in reference to socialising
I sure am a winner tonight - It’s 10:30 and I’m in bed.
Wallowing in my own self pity. I am the creator of my own demise.
But on the bright side, someone on the bus said that it’s better to be crazy and interesting than sane and boring. It was a good point, considering about 85% of the bus was insane, and laughing and talking and telling jokes and smelling only a bit bad for it being such a hot day.
And lately, possibly because I’m in more of an intimate relationship, I’ve realized that maybe I am a bit crazy. For real, like.
That’s enough now
May 14th, 9:12 AM
It is nice when you wake up first thing and pull the curtains aside to reveal bright blue sky and a sun that casts it’s warmth on the sidewalks and the tops of houses.
It’s also nice to wash your face while the coffee brews, with the radio on in the background, voicing the news that you aren’t actually listening to.
It is also so nice when you open the door out to the yard and step out in your pyjamas, walking along to retrieve the bowl left out the night before, your feet in the cool, dewy grass and the new plants are all perking up in the garden.
And as you walk along you notice there is someone else back there, in the yard, wearing the exact same pyjamas as you. A mirror?
Grey shirt, grey long johns. Today it just so happened to be Aaron wearing the same pyjamas as me, and really, that is a particularly happy moment right there.
He leaves a week tomorrow.
Party Never
There comes a time when you don’t want to live in a house that has parties anymore.
I’m there, right now.
The guy that lives next to us had his roommate ditch out on him - he’s now out $500 some odd dollars. Bummer for him, right?
He thought it would be a great idea to have a kegger/house show with a couple of bands this weekend to help raise some money to pay rent.
The thing is, who’s stoked on this? Not-fuckin-me, that’s who.
I work weekends. At nine in the morning. I get up at seven-fucking-thirty. If I go out, at least I can come home to a relatively quiet place to lie my head down in.
I know I live in a house full of people who have the weekends off, and I’ve learned to adjust to living with having some people drinking and talking over my head on the nights I need to get sleep. But…not exactly stoked on having a kegger with some shit bands playing in a house that has no insulation between it’s walls and I’m certainly not stoked on the messy-ass yard that we’re going to be dealing with the next day. We probably have one last summer in this lovely back yard! We’ve been working on the garden! I don’t want some twenty-something drunk ass punk puking on my peas, thanks.
Fucking guy!
one thing
if there is one thing I can’t give up, will never for the life of me sacrifice this great sensual pleasure, it would be baking some sugary delight in my oven.
baking anything in my oven, for that matter.
For most of you who read this, you’ve never seen my fucking oven, but you should. It’s this tiny convection oven that I bake (small) cakes, cookies, loaves and roast my vegetables in. It’s bigger than a toaster oven, I’ll give you that - but this baby works wonders.
When I first acquired this fine little electronic masterpiece of heat, I had just moved into this place. Last June. It’s a one bedroom suite without a stove. It had one at some point, but now it doesn’t in order to keep it part of the upstairs apartment (I live in a house, in a basement). Keeps rent cheap, oh, and did I mention this suite was illegal until the crazy bloke who lived here reported the landlords to the city. Wah! Oh well, I made due. Sean (lives next to me) mentioned that Todd (guy who lived in here before myself) left his convection oven in the storage space and that I could use it.
So, I dug it out.
It was fucking awful. Todd threw it in there with food and grease still stuck all over it, and it had grown mold, changed the color of the roasting pan that was in there, and reeked of dank.
I left it outside to dry out for a week, and finally mustered the courage to clean that bitch out. Ever since, I’ve been emotionally scarred and forever grateful that this thing happened to be around.
Right now, in fact, I’m baking banana bread that is smelling up the entire house with happiness and bringing it over to my nice gentleman friend’s house to have with tea.
X
a few things
- our house is going up for sale today. I am only bummed out a little bit, apparently the house has already been sold a few times since some people have lived here - the likelihood of this place getting torn down and redeveloped are slim. I just don’t want to see another back yard in Vancouver disappear. I want to live like a real person.
- if I were to write like anyone, it’d be J D Salinger. I remember thinking this when I read Nine Stories a few years back, and I just picked up a copy of The Catcher in the Rye at Pulp Fiction - his writing is so wonderful. I want to name my son (if I ever have kids) Holden.
- speaking of children, St Paul’s Hospital has installed a new space for mother’s to leave their unwanted babies. Once you leave your newborn child in this cradle, an alarm will alert hospital staff thirty seconds later that a baby has arrived (sans mom). This makes me think of olden days. But not so fast, moms! I don’t think you are allowed to leave any of your growing children (like ages five, six, seven…). Plus your kid would know where they live and what their mom’s name is.
limits
I can’t breathe! Can’t figure out if it’s anxiety or the air being full of allergens that I’ve never been allergic to before. Either way, GREAT WAY TO RUIN A RUN - and my whole day. I’m in a bad fucking mood now and don’t want to talk to any of those fuckin’ assholes.
:)
April 26, 8:17 PM
Have I told anyone yet that I’ve been asked to photograph Amanda & Matthew’s wedding this August?
Yes! But now I’m telling the internet.
Amanda asked me not too long ago and I basically sort of lost my mind about it.
I was floored, flattered and now I’m currently at really nervous.
So, what if I take bad photos? I have never been asked to take any pictures for anyone before. It’s all been my own view. I have this fear that I’ll take everything crooked and have the light settings all wrong. That I’ll get everyone with their eyes half-closed. Hahaha. It’d be cute, kinda…(not really)
I’m sure I’ll do the job right. I’m in full focus mode (pun?).
I also just bought a new camera about ten minutes ago and it’s fucking amazing.
I’m gonna take photos that they’re gonna really love.
(also: YAY! People like my pictures!)
April 23, 11:12 AM
Sometimes I wonder that my own romantic capabilities rate at a level of about 3.5 out of 10. I seem to always get matched up with guys (in a natural way, no set-ups) who are just…wow. Romantic.
And know exactly what they want. And can say it all.
Whereas I, smile and stand back a bit…enjoying the view. Not sure what to say or how to say it. This usually happens about four weeks in. This is where things typically start getting weird.
But we’re still hanging out.
I fell asleep on the couch last night after we watched CSI and called a cab at two in the morning.
As the cab driver says, “To sleep in your own bed is to sleep well.”
