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get yoself some pita, bitch

I had a redesign in mind, but then I just ran out of steam. Don't give up hope, though.

the pita- related stuff

me-- and, uh, stuff
[a boy]
[a girl]
[buy me stuff]

my friends

NEWLY SORTED links that i visit, love or support in one way or another

two lists of other sites
[damn hell ass kings]

personal sites
[eric conveys an emotion]
[amplified to rock]
[mary chen]
[oh messy life]

more-than-one-personal sites

[atlantic unbound]

you can buy stuff
[emily strange]

entertainment and culture [and anti-culture]
[exploding dog]
[art of the mix]
[red balloon]
[the new varscona]
[the sims]
[malcolm in the middle]
[wild colonials]

[disturbing search requests]
[hey! url!]

i work for/i go to
[u of a]
[canada post]

news [i hate news]

providers of services [assorted]
[divide by zero]

one cool project
[1000 journals]

and what sad personal site would be complete without webrings?
l < subversive > ?
boys [suck]

i've been
fucking imood
since march 1st, 2000!

hide a hundred girls in your hair
Friday, June 22, 2001 @ 10:52 p.m.

  • I got to play in the fountains (!)
  • nice weather
  • Moulin Rouge-- especially "Like A Virgin"

not cool:

  • missing the train

brown skin and cinnamon ******
Thursday, June 21, 2001 @ 11:02 p.m.

i ordered a shirt that says "my elephant loves me" from threadless.com. I also bought some Paddington Bear stickers.

I had a strange dream about sex and vampires, and poison and also locked, sun-drenched elementary school bathrooms. It was a sexy vampiry dream. It's strange how quickly the substance of dreams seeps from your memory even as you are trying to remember. It slips through your fingers like fish.

I want to go play in the fountains tomorrow with my friends.

I want to go to sleep now.

I've been meaning to tell you that I never liked you anyway
Wednesday, June 20, 2001 @ 10:00 p.m.

Angie constructed a utopian universe in which everyone gets to pick which three things they want. Mine would be shakespeare, sleeping and pasta.

Wednesday, June 20, 2001 @ 03:31 p.m.

I sincerely apologize if you are receiving this e-mail in error.

I have been taking an herbal formula for 10 months and it has saved my family and my life. Because of this I have made a commitment to get the word out on this life-changing product, so that it will be available to everyone.

My name is Dana Hampton. I'm a married 37-year-old mother of 4 who was a happy size 7 before my first child and who grew 4 dress sizes larger by my fourth pregnancy. It's amazing how long you can avoid dealing with a problem that you simply don't want to face up to. I didn't like the way I looked and I didn't like the way I felt. I was at the point where I just didn't want to live and have to face another day.

Oh, God. She went up to a size 11. She must have felt awful. I don't know how I could live with my awful fat self. In fact the only thing I can think of to do-- the only possible option I would have-- would be to take some crazy herbal medication that would make me into the skinny, happy person I really want to be.

Really. No, really.

Tuesday, June 19, 2001 @ 11:00 a.m.

I took this test [warning: actually requires some patience] and found out that I should be a Liberal Protestant, which fortunately is exactly what I am. It's always nice to have anonymous internet robots confirm your identity.

Actually it is nice. I was afraid I'd find out I should be, like, a Scientologist or something. I have to admit, though, Neo-Paganism (90%) sounds pretty enticing. I'm weak-minded and am attracted to anything with "Neo" in it because it sounds so damn intellectual. Also, "secular humanism"(61%) wouldn't be too bad. Anything with "humanism" in it sounds... well... nice.

Tuesday, June 19, 2001 @ 10:37 a.m.

OK. I've had a bagel and some coffee-y hot chocolate (hot chocolate with a couple teaspoons of instant coffee mixed in) and I feel ready to re-enter the land of the living.

Cities are not the nicest places to be on early gray mornings. Cities come into their own at night, when the darkness is broken by pools of liquid light from patios of restaurants and bars and vehicles slap by, flickering briefly under the haloes of streetlights. But in the early morning drizzle they're all grime and dirt and routine, and it makes me feel hungover.

I just got home about half an hour ago from a one-night house-three-kid-and-three-cat-sitting gig which I accepted in a moment of ridiculous, feverish money-lust. I now regret it, of course-- I have that slept-in-someone-else's-bed headache and I need to brush my teeth-- but it's over, I am $75 richer, and I have several hours in which to catch up on my sleep before I go to my actual job. Some gathered but unordered thoughts from the last couple days:

  • Sunday night was great. Jeff, Cam and I went down to the river near my house and ate Oreo ice cream, and then drove out to the airport to watch for planes. "The squelch of mud between your toes. the coolness of breeze. the sideways glances and comfortable silences of old friends. the competitive dives for chunks of Oreo. the splash of faroff animals. the easy way clouds sit. the scramble to obtain dry rocks and maintain clean pants. everyone acting as if everything was fine, although on an individual basis i don't know if any of us believe that platitude. that everything is fine seems like something we came up with one night in cam's hot tub and accidentally believed, at least for a little while. leaving just as it was beginning to get cold."
  • "Hey, I've driven through Biggar! They have a sign that says, 'New York is big but we're Biggar!'"
  • I watched Traffic ("Benicio del Toro is like an ugly Brad Pitt!"), savouring the Spanish bits, and am now almost finished The God of Small Things. Both highly recommended. "With the certitide of a true believer, Vellya Paapen had assured the twins that there was no such thing in the world as a black cat. He said that there were only black-cat-shaped holes in the universe."
  • un dia no te esperare mas.
    mi suerte cambia, mi suerte cambia
    yeah, right.

Who'se turn is it anyway?
Monday, June 18, 2001 @ 12:07 p.m.

Fun with the altavista babelfish! Te amo mucho tambien -> "I much also love to you." That's so sweet. "Mi perro es un poco tonto" (my dog is a bit dumb) -> "My dog is a little idiot."

Oh, yeah
Saturday, June 16, 2001 @ 07:41 p.m.

At work I read a helpful Canada Post memo on how to spot bombs in the mail:
explosive devices have some unique characteristics. examples are...
  • illustrate distorted handwriting or be poorly types
  • have protruding wires, screws or metal parts
  • aluminum foil
  • have oily stains or emit a peculiar odour
  • appear to be unprofessionally wrapped with several combinations of tape, string, twine
  • make buzzing, ticking noise of have a sloshing sound (really? whoulda thunk?)

Aluminum foil! You read it here first!

I want some Shake 'n' Bake. "'I don't know how to make chicken.' Jerk!"

One year ago: "But truth is such a troubled term."

The reason today sucked so much is that it felt like a Sunday. But, fortunadamente, tomorrow is going to feel like a Saturday!

Another heartbreak day
Saturday, June 16, 2001 @ 07:32 p.m.

Well, Jesus, Jeff, why don't you just MAKE some better friends then? Give me a fucking break!

I can't take my movies back to blockbuster because it's raining and my parents took off for the weekend and my mother took my raincoat with her. Give me a fucking break, again.

I have a headache and I'm tired of days like this.

too late
Saturday, June 16, 2001 @ 12:21 a.m.

Blind Date is pretty bizarre. It's so stupid and yet... I just can't turn off my TV.

I'm a ninja!
Friday, June 15, 2001 @ 11:47 a.m.

Yes I am, dumbass.
Arrgh. I feel like death warmed over.

89% of statistics are made up on the spot
Wednesday, June 13, 2001 @ 10:10 p.m.

...including that one.

Well, that was easy. A little tooooo easy I would say...

Tonight at work: Erin and I discussed how to send as many "unmailable" objects as we could at one time. "A bomb... wrapped in burnt cotton... and sprinkled with black powder!" The Canada Postal GuideTM specifically says you can't send "black powder" in the mail. Erin: "What, like any kind of black powder at all?"

On a totally boring and unrelated note: Apricot facial scrub is, like, the nicest feeling in the world. And yes it is a feeling, dumbass.

More convicts prefer the taste of Diet CokeTM
Wednesday, June 13, 2001 @ 09:43 p.m.

...and crack.

I've been craving pizza all day. When I got home from work, I melted a bunch of cheese and vegetables onto two buns, but it's just not the same. Howevah, now is not the time for complaints, because I still have 24 hours of Espanol Loco ahead of me! I'm off to the conexiones website now... see you kids later.

From napkin.org:
Tuesday, June 12, 2001 @ 02:47 p.m.

"It is fun when eating broccolli to pretend you are a giant eating trees!!"

we're like acids and bases, we neutralize trouble!
Monday, June 11, 2001 @ las 9:00 de la noche

"we should put boys with boys and girls with girls."
"and me by myself."
"Jocelyn, you're a girl!"

Johann Sebastien Pretty Club: ROCK OUT!

I went down the river this afternoon and sat on an outcropping overlooking the lushness of the valley and said outloud: "me gusta venir aqui porque es tan facil de imaginar que soy solo en el mundo." Then I wondered whether I ACTUALLY want to be alone in the world, or whether I tell myself that to justify my complete lack of success/luck with boys.

fait accompli
Monday, June 12, 2000 @ 02:28 a.m.

Moment: sitting on the scratchy grass behind the humanities centre singing leaving on a jet plane.

Just after I wrote that, I was about to launch into a tirade about my bad day, and then I heard my pot (lunch) boiling over on the stove. I ran to the kitchen and the pot had boiled all over the stove. When I tried to clean it up with paper towel, the paper towel caught fire. So, I think I'm being sent a message that I should just shut my mouth and put on a happy face, so that's precisely what I'm going to do.

But if you want to hear the sad poem i wrote, you can mail me.

I want to start a band called fait accompli. I think we would make for good rock stars.