Burned Boobs, Sore Calves, & New IKEA KnickKnacks – Monday, August 1, 2005 – 7pm
Also, my feet stink. I’m going to fix that now.
. . .
The burned boobs are due to Day 2 of Vancouver Pride (Saturday) and my first time ever at a “clothing optional” beach. The boyz and I sprawled on the sands of Wreck Beach and they checked out all the naked hotties from behind their sunglasses while I worked very hard to get rid of my bikini-top tanlines.
JON: Did you put sunscreen on your nipples?
HEATHER: Do nipples burn?
My boobs are an uncomfortable red now, and I’m hoping that the sad tanlines have been destroyed. Sad irony if the burn fades to bright white skin again.
To get to/from Wreck Beach you have to descend/climb a THOUSAND steps, and I don’t know if that’s the direct cause of my achy calves but it’s definitely the only exercise I had this weekend (except for dancing at Celebrities) so it’s the excuse I’m using. Everything from my knees down feels like a very tight rope. A mystery. And it makes stairs extra fun.
Day 4 (today) Q and I went to IKEA and I love IKEA. He bought proper red wine glasses & champagne flutes (he’s really been into champagne lately) and I got a red duvet cover (YAY!!) and some other random shit. Also, an airtight glass container so I can stock up on green tea asap.
And on Day 3 Regan came with us to the parade and it was her first ever Pride Parade. She liked the families the best. I like all the happy love vibes.
I wrote a bunch on my new play, so I’ll put that up fairly soon . . . and I took some pictures . . .
There were many random adventures this weekend that I thought about and intended to mention, but I can’t remember a lot of it. (I think the Prozac is to blame.) But I did get four kisses, from:
1. don’t remember
2. Scott, who has amazing eyebrows
3. Lukas, with sexy Buddy Holly glasses
4. don’t remember.
Also, someone touched my boob. I think it was Jon or Lance.
My favourite thing about gay bars and gay boyz is the feeling of safety. I don’t have to be all defensive about strangers touching me, like women have to at straight clubs (boo to drunk boys with greedy hands); I don’t have to be rude or shoot down anyone who approaches me, since they really are just being nice; there’s ALWAYS someone to dance with (but he’s inevitably a better dancer than me); and when I’m ready to leave, everyone helps find a cab, and no one tries to get into it with me.
Anyhoo, I’m sleepy (despite all my naps this weekend). I’m going to have a shower and change into nammies and watch craptv until I fall asleep.
The Bunnies
Almost forgot — due to fears re: potential rat issues, I moved Seamus & Caramel into the kitchen to protect them while I was away. Peter had the rest of the apartment, as usual. Q always comes in with me when we return from adventures, supposedly to help me with my stuff but really (I suspect) in case a bunny or three is hurt/dead and therefore to save time, since I’d just call him anyways. All 3 are alive and well this time, which is a huge relief. They drank a lot of water but certainly weren’t short on supplies — I always leave out extra in case the Apocalypse comes while I’m out of town.
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Oh Gees, My Feet Stink Really Badly – August 2, 2005 – 8:31 pm
I can’t tell if it’s Peter’s litter box or my socks or even my hands (from putting on my socks) but ew. I think the fact that my feet-stink & the aroma of Peter’s litter box are interchangeable demonstrates just how foul this smell is.
On another note, I think I’ve figured out what’s wrong with my legs (i.e. they hurt a lot): I gave my RockStar a Heather Doll months ago, and I bet he’s been snuggling it a bit too tightly lately and so, due to inadvertant voodoo properties, my legs are really sore now.
I have to burn some incense or light a candle or something. This is vicious.
Word of the Day
“diagnosis”
(Actually, any “diag-” word is pretty neato . . . )
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Half-Assed Culinary Endeavors – Wednesday, August 3, 2005 – 5:38 pm
I’m making Kraft dinner. The saddest part is that my first thought, once I found the box and decided to make it, was: I hope I don’t mess up the noodles again. It’s only five ingredients (if you count the water), and yet I continually make inedible KD.
Bonding With Susie
Nathan’s taking me to see a play tonight! I’m excited. I love plays. I hope it’s good. Also, he’s feeding me tequila as a pre-play lubricant, so that’s why I’m eating KD.
Sneaky Plot to Get Some Snuggles
I haven’t mentioned this yet, but my RockStar has been in touch and while I’m not entirely sure of his intentions I’m determined to exploit him for some snuggles. Also, my new play is inspired by him, so I need the material.
Anyhoo, my plot is to lure him over here with promises of a Writing Thingy (he’s weak for writing thingies, I suspect) and then seduce him.
Ha! I’m devious. And seriously in need of some snuggles — I can’t even have a decent afternoon nap these days, because my brain goes all crazy with sexy memories.
That might be one of those private things that I’m not supposed to write about.
Changing the Subject Gracefully
I sat in the sunshine again today while doing my Suduko puzzle and goddamnit, I got those stupid belly-roll/zebra-stripe tanlines again on my stomach. I took immediate action and laid down in the backyard so as to even things out, but too late . . . it’s one thing to have belly rolls; it’s much worse to highlight them.
Also
The bunnies are fine, thanks.
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Unpleasant Flashbacks – August 3, 2005 – 10:46 pm
Ugh.
Sometimes I forget how GODAWFUL everything is when I’m not happily medicated. And then I’m in a situation where factors converge (e.g. sleepiness, giddiness, anxiousness, excitement) and ALL OF A SUDDEN I know that I will go crackers and scream and rant and kill people with my flailing arms UNLESS I let my physical self reassert control over my crazy mental/emotional/chemical self, and therefore I bite my hand.
I consider this an acceptable form of self-harm. It’s better than cutting, burning, steam, or whatever else. Teeth can only do so much damage, and they leave a very satisfying (but temporary and easily concealed) mark.
If an alternative is available, like very cold water or the opportunity to run REALLY HARD, then I do that instead. But in claustrophobic social situations, when I’m dressed up and trying not to get too sweaty, a good quick bite makes everything calm again.
On That Note
I went to see the Ballad of Jim Pane tonight with Nathan and it was a VERY well written, well put-together play. I love anything that makes musicals acceptable to the general population.
If I hadn’t had a freakout and left right away, these are the things I would have liked to discuss with Russ, the playwright:
1. What’s the point of producing a play re: politics from the ’70s? Maybe it’s my own anti-historical, egocentric bias, but I just don’t see what Vietnam-America has to do with my life.
2. Phil Ochs is so good. I’m glad you like him too. Do you like him too? I still remember a verse from “The Crucifixion” from back in my early teens:
Night comes again
to the circle-studded sky
the stars settle slowly
in loneliness they lie
’til the universe explodes
as a falling star is raised
– the planets are paralysed,
the mountains are amazed –
then it all glows brighter
with the brilliance of the blaze
and with the speed of insanity,
he dies.
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Busy, Sad, Drunk, Amused – August 4, 2005 – 9:56 pm
Today was nutty busy at work and also I was ridiculously incompetent. Sometimes that happens. Those are the times that I think: why am I not scribbling and starving and therefore not waking up for crazy early office hours and doing things incorrectly so that I then feel incompetent? And then I remember that I’m usually very good at my job and that I love it and that I have $30,000 in student loan debt and that I can never write when that’s the only thing in my life and THEREFORE that this is the best choice for me at this particular time and THEREFORE that I should just suck up the self-pity and go buy something nice for myself.
Eventually I left and visited my local liquor store where the staff know me (which makes me feel very uncomfortable — I really don’t go there that often. Really.) and I bought Kahluah and something new to me called creme de cacao, which apparently is a super substitute for vodka in White Russians.
And then I went to Q’s and snuggled with Celeste and wandered around in my underwear and drank White Russians until I “fell asleep” on the couch. And then I woke up at 7:30pm and felt MUCH better, so I came home and watched the end of Fight Club, which is freaking genius and always has something new to offer me.
And now I’m going to bed.
BEST NEWS EVER
On the Road is finally going to be made into a movie!!!!!!!!!!!
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craptv is Crap – Friday, August 5, 2005 – 7:48 pm
That’s why I like to own movies.
Watch Your F@#$in’ Mouth
I accidentally bought the censored version of The Marshall Mathers LP back in my early days of Eminem. It might have been fate: that version deletes all the “offensive” words, like “faggot,” that might have coloured my affection for the music. Or not. We’ll never know.
I finally got around to getting the real version, and now I’m surprised to see how tame the “offensive” words are: I imagined worse when I filled in the blanks. But then, I have a filthy mouth.
My sexy iBook came with iTunes, which comes with an iMusicStore, where I can buy (i)Music. I’ve never had good luck with those (illegal) download sites: I crashed two or three PCs with Kazaa. So I really love iMusicStore, because I can pay a dollar for a song or about $10 for a whole CD, and that way I get quality music for cheap without the spyware and et cetera.
Also I don’t like screwing over artists, even billionaires* like Marshall Mathers. (*I considered including “bigots” for alliterative effect, but I don’t consider Eminem a bigot so no.)
Bitter Scripts
I’ve been distracted lately by BEING CRAZY, so I haven’t worked on this as much as I’d like to. Hopefully I’ll get another scene or so done this weekend.
I offered to describe my creative process to Q, since famous writers are often asked about their creative process, but he had Absolutely No Interest Whatsoever.
Heather’s Creative Process
I don’t want to talk about conception; I might jinx it. But once an idea is there and open to development, I like to carry around hardcopies of the latest version so I can make notes and write new bits on the backsides and (if necessary) give a current version to anyone who’s interested (aka one of my director or actor or writer friends). After my story “(Title Goes Here)” was sorta in script form for On the Rag I went through about seven hardcopies.
Brad Pitt’s Wisdom
re: generation gap between us and our grand/parents:
“Our war is a spiritual war. Our depression is our lives.”
– Tyler Durden, Fight Club
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Crispy Skin – Saturday, August 6, 2005 – 10:04 pm
Q wanted to go to Thetis Lake today and look at all the hootchies for a few hours, so we recruited Jessie, Shawn & Andrew to amuse us at the beach.
QUINN: You invited a redhead?! He better bring 45 sunscreen.
Andrew & Jessie & I tried very hard to remember how to play crib, and we ended up playing this mutant card game, which I eventually won. Shawn’s reading a collection of novellas written by the guy who wrote Clockwork Orange, Q’s mid-The Kid by Dan Savage, and Andrew’s trying to like A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius. Jessie and I just laid there and tried to look pretty.
After three or so hours we were hungry – Shawn had missed at least 2 of his 7 daily meals – so we went to the Six Mile Pub and ate poutine and drank. It’s about then that I noticed a distinctly “crispy” feeling on my left side. Like the skin was extra tight and sensitive.
Once I was about to have my 6-9pm nappy nap I realised that my left side is very red. Especially my ass.
Recipe For a Sunburn-Soothing Bath
Water temperature: tepid water
Cut a cucumber into slices and put them within arm’s reach.
Pour 1/2 cup cornstarch under the running tap.
Add 6-12 black tea or chamomile teabags.
Get into the tub.
Layer any above-surface burned areas with the cukes.
Lie there for at least 20 minutes, to give the teabags’ anti-inflammatory effects time to work.
This recipe is one of many in my book The Bath Gourmet, by Rhonda Van.
I’m nervous about wasting the teabags.
Letting Shawn Read My New Script
I’m reluctant to share works-in-progress because it makes the reader(s) feel uncomfortable, as if they have to like it and sit there and read it with me watching and etc. I like posting my writing here: it’s anonymous, so you can read it or not and I won’t know. And it motivates me to write more.
Anyhoo, Shawn has managed to read both my recent scripts while they were still being written. The current one includes him as a character, so that’ll be extra weird for him, I suspect. Whatever: I warned him.
Also, I find it amusing to watch a reader read about himself. Shawn makes funny faces and looked a little ill afterward.
Ha.
Recap of Last Night
My boobs looked amazing. I’m not used to my cleavage being the focal point of a night out, but yep. Spencer has resolved to be the last boy to touch my boobs before . . . I die? get some? I can’t remember what . . . but regardless it requires Spencer to squish a boob or two every day he sees me. This isn’t often noticed at the gay bar, but at Hush I think some people were paying attention.
Anyhoo. Spencer & Q & I went to Hush and watched boys “in shiny shirts,” as Shawn would say, dance to “trance” music which I don’t understand but whatever. We were trying to break out of our Prism pattern: Spencer even dressed fairly straight, except for the bracelet.
SPENCER: I’m just a straight boy who knows how to accessorize.
Oddly, Hush was a cash-only bar (I dunno if this is a regular thing for them, but it’s certainly inconvenient).
JESSIE: I don’t do cash.
So among the three of us we managed to pay for cover and one round of drinks. We were considering a bank run when I found a $20 bill on the floor. (Oh, yeah, I’m a Good Luck Charm. Have I mentioned that?) So we could afford a second round, which got us to Prism for our third (they take credit cards there — how innovative) and ultimately paid for four slices of crapPizza at the local pizza thing.
I wanted a BigMac & fries but whaddyaknow, McDonald’s is closed at 2am on Friday night. Some people have NO BUSINESS SENSE WHATSOEVER.
That’s my recap. I had a very good time, except for the end at Prism when Steve two-stepped me around to that “Take Me Home” song and I thought I was going to puke.
Other favourite ‘mos spotted last night: Charlie, Cameron, Duncan, Cam, Jamie . . .
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Ass o’ Aloe Gel – Sunday, August 7, 2005 – 7:09 pm
Heaven = having a friend who loves you enough to rub aloe vera gel onto your burned ass.
In Other News
I hate CHUM TV. They closed down the block on Broad Street where Q lives, even going so far as to park two promo-vehicles directly in front of the garage doors. The irony is that they were having an “Ice Cream Block Party” to thank Victorianites for supporting their new station – “A” something – and yet they were so inconsiderate to the local residents.
This is exactly the sort of random inconvenience that sparks my Inappropriate Anger Management Issue. I didn’t hit anyone, lucky for them, but I did yell “you people suck” when disembarking from the taxi cab with my basket of laundry, and then when I took Celeste out for her pee I was extremely generous with her leash-length. Unfortunately, she didn’t bite anyone.
Then Q made me drink a cider –
QUINN: Have a cider.
– and I felt a little better. Then we ate a huge, greasy breakfast at Floyd’s Diner. Then I bought Aloe Vera Gel for my sunburn and Q kindly smeared it all over my backside and I fell asleep on his couch. By the time I woke up, the CHUM TV fuckers had packed up.
I think that means I won.
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Satisfaction – Monday, August 8, 2005 – 9:04 pm
Today I worked for 7 hours, refilled my Happy Pills prescription, ate two proper meals and a plate of cheese & crackers & pickles, ran around the block, lifted my wee weight to make my biceps big (aka to get rid of wiggly arm fat), cleaned up after / fed / watered my bunnies, tidied my house, sat in the sunshine, did two Suduko puzzles, watched 1/2 hour of stand-up comedy, had three showers, drank one glass of cheap wine, and wrote one new scene (four pages of notes) for my new play.
It’s surprising that 1 hour of script writing is more satisfying than 7 hours of “day job” work. Once I’d typed in the new stuff and changed what I wanted to on the old stuff, I felt like I’d done SO MUCH — in a good, accomplished way, not in an exhausted way.
It doesn’t take a lot of time to write. I know so many people who “want” to write but they don’t. But 30 minutes of writing a day = 1 Simpsons’ rerun. And I feel smarter and more self-aware and more like I’m ACTIVE in my life after writing, whereas Simpsons, while funny, makes me sleepy and restless.
I guess I’m just lucky to have found that THING that makes me happy; but I take full credit for letting myself DO it.
Disclaimer
There comes a point where characters stray from the people they’re based on, so my disclaimer is that FROM TODAY ON none of you muses are allowed to be offended by what your characters do in my new play. Truth is being sacrificed to accomodate my plot. Thank you for not hating me 🙂
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Death to A.E. Housman – Tuesday, August 9, 2005 – 3:52 pm
Due to CERTAIN INDIVIDUALS (aka Quinn) abusing the comments section (aka posting crappy pastoral poetry), I will no longer be providing a venue for you people to post your own shite. (See, Q? One bad apple ruins the whole freaking pie. Pooh.)
Meanwhile
I worked very long hours today, running around (that’s a metaphor — I just sat at my desk and stared at a computer screen for 8 hours) and getting all kinds of SuperHero Heather work done.
So I bought a green tea frappaccino at Starbucks as a lovepresent to myself, and drank it while walking home.
And NOW I plan to wear the most comfortable nammies I can find and drink some of my favourite bad wine while doing today’s Suduko puzzle from the Globe & Mail.
This is a mighty fine life.
P.S. Peter
The bunnies are shedding so I bought a can of crushed pineapple yesterday, which helps them digest all the hair they swallow while grooming. (Yes, pineapple — weird.) And just now I looked over at Peter to blow him a bunny kiss, and he was leaning over to eat from his pellet dish, with both front paws immersed in the pineapple bowl.
Sometimes I start to anthropromorphise my bunnies, and then they do something totally inane and they’re rodents all over again.
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Newfound Freedom – Wednesday, August 10, 2005 – 3:12 pm
Maybe you’ve already discovered the joys of lounging around in your undies, but it’s a new pleasure of mine and I’m taking advantage of it at every opportunity.
I’ve always been a PJ gal, with an extensive collection of flannel and cotton pants, slippers, housecoats . . . but this summer is Summer of the Panties and so every day after work I throw down my professional (or not) work skirt and peel off my top and change into the softest, brightest undies I can find and a tanktop. Bra-free; socks optional.
Carrie on Sex and the City might have subconsciously led to my new “look” — I dunno. I love feeling pseudo-naked and strapless.
My Monthly Rut
I go through times of brilliance and others of rut, and I’m currently in a rut. It’ll pass, but while I’m mid-rut please overlook the dull writing and blah blah blah. It’s normal, and is complemented by a subsequent week or two of STUNNING CREATIVITY, which will no doubt astound you and empower me to finish my new play. Meanwhile, I’ll lounge in my underwear and drink too many White Russians.
Sleep + Writing = 50:50 Chance o’ Shite
I scribbled a new scene last night at about 11/12, but now I realise that it’s terrible so I won’t bother posting it. I hate it when that happens. I was all excited about having a new scene . . .
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A Feminist’s Tragic Confession – Thursday, August 11, 2005
Ugh. While walking to work yesterday I analyzed why exactly I want my RockStar to show up at my door.
100% Honest Reasons:
1. I’m in need of some quality physical affection;
2. I’m bored.
Conclusion: these are selfish, dependent-on-man motivations. Therefore, they are sucky motivations, and not at all the sort of motivations that I want to have affecting my life.
The only alternative, though, is to come up with some way to inject excitement into my life BY MYSELF, with no penises required. Here are some ideas:
1. produce a play;
2. move;
3. travel;
4. learn something new;
5. find religion and/or join a sports team.
Personally, I’m fond of #1.
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Confession to End All Confessions – Friday, August 12, 2005 – 5:08 pm
I am trying out online dating.
Oh yes.
I was inspired, in part, by Rowan’s roomie and non-romantic life partner Darcy, who has met his own Internet Love Goddess recently. It seems unfair to bitch and moan about there being no single, straight, quality men here when I haven’t TRULY tried everything, so here I am. Shopping for men online. Yep.
Last stop after this: speed-dating. Then I move to Vancouver.
In Your Future, I See . . .
Today I’m in theory spending quality time with Shawn, but after last time I refused to commit (or allow him to commit) to this plan so as to avoid disappointment and fury. So in theory I will get to talk about my play and love dramas and other smart and witty things after work, but not definitely.
This weekend Jessie & the Q and I are going to stalk sexy Dragon Boaters at the Dragon Boat Festival. It’s basically a sexy-people convention.
And then on Monday I’m having tea with Liv and her momma, who is visiting from Bella Coola. I LOVE having tea, especially with Liv. She now has a car, which is weird, and also she returned from her vacation with her family on Tuesday so maybe she’ll have exciting stories to tell re: bush parties and 4x4ing and drinking Kokanee.
I missed Liv.
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Saturday With a Dissenter – August 13, 2005 – 10:48 pm
That’s the best adjective I can think of for Shawn. He’s argumentive and not overly optimistic, but in a pleasantly entertaining way.
Despite our time yesterday with me sloppily drunk, bemoaning my forced-celibacy, Shawn called to play this morning and I kidnapped him and we spent most of the daytime together. I later found out that his girlfriend was working today, so therefore I was Plan B, but I suppose that’s alright. If there had been any possible likelihood AT ALL that my RockStar would have shown up at my door today, I wouldn’t have been wandering around Victoria with someone else. Even someone as amusing & uber-smart as Shawn. (Opportunity for physical affection, and all.)
I’m sure that MANY of you are mocking, to some degree, my decision to do the Online Thing (or “OT”), and to you I say: Don’t fret, Shawn is taking care of all the necessary taunts.
Also, I bet most of you haven’t gone nearly as long as I have without cuddles, so screw you and your judgemental assumptions 🙂
Bonding With the Q
I stayed over at the Q’s last night. I laid down for a little nappy nap at 9 or 10pm, and then woke up and it was 1am and Celeste was spooning me. Q also woke up about then, and he read Dan Savage’s The Kid aloud for me until 3am or so, and then we went back to sleep.
It is a very funny book, by the way. It’s about Dan and his man Terry adopting their son. I recommend it. Not that I’m actually READING it or anything; I don’t do that anymore. (Moment of grief for my wasted English Lit degree . . .)
Dinner
I feel the need to mention that I was craving Thrifty’s seven-layer bean dip tonight. Q and I went to Safeway and I bought refried beans and then I made my own version, which has only four layers (beans, sour cream, salsa and chedder cheese) and now I’m wondering what the other 3 layers are supposed to be. We ate it with chips & corn on the cob, and the meal as a whole was oddly satisfying.
OT Update
I have about five new boyfriends. I know some of their names. Maybe.
My OT criteria include:
– no one who uses the word “ladies,” as in: “Hey, ladies”;
– no one who claims to enjoy reading but who can’t spell very simple words;
– no one who writes “lol” or “lmao” (MSN and other Instant Messaging programs have destroyed the literacy AND common sense of my generation);
– no one who even sort of maybe kind of seems gay. I’ve been down that road too many times, and I am NOT tempting any god who thinks it’s funny to mess with me like that. Sly bastard.
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Kevin Spacey – Sunday, August 14, 2005 – 4:06 pm
I was watching American Beauty until Q and Celeste took me to Beaver Lake for the afternoon. I’ve been waiting to be in the right mood for American Beauty and this must be it, because I’m really loving it, even more than the first time (when I saw it in the theatre amidst excessive hype).
Beaver Lake is, surprisingly, a good beach – nice sand, decent trails from one body o’ water to the next, dog areas, even a token hottie over at the Elk Lake side. Q approved of the water, and I liked its minimal hootchie population & dog-friendliness. It was a great intermission: now, back to our movie . . .
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And So It Begins – August 14, 2005 – 7:12 pm
I had my first phone conversation with an Online Guy (“OG”) tonight. So awkward. He seems decent enough, which is why I gave him my phone number in the first place. He’s short: 5’11” or something. I should know better than to waste a short man’s time. But he’s an artist and a “finishing contractor/carpenter” and he has nice eyebrows, so I’m trying to be openminded. (Really, he has no chance. It’s just kind of fun to think of flirty things to say.)
Things I Realised When Speaking to a Stranger:
- I don’t make a lot of sense.
- I’m a lot funnier than most people think I am.
- I don’t mumble: other people just don’t hear right.
- I hate the non-word “chillaxin’.” Yes, this OG actually said “chillaxin’,” and in a sentence, e.g.: “Tonight I’m just chillaxin’.” I can’t have children with someone who says “chillaxin’.”
Moment of Self-Pity & the Temptations of Censorship
I’m terribly tempted to NOT mention this whole online thing on this site. However, I have resolved to tell the whole truth (when it’s about me) and screw the consequential embarassment, so you will get the stories I have to tell, in all their uncomfortable detail.
You see? I’m doing this for YOU people. It’s all about YOU. I’m just a martyr, being tormented daily for the amusement of all you PLACID, COUPLED-UP wankers who like to see me squirm.
I’m like a Dating Jesus.
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Quote of the Weekend – Monday, August 15, 2005 – 6:38 pm
SHAWN: I would take up drug-dealing, but I’m not nearly social enough.
“Babies = Parasites”
I had an utterly misguided conversation with my Dadders last night. I somehow, for some reason, starting talking about The Meaning of Life, while Dad started to reassure me that love solves everything and that Fate + Patience brings love.
What I was TRYING (and failing) to say is that: I need to be writing something, otherwise I have no purpose. It’s not a bad thing. This doesn’t cause me stress. It gives me direction and an inexpressible (is that a word?) feeling of accomplishment. Anxieties re: love, physical affection, and so on are temporary and biological and NOT important to me in the Greater Scheme of Things.
But it’s difficult to find the right words to say: “Yes, I understand that having babies is satisfying, but really that’s just another parasite you’ve created to feed on and ultimately destroy our world.” Not really the sort of thing you tell your parent, or a soon-to-be-grandfather.
Meanwhile, Chatting With Momma
Mom commented on the ironic juxtaposition (I’m paraphrasing) of last week’s “Feminist Statement Re: Not Needing A Man” vs. the next day’s “Online Shopping For Men.” This is ENTIRELY the point. It’s this contradiction that is keeping me awake at night and making me stir crazy. How can I be an independent woman if I want love? But I want love. But I’m an independent woman. So I will write a love story. And it will be feminist. But it’s a love story. But I’m a feminist. Feminists can be in love. How can a feminist be in love? What does that kind of love look like? Who would a feminist love? Who do I love?
Blah blah blah.
About That Love Story
I wrote a lot more last night. I’ll post it later today.
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AGHHGHGHGHGHG – Tuesday, August 16, 2005 – 8:23 pm
Ahem.
Beaver Lake & Q’s Magnificence
The Q, Celeste and I went to Beaver/Elk Lake this afternoon. Q ran 10 KILOMETRES (yes, ten!!!!) around the lakes and Celeste & I played in a field and ogled hot runner boys.
It’s windy today and not the usual hot&humid sunny it’s been lately. Maybe it’s the wild weather or a new moon or something, but my restlessness is as restless as ever.
I suppose it might be the lack of exercise. I walk to/from work and at most every opportunity, but I haven’t run around the block for weeks. That might be worth trying.
First, though, I need to eat something yummy.
Crazy Deal At Munro’s Book Store
Liv told me about this: Munro’s is currently selling boxsets of the Gryphon & Sabine books — the ones with envelopes and you take out the letters to read their correspondence. Munro’s is selling them not for $30-$40 per book, which is usual, but . . . $15 for the set!!!! Ohmigod it’s craziness. I bought two sets, because I like symmetry and I can’t not exploit this insane deal.
Sometimes I think Jim Munro is losing it. He once had Michael Ondaatje’s Handwriting in softcover for $3.99.
Oh, and also, when I told Shawn about this amazing deal (he’s on my list of those to notify in the event of Crazy, Act Now! Book Sales) he had no idea what I was talking about. So clearly it’s all a scam and he doesn’t have an MA in English Lit, and he probably only “reads” girly mags, and his big words are just random sounds tossed together that I manage to interpret as vocabulary.
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What I’m Willing to Stick In My Belly – Wednesday, August 17, 2005 – 4:06 pm
It all began a year or so ago when I went into the tattoo & piercing shop in Market Square with Matte. I saw a belly-barbell with a bright yellow bead at the bottom, and if you looked REALLY closely you could read, in black capital letters: FUCK YOU.
So of course I decided to pierce my belly button.
However, when they pierce it they use a hoop of metal, so I couldn’t get the Fuck You barbell right away; I’d have to wait 6 months to a year for the piercing to heal, and then I could buy it in my size (piercings come in sizes!).
SOOOO a few weeks/months ago I went into The Patch because I wanted to order this same barbell, and I love The Patch so I thought I could support them by purchasing it through them. However, Chris the owner refuses to stock “offensive” jewellery so they said they’d order it specially for me.
This week they called and said it was in, and so I went by after work and IT’S THE WRONG BARBELL.
It says, in white bubble letters: FUCK U. I’m a writer; I can’t wear something that isn’t a proper word.
I went to the Market Square store, but they don’t stock that company’s products anymore. And then I went to Urge, where they’d offered to insert the new piercing for me, and they don’t stock the barbell, so I was sad.
Then they offered to buy the Fuck U barbell from me, to make me feel better, and this was very nice of them since I simply could NOT bear to wear it.
So I still have my ring piercing and no Fuck You barbell. I’m relunctant to return to The Patch and ask them to order another one — they went through so much to get me the first version — but that’s my only option at this time. At least they’re getting $10 per piercing for their troubles.
Pleasant Distractions
Also, Shawn has a new job and he emailed me 1,000 times today because he’s training and therefore bored. I love having a new distraction.
Crisis @ Work
Oh, and when I got to work this morning some of the ceiling panels had collapsed (or were about to) because of the rain last night and inadequate irrigation systems.
My first instinct was to sit and watch everything short-circuit and collapse, but then I thought: “What would a responsible employee do in this situation?” so instead I put buckets under the drips, unplugged the electrical stuff, and called maintenance.
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Bonding With the Kids – Thursday, August 18, 2005 – 10:12 pm
Jessie & I were supposed to drink martinis and eat steak at Syn with Liv tonight, but she’s hungover from last night so instead we bonded with Shawn.
Also, I got furiously ill IMMEDIATELY after eating my last bite of steak and I ran to the washroom and puked.
I have no idea why: Jessie theorizes food poisoning. I suspect work stress and the bizarre situation of sitting directly across the room from a guy I once dated (named “Vitto”).
Whatever. After puking like a drunken hootchie I felt completely better, and Jessie & Shawn and I walked to my house and they drank rum and I finished off my bottle of $4.99 Boone’s Sangria and Jessie and Shawn kept talking about sex and I just tried to remember what that whole “sex” thing is. Insensitive bastards.
It was LOTS of fun to see two people I love/like bond.
Now there’s a huge fucking moth beating itself against my window (due to my desk light) so I’ll shut it off and go to bed.
I love the people in my life.
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Stood-Up By a Horny Rabbit – Friday, August 19/05 – 10:15 pm
Peter was all gushy mushy this morning, following me around the apt while I got dressed and licking my slippers. So I gave him some quickie cuddles and promised that I’d stay in tonight and we could snuggle on the couch until he was sated.
I even bought parsley.
But he has stood me up: he’s been hiding under the furniture and lounging in his litterbox.
Update on the Boob Burn
Earlier this week my boobs, burned a la Wreck Beach a few weekends ago, started peeling. It was so cool.
And in Other News
Now when I find a letter in my mailbox from my RockStar I get nervous, because WAY too often the contents are sad, confusing, or disconcerting. Today he has asked for my assistance in getting him published in some literary journals (I offered to help a while back). I love the idea of helping people do stuff that I’m (not really) knowledgeable about; I’m a true eldest child. But I’m also shocked and appalled (on a regular basis these days) by just how utterly Ryan is immersed in his own head. I suppose it’s understandable to some extent, what with the craziness and all, and also he’s 23 and that’s fairly normal for 23 year old males, especially artsy ones.
But still! I’ve had a long, stressful week at work; I’ve been combating sexual frustration since our last cuddle THREE MONTHS AGO; and I’m completely lost as to whether I’ll ever even see my RockStar again in non-letter form.
I’d really appreciate some empathy.
Regardless, I consider it a PURPOSE IN LIFE to help others get on the paths they are MEANT to walk, and Ryan is an amazing writer. So for now I’m an editor/agent instead of a love interest.
I’m taking what I can get.
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Reading About John Nash – Saturday, August 20/05 – 7:43 pm
(Some women read self-help books to understand the men they love; I read the biography of a schitzophrenic mathematician. Anyhoo . . . )
Here’s a neat part that summarises WAY too many conversations I’ve had (or tried to have) recently with my family & friends:
Some creative people . . . of predominately schizoid or depressive temperaments . . . use their creative capacities in a defensive way. If creative work protects a man [OR WOMAN] from mental illness, it is small wonder that he [OR SHE] pursues it with avidity. The schizoid state . . . is characterized by a sense of meaninglessness and futility. For most people, interaction with others provides most of what they require to find meaning and significance in life. For the schizoid person, however, this is not the case. Creative activity is a particularly apt way to express himself [OR HERSELF] . . . the activity is solitary . . . but the ability to create and the productions which result from such ability are generally regarded as possessing value by our society.
– Anthony Storr, The Dynamics of Creation, 1972, via Sylvia Nasar’s A Beautiful Mind, pages 15-6.
Caramel’s Tumour
My token house chore of the day was to clean up the bunnies’ porch and (if I could catch them) clip their nails.
I couldn’t get Seamus, but while I was hunting Caramel I noticed that she had a huge funky chunky dark thing attached to her, right by her back left leg.
(Moment of panic re: do I take her to the vet if it’s a tumour??? I’m a bad bunny mommy — should have noticed this sooner . . . hey, that rhymed . . .)
So I eventually caught her, and investigated with great trepidation, and discovered that the Thing, which was the size of a big cherry tomato, was a ball of poop that had dried and attached itself to her fur.
Ew. And, whew.
And THEN I had to cut it off, which was scary because bunnies bleed very easily if they get any sort of cut and that’s dangerous. But there was a little less than a centimetre of fur between skin & shit, so everything went well in the end.
And I can only assume that Caramel now loves me, since bunnies are so finicky about grooming & personal hygeine, and that ball of shit must have tormented her.
CARAMEL: Just chew the goddamn thing off, Seamus!
SEAMUS: I’m scared of it.
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Owwie – Sunday, August 21/05 – 10:04 am
(self-pitying whimper . . .)
My eye hurts. It started yesterday, and now REALLY hurts today — well, actually, not “hurts” persay but rather feels stiff and dried-out and otherwise “off.” I checked it out in the mirror and it looks like I’ve had a mini-stroke (the paralysis kind), because my left eyelid is pink and crooked and . . . puffy? I don’t know. And it sort of scratches when I blink. (Another whimper.)
So today’s plan includes a trip to my doctor.
I don’t normally get eye problems, aside from the whole “I’m blind without corrective eyewear” thing. And considering that my day job consists entirely of LOOKING AT STUFF, including eye-unfriendly computer monitors, I’m hoping to get this fixed today.
Ow.
UPDATE, Thanks to the B.C. HealthGuide
I think I have pink eye.
UPDATE, Thanks to the Walk-In Clinic – 12:37 pm
I don’t have pink eye.
HEATHER to DOCTOR: What’s wrong with me????
DOCTOR (points to my file): Aside from the psychiatric disorders?
HEATHER: No fair! I’m not a hypochondriac!
Apparently I have an “irritated eye” caused by allergies/crap-in-the-eye/whatever. So the doctor gave me a prescription for $37 eye drops, and I got it filled at London Drugs and eyedropped my achy eye in the sunglasses section.
The worst part of the whole experience is that I have to wear my glasses instead of contacts (for obvious reasons) and my glasses are a stronger prescription so now I can see all the imperfections in my skin, random eyebrow hairs, et cetera. I prefer blind ignorance.
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Meeting Virtual Men – Monday, August 22/05 – 6:19 pm
I met my first online boy today. His name is Yaseem and he has the prettiest eyes in the world. He is not tall enough for me — I knew any potential romance was doomed as soon as he got off his motorbike — but he’s funny funny funny and we have good talks.
Yaseem writes occassionally for Maxim Magazine — or, at least, he has business cards with their logo (isn’t meeting new people fun?). It makes me happy when people manage to write, despite all the shit and pro-business, pro-boring attitudes in the world. Pro-boring. I like that word. Proboring.
Been There, Done That
Spotted another tall, sexy scruffy man today while walking back from lunch. It was, of course, another of my ex-boyfriends: Rob Parker, aka SuperRob, aka Clifford. He called me “H-Bomb.” Best nickname ever. Now Rob looks like a mountain man, beard and all. I love love love seeing beautiful men and knowing that they once loved me, made me dinner, went crazy for some particular perfume . . .
When Is a Stye Not a Stye?
My eye was even worse this morning so I went to a walk-in optometrist and she said I have a stye. Ew.
Also, since my stye is on my eyelid (rather than in an eyelash follicle), it’s extra awful and will take longer to heal.
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The Life Aquatic – Tuesday, August 23/05 – 9:22 pm
This is, I think, my favourite Bill Murrary movie ever. And I love the combination of him and whatsername, who plays his wife in this one, and plays Momma Tennanbaum in the Royal Tennanbaums. They work well together. (Is she the same one who was Cruella Deville?????? I’m terrible with movie names.)
I also rented Napoleon Dynamite and Robin William’s live stand-up DVD (I saw that years ago, back when it was on VHS, and literally rolled on the couch with laughter). Tomorrow I intend to stay up past my regular bedtime so that I can go to the Fringe Preview Night, so I plan to cuddle with Celeste, nap, and watch movies to keep me awake at Quinn’s.
Also, I ran into Andrew after his tech rehearsal for Scrupulosity, and I am VERY excited about his play on Thursday.
I love the Fringe festival. I love being involved with theatre people.
CBC Unplugged
HA! CBC’s talent, currently locked out, have started their own rebel broadcast!
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Feeling Special – Thursday, August 25/05 – 12:18 am
I went to the Fringe Theatre Festival’s Preview Night tonight. Everyone I usually recruit as arm candy turned me down, so I went alone and felt super brave.
Thanks to Atomic Vaudeville and my participation in the Fringe last year, I knew a lot of the people there tonight: it felt like a small town Academy Awards. But there weren’t any awards, just alcohol and mini-theatre performances.
Also, I talked to some of my favourites about making my new scripts into play productions: Britt Small, the Best Little Director and Momma of Atomic Vaudeville, aka Jenna Bush; and Carolyn Birch, my tap-dancing dishwasher from last year’s The Terrible Preservation of Valentine Pilate and a Bride With BackFat in this year’s Last One to the Altar. Hopefully I’ll have another play on stage before this time next year!
If I ever figure out how to finish BitterScripts then I’d like to do that one, since I already know who I’d want to play some of the characters (e.g. Rod Peter Jr. as Tim) . . .
Heather, The Legend
I give money to performers to support their shows, and as a result Carolyn told me that there is a subculture of gossip re: what I do for a living. Apparently the top theory is that I breed rabbits.
HA!
I told her that I write for the gov’t.
CAROLYN: So it’s guilt money.
And maybe it is.
Frightening Seniors & Other Hobbies
Gramma Walker showed my site to a friend and she was “shocked.” Imagine how much fun this will be once I’ve written my inevitable novel, and all our Irish relatives are reading it for their book clubs, and Mom’s stocking library shelves with copies, and I’m sending them out as Christmas/Birthday/everything gifts. Because I can practically guarantee that there will be sex, swear words, and an excess of uncomfortable personal details.
I’m really glad that I’m the writer, and can control what gets said about me in my plays. You people must get pretty nervous 🙂
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4 Plays in 2 Days – Friday, August 26/05
Last night Jessie & I saw CockTales in its revised version. I especially loved the commercial bits — SoftPole for adolescent boys who can’t keep it down . . . ha!
Then we ate sushi faster than anyone should ever eat sushi, and made it back to see Andrew Bailey’s Scrupulosity with Shawn/Sean and Quinn. Jessie said later that the show was painful in parts, because it was so personal, and I agree. I think it’s a good thing, though, to have the courage to talk about that sort of shit, and also to be able to create a play that talks about it without sounding like a whiny therapy session. I LOVED some bits, like at the start when Andrew keeps washing his hands, because everyone recognizes that as a stereotypical OCD issue, and so he could then go on and talk about Satan and praying and being a Good Person and it set up the audience to understand, ultimately, that his experience with Good and Evil was another sort of compulsive behaviour. It’s the quieter kind of OCD.
Anyhoo, I’d STRONGLY recommend both CockTales and Scrupulosity to anyone who can attend Victoria’s Fringe plays this year. CockTales feels a little false, like Mike and Rod are just acting out the stereotypes of Men, but maybe that’s because they’re both actors and artsy and so it’s difficult for me to see them as insensitive, flatulating brutes.
Tonight Liv and Jessie and I are seeing two plays (+ martinis + food), and I’ll probably be up late again. I will report back when able.
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Shit vs. Shazaam – Saturday, August 27/05 – 8:29 am
Jessie, Liv and I saw two plays last night. Marcella was REALLY REALLY REALLY BAD; Cannibal! the Musical was REALLY REALLY REALLY GOOD.
I’ve already written my glowing review (see “Craig Online”) of Cannibal, but now I don’t know what to do re: Marcella. I’m not very comfortable with being cruelly vicious, and this disaster of a Fringe performance deserves cruel viciousness. To be fair, I suspect that the actress was ill/sleep-deprived/on drugs. She seemed to know, to some extent, how “stale” the show was. But then I’d start to feel sympathetic, and she’d stumble through another awkward “improv” bit (none of which were at all even sort of funny) or turn back to her notes to check what she was supposed to do next (really), and I’d think, Why don’t you just admit that something’s off tonight, give us our money back, and call it a show? But no, the fairly well-sized audience sat through until the end (unless anyone in the back left — I stayed because I was in the third row and too visible to sneak away).
Love @ The Fringe Festival
Yes, apparently there are still some undiscovered hotties in Victoria. Most of them ARE coupled-up already, judging by the rampant handholding last night, but there were at least four men in the audience last night (and two on stage!) that I would be interested in. I was only brave enough to talk to one, though, and I think that’s because he’s probably about 18 years old. Those young ones are so user-friendly! My pick-up line was as follows:
HEATHER: Aren’t you in a Fringe play?
Yes, I’m so smooth. So original. Eventually I felt transparent and left, but he kept talking (not to himself) so I turned back and trekked on for a few more minutes.
HEATHER: Maybe I’ll see you at another show.
Wink wink. Whatever.
Also, I told Carolyn Birch (aka Dancing Dishwasher, aka Bride With BackFat — see above) about my . . . situation . . . and she’s already working on recruiting some action. Including one of the hotties from Cannibal.
Ways In Which I Embarrassed Liv & Jessie Last Night
I tend to cause polite but awkward scenes. I promised Liv & Jessie that I wouldn’t embarrass them; here’s how I failed:
At the restuarant: counselled the manager (WHOM I KNOW, SORT OF) re: nacho recipes for his new menu.
At Cannibal: asked Victor (A SWEETHEART ‘MO & ACTOR I MET THAT NIGHT) to smush down his puffy blond curls because they were blocking Liv’s view of the stage.
Also, I get giddy around theatre people because I find them smart and exciting and quick, and I’m assuming that at some point I made L&J feel awkward about my groupie-ness.
But Whatever
I enjoyed seeing an extremely bad and an extremely good performance. Now that either end of the spectrum has been defined, I can better-understand the other Fringe plays I’ll see this week.
Also, I’m making a lot of quality connections that will help with my subsequent performances.
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Men Who Talk Too Much – Sunday, August 28/05 – 12:03 am
Ugh.
I went to three plays today:
Wodysk or something: Victor was fucking brilliant; felt like the Rocky Horror Picture Show; went on a bit too long; I recommend it. Live band, so that’s neato.
A Fear of Going Down: unnecessary sexual innuendo; characters are ever-so-subtly named Adam, Lilith, and Dante; the actor playing the breeder-fiancee was clearly gay (therefore, it was hard to believe their breeder relationship). Whatever.
Sparkle Bunny, the Last Raver Dancing: not too deep but a well-spent 45 minutes. Excellent actress.
Between each performance I had an hour or more of conversation + a meal with a straight man. Firstly, Rod Peter Jr, of whom I am a great fan (Atomic Vaudeville, CockTales, etc., the guy I made out with on stage for their Spiderman skit). He’s 20 and maybe he was nervous because we haven’t talked properly before, but holy christ he would not shut up. I was done my burger & fries and he’d barely begun to dissect his chicken strips. (Because he was talking so much — get it?) Topics: a run-down of every skit he’s ever done, reasons why certain changes were made to each skit, thoughts on acting technique, blah blah blah.
Then I met up with Chris, one of only two men I was at all interested in via my ever-embarrassing online-dating phase. He had pretty dimples but again, fucking fuckity fuck, please shut up. Topic: his thoughts and experiences re: anything that occurred to him. He also was not afraid to interupt my infamous anecdotes.
For example:
HEATHER: My wisdom teeth are growing in.
CHRIS: I had my first one pulled in China, and the other three as soon as I got home. (Then proceeds to narrate for 30 minutes on hospital cleanliness, cultural friendliness, the benefits of 24 hour pharmacies, the chatty surgeons who operated on him, the kind of anaesthetic they used and its side-effects, reasons why wisdom teeth might become an “issue,” reasons why they might not, as well as the wisdom tooth escapades of his friends, family, and aquaintances.)
Also, during his monologues Chris referred to “my girlfriend at the time,” “my first date with this girl,” and various sorts of significant-other type scenarios at LEAST 20 times. I’m a fairly openminded gal when it comes to personal history/baggage (having dated more than one gay man myself), but THIS IS JUST NOT A GOOD THING TO DO.
First thought: ew, you’re dirty.
Second thought: ew, you’re trying to show me that other women have loved you and can love you. “They’ll vouch for me!” How misguided and ignorant! You clearly don’t understand anything about dating etiquette.
Third thought: hopefully he thinks he’s hot stuff so he won’t be sad when we never speak ever ever again. I hate making people sad.
In Other News
Tomorrow I have two or three more plays to see!!! Yay!!!!!!!!
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Slow Motion Slap – Sunday, August 28/05 – 8:27 pm
Cheek exposed: Heather and Shawn plan to attend the 6pm performance of Potentilla, the play Heather is MOST excited to see because it’s this year’s winner of the Intrepid Petri Dish Award.
Hand up: Shawn asks if Heather’d mind if he brought his girlfriend along.
HEATHER: I thought you liked to keep your friends and girlfriend separate?
SHAWN: I do, but girlfriends and girl friends have to meet eventually.
Hand meets Cheek: Shawn and his girlfriend decide they don’t feel like going out, so Shawn calls Heather at 5pm and leaves a message.
FUCKER FUCKER FUCKER. I’m done. And Shawn owes me $8 for his ticket.
Potentilla
It was a great show. Probably one of the only dramas in the Festival . . . afterwards, the guy actor and Meg said the laughter-response from the audience was bizarre each time, because we’d all become “fringified” and there were so many comedies this year that we thought we were supposed to laugh.
Also, pre-show Rod and I were comparing thoughts on Saucy Fops: The Musical and decided that a great theme for Atomic Vaudeville would be Tom Cruise. They could spoof Magnolia’s “Respect the Cock” bit, with Tom and his ponytail; Nicole Kidman & Tom’s awkward sex scene in Eyes Wide Shut; Katie Holmes, the Scientology thing, the ambiguous sexuality thing, Top Gun, the dance scene from Risky Business . . . .
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Day of Non-Fringe – Monday, August 29/05 – 7:58 pm
Today I hate people. I didn’t go to the shows I’d planned on — instead, I had a nappy nap at Q’s after work with Celeste (she had bad dog breath). When Q came home we ordered Chinese food and watched Growing Up Gotti.
I’m listening to some songs I haven’t heard in awhile — I’ve been devoted to Ani DiFranco and Eminem for a very long time. The best voices ever are those of Serena Ryder and Joel Kroeker. In heaven, they will perform together. For now, I will play their songs interchangeably while lolling in a hot bath.
Work Stuff
I have a ridiculous number of vacation and sick days this year. I didn’t think I qualified for vacation days in 2004, since I was technically “on probation,” but apparently I did because I have 50 unused hours (=7 work days) of vacation leftover from 2004, plus 105 hours (=15 work days) of vacation for 2005. I wish I knew what to do with all that time . . . I’d like an ESCAPE to shake things up, but I don’t know where I want to go, or whom with (if anyone), or what I want to do.
What seems most likely (and tempting) is some sort of writing vacation. I wouldn’t have to go anywhere, but I could.
The problem with that is that I DON’T WRITE when that’s all I have to do. A full-time job is ideal because it makes me value my free time more, so I actually do use it to write, and also because it leads to ideas to write about. If I took a week or three off to sit around and write, I wouldn’t get anything done.
Jessie suggested I go to Australia and fall in love with tall blonde men. Q suggested I take the vacation time in pay instead, and then use that $$ for Greece next year, or my student loans, or a nestegg for a house.
But it seems silly to be at work when I’d get paid not to.
This is an excellent “problem” to have . . .
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Oops – Tuesday, August 30/05 – 9:09 pm
When the Q dropped me off at home today he asked me to check and see when the license plates expire, and it was sort of dark out so I wasn’t sure that I was reading it correctly, but I was: July 7/05. So this means that both Q and I have been driving an uninsured vehicle around the city for almost two months. And not only Victoria — we took the car to Vancouver last month.
moment of nausea . . .
Moving the Q
I helped Q pack up for his move into his Owned Home. We’ve packed up his shit a thousand times in the last 6 years . . . I have developed special packing techniques for some of his possessions, like the 5-inch wooden woodpecker with the pointy beak that looks fragile but which HAS NOT YET BEEN BROKEN despite innumerable moves because I am so attentive.
Whiny Stuff
The left side of my mouth is achy today, due (most likely) to the as-yet-unborn wisdom teeth. I hope it goes away by tomorrow, or else I’ll have to swish that nasty warm salt water concoction that the dentist prescribed. Or worse, have surgery.
Crazy About the Bling
A big trigger for my anxiety has always been my bank balance, mainly because I’ve been through times when it was negative or very very very low. I usually just don’t look at the balance after withdrawing/depositing, because I feel panicky regardless of my financial situation. But this summer I found a great way to stave off stress: I stopped paying my bills. As a result, my balance was usually quite high, and it made me feel happy to see all those digits on the bank receipt. But the time has come to BE RESPONSIBLE again, so I paid off a few of the bills today (cell phone and internet). The only predictable bills I HAVE to pay off in a timely fashion (for the sake of my credit rating) are my student loans and credit cards, and rent so that I have somewhere to live. It was surprisingly liberating to let the rest slide . . . only a few hundred dollars per month, but still.
Restless in Rockland
I still feel antsy. Yesterday I considered changing the layout of my apartment . . . today I intentionally walked down a sketchy street in the hope that someone would try to attack me and then I could justifiably beat the shit out of them. I’ve been researching different vacations — Contiki tours to Greece, Goddess spa retreats to Salt Spring Island . . . and it’s raining again here in Victoria. Goddammit. If this is the end of summer (and I think it is) I will have to run away for a week in the winter to somewhere very hot and sunny. I’m solar-powered; Victoria’s weather cycles are unacceptable.