It's amazing what a little Downward-Facing Dog does for an achy breaky back. I'm feeling much better with all the blood rushed to my brain. I'm also a little flushed, had a huge glass of cognac, sipped all evening, lovely stuff. Halloween came and went without so much as the tiniest knock on my door. This means I've chocolate treats to devour all on my own, tsk, tsk, I KNEW I shouldn't have bought anything. We did have several shots fired in the neighbourhood tonight though, which reminded me of home. I wonder if somewhere around here old tires are burning and the road is blocked.
You know the girl on Dead Like Me? George? She reminds me of me when I was a teen, early twenty-something. That attitude! God, did I ever have attitude?! She's a rather annoying character really, but I feel an affinity to her. She looks like one of those troll dolls that used to be so popular back in the days of Cabbage Patch I think . . . (I do hope I've never looked like a troll, but I think I had her fuck you outlook on life for quite a time).
Watched some Sopranos episdodes on dvd tonight (got the rest of the season in the mail today, plus a Marx Bros flick that I'm saving for the weekend). Meadow's boyfriend Fynn reminds me so much of Kevin. I have no idea why, I mean in one episode the guy says more than Kevin did the whole time I knew him, but there's something about him. I dunno, like maybe if Kevin had've opened up a little and revealed some of his feelings, I think he would've talked like this. I suppose he did open up at the end, much too late, but still maybe it was enough to get an inkling into the way he thought . . . or maybe it's just the way his hair flips up . . .
I was reminded today of the Valentine's fiasco involving Kevin. Back in those days I had more feeling toward occasions like that, I had always gotten flowers or teddy bears or jewellry or something from Ronnie. Even in the toughest of times he would at the very least get me a card and some chocolates. But Kevin didn't do the Hallmark holiday, and honestly, now, I would be right with him on that. It's a completely commercial day, has nothing to do with love. But once upon a time my feelings used to be hurt when Valentine's Day passed unacknowledged.
The year that Stacy lived in the house with us, she knew how much this bothered me, so she went behind my back to Kevin and told him he needed at the very least to go get me a card for Valentine's, that this would make me happy. He had no aversion to this, I think it really hadn't crossed his mind before. So he went out to the drugstore and bought a card, came home, signed it with his love and handed it to me.
Imagine my surprise! I was overjoyed. Finally, a Valentine's when I wasn't forgotten. Even though he didn't wait for a private moment to give me the card, but handed it to me in front of everyone in the kitchen, I didn't care -- at least he REMEMBERED! I'm reaching to take the card from him and it's one of those pregnant moments you know, where your heart just swells and there's a zillion thoughts going through your brain in a blink, and you're so surprised at this unexpected turn you don't even know what to say . . . when he says, "Stacy said I should get this for you" and walks away to go watch Wheel of Fortune or something with his dad in the living room.
After that I pretty much decided Valentine's was the stupidest occasion ever.
But don't be too hard on him, his Valentine's etiquette might have been lacking but he kicked ass at surprise treats for no reason at all. He had an uncanny ability to bring me what I wanted or needed, without being asked, and sometimes before I even knew I wanted anything. He did have a natural talent for little surprises, and it wasn't just where I was concerned, he brought home some of the bestest things for other people too.
I raced to the post office today to pick up my latest dvd shipment, credit card bill (blech!), and a parcel with new clothing and sleepwear type stuff for me! How much do I love shopping online?! Having things delivered to me?! It's the best. I got a really good sale. I mean REALLY good! Three bras, two satiny caminsoles (one purple with a pin, the other coral), a green satiny chemise, a vintage Minnie Mouse tee, a vintage Mickey Mouse tank, a turquoise tank with glitter front (that I love!), a lilac tee with glittery pattern on back, and some funky pink sleep pants. And how much did this cost? You're not even going to believe it . . . like $69 bucks, total, free shipping, that's all. I mean a single cheapo bra runs me at least 20 bucks usually . . . so this is a real coup! Gotta love a good deal.
Mood: good
Drinking: water
Listening To: Dead Like Me in the background on the tube
Hair: recently tried on the hats (so cute!)
Monday, October 31, 2005
Snarkland's Question of the Week
Which is more important-- the actual experience, or the memory that remains of the experience after it is over?
Interesting question. You can't have the memory if you don't have the experience. But does that make the memory more important? I don't know. Then again, if you had a great experience but couldn't remember it, would that be enough? And memory is such a fickle beast, everyone at the same event recalls something totally different from one another after, as if they had attended different events. It's a complicated question. I don't know that I can choose.
Often when I'm having an important experience, I am totally aware that what's happening is significant and I'll acknowledge that, turn everything else off in my brain, clear my mind, and just totally be in the moment and enjoy every breath spent there. This is something new in the last couple of years or so and it seems to occur with more frequency the older I grow. I don't know if this is because I was less able to recognise important life experience's when I was younger, or what. But I totally recognise them now and I'm completely able to shut everything else down and live in the present moment.
It might seem then that the experience would be the most important to me, but I'm not so sure, because the memories from these experiences where I've been totally and completely present without another thought in my head . . . these are the most spectacular and powerful memories I've ever had, and I cherish them. I take them out and let them wash over me when I'm feeling a little down and need a pick me up. I visit them and hold them close like old friends. I can't imagine not having any memory of these important times. But I also can't imagine that the memory would be enough if I hadn't offered myself up so openly and freely to the experience to begin with.
Ah, it's kind of like the chicken and the egg, you can't have one without the other . . . if I absolutely had to choose though, I would have to say the experience is more important to me. And I'm having these wonderful experiences more often it seems, maybe because I'm more open to them, maybe because I always had them but didn't recognise them, I don't know. But I think without the memory of the last experience I would just go on to create even more new experiences, and that would make for a very interesting life indeed.
Mood: trying to get psyched to do some pilates or yoga or something, stretch out my too tight back
Drinking: not much
Listening To: The Beatles, Let it Be
Hair: tucked behind one ear
Interesting question. You can't have the memory if you don't have the experience. But does that make the memory more important? I don't know. Then again, if you had a great experience but couldn't remember it, would that be enough? And memory is such a fickle beast, everyone at the same event recalls something totally different from one another after, as if they had attended different events. It's a complicated question. I don't know that I can choose.
Often when I'm having an important experience, I am totally aware that what's happening is significant and I'll acknowledge that, turn everything else off in my brain, clear my mind, and just totally be in the moment and enjoy every breath spent there. This is something new in the last couple of years or so and it seems to occur with more frequency the older I grow. I don't know if this is because I was less able to recognise important life experience's when I was younger, or what. But I totally recognise them now and I'm completely able to shut everything else down and live in the present moment.
It might seem then that the experience would be the most important to me, but I'm not so sure, because the memories from these experiences where I've been totally and completely present without another thought in my head . . . these are the most spectacular and powerful memories I've ever had, and I cherish them. I take them out and let them wash over me when I'm feeling a little down and need a pick me up. I visit them and hold them close like old friends. I can't imagine not having any memory of these important times. But I also can't imagine that the memory would be enough if I hadn't offered myself up so openly and freely to the experience to begin with.
Ah, it's kind of like the chicken and the egg, you can't have one without the other . . . if I absolutely had to choose though, I would have to say the experience is more important to me. And I'm having these wonderful experiences more often it seems, maybe because I'm more open to them, maybe because I always had them but didn't recognise them, I don't know. But I think without the memory of the last experience I would just go on to create even more new experiences, and that would make for a very interesting life indeed.
Mood: trying to get psyched to do some pilates or yoga or something, stretch out my too tight back
Drinking: not much
Listening To: The Beatles, Let it Be
Hair: tucked behind one ear
Monday Madness
1. Name 1 comedy movie you've seen.
There's Something About Mary . . . why this is the one I think of, I do not know.
2. Name 2 black and white films you remember seeing.
Seen lots of black and white, movies were better back in the day when they had to rely on acting and plots instead of special effects . . . of course a lot of the b/w flicks got colourized later on . . . Off the top of my head -- Casablanca and All About Eve
3. Name 3 dramas you thought were worth watching.
Dramatic cinema, hmmm, so many to pick from, so little time . . . And worth watching is hardly a huge endorsement . . . everything is worth watching once in my opinion. Ok, here goes: Vanilla Sky, Titanic, Mystic River . . . but holy frig there are so many!
4. Name 4 television shows you watch on a regular (or semi-regular) basis.
The L Word, Six Feet Under, The Sopranos, Deadwood
5. Name 5 things that, in your opinion, are advertised on television too frequently.
DRUGS, DRUGS, DRUGS and DRUGS!! Like really, all those allergy meds, and get skinny meds, and cure your arthritis meds and get it up meds and all those meds you have to visit the website in order to understand what they're for . . . really bad on the American channels in particular. Even worse than the fast food chains.
Mood: stuffed to the gills with supper
Drinking: yeah, just a little, it IS Halloween and I AM a Barnbonian at heart
Listening To: Eagles, Take it Easy
Hair: up to one side
There's Something About Mary . . . why this is the one I think of, I do not know.
2. Name 2 black and white films you remember seeing.
Seen lots of black and white, movies were better back in the day when they had to rely on acting and plots instead of special effects . . . of course a lot of the b/w flicks got colourized later on . . . Off the top of my head -- Casablanca and All About Eve
3. Name 3 dramas you thought were worth watching.
Dramatic cinema, hmmm, so many to pick from, so little time . . . And worth watching is hardly a huge endorsement . . . everything is worth watching once in my opinion. Ok, here goes: Vanilla Sky, Titanic, Mystic River . . . but holy frig there are so many!
4. Name 4 television shows you watch on a regular (or semi-regular) basis.
The L Word, Six Feet Under, The Sopranos, Deadwood
5. Name 5 things that, in your opinion, are advertised on television too frequently.
DRUGS, DRUGS, DRUGS and DRUGS!! Like really, all those allergy meds, and get skinny meds, and cure your arthritis meds and get it up meds and all those meds you have to visit the website in order to understand what they're for . . . really bad on the American channels in particular. Even worse than the fast food chains.
Mood: stuffed to the gills with supper
Drinking: yeah, just a little, it IS Halloween and I AM a Barnbonian at heart
Listening To: Eagles, Take it Easy
Hair: up to one side
Another SNA Epidsode
Sunday Night Anxiety, again. Can't sleep. Went to bed. Rolled around for two hours. Listened to the boy on the other side of the wall mumble in his sleep for awhile. Said fuck it and got up. *SIGH* Why do I do this? There's no need for it. I could just as easily be this anxious any night of the week, nothing has changed from last night or the night before that. Nothing will be any different tomorrow night. I'll still have too much crap to do, too much stuff in my head, too many projects on the go . . . the only thing different will be that I'll be sleeping like a baby. There's no logical explanation for any of it.
Thinking I should dye my hair red before I cut it in a few weeks time. I've been seeing lots of long red hair and really liking it. I remember the first time I went red. It was Toronto and not a permanent colour. It was a very dark though bright brick red. I went out clubbing with MB and we ended up staying over at one of her friend's apartment. The colour was new and rather shocking to anyone who knew me, a dramatic change, but these guys didn't know me. They thought I was a redhead, kept remarking about it. One guy was totally turned on by my hair, loved redheads in general, followed me around in particular. We kept telling him it wasn't real, it was going to wash out, but he wouldn't believe me. They had bets on it. I had to wash my hair several times to demonstrate. Funny, the things you remember.
I've got some blonde in a bottle here already, was going to touch up my roots before wine weekend with trish . . . now i'm thinking maybe i should go get some red . . . paint the town red, is that the saying? It is official though, I'm going short by the end of November. Got Mom making an appointment for me for when I'm home for the next workshop. Going to the doctor then too. Would throw in a dental visit while i'm at it, but he's only in on Tuesdays and that does not work for me.
My sore throat candies numb the inside of my mouth . . . interesting, but a little scary. If I had any brains I'd go to emergency and get antibiotics, because i could be mighty sick by the time I roll into blackville again . . . but i'm still hopeful i can hold off. I've got my sinus meds, non-drowsy for daytime, sleepytime for night (though i can't take those ones at all because they knock me out for 16 hours at a time and make me stupid for a good 12 hours after i do get up), got my sore throat drops, got my tissues and water and cognac and wine and even a little diet pepsi . . . just in case the urge strikes. Got green leafy stuff for vitamins and hot sauce to burn the sickness out of me . . . even bought thai microwave dinners to be entirely certain that I do eat everyday this week regardless of how yucky i might be feeling. I've even got 12-grain bread for godsake! And I never have bread. I haven't actually eaten any of the bread yet . . . but it's here, just in case, if worse comes to worse I will have toast and tea . . . and if I'm having toast and tea, THEN i will go to the hospital and get the antibiotics.
At the drugstore I could barely squeeze into the cold and flu med aisle. It was filled with students, coughing and wheezing and sneezing and generally not looking very well at all, complaining about how they never get sick, can't believe they're sick, no time for being sick . . . they so did not know which stuff to buy . . . Nyquil is lovely stuff, but you do not want to be sucking back any of that and thinking you can write a five thousand word essay. No way that's happening!
Okay, end of SNA rant. I'm going back to the bed to see if sleep will come now.
Thinking I should dye my hair red before I cut it in a few weeks time. I've been seeing lots of long red hair and really liking it. I remember the first time I went red. It was Toronto and not a permanent colour. It was a very dark though bright brick red. I went out clubbing with MB and we ended up staying over at one of her friend's apartment. The colour was new and rather shocking to anyone who knew me, a dramatic change, but these guys didn't know me. They thought I was a redhead, kept remarking about it. One guy was totally turned on by my hair, loved redheads in general, followed me around in particular. We kept telling him it wasn't real, it was going to wash out, but he wouldn't believe me. They had bets on it. I had to wash my hair several times to demonstrate. Funny, the things you remember.
I've got some blonde in a bottle here already, was going to touch up my roots before wine weekend with trish . . . now i'm thinking maybe i should go get some red . . . paint the town red, is that the saying? It is official though, I'm going short by the end of November. Got Mom making an appointment for me for when I'm home for the next workshop. Going to the doctor then too. Would throw in a dental visit while i'm at it, but he's only in on Tuesdays and that does not work for me.
My sore throat candies numb the inside of my mouth . . . interesting, but a little scary. If I had any brains I'd go to emergency and get antibiotics, because i could be mighty sick by the time I roll into blackville again . . . but i'm still hopeful i can hold off. I've got my sinus meds, non-drowsy for daytime, sleepytime for night (though i can't take those ones at all because they knock me out for 16 hours at a time and make me stupid for a good 12 hours after i do get up), got my sore throat drops, got my tissues and water and cognac and wine and even a little diet pepsi . . . just in case the urge strikes. Got green leafy stuff for vitamins and hot sauce to burn the sickness out of me . . . even bought thai microwave dinners to be entirely certain that I do eat everyday this week regardless of how yucky i might be feeling. I've even got 12-grain bread for godsake! And I never have bread. I haven't actually eaten any of the bread yet . . . but it's here, just in case, if worse comes to worse I will have toast and tea . . . and if I'm having toast and tea, THEN i will go to the hospital and get the antibiotics.
At the drugstore I could barely squeeze into the cold and flu med aisle. It was filled with students, coughing and wheezing and sneezing and generally not looking very well at all, complaining about how they never get sick, can't believe they're sick, no time for being sick . . . they so did not know which stuff to buy . . . Nyquil is lovely stuff, but you do not want to be sucking back any of that and thinking you can write a five thousand word essay. No way that's happening!
Okay, end of SNA rant. I'm going back to the bed to see if sleep will come now.
Sunday, October 30, 2005
Cold Case
Do you ever watch it? It rips my heart out every episode. Slays me. Makes me weep.
". . . I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, and every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plain, and the crooked places will be made straight; 'and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed and all flesh shall see it together . . . '" -- Martin Luther King Jr. 28 August 1963, Lincoln Memorial, Washington D.C.
". . . I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, and every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plain, and the crooked places will be made straight; 'and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed and all flesh shall see it together . . . '" -- Martin Luther King Jr. 28 August 1963, Lincoln Memorial, Washington D.C.
Go On Take the Money & Run
It's funny how certain songs take you certain places. In the same way that AC/DC's Problem Child always reminds me of Bradley Hogan, Sheryl Crowe's All I Wanna Do takes me to Uncle Terry's club. Reminds me of Darren mostly. Darren and Uncle Terry and me, the Barnettville Mafia :-) armed and dangerous, ready to knock off liquor stores and kidnap blonde cashiers. Too funny.
Like Steve Miller. Steve Miller takes me to the PowerTrack every time. And there's no logical reason for it really. I mean I was listening to Steve Miller LONG before the PowerTrack. I was the one who bought the CD of greatest hits for the jukebox, because it was one I liked, it was good. And now everytime I hear any of those songs, instead of going back to Toronto or even further, I find myself in the PowerTrack hosting a pool tournament. It's a little bizarre.
Been thinking a lot about the PowerTrack today anyway, and how it changed me, changed my perception of people in general. This because I watched Crash last night. I watched Crash and I was disturbed. I was upset. People don't treat each other this way, I thought. I wanted to believe it too. But people do, people treat each other so terribly. People treat each other so carelessly, so reckless.
I have only to think back and remember the PowerTrack. The stuff I saw. The way the husband would brush against me, make a point to touch my hand when paying for drinks, wink at me knowingly, with the wife sitting three feet away . . . and those were the polite ones . . . there were the others who just took what they wanted, thought it was their entitlement, heard I was giving stuff away and why couldn't they get their share.
The way I was treated. Like an object. Like food. Every man, woman and child wanted a piece of me. It was always about sex or money, and it must've been mostly money. Because I still don't get it. It's not like I'm Halle Berry. Is every bartender in every club putting up with everyone's sexual advances? What is it about the bartender that everyone thinks they should fuck them? Anyway, every time I thought I found a true friend, someone who honestly cared what happened to me, it always came back to money or sex or both. And as soon as they realised they weren't getting any, they left. But they didn't leave quietly. They made up stories, made a big deal, made other people think getting sex or money or both from me was an easy venture. Is it any wonder I became so cynical about people? That I dropped out for a few years? I mean I can count the people who weren't looking to fuck around with me on one hand, maybe less than three fingers . . . and I KNEW everyone. It's truly sad. This is the general public. This is your father, your mother, your uncle, your aunt, your brother, your sister, your boyfriend, your girlfriend, your husband, your wife, your best friend . . . And for the most part, they cannot be trusted . . . well, if they're hanging out at places like the PowerTrack, they can't be trusted.
I'm gradually gaining some faith back in the human race as a whole, encountering more people who seem more sincere . . . or am I becoming more naive again as I put considerable distance between me and that place, I don't know, I don't even care really. I want to believe that people are generally good. If I can get back there, that's where I'm going.
It's also true that I missed a couple of real opportunities with sincere people while I was involved in the club scene. Like that one boy, so much younger than me . . . I didn't take him seriously. But he was one of the good ones . . . he didn't know how to be anything but serious, god love him, what was he, maybe 20 years old? And sober, drug-free, employed, with that car . . . was it a mustang? Classic something or other. He had the world by the tail, he did. And shy. When I think what it must've taken for him to approach me that night, in front of everyone, in front of Darren, and ask me to go with him . . . good grief! And I totally didn't get it, blew him off so casually, so quickly, without a thought . . . ahh, but Darren knew cuz he pulled one of his little ballistic jealous hissy fits and I didn't know what the hell was wrong with him. I can be so dense sometimes. I honestly thought he was just being a nice guy, just asking me if I needed a ride home. Ha! As if ANYONE ever just offered me a ride home to be nice.
Later me and Mom are having one of those conversations about all the shit I've screwed up in my life (but not in a mean kind of way) and she's frustrated I haven't married, haven't brought forth grandchildren (this pressure let up once my sisters came through, now she's just thankful I'm not a lesbian . . . tho not entirely certain that I'm not, but hopeful . . . I like to tell her about my girl crushes just to keep her on her toes ;-) and she says if she could've picked one guy for me it would've been him, this young guy from the club with the blonde hair and the blue eyes and quiet manner who wasn't a drunk and into drugs and actually worked . . . and it was only when she said this that I fully realised I missed an opportunity, there was more on the table that night than I thought at the time.
But everything always works out for the best anyway. He's married now, has kids, a good life. And I'm right where I've always wanted to be and becoming less cynical about the human race every day . . . which I happen to think is a good thing. It helps that I no longer have access to much money and I'm no longer slinging drinks for a living or hanging out at the bar everynight. I'm meeting new people all the time, some bad, but mostly good, overwhelmingly good and kind, and this is helping to restore my faith in people in general.
Mood: better with sinus meds
Drinking: Banrock
Listening To: U2, With or Without You (Radio Skipper, Italy)
Hair: smelling lovely
Like Steve Miller. Steve Miller takes me to the PowerTrack every time. And there's no logical reason for it really. I mean I was listening to Steve Miller LONG before the PowerTrack. I was the one who bought the CD of greatest hits for the jukebox, because it was one I liked, it was good. And now everytime I hear any of those songs, instead of going back to Toronto or even further, I find myself in the PowerTrack hosting a pool tournament. It's a little bizarre.
Been thinking a lot about the PowerTrack today anyway, and how it changed me, changed my perception of people in general. This because I watched Crash last night. I watched Crash and I was disturbed. I was upset. People don't treat each other this way, I thought. I wanted to believe it too. But people do, people treat each other so terribly. People treat each other so carelessly, so reckless.
I have only to think back and remember the PowerTrack. The stuff I saw. The way the husband would brush against me, make a point to touch my hand when paying for drinks, wink at me knowingly, with the wife sitting three feet away . . . and those were the polite ones . . . there were the others who just took what they wanted, thought it was their entitlement, heard I was giving stuff away and why couldn't they get their share.
The way I was treated. Like an object. Like food. Every man, woman and child wanted a piece of me. It was always about sex or money, and it must've been mostly money. Because I still don't get it. It's not like I'm Halle Berry. Is every bartender in every club putting up with everyone's sexual advances? What is it about the bartender that everyone thinks they should fuck them? Anyway, every time I thought I found a true friend, someone who honestly cared what happened to me, it always came back to money or sex or both. And as soon as they realised they weren't getting any, they left. But they didn't leave quietly. They made up stories, made a big deal, made other people think getting sex or money or both from me was an easy venture. Is it any wonder I became so cynical about people? That I dropped out for a few years? I mean I can count the people who weren't looking to fuck around with me on one hand, maybe less than three fingers . . . and I KNEW everyone. It's truly sad. This is the general public. This is your father, your mother, your uncle, your aunt, your brother, your sister, your boyfriend, your girlfriend, your husband, your wife, your best friend . . . And for the most part, they cannot be trusted . . . well, if they're hanging out at places like the PowerTrack, they can't be trusted.
I'm gradually gaining some faith back in the human race as a whole, encountering more people who seem more sincere . . . or am I becoming more naive again as I put considerable distance between me and that place, I don't know, I don't even care really. I want to believe that people are generally good. If I can get back there, that's where I'm going.
It's also true that I missed a couple of real opportunities with sincere people while I was involved in the club scene. Like that one boy, so much younger than me . . . I didn't take him seriously. But he was one of the good ones . . . he didn't know how to be anything but serious, god love him, what was he, maybe 20 years old? And sober, drug-free, employed, with that car . . . was it a mustang? Classic something or other. He had the world by the tail, he did. And shy. When I think what it must've taken for him to approach me that night, in front of everyone, in front of Darren, and ask me to go with him . . . good grief! And I totally didn't get it, blew him off so casually, so quickly, without a thought . . . ahh, but Darren knew cuz he pulled one of his little ballistic jealous hissy fits and I didn't know what the hell was wrong with him. I can be so dense sometimes. I honestly thought he was just being a nice guy, just asking me if I needed a ride home. Ha! As if ANYONE ever just offered me a ride home to be nice.
Later me and Mom are having one of those conversations about all the shit I've screwed up in my life (but not in a mean kind of way) and she's frustrated I haven't married, haven't brought forth grandchildren (this pressure let up once my sisters came through, now she's just thankful I'm not a lesbian . . . tho not entirely certain that I'm not, but hopeful . . . I like to tell her about my girl crushes just to keep her on her toes ;-) and she says if she could've picked one guy for me it would've been him, this young guy from the club with the blonde hair and the blue eyes and quiet manner who wasn't a drunk and into drugs and actually worked . . . and it was only when she said this that I fully realised I missed an opportunity, there was more on the table that night than I thought at the time.
But everything always works out for the best anyway. He's married now, has kids, a good life. And I'm right where I've always wanted to be and becoming less cynical about the human race every day . . . which I happen to think is a good thing. It helps that I no longer have access to much money and I'm no longer slinging drinks for a living or hanging out at the bar everynight. I'm meeting new people all the time, some bad, but mostly good, overwhelmingly good and kind, and this is helping to restore my faith in people in general.
Mood: better with sinus meds
Drinking: Banrock
Listening To: U2, With or Without You (Radio Skipper, Italy)
Hair: smelling lovely
To Halloween or Not to Halloween
Beautiful friggin' day here! Finally! Blue skies. Sunshine. I'm going out to get some sinus meds. I need antibiotics, I know, have appointment with the doc for next time I go home. I could go to the emergency room here, but I'd rather suffer the pain at this point rather than go to the hospital and endure emergency room crap. It's not like I'm dying.
Tomorrow is Halloween and I still don't know what to do. Will there be children knocking on my door wanting treats? Should I buy some just in case? Because if I buy some and then nobody knocks on my door, I will be the one eating all that candy, which is very uncool. And I will eat it, as witnessed by last week's German Christmas Cake that I was supposed to keep for Mom, now gone. I could just not answer the door I suppose, or go away even. I would feel bad if children showed up and I had nothing for them. Dammit! Have to buy treats. It's the right thing to do. If I end up eating them . . . oh well, so be it.
Mood: stuffy
Drinking: coffee
Listening To: The Who, Teenage Wasteland (radio free colorado)
Hair: walking on sunshine
Tomorrow is Halloween and I still don't know what to do. Will there be children knocking on my door wanting treats? Should I buy some just in case? Because if I buy some and then nobody knocks on my door, I will be the one eating all that candy, which is very uncool. And I will eat it, as witnessed by last week's German Christmas Cake that I was supposed to keep for Mom, now gone. I could just not answer the door I suppose, or go away even. I would feel bad if children showed up and I had nothing for them. Dammit! Have to buy treats. It's the right thing to do. If I end up eating them . . . oh well, so be it.
Mood: stuffy
Drinking: coffee
Listening To: The Who, Teenage Wasteland (radio free colorado)
Hair: walking on sunshine
Saturday, October 29, 2005
Saturday Six #81
1. What is a bigger pet peeve for you: someone trying to talk on a cell phone during a movie, a baby crying in a restaurant, a dog barking on your street, or music played loud enough to rattle windows.
Definitely the cell phone. I dislike them under the best of circumstances, but in the movies . . . drives me nuts.
2. What is your favorite cologne or perfume that you wear most often? Which one is the one you like the scent of, but don't wear often or at all?
Well, I wear Celine Dion. It's the only one I own. But the one I love and I never wear because I don't know if they make it anymore, I've had no luck finding any anywhere, is Poison by Dior I think.
3. In your opinion, what is the best way to tell someone you value how much they mean to you?
Saying I love you. I don't do it often. I don't do it particularly well. And you better believe if I'm saying it, I mean it. It's never done lightly.
4. Take this personality quiz if you haven't already: how accurate were the results compared with your true personality.
My results -- 41 TO 50 POINTS: Others see you as fresh, lively, charming, amusing, practical, and always interesting; someone who's constantly in the center of attention, but sufficiently well-balanced not to let it go to their head. They also see you as kind, considerate, and understanding; someone who'll always cheer them up and help them out.
I'd like to think this is accurate, but I don't know, I can be a bit of a wallflower by times, super quiet, I think it's only after you really get to know me that you start to see the lively, charming and amusing side of me. I'm certainly always up for cheering people up and helping them out though.
5. When was the last time you feel you got as much sleep as you really needed in a single night?
Last night. Bed early, late rising . . . a rude awakening in the middle, but no harm done. I think I usually get enough. I never set an alarm anymore unless it's absolutely necessary, I'm relying on my body to tell me how long to sleep.
6. If a stranger walked up to you and handed you a briefcase with enough money to pay off every debt you had down to the penny, do you think you could start from then on living debt-free?
Nope. I mean I probably could, it's feasible . . . but I know I wouldn't.
Mood: suffering with the Greco heartburn
Drinking: water
Listening To: John Mellencamp, Rumbleseat
Hair: still with me
Definitely the cell phone. I dislike them under the best of circumstances, but in the movies . . . drives me nuts.
2. What is your favorite cologne or perfume that you wear most often? Which one is the one you like the scent of, but don't wear often or at all?
Well, I wear Celine Dion. It's the only one I own. But the one I love and I never wear because I don't know if they make it anymore, I've had no luck finding any anywhere, is Poison by Dior I think.
3. In your opinion, what is the best way to tell someone you value how much they mean to you?
Saying I love you. I don't do it often. I don't do it particularly well. And you better believe if I'm saying it, I mean it. It's never done lightly.
4. Take this personality quiz if you haven't already: how accurate were the results compared with your true personality.
My results -- 41 TO 50 POINTS: Others see you as fresh, lively, charming, amusing, practical, and always interesting; someone who's constantly in the center of attention, but sufficiently well-balanced not to let it go to their head. They also see you as kind, considerate, and understanding; someone who'll always cheer them up and help them out.
I'd like to think this is accurate, but I don't know, I can be a bit of a wallflower by times, super quiet, I think it's only after you really get to know me that you start to see the lively, charming and amusing side of me. I'm certainly always up for cheering people up and helping them out though.
5. When was the last time you feel you got as much sleep as you really needed in a single night?
Last night. Bed early, late rising . . . a rude awakening in the middle, but no harm done. I think I usually get enough. I never set an alarm anymore unless it's absolutely necessary, I'm relying on my body to tell me how long to sleep.
6. If a stranger walked up to you and handed you a briefcase with enough money to pay off every debt you had down to the penny, do you think you could start from then on living debt-free?
Nope. I mean I probably could, it's feasible . . . but I know I wouldn't.
Mood: suffering with the Greco heartburn
Drinking: water
Listening To: John Mellencamp, Rumbleseat
Hair: still with me
The Last Summer
It was the ultimate loner summer of insomnia, deja vu, anxiety, two boyfriends, a PEI vacation, the lady in black and a beauty pageant. The summer following my high school graduation I lived alone in my parents house while they summered with the Coughlan clan at the camp. I had been staying alone most summers for a few years then, but that summer they REALLY stayed away. The lawn needed haying in its neglect. The house looked abandoned, curtains drawn, no sign of life. In the early dawn I would often see a fox, coyote, moose or deer on the front lawn as if the lawn were part of the woods. Rabbits ran wild about the place. Back then we didn't have any close neighbours, so if I was being quiet there was a big quiet zone and the critters roamed freely.
I didn't have any girlfriends that summer. No steady girl group to hang with. I guess because we were all transitioning into new lives, university and beyond. But I've always gone into periods of being the loner anyway, and this was one of those.
Ronnie and I broke up before graduation. We went to prom and grad things together because it had been planned and because my mother disapproved of my new boyfriend, the school disapproved of my new boyfriend (I doubt he would've been permitted on the property for prom, when he showed up that night to see me in my dress the principal gave me 10 minutes to convince him to leave peacefully before he called the cops) . . . everyone disapproved of my new boyfriend . . . so, if I wanted to go to any of my grad activities I either had to go alone or go with Ronnie. I chose Ronnie, and my new boyfriend was okay with that. He was actually a pretty great guy, though I was the only one who realised that then, and even I didn't realise the full extent of how great he truly could be.
At the end of summer I was moving to Toronto to study journalism at Ryerson. A helluva long way from Barnettville for this country bumpkin. Stressful times indeed as the anxiety mounted about the move. I had the recurring nightmare about the Lady in Black. Insomnia where I couldn't sleep for weeks. Deja vu episodes that would last so long I worried it would never end, that I'd be one step ahead of everybody for the rest of my life.
Following a weekend getaway to PEI that I was forbidden by my parents to take, where I was suspended over the ocean, held out over the side of the ferry somewhere during the middle of the ride, by four drunken and stupidly high idiots, where I discovered I had nothing in common with any of the girls in my new boyfriend's circle, where I earned the wrath of these girls just by my desire to stay up past midnight . . . I started seeing Ronnie again, without telling my new boyfriend.
I was allowed to see Ronnie. He was allowed to stay with me in my big lonely house. Being with Ronnie was easy and natural and had been the norm for many years. I really liked the other guy, but it was a difficult transition to his life, his friends, my mother's refusal to acknowledge his existence and with Toronto looming at the end of summer where I would have to leave him anyway. Being with Ronnie was comfortable. He was my old pair of slippers. He was the one moving me to Toronto in the fall, moving me into his aunt's house. And he pursued me that summer like he never had before.
It was shitty business really. My boyfriend would drop me off at the edge of my driveway, abiding by my parents' rule to not enter the dooryard even when they weren't there (everyone hated him, but he was a man of character), and Ronnie's car would be parked on the back lawn just out of sight (he loved me, but I sorely lacked his character). Ronnie'd be asleep on the couch or in my bed, waiting for me to come home. I think he got off a little on the excitement of sneaking around, having an affair of sorts. Of course, I wasn't having sex with the new boyfriend, I suspect he might've been more territorial if the new relationship had evolved that far, but at this point I was still his virgin princess. I actually never had sex with the new boyfriend, ever. He's since said he regretted that. I don't really do regrets, but if I did that would rank with me too. In my next life I'm sleeping with everyone . . . and marrying them! I'm going to take those things way less seriously . . . in my next life.
Anyway, the point of all this is to hopefully show what kind of a wreck I was that last summer, practically orphaned except for scorn and crazy ultimatums, sleep deprived, stressed, carrying on a secret affair, getting ready for the biggest life change to befall me, barely 18 years old . . . and into the midst of all this chaos, Rita calls. My high school English teacher. The one who entered me into the district finals for public speaking without having heard my speech that she'd already awarded the highest grade in the class. The same teacher who gave me perfect marks for essays and stories despite glaring grammar and spelling mistakes . . . I might've been failing Math, Calculus and Computer Science miserably but there was no way I wouldn't get into whatever English-related program I wanted, (provided I managed the miracle of graduation) not on Rita's watch. Of course it was rather shocking to learn I didn't walk on water once I got there, but still, I might not have gotten anywhere without a little help and belief on Rita's part that I could and would survive once I got in. Certainly nobody else believed in me so consistently and blindly.
So, when Rita called I was inclined to listen. She was on the organising committee of the local beauty pageant. They needed young girls. She thought I'd be perfect. OH THE HORROR!! I managed somehow to escape high school without once getting sucked into the beauty pageant that got so many others, never letting my name stand in the nominating process. I thought I had escaped forever. Is there anything worse than parading around in a pageant? I thought not. I said no. I said no quite firmly. And then I said no again. But she kept calling back. They didn't have enough girls. The event was in jeopardy. It wouldn't take that much time. I still said no. But she wore me down, chipped away and chipped away until I couldn't argue anymore and I said I'd do it.
By the time I agreed, rehearsals had been going on for awhile. It became rather apparent when I showed up at the next one that I did not belong. I strolled in 15 minutes late after struggling to get a ride hitch-hiking that morning, reeking of cigarettes, still half-asleep, hung-over, wearing my tattered old jeans, a faded tee and dirty sneakers. The other girls had all been in pageants before. They had their high heels with them to practice walking. Some of them had mothers with them to coach them on smiling and posture. So there I am, yawning, craving a cigarette, a cup of tea, learning to pivot in sneakers by watching how the other girls do it. They saved practising the talent part for last. I tried to sneak out but one of the organiser's saw me, generously offered that I could go first if I was in such a hurry, needed to be someplace else. I'm doing a speech, I said. Fine, she said, you can practice in front of the other girls. I didn't bring it with me, I said. Oh, she sighed, well you really need to practice here on the stage with the rest of the girls. I shrugged. Then Rita jumped in, said it would be fine, I'd be fine, and they let me leave.
I called Rita later that day and tried to quit again. She guilted me, she'd vouched for me afterall. I didn't want to let her down, but I missed the next practice. She couldn't possibly expect me to go into a pageant having not practiced I figured. Oh, but she did. There was to be a final practice on the morning of the show. 9 am sharp and I was to attend, ready to practice my speech. She enlisted my mother to make sure I got there. Rita would pick me up and bring me home, my mother was to make sure I was ready to go. What a friggin' nightmare! You see, the thing of it was I didn't actually have a speech. I had a vague sort of idea about what I wanted to do . . . if it came to that . . . but lord I never imagined it would come to that! I thought for sure I could get myself kicked out of the thing somehow.
The pageant was on a Saturday night at the Catholic Hall. Friday night I went to Blackville alone, hung out with some people, had drinks, some pills. It was daylight Saturday morning when I was walking home, coming through the field at the Brook Hill. I'm not sure where the new boyfriend was, where Ronnie was, why I was alone . . . I don't remember, but I was alone until the field. I noticed a couple of three-wheelers at the other end of the field by the woods, but couldn't see anyone around. I wasn't alarmed, knew who owned the machines, was caught up in my head, thinking about the f-ing pageant and the hellish day ahead of me, wondering at the time, whether I'd get any sleep at all or not. Plodding across the path through the field, my thoughts far away, when all of a sudden a hand grabbed my ankle and pulled my legs out from underneath me ...
Whoomph! In a second I'm on my back in the tall grass and someone's laughing at me. I recognise the voice and turn to see a guy I know laying beside me. He's howling like this is the funniest thing ever.
Fuck! You scared the shit outta me, I say. Saw you coming and hid, he giggles, everyone else is sleeping. I look around and see a couple more guys I know sleeping in the grass. Where you coming from, he asks. Blackville, I say. What was going on there, he wants to know. Nothing much, slow night, I shrug. And then he rolls over on top of me and starts kissing me. Whoa there! I say, Hold on, what's this all about?
I'm truly shocked. This is a very unexpected and rapid development. But I'm not afraid even though I'm pinned to the ground by this absolutely huge man, he's a friend, I know this guy . . . until he hisses something about me being fucked and then I see the look in his eyes and realise he's on acid. FUCK ME! He's kissing my neck and unbuttoning my blouse, pulling my breast out of my bra and all I can think is that I'll probably have f-ing hickeys for the pageant as I flail my arms around and grab another guys leg, beating at him to wake up and get this guy off me. The guy I'm waking is an even better friend, a guy who has defended me before. A guy I'm certain will help me out of this so I can go home. He wakes. Throws buddy off me and they get into it, which wakes the third guy. But as I pull myself together, it becomes apparent they are all on acid and drunk on wine and they're rapidly getting from the point of fighting over who gets to have me to sharing me evenly . . . FUCK ME! I've gone from one asshole to three in two minutes flat.
While they fight and stagger around ironing the details out I run from the field and I run all the way home. I'm going past Joyce and Gene's when I hear the three-wheelers start up. Still a quarter mile to my house. When I think of how fast I must've been going . . . wow, the shape I must've been in! With the three-wheelers coming down the road after me I run even faster. Getting into the house, getting the doors locked, just seconds before the three-wheelers scream into the dooryard. I sit on the floor in the hall in the centre of the house in a tiny space that can't be seen through a window, the only place in the whole house where I might hide from prying eyes, with my heart pounding in my chest, listening to them circle the house, looking in all the windows, taunting me to come out, looking for an easy way in without breaking glass . . . they may be high, may be drunk, may be ready to do unspeakable things to me, but still they don't want to harm Blaine's house and risk him shooting them . . . plus, they don't know for sure whether I'm here or not.
This lasts I don't know how long. They hoist each other up to look into the higher windows. Quite thorough. In the end, I think they leave only because they think I'm not in here. If they knew for sure I don't doubt they would break a window or bust a door. That's the kind of tripping they're doing. But eventually they leave. I don't move from my spot in the hall for several minutes after I hear the three-wheelers leave, afraid it is a trick, that one stayed behind. Then I creep from room to room checking out the windows to make sure I am alone. I go to my parent's room and climb into their bed, still fully clothed. I close my eyes and the door in the kitchen opens. My eyes spring wide and I hear steps coming toward the bedroom. I don't move, can't breathe. My mom peeks in, Why are you in my bed? Why aren't you up and ready? Rita will be here in a few minutes to pick you up.
I'm ready, I say and throw off the covers revealing a fully dressed though wrinkled and grass stained beauty queen contestant. Oh God! You can't wear that! Did you wear that out last night? Go change! So I do and while I am changing Rita arrives to pick me up for practice . . .
And I went and pivoted for all to see, but when it came time to practice talent I refused again, and again Rita reassured everyone that there would be a speech and it would be fine. But I could tell they were unconvinced. If Rita hadn't been so persistent about the whole thing I'm sure they would've tossed my ass out of that pageant that morning. But damn that woman and her unshakable belief that I could pull a god-damned speech out of my ass at any moment of my choosing! I went home after practice and finished the speech, granted it was one I had started earlier in the school year and never got to where I wanted it so I had a good idea of where I was going, practiced until I had it enough to perform, cleaned up for the beauty portion, got together dresses and things and for the first time realised I was going to be in a frigging pageant . . . on no sleep, no food, hung over, recently traumatized . . . that's the way to be competitive.
Pivoting in high heels for the first time did not go smoothly. I was not a graceful swan gliding across the stage. I didn't remember to smile. I couldn't get a proper hoop for my formalwear, so the Scarlett dress didn't fill out like it was supposed to but fell a little flat. All my hose ran. I flubbed my Q&A. I was upset that neither my new boyfriend nor Ronnie or any of my friends showed up to lend moral support. I always went to everyone else's stupid pageants! God, I even let one friend borrow a speech of mine . . . what a disaster that was! Shrinking into my seat, wishing to disappear, hoping nobody would notice me, as she screwed up and people all around me hissed, "That's not her speech! That's a Kellie Underhill speech!"
In their defence I don't think I actually asked anyone to come, right up until the end I truly believed I would get out of it. But my parents came, both of them, it was the only time my Dad ever saw me give a speech, which was the cause of much conversation in the years since. And there was at least one Grammie in the audience, and aunts and sisters and cousins and even the rare uncle . . . and in an odd twist, Marty (with his wife), who later never missed the opportunity to remark that was the night he fell in love with me when he saw me wearing my green dress . . . to which I always said I didn't think I wore a green dress that night, but whatever.
Darren MacDonald emceed. Darren, who I would later work with at CFAN, a young deejay then, earning his stripes, just starting out. The only part of the night that went well was the speech, the speech nobody had heard in practice, nobody had ever heard before. The thing about my speeches was that they were never really speeches, but more like monologues. They were entertaining for sure, funny sometimes, downright shocking usually, extremely theatrical . . . but not really a speech in the competitive oratorical sense. I don't think Toastmasters would stand for it, but Second City might've taken a passing look at me.
I don't remember much about this one. It was about the fear of public speaking I believe. I know I shook the podium, nearly knocking it over and mixing my cue cards in the process, meaning I had to go on shear memory. I know I pointed into the audience and accused my grandmother of something or other . . . and everyone within a 10 foot square radius of her believed I had accused them . . . and couldn't believe I dared to do that. I know I got a lot of laughs and had to wait several times for it to die down before continuing. I know it was the best I'd felt in days, months even, and I had that audience eating out of the palm of my hand. I know it was the last so-called "speech" I ever gave.
I nearly collapsed backstage after it was finished, didn't know how I'd get through the rest of the night. I used all my adrenaline and had nothing left. I don't remember another thing until the end, the part where they crown the winners. I was not expecting to win anything. Overall, I was the worst beauty contestant ever, clumsy, inarticulate on the Q&A, hostile posture, and so on. There was no way the judges could give me a crown, the uproar would be insane, no matter how entertaining my talent had been. None of the other girls liked me much, or didn't know me at all because I refused to go to the practices, so I knew I wouldn't get the Congeniality thing. I was just happy to have the whole thing over and looking forward to going home and getting some sleep after pulling the hellish all-niter.
And then Darren began announcing the winners. The first for the girl who had everyone in stitches, the girl he'd certainly never forget, the girl they'd all be telling their co-workers about in the morning, the most talented in the bunch of which there could be no doubt . . . he went a little over the top as I recall, I was very embarrassed as he called my name. At the last minute the judges created a new award for the talent portion of the program, so they could give me something. What else could they do? Some of the other girls were not too pleased about this, because of course I got a prize, a gift certificate for something or other that I never used . . . but that prize would've been part of one of the other girl's awards originally, so it was like I took something from them. This bothered some people I heard later . . . but what did I care? I had Toronto and two boyfriends and insomnia and deja vu and the Lady in Black and crazy boys on three-wheelers to think about . . . no time for beauty pageant politics.
Mood: contemplative
Drinking: It's Banrock time!
Listening To: Theory of a Deadman, Say I'm Sorry
Hair: neither laundered nor cut
I didn't have any girlfriends that summer. No steady girl group to hang with. I guess because we were all transitioning into new lives, university and beyond. But I've always gone into periods of being the loner anyway, and this was one of those.
Ronnie and I broke up before graduation. We went to prom and grad things together because it had been planned and because my mother disapproved of my new boyfriend, the school disapproved of my new boyfriend (I doubt he would've been permitted on the property for prom, when he showed up that night to see me in my dress the principal gave me 10 minutes to convince him to leave peacefully before he called the cops) . . . everyone disapproved of my new boyfriend . . . so, if I wanted to go to any of my grad activities I either had to go alone or go with Ronnie. I chose Ronnie, and my new boyfriend was okay with that. He was actually a pretty great guy, though I was the only one who realised that then, and even I didn't realise the full extent of how great he truly could be.
At the end of summer I was moving to Toronto to study journalism at Ryerson. A helluva long way from Barnettville for this country bumpkin. Stressful times indeed as the anxiety mounted about the move. I had the recurring nightmare about the Lady in Black. Insomnia where I couldn't sleep for weeks. Deja vu episodes that would last so long I worried it would never end, that I'd be one step ahead of everybody for the rest of my life.
Following a weekend getaway to PEI that I was forbidden by my parents to take, where I was suspended over the ocean, held out over the side of the ferry somewhere during the middle of the ride, by four drunken and stupidly high idiots, where I discovered I had nothing in common with any of the girls in my new boyfriend's circle, where I earned the wrath of these girls just by my desire to stay up past midnight . . . I started seeing Ronnie again, without telling my new boyfriend.
I was allowed to see Ronnie. He was allowed to stay with me in my big lonely house. Being with Ronnie was easy and natural and had been the norm for many years. I really liked the other guy, but it was a difficult transition to his life, his friends, my mother's refusal to acknowledge his existence and with Toronto looming at the end of summer where I would have to leave him anyway. Being with Ronnie was comfortable. He was my old pair of slippers. He was the one moving me to Toronto in the fall, moving me into his aunt's house. And he pursued me that summer like he never had before.
It was shitty business really. My boyfriend would drop me off at the edge of my driveway, abiding by my parents' rule to not enter the dooryard even when they weren't there (everyone hated him, but he was a man of character), and Ronnie's car would be parked on the back lawn just out of sight (he loved me, but I sorely lacked his character). Ronnie'd be asleep on the couch or in my bed, waiting for me to come home. I think he got off a little on the excitement of sneaking around, having an affair of sorts. Of course, I wasn't having sex with the new boyfriend, I suspect he might've been more territorial if the new relationship had evolved that far, but at this point I was still his virgin princess. I actually never had sex with the new boyfriend, ever. He's since said he regretted that. I don't really do regrets, but if I did that would rank with me too. In my next life I'm sleeping with everyone . . . and marrying them! I'm going to take those things way less seriously . . . in my next life.
Anyway, the point of all this is to hopefully show what kind of a wreck I was that last summer, practically orphaned except for scorn and crazy ultimatums, sleep deprived, stressed, carrying on a secret affair, getting ready for the biggest life change to befall me, barely 18 years old . . . and into the midst of all this chaos, Rita calls. My high school English teacher. The one who entered me into the district finals for public speaking without having heard my speech that she'd already awarded the highest grade in the class. The same teacher who gave me perfect marks for essays and stories despite glaring grammar and spelling mistakes . . . I might've been failing Math, Calculus and Computer Science miserably but there was no way I wouldn't get into whatever English-related program I wanted, (provided I managed the miracle of graduation) not on Rita's watch. Of course it was rather shocking to learn I didn't walk on water once I got there, but still, I might not have gotten anywhere without a little help and belief on Rita's part that I could and would survive once I got in. Certainly nobody else believed in me so consistently and blindly.
So, when Rita called I was inclined to listen. She was on the organising committee of the local beauty pageant. They needed young girls. She thought I'd be perfect. OH THE HORROR!! I managed somehow to escape high school without once getting sucked into the beauty pageant that got so many others, never letting my name stand in the nominating process. I thought I had escaped forever. Is there anything worse than parading around in a pageant? I thought not. I said no. I said no quite firmly. And then I said no again. But she kept calling back. They didn't have enough girls. The event was in jeopardy. It wouldn't take that much time. I still said no. But she wore me down, chipped away and chipped away until I couldn't argue anymore and I said I'd do it.
By the time I agreed, rehearsals had been going on for awhile. It became rather apparent when I showed up at the next one that I did not belong. I strolled in 15 minutes late after struggling to get a ride hitch-hiking that morning, reeking of cigarettes, still half-asleep, hung-over, wearing my tattered old jeans, a faded tee and dirty sneakers. The other girls had all been in pageants before. They had their high heels with them to practice walking. Some of them had mothers with them to coach them on smiling and posture. So there I am, yawning, craving a cigarette, a cup of tea, learning to pivot in sneakers by watching how the other girls do it. They saved practising the talent part for last. I tried to sneak out but one of the organiser's saw me, generously offered that I could go first if I was in such a hurry, needed to be someplace else. I'm doing a speech, I said. Fine, she said, you can practice in front of the other girls. I didn't bring it with me, I said. Oh, she sighed, well you really need to practice here on the stage with the rest of the girls. I shrugged. Then Rita jumped in, said it would be fine, I'd be fine, and they let me leave.
I called Rita later that day and tried to quit again. She guilted me, she'd vouched for me afterall. I didn't want to let her down, but I missed the next practice. She couldn't possibly expect me to go into a pageant having not practiced I figured. Oh, but she did. There was to be a final practice on the morning of the show. 9 am sharp and I was to attend, ready to practice my speech. She enlisted my mother to make sure I got there. Rita would pick me up and bring me home, my mother was to make sure I was ready to go. What a friggin' nightmare! You see, the thing of it was I didn't actually have a speech. I had a vague sort of idea about what I wanted to do . . . if it came to that . . . but lord I never imagined it would come to that! I thought for sure I could get myself kicked out of the thing somehow.
The pageant was on a Saturday night at the Catholic Hall. Friday night I went to Blackville alone, hung out with some people, had drinks, some pills. It was daylight Saturday morning when I was walking home, coming through the field at the Brook Hill. I'm not sure where the new boyfriend was, where Ronnie was, why I was alone . . . I don't remember, but I was alone until the field. I noticed a couple of three-wheelers at the other end of the field by the woods, but couldn't see anyone around. I wasn't alarmed, knew who owned the machines, was caught up in my head, thinking about the f-ing pageant and the hellish day ahead of me, wondering at the time, whether I'd get any sleep at all or not. Plodding across the path through the field, my thoughts far away, when all of a sudden a hand grabbed my ankle and pulled my legs out from underneath me ...
Whoomph! In a second I'm on my back in the tall grass and someone's laughing at me. I recognise the voice and turn to see a guy I know laying beside me. He's howling like this is the funniest thing ever.
Fuck! You scared the shit outta me, I say. Saw you coming and hid, he giggles, everyone else is sleeping. I look around and see a couple more guys I know sleeping in the grass. Where you coming from, he asks. Blackville, I say. What was going on there, he wants to know. Nothing much, slow night, I shrug. And then he rolls over on top of me and starts kissing me. Whoa there! I say, Hold on, what's this all about?
I'm truly shocked. This is a very unexpected and rapid development. But I'm not afraid even though I'm pinned to the ground by this absolutely huge man, he's a friend, I know this guy . . . until he hisses something about me being fucked and then I see the look in his eyes and realise he's on acid. FUCK ME! He's kissing my neck and unbuttoning my blouse, pulling my breast out of my bra and all I can think is that I'll probably have f-ing hickeys for the pageant as I flail my arms around and grab another guys leg, beating at him to wake up and get this guy off me. The guy I'm waking is an even better friend, a guy who has defended me before. A guy I'm certain will help me out of this so I can go home. He wakes. Throws buddy off me and they get into it, which wakes the third guy. But as I pull myself together, it becomes apparent they are all on acid and drunk on wine and they're rapidly getting from the point of fighting over who gets to have me to sharing me evenly . . . FUCK ME! I've gone from one asshole to three in two minutes flat.
While they fight and stagger around ironing the details out I run from the field and I run all the way home. I'm going past Joyce and Gene's when I hear the three-wheelers start up. Still a quarter mile to my house. When I think of how fast I must've been going . . . wow, the shape I must've been in! With the three-wheelers coming down the road after me I run even faster. Getting into the house, getting the doors locked, just seconds before the three-wheelers scream into the dooryard. I sit on the floor in the hall in the centre of the house in a tiny space that can't be seen through a window, the only place in the whole house where I might hide from prying eyes, with my heart pounding in my chest, listening to them circle the house, looking in all the windows, taunting me to come out, looking for an easy way in without breaking glass . . . they may be high, may be drunk, may be ready to do unspeakable things to me, but still they don't want to harm Blaine's house and risk him shooting them . . . plus, they don't know for sure whether I'm here or not.
This lasts I don't know how long. They hoist each other up to look into the higher windows. Quite thorough. In the end, I think they leave only because they think I'm not in here. If they knew for sure I don't doubt they would break a window or bust a door. That's the kind of tripping they're doing. But eventually they leave. I don't move from my spot in the hall for several minutes after I hear the three-wheelers leave, afraid it is a trick, that one stayed behind. Then I creep from room to room checking out the windows to make sure I am alone. I go to my parent's room and climb into their bed, still fully clothed. I close my eyes and the door in the kitchen opens. My eyes spring wide and I hear steps coming toward the bedroom. I don't move, can't breathe. My mom peeks in, Why are you in my bed? Why aren't you up and ready? Rita will be here in a few minutes to pick you up.
I'm ready, I say and throw off the covers revealing a fully dressed though wrinkled and grass stained beauty queen contestant. Oh God! You can't wear that! Did you wear that out last night? Go change! So I do and while I am changing Rita arrives to pick me up for practice . . .
And I went and pivoted for all to see, but when it came time to practice talent I refused again, and again Rita reassured everyone that there would be a speech and it would be fine. But I could tell they were unconvinced. If Rita hadn't been so persistent about the whole thing I'm sure they would've tossed my ass out of that pageant that morning. But damn that woman and her unshakable belief that I could pull a god-damned speech out of my ass at any moment of my choosing! I went home after practice and finished the speech, granted it was one I had started earlier in the school year and never got to where I wanted it so I had a good idea of where I was going, practiced until I had it enough to perform, cleaned up for the beauty portion, got together dresses and things and for the first time realised I was going to be in a frigging pageant . . . on no sleep, no food, hung over, recently traumatized . . . that's the way to be competitive.
Pivoting in high heels for the first time did not go smoothly. I was not a graceful swan gliding across the stage. I didn't remember to smile. I couldn't get a proper hoop for my formalwear, so the Scarlett dress didn't fill out like it was supposed to but fell a little flat. All my hose ran. I flubbed my Q&A. I was upset that neither my new boyfriend nor Ronnie or any of my friends showed up to lend moral support. I always went to everyone else's stupid pageants! God, I even let one friend borrow a speech of mine . . . what a disaster that was! Shrinking into my seat, wishing to disappear, hoping nobody would notice me, as she screwed up and people all around me hissed, "That's not her speech! That's a Kellie Underhill speech!"
In their defence I don't think I actually asked anyone to come, right up until the end I truly believed I would get out of it. But my parents came, both of them, it was the only time my Dad ever saw me give a speech, which was the cause of much conversation in the years since. And there was at least one Grammie in the audience, and aunts and sisters and cousins and even the rare uncle . . . and in an odd twist, Marty (with his wife), who later never missed the opportunity to remark that was the night he fell in love with me when he saw me wearing my green dress . . . to which I always said I didn't think I wore a green dress that night, but whatever.
Darren MacDonald emceed. Darren, who I would later work with at CFAN, a young deejay then, earning his stripes, just starting out. The only part of the night that went well was the speech, the speech nobody had heard in practice, nobody had ever heard before. The thing about my speeches was that they were never really speeches, but more like monologues. They were entertaining for sure, funny sometimes, downright shocking usually, extremely theatrical . . . but not really a speech in the competitive oratorical sense. I don't think Toastmasters would stand for it, but Second City might've taken a passing look at me.
I don't remember much about this one. It was about the fear of public speaking I believe. I know I shook the podium, nearly knocking it over and mixing my cue cards in the process, meaning I had to go on shear memory. I know I pointed into the audience and accused my grandmother of something or other . . . and everyone within a 10 foot square radius of her believed I had accused them . . . and couldn't believe I dared to do that. I know I got a lot of laughs and had to wait several times for it to die down before continuing. I know it was the best I'd felt in days, months even, and I had that audience eating out of the palm of my hand. I know it was the last so-called "speech" I ever gave.
I nearly collapsed backstage after it was finished, didn't know how I'd get through the rest of the night. I used all my adrenaline and had nothing left. I don't remember another thing until the end, the part where they crown the winners. I was not expecting to win anything. Overall, I was the worst beauty contestant ever, clumsy, inarticulate on the Q&A, hostile posture, and so on. There was no way the judges could give me a crown, the uproar would be insane, no matter how entertaining my talent had been. None of the other girls liked me much, or didn't know me at all because I refused to go to the practices, so I knew I wouldn't get the Congeniality thing. I was just happy to have the whole thing over and looking forward to going home and getting some sleep after pulling the hellish all-niter.
And then Darren began announcing the winners. The first for the girl who had everyone in stitches, the girl he'd certainly never forget, the girl they'd all be telling their co-workers about in the morning, the most talented in the bunch of which there could be no doubt . . . he went a little over the top as I recall, I was very embarrassed as he called my name. At the last minute the judges created a new award for the talent portion of the program, so they could give me something. What else could they do? Some of the other girls were not too pleased about this, because of course I got a prize, a gift certificate for something or other that I never used . . . but that prize would've been part of one of the other girl's awards originally, so it was like I took something from them. This bothered some people I heard later . . . but what did I care? I had Toronto and two boyfriends and insomnia and deja vu and the Lady in Black and crazy boys on three-wheelers to think about . . . no time for beauty pageant politics.
Mood: contemplative
Drinking: It's Banrock time!
Listening To: Theory of a Deadman, Say I'm Sorry
Hair: neither laundered nor cut
Hair Again
Yesterday I bought hats. Hats again. Has it been a month since I bought the last three hats? I think not. What is up with this sudden hat fetish? I keep buying 'em, though I've yet to wear any out in public. Yesterday's hats are really cute though, for winter (I also bought a scarf . . . or two). So when I tried the hats on in the store my hair was up in a ponytail. I get home and try them on with my hair down -- blech! blech! blech! So totally not working, hats on this thick mess that is my head of hair. (Do you know how many hours it takes for my hair to air dry?!) So either I wear my hair pulled back with the hat . . . or I get a cut. I had decided to keep the mane til spring, winter warmth and all that . . . but now I'm seeing something shorter in these winter hats and getting a little excited about that. I think it would be cute. I think I'm ready to be cute again. The hair served it's purpose maybe. I tried it. I grew hair below my shoulders. No bangs! Hid me for awhile. But now it's time to emerge, return to my usual self. If ever I wanted it back I could get extensions, or buy a wig even. I bet wigs are fun. But that short, just out of bed look is so easy to maintain, so easy to play with colours, I mean seriously I cannot go full blown blonde or bright red or plum or black with this mess, it's just too much, too difficult. If I had a stylist here, I'd go do it today.
Mood: prolific
Drinking: water
Listening To: David Bowie, Modern Love
Hair: thinking about a shampoo
Mood: prolific
Drinking: water
Listening To: David Bowie, Modern Love
Hair: thinking about a shampoo
Rude Awakening #14
Things got a little rowdy in the house last night -- many kids, much drinking, at least one dog, a wrestling match, bass rattling window panes -- thankfully only until about midnight when the clan departed for another party or bar.
Then 4 a.m. -- CRASH! right by my head, from the bedroom on the other side of the wall,
Fuck, one boy slurs. What happened? a girl asks. I don't know, another girl replies. You okay, a second boy slurs. Fell outta the fuckin' bed, the first boy slurs. Girls giggle. Fell outta the fuckin' bed, first boy repeats. I can almost see him lying there rubbing his head. And then I hear it and have to cover my mouth with my hand so I don't bust out laughing (cuz if I can hear them, they can hear me) Is it in my head? Is it the girls? I dunno.
There were four in the bed and the little one said, Move over, Move over . . .
Mood: sleep deprived
Drinking: coffee still . . . but the Banrock moon is on the rise
Listening To: Enya, Only Time
Hair: thinking about lightening up a bit
Then 4 a.m. -- CRASH! right by my head, from the bedroom on the other side of the wall,
Fuck, one boy slurs. What happened? a girl asks. I don't know, another girl replies. You okay, a second boy slurs. Fell outta the fuckin' bed, the first boy slurs. Girls giggle. Fell outta the fuckin' bed, first boy repeats. I can almost see him lying there rubbing his head. And then I hear it and have to cover my mouth with my hand so I don't bust out laughing (cuz if I can hear them, they can hear me) Is it in my head? Is it the girls? I dunno.
There were four in the bed and the little one said, Move over, Move over . . .
Mood: sleep deprived
Drinking: coffee still . . . but the Banrock moon is on the rise
Listening To: Enya, Only Time
Hair: thinking about lightening up a bit
ABCs of Music
Here's a fun one! Much harder than one might think. Anyone up for it?
List your favorite bands from A to Z. Bands, not single artists . . .
Here's mine:
A. ABBA
B. Bon Jovi
C. Clash
D. Def Leppard
E. Eurythmics
F. Foreigner
G. Guess Who
H. Hedley
I. I Mother Earth
J. J. Geils Band
K. Kings of Leon
L. Lovehammers
M. Matt Mays & El Torpedo
N. Nirvana
O. Our Lady Peace
P. Pink Floyd
Q. Queen
R. Rush
S. Sex Pistols
T. Tragically Hip
U. U2
V. Violent Femmes
W. Who
X. XTC
Y. Yes
Z. Zeppelin (technically a cheat, but I couldn't think of anyone else)
Mood: improved
Drinking: coffee with cream (which seems to be missing something . . . could it be the vanilla cognac?) I've got a bottle of water on the go too
Listening To: Neil Diamond, Girl, You'll Be A Woman Soon
Hair: pulled back
List your favorite bands from A to Z. Bands, not single artists . . .
Here's mine:
A. ABBA
B. Bon Jovi
C. Clash
D. Def Leppard
E. Eurythmics
F. Foreigner
G. Guess Who
H. Hedley
I. I Mother Earth
J. J. Geils Band
K. Kings of Leon
L. Lovehammers
M. Matt Mays & El Torpedo
N. Nirvana
O. Our Lady Peace
P. Pink Floyd
Q. Queen
R. Rush
S. Sex Pistols
T. Tragically Hip
U. U2
V. Violent Femmes
W. Who
X. XTC
Y. Yes
Z. Zeppelin (technically a cheat, but I couldn't think of anyone else)
Mood: improved
Drinking: coffee with cream (which seems to be missing something . . . could it be the vanilla cognac?) I've got a bottle of water on the go too
Listening To: Neil Diamond, Girl, You'll Be A Woman Soon
Hair: pulled back
Friday, October 28, 2005
Friday Feast
You know, you can play along with any of these . . . I think I'm doing so many memes and quizzes in hopes that one of them will entice Jenn to blog.
Appetizer
Do you button shirts top-to-bottom or bottom-to-top?
top to bottom
Soup
What is your favorite sandwich?
not much for sandwiches per say, probably a blt or clubhouse though if i had to pick
Salad
What was a family project you helped work on as a child?
you're kidding right?
Main Course
When have you acted phony?
i think i act phony all the time, on purpose, for kicks and laughs . . . unfortunately i'm such a good actress, nobody else realises ;-)
Dessert
Do you write letters or postcards? If so, to whom?
i do not, but i've been thinking this would be a good thing to start doing for the kids
Appetizer
Do you button shirts top-to-bottom or bottom-to-top?
top to bottom
Soup
What is your favorite sandwich?
not much for sandwiches per say, probably a blt or clubhouse though if i had to pick
Salad
What was a family project you helped work on as a child?
you're kidding right?
Main Course
When have you acted phony?
i think i act phony all the time, on purpose, for kicks and laughs . . . unfortunately i'm such a good actress, nobody else realises ;-)
Dessert
Do you write letters or postcards? If so, to whom?
i do not, but i've been thinking this would be a good thing to start doing for the kids
Friday Fiver
I'm in a meme mood this week . . . this too will pass . . .
1. What's the last item you mailed?
Four stories about four months ago, no response yet.
2. Who has made you smile recently?
An elderly man out raking leaves who said Hello when I walked past.
3. What's the weather like outside?
Cold, dark, grey, windy -- the usual
4. Do you consider youself a good judge of character?
Nope. I've misjudged many people in the past, not so much lately that I'm aware of, but got a lot of people wrong before.
5. What's your favorite photograph?
Good question. Right now I'd have to say it's the one of the gypsy band in moncton that joe took.
1. What's the last item you mailed?
Four stories about four months ago, no response yet.
2. Who has made you smile recently?
An elderly man out raking leaves who said Hello when I walked past.
3. What's the weather like outside?
Cold, dark, grey, windy -- the usual
4. Do you consider youself a good judge of character?
Nope. I've misjudged many people in the past, not so much lately that I'm aware of, but got a lot of people wrong before.
5. What's your favorite photograph?
Good question. Right now I'd have to say it's the one of the gypsy band in moncton that joe took.
Rude Awakening #13
"I can smell your poop coming out from the under the door . . . EWWW!"
When the guy on the other side of my bedroom wall yells, it's like he's in my room yelling at me. When I'm in a deep sleep while he's yelling, it's a rude awakening. When he's yelling crazy shit like this, it's beyond rude . . .
Mood: a little bizarre
Drinking: nothing, thinking about going out for coffee
Listening To: Rage Against the Machine, Killing in the Name Of
Hair: recently combed
When the guy on the other side of my bedroom wall yells, it's like he's in my room yelling at me. When I'm in a deep sleep while he's yelling, it's a rude awakening. When he's yelling crazy shit like this, it's beyond rude . . .
Mood: a little bizarre
Drinking: nothing, thinking about going out for coffee
Listening To: Rage Against the Machine, Killing in the Name Of
Hair: recently combed
Ow!
I can not get over this frigging pain. I am seriously fucked up this fall like no other season changing in recent memory. My feet! My God! It's insane. My foot is all twisted and swollen, deformed even. Same with my scary claw hands. I don't know what to do about it. I know there's nothing really that I can do, just rest and wait for the adjustment. Drinking improves my spirits somewhat, but really doesn't help. I managed to walk out to the post office and Sears to pick up parcel with new boots (2 pair, one for winter, one for dress-up) and cute camisole that I'll likely never wear because it feels a bit too low-cut for this buxom broad . . . but will keep around just in case the urge strikes or a need arises. Laden with parcels I had to return home rather quickly and I intended to go out to my new favourite restaurant for dinner when I noticed their special was the Hungarian meatballs with wild rice, a glass of red wine and mixed vegetable appetizer for only $14.95 . . . the appetizer alone normally sells for $7.95, so this was quite the deal, I figured. Anyway, I came home and tried on new boots, then opened a can of soup because my feet were toast and could not withstand another walk . . . even for delicious dinner :-( Today even the joints in my spine are aching. Oh the joy of that! Do you know how many joints are in your backbone? . . . No, me neither, but it's a helluva lot! More than enough to make my whole backside feel like it's on fire. Same thing with the feet. Every little bone is screaming where it joins up with every other little bone. More bones in your feet than anywhere else on your whole body . . . and mine are in agony. Is it any wonder I'm SUPER cranky bitch and not getting anything done?
Mood: tired
Drinking: coffee
Listening To: nuttin' it's the middle of the night
Hair: pulled back for serious work
Mood: tired
Drinking: coffee
Listening To: nuttin' it's the middle of the night
Hair: pulled back for serious work
Question of the Day
You've been given 3 parachutes, but there are 4 people who need them. Who will you not give one to: Ozzy Osbourne, Catherine Zeta-Jones, Jude Law, or Hugh Grant?
(Of course, all 4 of them are up really super duper high, and the parachute is truly the only way to save them.)
I'd have to save poor Ozzy, I'd feel too sorry for him to let him drop without a parachute. And I surely wouldn't want the rest of the clan coming after me for killing the old man. I enjoy Hugh Grant, he's very funny, very British . . . he makes me laugh a lot . . . yeah, would have to save him. That leaves Jude and Catherine. My brother-in-law would be pissed if I let Catherine plunge to her death . . . and her hubby creeps me out big time, wouldn't want his wrath falling down around me. But Jude is a hotty, despite the skanky nanny affair . . . he'd flash me that Dickie/Alfie grin and I'd be a goner. Catherine would have her work cut out to get any parachute from me. Maybe if she turned out to be really down to earth and humble and sincere and not at all like so many of those egotistical characters she always plays . . . maybe she could triumph over Jude's dimples . . . but I highly doubt it.
(Of course, all 4 of them are up really super duper high, and the parachute is truly the only way to save them.)
I'd have to save poor Ozzy, I'd feel too sorry for him to let him drop without a parachute. And I surely wouldn't want the rest of the clan coming after me for killing the old man. I enjoy Hugh Grant, he's very funny, very British . . . he makes me laugh a lot . . . yeah, would have to save him. That leaves Jude and Catherine. My brother-in-law would be pissed if I let Catherine plunge to her death . . . and her hubby creeps me out big time, wouldn't want his wrath falling down around me. But Jude is a hotty, despite the skanky nanny affair . . . he'd flash me that Dickie/Alfie grin and I'd be a goner. Catherine would have her work cut out to get any parachute from me. Maybe if she turned out to be really down to earth and humble and sincere and not at all like so many of those egotistical characters she always plays . . . maybe she could triumph over Jude's dimples . . . but I highly doubt it.
Thursday, October 27, 2005
Casual Curiosity #3
Instructions: Give your opinion on each of the 5 subjects below. Descriptive links are provided if you want to know more about the subject. What do you think about...
# the use of corsets
# Star Wars, the movie
# the possibility of a bird flu epidemic
# actor Kelsey Grammer ("Frasier")
# Horror fiction
on corsets: i think i could get into the whole corset thing if i had one that actually fit, one with laces. i'm not a big fan of the suck you in spandex thingys because they're damn uncomfortable and they don't evenly distribute your body, but shove all the fat right out front so your gut looks even more huge than it really is, because it's your gut and breasts and ass all shoved to the front and held there with lycra . . . this is not good. a real corset though would probably be good for posture and everything, might be just the thing to help my back carry around the heavy load aka my breasts
on star wars: i'm indifferent, not a fan, not prone to lining up for days to be the first to see the next episode . . . in fact, i haven't seen the whole series, i don't even know if i've seen all of the original. i liked the wookie . . . but i'm more of a star trek girl, planet of the apes, battlestar galatica, logan's run . . . that's more the sci-fi stuff i've been into. not that i'm dissing star wars, i'm sure it's fine, i've just never bothered to see it.
on the bird flu: pretty scary stuff, but not surprising. i've given up watching the news, given up worrying about these terrifying things that may or may not happen but i'll not be able to control one way or the other. i worry way more about tornadoes and hurricanes and ice storms and all kinds of severe weather though than i do about the bird flu, and i guess that's just because the severe weather is happening everyday all around us very close by, and the bird flu isn't.
on kelsey grammer: i liked frasier, but niles was my favourite character. i wouldn't say i've given kelsey grammer another thought since the series ended.
on horror fiction: bram stoker's dracula is one of my favourite novels of all time and i really enjoy poe and kafka. i like some of stephen king's earlier work but really feel like he hasn't written anything decent since he started enjoying success with his writing and more publishing demands were put on him. anne rice is pretty good, though i find most of her work more erotic than frightening. koontz has been known to scare the crap out of me, but like King he's cranking out too much stuff and the quality is suffering for quantity. clive barker is wicked stuff, demented, disturbed, haven't read any of his stuff in years, but he's good. books of blood were freaking insane. i haven't read much horror fiction in recent years, tried to write a little, unsuccessfully i might add, but overall i do enjoy the genre.
# the use of corsets
# Star Wars, the movie
# the possibility of a bird flu epidemic
# actor Kelsey Grammer ("Frasier")
# Horror fiction
on corsets: i think i could get into the whole corset thing if i had one that actually fit, one with laces. i'm not a big fan of the suck you in spandex thingys because they're damn uncomfortable and they don't evenly distribute your body, but shove all the fat right out front so your gut looks even more huge than it really is, because it's your gut and breasts and ass all shoved to the front and held there with lycra . . . this is not good. a real corset though would probably be good for posture and everything, might be just the thing to help my back carry around the heavy load aka my breasts
on star wars: i'm indifferent, not a fan, not prone to lining up for days to be the first to see the next episode . . . in fact, i haven't seen the whole series, i don't even know if i've seen all of the original. i liked the wookie . . . but i'm more of a star trek girl, planet of the apes, battlestar galatica, logan's run . . . that's more the sci-fi stuff i've been into. not that i'm dissing star wars, i'm sure it's fine, i've just never bothered to see it.
on the bird flu: pretty scary stuff, but not surprising. i've given up watching the news, given up worrying about these terrifying things that may or may not happen but i'll not be able to control one way or the other. i worry way more about tornadoes and hurricanes and ice storms and all kinds of severe weather though than i do about the bird flu, and i guess that's just because the severe weather is happening everyday all around us very close by, and the bird flu isn't.
on kelsey grammer: i liked frasier, but niles was my favourite character. i wouldn't say i've given kelsey grammer another thought since the series ended.
on horror fiction: bram stoker's dracula is one of my favourite novels of all time and i really enjoy poe and kafka. i like some of stephen king's earlier work but really feel like he hasn't written anything decent since he started enjoying success with his writing and more publishing demands were put on him. anne rice is pretty good, though i find most of her work more erotic than frightening. koontz has been known to scare the crap out of me, but like King he's cranking out too much stuff and the quality is suffering for quantity. clive barker is wicked stuff, demented, disturbed, haven't read any of his stuff in years, but he's good. books of blood were freaking insane. i haven't read much horror fiction in recent years, tried to write a little, unsuccessfully i might add, but overall i do enjoy the genre.
Literary Meme
Rules:
1. Take first five novels from your bookshelf.
2. Book 1 -- first sentence.
3. Book 2 -- last sentence on page 50.
4. Book 3 -- second sentence on page 100.
5. Book 4 -- next to the last sentence on page 150.
6. Book 5 -- final sentence of the book.
7. Make the five sentences into a paragraph.
8. Feel free to "cheat" to make it a better paragraph.
9. Name your sources.
10.Post to your blog.
I took the first five novels I found hanging around my desk and did cheat a bit on the order to make a better paragraph, but didn't tweak any of the words --
"In my younger and more vulnerable years my father gave me some advice that I've been turning over in my mind ever since. We sat back in the seat together and the top of the carriage made it dark. Across the yard came four people. Leaping not into hay but into the black underwater colour of creek, walking naked to the farmhouse, chewing rhubarb, clothes under one arm. For some minutes, before she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep, she just lay quiet, smiling at the ceiling."
Sources:
Franny & Zooey, JD Salinger
A Farewell to Arms, Ernest Hemingway
The Grapes of Wrath, John Steinbeck
The Great Gatsby, F Scott Fitzgerald
In the Skin of the Lion, Michael Ondaatje
I wonder if the same exercise would be fun with poetry?
1. Take first five novels from your bookshelf.
2. Book 1 -- first sentence.
3. Book 2 -- last sentence on page 50.
4. Book 3 -- second sentence on page 100.
5. Book 4 -- next to the last sentence on page 150.
6. Book 5 -- final sentence of the book.
7. Make the five sentences into a paragraph.
8. Feel free to "cheat" to make it a better paragraph.
9. Name your sources.
10.Post to your blog.
I took the first five novels I found hanging around my desk and did cheat a bit on the order to make a better paragraph, but didn't tweak any of the words --
"In my younger and more vulnerable years my father gave me some advice that I've been turning over in my mind ever since. We sat back in the seat together and the top of the carriage made it dark. Across the yard came four people. Leaping not into hay but into the black underwater colour of creek, walking naked to the farmhouse, chewing rhubarb, clothes under one arm. For some minutes, before she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep, she just lay quiet, smiling at the ceiling."
Sources:
Franny & Zooey, JD Salinger
A Farewell to Arms, Ernest Hemingway
The Grapes of Wrath, John Steinbeck
The Great Gatsby, F Scott Fitzgerald
In the Skin of the Lion, Michael Ondaatje
I wonder if the same exercise would be fun with poetry?
More Meme
10 Firsts:
First Best Friend: stacy, since birth
First Screen Name: writesprose
First Piercing: ears, when I was about 12 maybe?
First Crush: kendall crawford in grade one
First Music: dave clark five, kris kristopherson, and whatever else my parents had on vinyl. the first album i ever got was either the soundtrack for grease or saturday night fever. my first 8-track was shaun cassidy.
First Car: i almost bought myself a car once, but then i moved to toronto and ditched the driving idea. it almost seems like i bought a car one time for someone else tho, but can't recall who exactly or which car it would be, kevin seems the likely suspect, cuz i would've had the money then and would've bought him anything he wanted.
First love: i hesitate to say ronnie cuz i don't think high school counts in the love department, but then again four years is a long time to be with someone if you're not in love . . . but generally i consider kevin to be my first love
First stuffed animal: was there anyone before poodle? i think not.
First Time Being Drunk: crap! that was a long time ago . . . ummm, i suppose i must've been 12ish when i started drinking, but i can't remember the first time i got drunk
First Job: selling dogs at pjs pet centre, sherway gardens -- a terrible job, heartbreaking
9 Lasts:
Last Cigarette: officially quit on may 10, 2002, but there's been a cigarette here and there since, maybe three total, last one would've been about a year and a half ago maybe
Last Alchoholic beverage: glass of bordeaux with supper tonight
Last Car Ride: with stacy on the weekend
Last Movie Seen in theatres: is it called two for the money? something like that. with al pacino and matthew mcconnahey (sp?) about betting
Last Phone Call: talked to mom on monday night
Last Kiss: kissing the kids goodbye a couple of weeks ago when i was home
Last CD Played: bon jovi, have a nice day
Last bubble bath: i wish i had a tub :-( last leisurely bubble bath happened when i was home for stacy's wedding or dad's birthday, i forget which
Last time you cried: it's been awhile, probably right after i got back from being home at dad's birthday
8 Have You Evers:
Have You Ever Been Outside The Country: yes, but not as far out as i hope to go in future
Have You Ever Dated One Of Your Best Friends?: that's a trick question kind of, all the guys i dated were my best friend to some extent . . . hmmm, but the friends first, dating later thing, yeah, i've done that
Have You Ever Been Arrested: amazingly not
Have You Ever Skinny Dipped: yep
Have You Ever Been on TV: for sure
Have You Ever Kissed Someone and then Regretted it?: i don't think so
Have You Ever had a Suggestive Dream About Someone?: absolutely
Have you ever cheated?: i have in former lifes
7 foods you hate:
1. seafood, anything shelly like lobster, i can tolerate some halibut, haddock or salmon but am not really crazy about anything fishy
2. celery, just can't grow to like the taste no matter how much i eat it in different things
3. can't think of another thing
4.
5.
6.
7.
6 Things You've Done Today:
(In no particular order)
1. wrote
2. blogged
3. edited
4. cooked
5. answered email
6. worked on websites
5 Things you ate today:
1. ribs
2. salad
3. cheese
4. german olive/rosemary bread
5. does coffee count? cuz that's all the food stuff
4 People You Can Tell [ALMOST] Anything to:
1. i don't tell anyone almost anything, different people get different bits and pieces
2.
3.
4.
3 Choices:
1. Red or Black: black
2. Hot or Cold: cold
3. Sun or Rain: SUN!!
2 Things You Want to Do Before you die:
1. complete and publish a whole book
2. travel overseas
1 thing you regret:
1. no regrets, without the mistakes i wouldn't have learned the lessons
First Best Friend: stacy, since birth
First Screen Name: writesprose
First Piercing: ears, when I was about 12 maybe?
First Crush: kendall crawford in grade one
First Music: dave clark five, kris kristopherson, and whatever else my parents had on vinyl. the first album i ever got was either the soundtrack for grease or saturday night fever. my first 8-track was shaun cassidy.
First Car: i almost bought myself a car once, but then i moved to toronto and ditched the driving idea. it almost seems like i bought a car one time for someone else tho, but can't recall who exactly or which car it would be, kevin seems the likely suspect, cuz i would've had the money then and would've bought him anything he wanted.
First love: i hesitate to say ronnie cuz i don't think high school counts in the love department, but then again four years is a long time to be with someone if you're not in love . . . but generally i consider kevin to be my first love
First stuffed animal: was there anyone before poodle? i think not.
First Time Being Drunk: crap! that was a long time ago . . . ummm, i suppose i must've been 12ish when i started drinking, but i can't remember the first time i got drunk
First Job: selling dogs at pjs pet centre, sherway gardens -- a terrible job, heartbreaking
9 Lasts:
Last Cigarette: officially quit on may 10, 2002, but there's been a cigarette here and there since, maybe three total, last one would've been about a year and a half ago maybe
Last Alchoholic beverage: glass of bordeaux with supper tonight
Last Car Ride: with stacy on the weekend
Last Movie Seen in theatres: is it called two for the money? something like that. with al pacino and matthew mcconnahey (sp?) about betting
Last Phone Call: talked to mom on monday night
Last Kiss: kissing the kids goodbye a couple of weeks ago when i was home
Last CD Played: bon jovi, have a nice day
Last bubble bath: i wish i had a tub :-( last leisurely bubble bath happened when i was home for stacy's wedding or dad's birthday, i forget which
Last time you cried: it's been awhile, probably right after i got back from being home at dad's birthday
8 Have You Evers:
Have You Ever Been Outside The Country: yes, but not as far out as i hope to go in future
Have You Ever Dated One Of Your Best Friends?: that's a trick question kind of, all the guys i dated were my best friend to some extent . . . hmmm, but the friends first, dating later thing, yeah, i've done that
Have You Ever Been Arrested: amazingly not
Have You Ever Skinny Dipped: yep
Have You Ever Been on TV: for sure
Have You Ever Kissed Someone and then Regretted it?: i don't think so
Have You Ever had a Suggestive Dream About Someone?: absolutely
Have you ever cheated?: i have in former lifes
7 foods you hate:
1. seafood, anything shelly like lobster, i can tolerate some halibut, haddock or salmon but am not really crazy about anything fishy
2. celery, just can't grow to like the taste no matter how much i eat it in different things
3. can't think of another thing
4.
5.
6.
7.
6 Things You've Done Today:
(In no particular order)
1. wrote
2. blogged
3. edited
4. cooked
5. answered email
6. worked on websites
5 Things you ate today:
1. ribs
2. salad
3. cheese
4. german olive/rosemary bread
5. does coffee count? cuz that's all the food stuff
4 People You Can Tell [ALMOST] Anything to:
1. i don't tell anyone almost anything, different people get different bits and pieces
2.
3.
4.
3 Choices:
1. Red or Black: black
2. Hot or Cold: cold
3. Sun or Rain: SUN!!
2 Things You Want to Do Before you die:
1. complete and publish a whole book
2. travel overseas
1 thing you regret:
1. no regrets, without the mistakes i wouldn't have learned the lessons
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