life like this (belated posting of this post)

Spending christmas with all manner of family just compounds this feeling of great expectation that I have come to associate with this time of year. I long for it to be over: like an annoying itch, I can't scratch or it'll get worse, so I can only douse it in ointment (the alcoholic kind) and wait it out. I long for more reasons to celebrate like this through the rest of the year, and less cramming 'everythingspecial' into one short period of three days. Plus it reminds me of how much i don't fit in with my kith and kin. Although they are entertaining weirdo's (see fig. 1) in their own ways, despite great efforts to appear as normal as possible. Alcohol trumps these efforts (see fig. 2)


fig. 1


fig. 2


fig. 3


fig. 4

Seeing my l'ilcousin (see fig. 3) and my nutty aunt and uncle (see fig. 4) made me feel a bit more ok. I like those ones. they're my kind of kooks; they give me hope that I'll turn out ok, even if I screw up occasionally. Unfortunately, my dad doesn't see things this way (though I thought we were past our 'adolescent' days). He still yells when I run late; tells me I'm selfish; and criticizes my art and desire to pursue it more seriously.

Maybe one day I won't need external validation (??) For now...here I be.

christmas is the loneliest time of the year

to all those out there whom I never see anymore, merry christmas

i miss you

all i want for christmas is sweet oblivion

I love this season. Not for Christmas, but for clementines. Those sweet little orange orbs of juicy goodness are what makes my holiday. Thanks to all you Mexican farm labourers who make my Christmas bright.

On a side note, it seems all I do with my time these days is work, take pictures of myself, and knit. La vie...


The second is somewhat a function of having a camera built in to my new computer. My life is quite comfortable at the expense of so many people; now all I need is oblivion. I've been a good girl this year Santa.

your job's a joke, you're broke...your love life's D.O.Aaaaaaa!

Saturday was staff party, and oh what a blunderous staff party it was. It all started to go wrong when one decided she wanted to go dancing, and we were all too drunk and stoned to realize that only one of us wanted to go dancing. Like all great drunken posses, everyone thought everyone else wanted to go, and for fear of being left behind, or seen as an unwelcome dissenter, we all tagged along. What followed could only have been a metaphor for the evening; we were trying too hard, and it had to end badly. As formulaic as a sitcom episode, events unfolded. A bouncer insulted 'Rachel', telling her she looked old and obviously didn't need to be id'ed; 'Chandler' was cornered by a personal trainer who couldn't stop talking about power bars and protein shakes; and the last straw - 'Monica' slipped on the stairs of a seedy hole-in-the-wall bar and took 'Phoebe' out with her. 'Phoebe' was unfortunately holding a beer at the time. Disastrous.

Dear readers, I apologize for the (gratuitous) use of the names of Friends' characters; in an attempt to disguise the identity of those involved to avoid humiliation, and to highlight the sitcom-esque nature of our evening, I resorted to pseudonyms stolen from lame-alicious pop-television-culture. Also, I have only a hole left in my brain where imagination once lived: tv has taken my words and replaced them with insipid bits of unoriginal information

The bruises on my ass still hurt when I sit down, and continue to discover new colours of the spectrum every day.


it's like you're always stuck in second gear...

coke and bondage

Why must they insist on putting a label on the coke can called Nutrition Facts. Seriously people, there is nothing nutritious about this sweet, sweet, evil beverage. What about a Political Facts of coke label? Or Facts of Production? Or at least call it anti-Nutrition Facts...

Why do I still drink this shit anyway? It's a killer after all. Yet here I am, [almost] enjoying this horrible, tasty vice. Stupid moral conscience preventing me from enjoyment [without the almost]. At least it's not strong enough to stop me completely [note to self: that might not be a good thing].

In other news, my budgie has recently discovered the joys of self-bondage. He climbs onto the top (inside) of the cage, then dangles himself by his beak, grabs his own feet, and then proceeds to struggle against this self-inflicted captivity (the cage door is almost always open). The other budgie seems to be too brain dead, or enamored of his own reflection (perhaps a symptom of the former?), to remark on this strange behaviour. I, on the other hand, provide a rapt audience for this oddly entertaining (and frequent) masochistic act.

Who needs T.V. when you've got budgies!

addendum: if you came here because of the racy title, I apologize for failing to fully probe the depth of possibility promised in such a risqué juxtaposition...yummy, and Freudian.

last hope (great moments in television)

Flanders: Homer, that cheese doodle is our last morsel of food

Homer:You'll thank me when we're frying up a big, juicy fish

Flanders:Godspeed little doodle


(Me wonders why havin' loads o' studyin' t' do be conducive t' more tv watchin) - courtesy of talklikeapirate.com's online english to pirate translator)

the ways of sin

Maybe it's just a myth of transgression?