincidence. Well, we went to see a weekend matinee today, and you know how much it set me back? $8! Between the two of us we could have rented about EIGHT movies, made pasta with come sexy cream sauce with some blackened chicken and little peppers, and fooled around during the boring parts. I mean, the movie was great, but it's the principle of the thing. As the woman took my money, she smiled at me, as if to say, you schumck. You're doing something STUPID. Give. Me. A. Fucking. Break. This has gone far enough. At what point will we just refuse to pay? It's a MOVIE. John Cusack gets about a dollar, takes Joan somewhere posh for lunch, and the theatre pockets the rest and invests it in flame-throwers and models of King Kong and little pizzas and that just makes me SICK.
That aside, the movie was fan-fucking-tabulous. Sorry, I've just always really wanted to say that. Seriously, though, High Fidelity is great. I know everyone else in the planet has already said that and I therefore suck, but I have to stand by my cinematic convictions. The casting was excellent. John Cusack was convincing as someone younger than he actually is. he was also less shaggy than in Being John Malkovich. Joan was as usual brilliant in a small but vital role. Ilke Scandanavian-bjorn (I forget her real last name, but it has a lot of consonants) was glimmery in a good way. In fact everyone was good. It was funny, smart, savvy, but it also made an intelligent statement. A lot of people have said that this is a movie about how guys really are, and women might just find it disappointing, but actually, it reminded me a lot of me.
as we rode the bus home tonight, I was suddenly struck with the sensation of being massive. Not huge, exactly, although i am, in comparison to other people; I was simply amazed by the amount of space I occupy. On the scale of the universe I felt like I was taking up too much space. It was a strange sensation indeed.
Tom Jones is such a sex bomb!
When did David Niven ever play James Bond? Was he the guy in Casino Royale? Because that SO doesn't count as a James Bond movie. Anyone who thinks casino royale is a James Bond movie can kiss my pimply bon-bon, and that's what, yo.
My sister and I are off to watch Austin Powers. I like the movie for the Dr. Evil bits. That was the funniest idea to come out of movies in awhile, in my opinion, as much as it grates me to say it. I mean, the whole Mr. Bigglesworth thing. His discussions with Scott. "I am holding the world ransom for... ONE MILLION DOLLARS!" You might be embarrassed to admit it, but you thought that was riotously funny. And so did I. And that is why we can be Internet Friends.
Here's me in a nutshell: hey, I'm in a nutshell!
Tee he. Oh haha. Now I'm going to be laughing so hard I won't be able to fall asleep.
the wankometer
0.38, indeed.
you bet your life it is
rabbits plinky plinky plink
my page about me
it's squiffy. it's about me.
the two right-most people who love me are the prototype Male and Female friends since the couch wasn't big enough for everyone.
I got this link from Candice of cocacoma. (this is the third time I've fixed the spelling, but I think I've got it right now.)
For some reason I'm listed here, under "Rocket Pita," so it would seem I was added somewhat against my will. Once I couldn't get search engines to list me. Now they come crawling. Muah ha ha.
Perhaps the funniest part is that the blurb says you can "see photos of friends and pets" and "read original poetry," which seems like a big joke. I mean, if I took pictures of pets and poetry seriously, my site wouldn't be anything like it is. Oh well. the internet is the very best medium for misunderstandings.
i want to go to
Let's face it, kiddos, this site [linked] rocks. That's all.
what
I live my life in wait for the mail. One year ago today I got five postcards from Chris, from Victoria. He didn't send me five postcards a day, but Canada Post took a long time to deliver them, and I got them all at once-- several days after he'd come home, actually. That was like the perfect day for me.
It's funny how my life repeats itself. I got something in the mail today-- a returned letter. I haven't opened it yet; I don't want to read what I wrote when I still believed someone besides me would read it. The girl I wrote the letter to was my best friend at the time that I moved here, a force exciting and frustrating and utterly engrossing in my life. I was a bit in love with her, just because she was different and she liked me and seemed to encourage the things I liked best about myself-- or at least some of them. At a time when I could believe nothing good about myself-- when my best friend from elementary school was struggling with anorexia, when all of us wanted to be someone else, when no one knew what they wanted except NOT THIS-- she arrived, drew us together, and convinced us-- at least for awhile-- that we were acceptable to her and should be to ourselves as well. And in the same way she accepted me in my broken and bleeding and miserable and manic state I accepted her tendencies to disappear for days and weeks without calling, to phone during dinner, to leave at lunchtime to smoke off school property, to trade pseudo-sex for pesudo-drugs (pot). She didn't go into detail about her sexual escapades and didn't force me to admit that I had none to recount. We had an understanding, although to this day I couldn't tell you where it came from. We seemed to have nothing in common but each other.
I think her ability to help other people probably came from her own problems and the desire to forget them. She teetered on the verge of being lost while I knew her and has since fallen, I think-- into whatever: darkness and disrepute, there's a good one. When I last talked to her, which was some long time ago, at least a year, she was drinking and smoking too much, doing too many drugs and too many guys; she had dropped out of school, and was spending all her time writing and hanging out in donut shops. She was taking a series of erotic photographs with some old friends-- some of whom I loved dearly and one of whom I seriously distrusted-- and had been converted to bisexuality, possibly because it seemed hipper to her-- I don't believe it had anything to do with her own base inclinations, and I knew her very well. Know. Knew. I never knew how much of what she told me was real and how much was made up.
This is what it says on the letter, which, by the way, is in a plain brown envelope I bought in London: Wrong address/Send it back to sender. I guess that shouldn't really surprise me. After all, she was always moving around-- living usually with her dad and grandmother, sometimes with her mom, staying at her mom's cottage with (male) friends, with her sister and her sister's boyfriend, in friends' basements. The envelope has been taped, not by me, by the postal service; as if it had fallen open, or been opened, and then resealed. The stamp has been scribbled on with blue pen. I think I'd better let it sit here for awhile. I don't feel ready to face such hopeful words. I wrote it thinking I could still take advantage of all the things I loved about her so much, her wicked wit, her sense of real living and real feeling, her intelligence; I got it back realizing all we had, anything we had, whatever we had, it's gone. Passing through like everything.
All I feel is loss, unaccompanied by any complications of sadness, guilt or confusion. Just loss. I've lost someone important and thrilling and sad. I had her and I lost her and I don't think I can ever forget her. I hope I don't. She showed me so many of the things I didn't want to do with my life, but a few of the things I wanted, more than anything.
I miss her.
Angie and Cam did that last entry. Isn't it nice?
Vacation Photos
Hello kids and turtles I'm sorry I have been lying to you for these past few days. I apologize, but I know how much you'd miss my absence. Muahaha what have I been lying about? Well, after making those fake entries I've realized that displaying my vacation photos from the exotic locale of Lake Huron would have been a better idea, so here's a sample vacation pictures. Here's one of the cleaner pictures of me frolicking in the balmy tides of Huron's Lake.
interim
I guess there's nothing sadder than "no longer at this address/return to sender."
quotation (quote is a verb, you dumb fuck)
"My mother never breast-fed me. She told me she liked
me as a friend." -Rodney Dangerfield
jury's in: unhappy it is.
Okay. You're methoding. You are playing ME in a low-grossing, proportionally low-budget TV movie about, um, well something really stupid obviously, and I'm in it. In a small but minor role. What's my motivation? Tell me, I'm serious. I'm dead serious. Occasionally it just occurs to me that everyone hates me, I have no success in the things I do, I hate myself, I'm making a fool of myself, and so on and so on. And what I really need is--
Well, that's the tough bit, isn't it?
Wll, you can fucking forget it. I was going to tell you but I don't know myself so I don't think I'm going to.
You know when you have so much stuff to do you don't even want to admit you have to do it so you sit at your computer wondering whether everyone hates you or if they're just insensitive instead of actually getting started on anything? I'm like, oh, I hate myself, I should go water my plants now. Fucking room with a view. You know who is responsible for this?
Those emode online test people and, indirectly, Jeff, for the original link. If Chris hadn't found out that his celebrity love-match is Jennifer Aniston, who is skinny and has good hair all the time and has millions of dollars and probably a pleasant personality to boot although who really cares, I would feel better now. Well no I wouldn't. But I'd feel bad about something better, and that would be nice.
O, to sleep. I know I'd be a lot nicer to be around if I had sleep. But I have too much to do. But I can't start doing it. I'm too tired. Too tired to do work, and I can't go to sleep until i do all this work I have to do. Explain that one. Add to it the fact that the inner me keeps hanging up on me and you've got, really, one hell of a party. You know what my inner dialogue is like at this moment?
Jocelyn:
expressing myself through art
online test news
Meghan took the sexual goddess test this afternoon at my house and she is hera, goddess of... loyalty? or something?
When we took the celebrity match test. I got Harrison Ford. She got Will Smith. Working together, we got in this order: Howard Stern, Richard Simmons, and Brad Pitt.
I'm angry at my dog because he bit my nose.
I'm also really tired. I made a really awesome blackened cajun chicken on pasta-type thing for supper, and Meghan spent the afternoon at my house, but now it's nine and I haven't started the shitload of homework I have to do.
Ummmmmm... my images are fucked up. I hate it. It looks slovenly. I'm not a slut. I'm not going to post my boyfriend's 'Nam stories here. Okay? I don't even like writing about sex, not when it's mine, not when I'm not kidding. I think you have to be at least kind of hip in a slutty kind of way to be a slut. Also there are other qualifications. Give me a break. Please.
I'm just too tired.
I wrote a better entry in Angie's guestbook.
Sorry.
It's one of those days.
Hey, Angie's guestbook inserted a kitschy winky face instead of my homegrown one. But her hard returns are HUGE! I love it! So expansive!
Angie's guestbook is a metaphor for Edmonton. Think about it.
Did y'all hear? Getting married in 2003, dead by 2058... the internet has my future all plotted out. The only problem is I'm not in it.
I'm too tired and busy to know if I'm happy or unhappy. I could use a kiss.
riddle me this
I did this IQ score, but got bored partway through and only filled out the first half. I filled in "I don't know" as the answer for all the others and figured I'd multiply my score by 2. Right? Wrong. I got an IQ of 92 with only half the questions answered. Riddle me that. I don't know what I'm hanging out with you people for... Geena Davis and I could be tight like this <->
psssst Jeff
the non-pussies (text-editor) page is a burb-- suburb-- of the open pages ring. (open pages is one of the best lists of online journals in existence in my opinion. i've been a member for awhile, even while I didn't even HAVE an online journal.) you have to be a member of open pages to join the burb. and that is why they wouldn't accept you. well, that and the fact that i think the burb is pretty much dead :)
A brilliant bolt of lightening descends! SHAZAAM! The oracle
has spoken!
The smoke clears to reveal that inside you is a divine being, and
she is DIANA, the Goddess of the Virgin Wild.
You are extremely desirable, but untouchable. As the deity of
chastity and virginity, you live by your values. Your sexual desires
simmer beneath a firm moral resolve. But you are far from a
prude! The natural sensuality that you exude just makes you all
the more desirable to your suitors. They know that your bedroom
is a shrine, and you won't share it with just anyone. You leave a
trail of heartbroken men behind you, wherever you go. You
probably take sex very seriously, and share it only with someone
that you love. You truly enjoy the romance of courtship, but you
stick to the ideals you've set for yourself. Any guy who doesn't
respect your boundaries is ancient history. You truly understand
the meaning of love, and will not settle for anything less than what
you consider perfect. For the lucky guy who finds his way to your
heart, suddenly the light comes shining down from the heavens.
Behold, the skies proclaim, here lies a goddess!
i only lied on SOME of the questions.
thanks jeff for the link.
and if i were a dog...
You are most like a PUG. You are a lot of dog wrapped in a
small package. Your witty humor and undeniable charm puts you
at the top of everyone's list. You are blessed with both
intelligence and an infectious personality. You are a happy breed
who has perfect manners, yet still has a playful and mischievous
side. You are admired and respected by all who know you.
Pugs also fart a lot. They're notorious. Toby does it.
Creepy. Someone just phoned doing a financial survey, and when he finished his introductory speech i was quiet for several seconds waiting for a "Press 1" or "Press Pound," then realized it was a human being. Why do I assume the person on the other end of the phone is a machine?
not only is your boyfriend not cheating, but it sounds like he's firmly committed to your relationship!
Who saw that coming?
I got married to: Lance Bass ...and he insisted on having Toby sleep with
us! Want to get married to YOUR favorite *N Syncer? Go to the altar!
we're soul mates. we both have dogs named Toby. we're both named Lance. Coincidence?
Hey, can I help it if I'm just a really lucky girl?
on the righteous path to self-discovery
i took the bastard test (linked). I got a lousy 16%. Thanks Angie for the link.
ha ha. ha ha ha ha ha ha
it's a hellokitty vibrator. o!
archived entry.
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