By Request

Now that I’ve figured out this streaming music bullshit, I’ve decided to honour Nick's request that I stream Muhammad My Friend by Tori Amos featuring the delightfully talented and hairless Maynard James Keenan of Tool. I figure it’s about time you all became schooled in the ways of the red headed pixie woman to whom I undoubtedly owe my life as her music has steered me from shipwreck countless times.

Plus, she’s hot.


got my rape hat on, honey but i always could accessorize...

Edit

Okay, so first I have to figure out how to upload the music onto the net before it will stream properly to other users. It always works when I load my blog at home because the songs are coming from my hard drive.

So I'm computer illiterate, whatever.

As it turns out I'm also a total hypocrite as you'll all hopefully be able to hear that your now listening to the Killers whom I ranted and raved about here. I'm such a crack addict for their music despite the fact that I despise them as human beings.

Thus is life.

pump up the volume

A boring day today. Not much to do but stare off into the abyss.

In other news, thanks to Sandra, I’m now able to stream music in my blog. So pump up the volume and be changed. Today you’re all listening to 21st Century Living by Matthew Good. Learn it, love it, live it.

Mr. Black

Why do I call you that? I don't even remember anymore.

Why do you fascinate me so? I guess it’s safe to say that I’m in ruin now. It’s safe to say that I’m fixated now that I’m committing this to paper.

I guess I’ve always seen you around. Over the years I’ve become tuned to your peripheral soul. I’ve felt your presence, so tenuous that you were barely swimming along the shores of my cognizance but lately, you’re everywhere to me. The dreams that I had of you as a teenager have become more frequent and I could swear that you were almost real.

I used to try wish you into existence and you would appear thus. Hiding out behind the souls of others, who turn out to never really be you- just the carrier of another failed relationship. Recently though, I’ve been seeing you out of the corner of my eye. I blink you away to the back of my mind, but you’re fiercely persistent, pulling me back to the times when you came to me in the middle of the night, in the middle of my depression, in the middle of your depression (or sheer boredom- as it turns out by way of your self-diagnosis). Lately I’ve felt you slipping into the spaces between my thoughts and breath, where you take shape once more from a land of light and sand and coax me into another emotional disaster.

And yet

I’m always trying to find that trigger…that single reason to explain why your every word becomes absorbed into my skin, and tattooed across my bones. There they remain until you alone, with your x-ray vision, can come along, recognize them and finally render me sane.


lay in wait

My dreams are in black and white, but I always see her in colour

Yesterday I took Meagan to the park and we did cartwheels for half an hour.

Today I am in pain.

But at the time it was fun.

We also went to see a movie.

The Perfect Man.

Worst reviewed movie of the year.

Alas, she loves the Duff.

It sucked, but I've reconciled with it.

It was a good day.

Baby, you ain't jenny from the block

word

Today was so ghetto. I woke up at the crack of noon, watched the biography channel for about 17 minutes and then fell asleep on the couch. I’m so ridiculous because I’m tired as hell despite all the sleeping that went on today. I thought maybe I’d make myself some coffee to wake up, but I made it too strong and therefore ruined it. Since the coffee thing didn’t work out, I chose to down three root beers in a matter of minutes. I was talking to my sister about how I’ve been drinking a shitload of root beer lately and that it’s making me crazy hyper. She then told me that root beer is caffeine-free which I thought was total bullshit but upon inspecting a can that I retrieved from the recycling, I disovered that she was totally right. So I guess it’s just all the sugar that’s been making me so CRAZY lately. Not that it helped me to get anything done today. I had so many plans today regarding photo taking, laundry, filing my taxes that were due two months ago, or you know, going outside at some point. ‘Like so many plans, as it turned out, they just just looked good on paper’. So I ended up just watching the E!True Hollywood story on Elizabeth Taylor. I’m such a crack addict for that show. I watch it all the time, even when it’s about people I don’t really give a shit about. Around 5:30, I figured maybe it was time to have a shower or something because Mark was on his way and his friend Dan was coming over to get drunk, smoke cigars and play video games. Since I love an audience, I decided to make a boston cream pie and some cookies for all to share. I am now just as d-runk as my guests which I hope provides some consolation for the shit level of this post.

CHEERS biyotches!


domestic goddess


cookies


gangsta


mark and i

All the news that's fit to print

the following caused temporary bouts of giggles today

I read an article in the paper today about a convenience store owner in this neighbourhood who has been robbed three times recently. According to the article 'it's as if there's a giant ATM sign outside that only crack addicts can read'. A few days ago, some strung out loser decided to take his own piece of the crime pie and burst through the door in the wee hours brandishing a knife and choice demands for the owner to empty the cash register. In response, the owner made like he was getting the cash box out from under the counter, and then whipped out this monster sword. Apparently he's well trained in the Korean art of Hapkido (re: ima kikyoass) and chased the crackhead out of the store and into an alley where he had him cornered until the cops arrived on scene.

Now that's taking care of business.

In other news, as many of you already know, Nick has declared war on me yet again. Based on the aforementioned, I'll give you three guesses as to his nationality (but you'll only need one).

Also, I went out for dinner tonight at the West Town with Mark, Erin and Amy. It’s evident that I’ve turned into a blogwhore beyond any hope of rehabilitation as I insisted on bringing my camera with me lest any blogworthy moments arise. They didn’t. But I forced Mark to take this picture of us outside the bar anyway.

Booyah.


sometimes you have to force the magic into fruition

Eat your heart out Seaman

Pie!


I decided to haul ass over to the store because without whipped cream, it was like a venus de milo sans arms...oops waitaminute!

tu veux de la tarte avec du beurre?

This afternoon I made a keylime pie to have as dessert with dinner. I was making the whipped cream to go on top and for whatever reason wasn't paying attention and it turned into fucking butter!

Butter!

I guess I sort of knew that butter was made out of cream but it never occurred to me that if I whipped my whipping cream for too long I would get butter.

Kooky.

On the plus side, I don't have to thaw out any regular butter for the bread that I'm serving with dinner. On the negative side, keylime pie sans whipped cream? Sacrelige!

Butter?!

they tried to clip my wings, but wisdom kills so many things

If I had my way
I’d never get over you
The emotional monster
I’ve tied myself to

Blood sucker
Star fucker
Monument to superficiality
Light taker
Truth faker
Caving the ceiling in on me

If I had my way
You’d be buried in dust
Leftovers from your crucible
Of manufactured lust

bouts of spontaneous drunken matrimony aren't just for Vegas anymore...

Today I completely ravaged this city with the digital camera and I have the pictures to prove it. Mark and I decided to go for drinks in Hess Village and that was when I noticed that there's a little Wedding Chapel there. I've seen it before, but it carries new meaning for me now that I'm in a Vegas state of mind these days. It's conveniently located next to the tattoo parlour, so now not only can you get married on the fly, but you can also get your new husband/wife's name tattooed on your ass while you're at it. This is one hell of a classy city.

I thought going for a drink tonight would be fun but I was dead wrong because someone forgot to tell me that we were having a surprise day of winter and it was fucking freezing cold on the patio. We could have gone inside, but then that defeats the whole purpose of going to Hess Village as it is a street of nothing put patio bars as far as the eye can see. Stupid Canada.

After Hess, we came home to quickly grab our parkas and mukluks before heading over to Mark's sister Erin's apartment. She only lives around the corner but we were freezing our asses off, plus I had to get new batteries for the camera because she just bought a gecko from the pet store and I wanted to take pictures of him because I think it's awesome to blind animals with uberbright flash. That's right, take that all you PETA bitches.

So anyway, I have millions of pictures that I've taken over the past few days so I'll slowly be posting them over the next little while. I'm trying to spread them out so that I can compensate for the shitty content in this blog with lots of pretty pictures. The downside is that it'll appear as though I've been wearing the same clothes for two weeks, but I doubt that anyone will notice/care so it's all good in the hood.


Vegas Lite


Pan the Gecko


mark


on the patio at ‘koi’ in hess village


mark and i

life

you're already in there...i'll be wearing your tattoo

my body, the night sky

Put the kids to bed, the devil's in town

Oh yeah, Karla Homolka is set to be released from prison in a few weeks. By prison, I mean the hotel with the landscaped playground that she's been resting at for the past 12 years. For my southern friends who don't otherwise know about this case, Karla Homolka is a convicted child-killing monster who participated in the kidnapping, druging, raping and murdering of Leslie Mahaffy and Kristen French who were 14 and 15 years old respectively. Homolka helped her husband, Paul Bernardo, kidnap the girls from school and then she videotaped him raping and murdering the girls. She got a sweetheart deal of 12 years in a minimum security prison (the best we have to offer here in eastern Canada)after testifying that he made her do it and that she was deathly afraid of him. Of course Bernardo left her alone with the girls on several occasions where she had ample opportunity to bolt to the nearest police station, but no one paid much attention to that at the time. It wasn't until after her sentencing that police discovered she had also drugged and tied up her little sister and presented her to Paul as a "gift". Bernardo raped Tammy Homolka (15) and she choked to death on her own vomit. All this, and police are taking extra special care to make sure that substantial security is provided for Homolka upon her release to protect her from vigilante justice. They're also taking extra special care to make sure that Homolka is happily re-integrated into society despite the fact that she has been described by prison psychologists as 'likely to re-offend' and 'lacking remorse of any kind'.

Just to make darn sure that no one tries any funny business, the Canadian government has been toying with the idea of surprise-releasing her a few days early. I think that it's pretty fucking unfair to the people in this country to not let us know when she's being released. This is a person who utterly lacks humanity of any kind. If she's getting out, I want to know where she is so that I know that my family is safe and that I am safe.

I read a few days ago that online blogs mentioned Karla Homolka are being monitered and any negative commentary that could lead to vigilante justice is being taken into consideration and in some cases responded to with cease and dissist orders.

To the Canadian Prison Council, if you're listening:

Throw the decent citizens of this country a fucking bone and tell us when you're letting the monster out of the cage.

That is all.

Coming soon to a neighbourhood near you

your call is important to us, please stay on the line to keep your call in priority...

I've been on hold now for about twenty minutes. Sitting, waiting, generally getting angier. The thing is that I've been trying to get through to this crackerjack cable company for a week now to find out why they're continuing to deduct payments from my account despite the fact that I cancelled my service in April. This is the last time I deal with a pièce de merde company based out of Quebec. Tabernacle!

Anyway, since I'm sitting here I decided I might as well blog. I was going to write something about Jacko except that everyone else already has. If you're desperate for commentary, you can check out this or this.

I am the lobster, coo coo cachoo

I've been on hiatus due to some recent beach bumming. It's been about a hundred degrees out for the past couple of days and since I was born and raised in this country, I don't believe that my body is equipped to deal with such spiking temperatures. Also, since I'm boycotting air conditioned buildings this summer, my only option was to hit the beach. On Friday, I was there for the entire afternoon. The result? I am lobster girl. Man, I put sunscreen on three times over the course of four hours and I am still rouge about the back and shoulders.

I guess I've been protected by that layer of smog that hangs over Toronto for so long that when I head out to the clear-skied country, I just can't deal anymore.

Kooky.

some of those actors are skinnier than the poverty victims...figures

I got a link to this video from Oxfam Canada today. I guess they figure that celebrities are more convincing than the once-popular kid-with-the-flies-on-his-face.

My feeling on the subject:

whatever works.

A/C stands for evil conditioning

I'd just like to say that I am not an advocate of air conditioning.

Today it was hotter than hades here in Gotham City (a.k.a, Hamiltonia). It was about 32 with the humidex and in this country, that's HOT. As you may recall from a previous post, I lost my wallet on the bus some weeks ago and decided that just in case I pass out from heat exhaustion on the sidewalk, I had better get a new health card. I've always thought of my health card as being more of a sentimental object than anything else. Healthcare is free in Canada and I have been to the hospital countless times without my card and been cared for just as speedily as if I had it on my person. Mostly I just wanted to get a new picture taken cuz I was feeling all sassy in my summer digs today.

But I digress.

When I first left my apartment, I noticed the heat (obviously), but I wasn't really bothered by it. Then I got to the ministry, waited in line for half an hour, filled out my form, had my picture taken and headed back outside into...into...

well...

HELL. That's how hot it felt. It was as though the temperature outside had doubled within the 30 minutes that I was inside the building. That's the thing about air conditioning: it's e-vil like the fru-its of the de-vil (as Loz/Mike Myers would say). It's a very tricky marketing scheme those Heating and Cooling grads from Mohawk College have cooked up here. You start off thinking your fine with the heat, then they get you all cool as a cucumber with the a/c, and then they throw you back outside into the unbearable heat just to prove that we all NEED air conditioning and that we should go and purchase it immediately lest we perish in the sauna that is southern Ontario.

So that's it.

I'm boycotting air conditioned buildings this summer.

(basically I can't leave my apartment until halloween)

How sad is it that the prospect of that doesn't really sound half bad to me.

Sure, it looks smog free from this angle...but I swear that it's Gotham City when you pan over to the steel district.

now we grieve cause now is gone, but things were good when we were young

sitting around listening to this von bondies record makes me wish i was still in that time and place where my mom paid for everything and i just worked part time on the weekends mostly to meet guys and afford all of the cute underwear that she wouldn't buy for me.

for most of my life, i've been accused of living in a fantasy world. i guess it's true. on more than one occasion i've been known to sit amidst my piles of bills with my eyes closed repeating 'everything will work out, everything will work out'. what's my plan? i don't have a plan, man. but don't worry about it, everything will work out.

but hey, fantasy is better than real life. that's why it's the fantasy. deep down, we're all sammy davis wanting to be like frank.

listen to the von bondies.

Milk, check; Bread, check; Toothpaste, check; Brass Pole, check

You know your day can't get any more boring when you're sprawled out on the couch at four in the afternoon sporting bedhead and mismatched pyjamas, while flipping back and forth between The Bridges of Madison County and E! True Hollywood Story: Beverly Hills 90210.

Yep.

Of course there are other things that I could be doing. Showering, for instance. Brushing my hair, for another. But if you ask me, those things are for suckers.

So I watched The Aviator last night. I feel that it confirmed earlier suspicions that Leonardo DiCaprio actually is a good actor. I really liked him in The Beach and as we all know, Nick loved him in Who Framed Gilbert Grape. Leo does crazy well and Howard Hughes was one hell of a crazy bastard. I really felt bad for him though, because all of the people around him were more concerned with keeping him hidden so they could hold onto their meal tickets than actually helping him to get better. It's just so tragic to see such a brilliant, larger-than-life character dissent into the downward spiral of sheer, paranoid madness.

In other news, I recently purchased Carmen Electra's Aerobic Striptease workout. I'm all geared up to "strip my way to a better body". As soon as I figure out a way to do all of the moves without getting off the couch.

Could be tricky.

Or apparently it can be done without getting off the chaise lounge. Works for me.

adria, adria bo-badria, banana-fana-fo-fadria, me-mi-mo-madria, adria!

i stole this from loz, who stole it from jersey. feel free to steal it from me.

These boots were made for walking...and subsequently collapsing at the top of the trail

On Wednesday I was cleaning out my closet. Not the full on Eminem style, but more looking at all of the random pairs of jeans I own that are too small for me and deciding whether to diet or donate them to Goodwill. Since I'm not a tremendously wealthy person and do not care to spend the time replacing my entire wardrobe, nor do I want to give up my love of tasty treats, I decided that perhaps EXERCISE might be an effective measure.

In my prime (we're talking senior year of highschool here...), I did yoga three times a week and went for an evening run every day at 8pm (7pm on Tuesday's, so I'd be home in time for Buffy). Needless to say, I was in pretty good shape. Then, I went to university and moved into residence where I subsisted on a hunter/gatherer based diet of peanuts and nanaimo bars- also I started smoking. All things considered, some of you may conclude that it was naive of me to think that I could hike of the Hamilton Escarpment with my sister yesterday without any lack of ease.

Let me just say that some of you might then be right.

Seriously, it was pathetic.

About a quarter of the way up I honestly saw my life flash before my eyes. Walking up such a steep incline actually made my legs feel like the bones inside had turned to mush. Of course I complained like the whiney bitch that I am the whole time. Not to be outdone, my sister, Tabitha stopped suddenly when we were about halfway up and uttered the following...

"I can't breathe! Fuck, I need a cigarette"

The irony is kind of touching, isn't it?

Anthony in Wonderland

Another month gone, and here I am none the wiser, none the brighter, mostly unchanged. But changes are going on around me, no doubt about it. The leaves are deepening their colour and the days are lengthening their hours of light. Also, in a more immediate context, today marks the unfurling of the new and improved Blog of Wonder- brought to you by the ever trangling Anthony Pereira. If the name sounds strangely familiar to you, it could be because of this, or this, or the comments in this. Or it could be because you're currently pledging Kappa Phi Omega, in which case you should be directed here. In any case, in an age of fly-by-night bloggers who leave their blogs in reckless abandon as soon as the blogging novelty wears off, Anthony has managed to maintain his blog (albeit intermittedly)for over a year now. I believe props are in order.

Props.

[Tony, hopefully this post will entice you to post more than twice a month, hint hint]

you only wish you could pull this hat off