Thursday, October 12, 2006

some things

Some things I want to do before I die.
1) I want to see Lisa's magazine.
2) I want to be approached to star in a porno movie, and them turn them down, but walk away feeling fabulously sexy.
3) I want to finally finish 'The Davinci Code' for real, i have been reading this damn book for far too long.
4) I want to buy a new chair for my computer desk. One that doesn't fling you forward and into the lip of the desk if you lift one of your feet off of the floor.
5) I want to climb a mountain, but first I want to get over my fear of bears.
6) I want one day when I don't have gas.
7) I want Juliette Lewis to tell me I'm cool.
8) I want to travel to far away places with a backpack and sweat stains.
9) I want a dog named Stella.
10) I want to get married.
11) I want to start a band, and be the singer.
12) I want to write my electronic music CD and still have Faust scremaing 'cluck' in the song "Chicken".
13) I want to make a tonne of money and retire at 45.
14) I want to fly.
15) I want to live forever (as a vampire).
16) I want my friends to move here.
17) I want to buy a new car all for me.
18) I want to win a 10,000 dollar shopping spree at HMV.
19) I want to meet my neice.
20) I want to see what my son or daughter would look like, but only with the option of sending them back if I wanted to.
21) I want to go to one of those fancy enema shops in trendy cities and have my arse flushed with water that smells like watermelons.
22) I want to make a movie.
23) I want to write a zombie movie (again, and this time good).
24) I want to go for a walk through the perfect forest in autumn where the leaves are all kinds of colours, and not just yellow like they are in Calgary.
25) I want to get a promotion.
26) I want to love my job.
27) I want to go to a protest.
28) I want ignorant people to get kicked in the throats until they're not ignorant anymore.
29) I want to sing Gweneth Paltrow's part in the duet 'Cruisin'.
30) I want to frame my best pics and try to get them hung on a wall somewhere.
31) I want my dick to grow bigger, and then wear tight jeans for a day.
32) I want John for the rest of my life.
33) I want to create a better 'manwich' sandwich.
34) I want to buy a farm and have pigs that love me, and get all geeked when they see me coming (without the feed bag).
35) I want to take an art class in something I have never tried, like glass blowing or stained galss, or pottery.
36) I want to tell Oprah that she's a shithead, and needs to mind her P's and Q's, shut her damn mouth and never again comment on anything that anyone writes, cause she's no fucking lierary critic, she's just some lucky bitch who made it through the ropes and now has a show where she tries to make housewives cry between laundry and bon bon's.
37) This one is a secret.
38) I want to rent Dirty Dancing.
39) I want to get into 'Bollywood' and learn a dance or two.
40) I want to be Bonnie Tyler for Halloween.
41) I want to have a great body.
42) I want to die old and contented.
43) I want 'funk chunky' ice cream again, I had it once, and then never found it again. real bummer.
44) I want to burn the perfect cd.
45) I want to stop thinking about all of things I want and revert back to the attention span of a hamster, where I am happy and everything is new.


Tuesday, July 18, 2006

Dear Friends

I have been a bad man.
I have not written.
I have not called.
Following is a list of reasons that may help clarify some of the factors in my lack of attentiveness.
1. That's me at the top of a "ride" at the Calgary Stampede. It cost an additional 35 dollars to "ride" this contraption above and beyond the 12 bucks it cost me to walk through a turn-style and have some 14 year old with acne and chin pubes say HOWDY to me. The ride pictured here was a very, very long piece of metal with 2 chairs on each end. After getting belted in it would circle slowly to the top, where it came to a dead stop and loaded people on the exact opposite end. Once they were on the entire very, very long piece of metal would swing in a perfect circle, from ground to sky. The seats that you sat on also spun, right the fuck upside down.
I hated it.
Notice how my arms are not outstretched trying to add some more thrill to the ride, but rather clutching my chest and hoping the gravity doesn't force out the contents of my already terrified bowels.
The nausea wore off by the next morning. The emotional damage is still as apparent a full 2.5 weeks later.
Aside from trying to resocialize myself after the trauma, I have battled other perils that I feel are worthy of some explanation.
The 2006 Calgary Stampede just ended on Sunday.
We won a lot of free tickets.
Every thumb sucking dork with a side part and a wine tipped cigar was walking around in full cowboy gear.
It killed something.
And that something was 31 years of masterbatory fantasy so refined that I had it down to a fucking art.
Now I close my eyes to slip (and slide) off to la-la land and Bucky is coming at me with a crooked smile and a tattoo on his bicept that says 'Made in Canada'.
I'm still mourning that loss.
Also, I am a pet owner now.
Pictured here is one of my fish. He is a tropical Oscar.
He passed in the winter time. My boyfriend scooped him up and dropped his body into a plastic beer cup well we contemplated funeral arrangements. Unfortunately, the funeral planning was during dinner time, and I could not for the life of me manage to choke down my meal with the cold dead eyes of my beloved fish staring at me through the cup. So, I stomped my feet and whined and demanded that my boyfriend put the fish on the patio until I was done my Mac & Cheese.
He did.
And we forgot the fish there for a couple of days. He froze. Solid.
Adter that we found the blackest garbage bag we could find, in honour of the colour of loss, and we threw the icey casket in there, with some coffee grinds and a coffee crisp wrapper.
His brother made it through the winter. The living Oscar is now three times the size of that damn cup, and wants to be fed everytime I walk into the room.
I have begged my pooh pooh bear to just stop feeding it, but he feels guilty, and keeps dropping fish flakes in the tank.
I have contemplated throwing it on the floor one morning before work and pretending it jumped out of the tank while we were earning money for its 'TetraCichlid Jumbo Carnivore Sticks.'
I'd get caught, I always do.
Instead, I spend my nights trying to love the Oscar, whose name, subsequently, is Oscar. Funny, if you called your dog, 'Dog' people would know you didn't give a shit about the thing.
I am trying to become a responsible pet owner. But I just hate the damn thing.
Forgive me.
I am nothing more than a work in progress, and lately, it's taken up a whole shitload of my time.
I love you all.

Saturday, June 03, 2006

Not my words, but a jolly good read (especially for Dan)

Wednesday, April 12, 2006


Today I took my boyfriend to the local hospital to get his arm x-rayed AGAIN. He broke it three and a half weeks ago, and has had to go in on a weekly basis to make sure that the bones have not shifted from the good position they were in.
It was a pretty uneventful trip. The bones are good.
When he was standing at the desk making his next appointment I had wandered down the hall a bit.
When I turned around there was this East Indian man who was standing behind his wife holding the arms of the wheelchair she was sitting in.
He had said something to me, that I didn't hear, and he was awaiting my response.
"Sorry, pardon me"
He repeated himself, but his accent was pretty thick and I didn't catch what he had said.
"Sorry, missed it again, what did you say?"
He repeated it again, and again it was above my head. That's where i started getting nervous. I hate it when people are asking you something, and you have to stumble over what they're saying and get them to keep repeating themselves.
I apologised, and then I admitted that I didn't understand.
This was his response..
"Miikka Kiprusoff, you are Miikka Kiprusoff, from the Calgary Flames."
I blushed, I have had many a fantasy about hockey players, but never that I myself was one.
"Oh no, not me, you've got the wrong guy."
He didn't believe me.
"Oh right, I knew it was you, my wife and I were looking at you in the waiting room and I wanted to come over and introduce myself, but my wife thought it would be rude."
I giggled a bit and told him I really wasn't the goalie for the Calgary Flames.
He still didn't believe me.
"Oh sure, sure, I know we are in public, you don't want to be recognized by too many people, I won't make a big fuss."
I assured him that he had the wrong guy. I said that I was from Toronto and not a hockey player. He still looked at me like I was lying about my identity. Then he looked at John and said he knew for sure it was me when he say my friend with a hockey injury. I laughed again, because John playing hockey is funny unto itself. Then I told him that the break happened snowboarding, and that neither of us were professional hockey players.
He told me I was identical to Miikka Kiprusoff, and that "IF" he was wrong he was sorry.
I told him it was not a problem and then walked away. I could hear him whispering something to his wife, and when I looked back he just smiled and nodded at me.
It was an 'I knew it was you' nod.
I'm pretty sure that right now he is telling his friends that he met the goalie of the Calgary Flames.
This is a picture of Miikka....

Look like me?
Um, nope.

Sunday, March 05, 2006


I got an email from my mom tonight telling me that my aunt (my dads sister) has been given 2 weeks to live, and that her husband has brought her home from the hospital so that her last few days can be spent at home.
Of the million and one thoughts that have run through my head tonight, one of them is that I am absolutely terrified of dying.
I remember when I was a kid I used to be so afraid of old people, and the reason was that they were nearing the end of the life cycle. They had lived a long time and were gearing down for the inevitable. I couldn't handle it. I was afraid of my own grandparents. Afraid they would drop dead, and I'd be standing there staring at a lifeless body.
When I got older and realised that one day I too would die, I cried for hours in my room. Sobbing that everything I had, everyone I knew, would one day be taken away from me.
It seems like somewhere around puberty I became invincible, and stopped worrying about death. I guess I accepted other peoples mortality as I was then able to be around seniors, but my own death, at least the idea of it was back-burnered. I stopped allowing myself to consider death. I accepted that it happens, i worked through the ones that effected me, and I subconsciously disallowed myself to ponder my life, or the end of it.
I mean, it wouldn't be healthy to wander around day in and day out wondering if today would be the day, and I don't. I haven't ever done that.
Maybe the reason I am so terrified about it is that I haven't allowed myself the time to consider what 'could' happen when i die.
I am not religious.
There'll be no pearly gates for me.
I have no idea what there will be, if anything.
As an odd counter attack, I am also afraid of the idea of eternal life.
Wouldn't I get tired?
Do I want to exist on some plain for all of eternity?
Again, as a kid, I was petrified thinking that there is no end, the whole 'figure 8' thing always left me with chills down my spine.
I don't want to die, but I don't want to go on forever?????
If I knew what it was that I wanted I would just hope for that, but I am as ignorant to the hopes I have for my destiny as I am to the destiny itself.
When I lost my virginty, dated and broke up with people, one of the things that broke my heart the most was the thought that if I was still alive when they died, I wouldn't even know. We would be out of contact, and their death could happen while I was out playing Yhatzee with my friends. How weird is it to not know (or never know) that someone you once said 'I love you' to, is dead.!?
I watched this show the other night called 'The First 48'. I guess the name is derived from the idea that if you haven't solved a homicide within the first 48 hours of it happening the likelyhood of it ever being solved diminishes rapidly.
I hated the show.
I cannot understand how the family of a murder victim could ever allow television cameras around while detectives are trying to uncover who murdered their loved one.
I think it's sick.
I don't care what the fucking financial gain is, there is no price tag that could ever be put on the horrific death of someone I loved.
Why would I want the television audience to be enthralled by the tactics investigaters used to solve my moms murder, or my brothers murder or my friends murder. I just couldn't do it.
No one needs to know the 5 W's they just need to make sure the criminals are, first, guilty, and secondly, being punished accordingly.
Excuse me for being all over the place here.
Navigating another tributary in my mind right now, I also watched some of a 'Fifth Estate' episode last week that dealt with Homolka and Bernardo.
I was so freaked out watching it, but for some reason I stayed 'Tuned in', and I gave myself over to information I didn't want to know.
First of all, fuck the made for TV movie. There is no way that anyone should, or even want to, capitalise on the deaths and rapes and torturing that those two crazy mother fuckers inflicted on people. The families of those girls have gone through enough. Making a movie about it spits in the face of the victims, and glamourizes murderers.
BUT, from the little bit of the 'Fifth Estate' that I did see.....
Karla Homolka is one crazy bitch. More crazy than I would have considered when the media ban was on during the trial. More crazy than I thought when the trials ended and more crazy than I would have considered with the bits of information I have heard since then.
The show that night focused a lot on her. Video tapes of her confessing to what happened with the girls they murdered. She actually said that it was 'kind of' hard for her to see the girls die, because 'when you're in a situation like that' you become close to the girls. And that when Paul was out her and the victims would have 'girl talk' and just laugh and paint one anothers nails. Now, we know Karla was the only one laughing, those poor terrified children wondering what would happen to them. And that sick fucking bitch is out on the street. She should never be given a moments peace. It should always be in the spotlight where that bitch is and what she is doing, where she lives and works, and what she ate for breakfast this morning. I would never want to find out that a murderer lived on my street and because of privacy acts, i wasn't aware of it.
I don't believe in capital punishment, it's barberic, but I do believe that people like her should spend the rest fo their lives suffering for what they did to another human being.
I could go on for a long time about this, but I'll cut myself off about her now, I'm getting angry.
I'll just end it here.
Sorry for the bummer blog.

Tuesday, January 31, 2006

Ce jour suce le pénis des chameaux

I'm tired of letting the media blow its load in my mouth so I've shut the TV off and sauntered over to the fridge in search of an easily accesible snack.
I see nothing, but a bottle of Kokanee catches my eye. I swap it up in place of the orange juice I was actually thinking about and search half heartedly for the abominable snowman which is apparently hidden somewhere different on ever label. Before I find him I have twisted the cap that Columbia Brewery has designed for my convenience and helped me save the money on a bottle opener. Such good people they are out there in beautiful British Columbia.
The monotone humm of my boyfriends laptop reminds me that I am still to be job hunting and sending my credentials over the world wide web hoping someone will even open the file in which all of my personal information (and subtle pimping of myself) is contained.
I know they probably won't.
On Maury Povich this morning some fat guy was admitting to his diseased wife that he had been selling his body to both men and women so that he could afford the medication necessary to sustain her life. She got all mad and pushed him away.
"Oh, how could you do this to me" and other predictable retorts spouted from he oddly pouty mouth.
'Look lady, he's fucking some of the ugliest bastards you could imagine and he's doing it all so you can still wake up tomorrow and eat yer cream of wheat.'
Or something like that I would have said if I were in the audience, and felt like speaking. I just hope I wouldn't be on of those typical douche bags in the peanut gallery who just holler shit out, or prey they get applause after their usually poorly thought out comments. I just realized how quiet it is in here because I forgot to put some music on, John made me clean up my CD's off of the living room floor, and now I don't know where anything is. Plus yesterday I put on Madonna's new album to hear why people keep telling me it's good, and I just couldn't get it. In fact, it's hard to listen to for me. Maybe I'm more for the classics, I liked it when she sang about getting laid and then knocked up. Now, she just spouts shit out, and I wanna sew her vocal chords together. I wouldn't, cause I can't stand blood.
Lately I have been considering how eerily similar we are to the SIMS. We work, come home, fuck, make babies, work more to support the babies into adulthood, eat dinner and die. I've thought about hog-tying my boyfriend moving out to the woods and sustaining ourselves off of the land, but I know the resurgence of the 60's mentality wonuldn't fly, so I'm going to combat the boredom that has me nerve wracked by making more lists.
1. Run To The Hills - Iron Maiden
2. That's What It Takes - Celine Dion
3. Autumns Here - Hawksley Workman
4. O Holy Night
5. That song by, hmm, was it Sharon Lois and Bram, about the old lady who lived in the woods oooooh ohhh ohh ohh, and you sat there terrified waiting for her to scream BOO. And you always knew it was coming but for some chilhood reason that was never enough to prepare you for it, and you shat yer pants every time it came.
1. Ben Mulroney
2. Raven-Symone (Has anyone seen 'That's So Raven'? it's a half hour with the Anti-Christ!)
3. Carnie Wilson (her first name says it all "Come see the worlds fattest lady who got skinny and made money from it, don't forget yer candy floss sold for a mere $7 a bag just outside the big-top")
4. Antonio Banderas (the worlds ugliest latin lover fantasy comes to life in this heart warming drama set in the spanish country side)
5. Tyra Banks
Aspects Of A Repulsive Personality
1. Feeling the need to tell others to 'smile'.
2. Referring to your mother as Mom, when you're talking to me...."Mom says", I'm actually riddled with shock by how many people do it.
3. Using racial slang and meaning it
4. Farting during meals
5. Telling people that you've never masterbated
6. Those people who just wait until it is their turn to speak again when you're having a conversation. You can physically see them hanging off of thier next words, and totally oblivious to what you're saying. I figuratively throat punch all of those kinds of people.
7. The double soy latte with skimmed milk assholes
Movies You Should Really See (à mon avis humble)
1. A Dirty Shame - John Waters
2. Mean Creek - Jacob Aaron Estes
3. Outrageous Fortune - Arthur Hiller
Top Three Things I Will Only Admit In French
1. J'ai eu un rêve que j'ai eu des rapports anaux avec votre grand-père
2. Mon testicule gauche est sensiblement plus grand que ma droite, et souvent odeurs des ananas de décomposition quand danse de salsa de I.
3. Je me sens assez quand je place un sale, chaussure portée dans mon rectum et applique le rouge à lèvres à mon scrotum.

Tuesday, January 24, 2006

The 7 Deadly Sins and How They Apply To Me

Okay, so I went to church by way of my parents force as a youngster, and later in my teen years I lead children in the teachings of Jesus at Sunday School, still by the strong hand of my mother but the later as a means of escaping the sermon held by our minister. I knew that by being baptized I would be welcomed into the kingdom heaven so saw no real need to learn more about the bible or sit through endless blathering about god and this and that. I got some cold water on my forehead as a child, I was good to go. When I finally reached the age where my parents accepted that I did not want to continue as a member of an organized religion I threw church and all things godfearing aside. I never looked back either, until tonight.
I got to thinking about the afterlife, God, Heaven, all that shit. And then it hit me, IF there is a god, will I really make it into heaven?
I remembered the 7 deadly sins and I thought that some self exploration here was necessary, I'll lay it out for you.
PRIDE Pride is excessive belief in one's own abilities, that interferes with the individual's recognition of the grace of God. It has been called the sin from which all others arise. Pride is also known as Vanity.
Okay, but am I proud or vain? For me these are two different things. I mean, like, I dance in front of the mirror sometimes and think that my moves have improved, but I'm not ready to bust them out on a stage. So...Am I proud of my accomplishments as a mirror dancer or am I staring at myself and thinking "Oh you go boy"?
Well, neither, I mirror dance to prepare for a night on the town, and when I look like I have a few moves down, I feel good, but that's the accomplishment of hard work, not over analyzing how good I look. Sometimes I have handsome days where I look in the mirror and think, "Fuck, if I could clone myself I would never be horny again!". That is vain, Carly Simon might need a Part deux for that one. But so what, I'd do me, and love it. Yeah that's right, I've even gone as far as to add a picture of myself. Does that make me proud/vain? Who knows, guess god does, we'll have to wait and see on that one. What's next?
GLUTTONY is an inordinate desire to consume more than that which one requires.
Hmm, well, depends what were talking about here. If it's beer, I may be gluttonous, if it's Shredded Wheat Cereal, I am very giving, this is all so vague, it's like going to a psychic who never really tells you anything. Could I be gluttonous?
LUST is an inordinate craving for the pleasures of the body
Hey, like I said in PRIDE, I'd fuck me, so I'd sure as shit fuck you. I like to have sex, I'd rather be having it than writing blogs, but you can't win em all. It's not like I roofies in my boyfriends morning coffee, but I do enjoy 'the pleasures of the body'. I'm starting to think these sins were dreamt up by some fridgid douche bag. "HEY GOD LOVER, you need to fuck more, than it would only be the 6 deadly sins and the one fun way to pass time".
ANGER is manifested in the individual who spurns love and opts instead for fury. It is also known as Wrath.
Okay, once I had a cab driver in Toronto treat me like a piece of shit when he found out the neighbourhood I was heading to was the gay ghetto. He was black too, so should know how it feels to be discriminated against, but apparently not, because he proved to be one of the most homophobic shitbags I have ever come into contact with. I was angry at him. I spurned some fucking love that night.
GREED is the desire for material wealth or gain, ignoring the realm of the spiritual. It is also called Avarice or Covetousness.
Okay, this one is not me, I am not greedy. Sure, I'd like to win the lottery, but that's because I hate my job, and working in general, not because I want to have more money than you. I think I'm a 'give you the shirt off of my back' kind of guy. I've never been a label dropper, or cared much for trends. I think Paris Hilton is kinda cute, but it's cause she's so dumb, not cause she's so rich. Oh, and she is lanky, it's not sexy, it's emaciated.
SLOTH is the avoidance of physical or spiritual work.
Okay, this one is me, I don't want to get my hands dirty, or break a sweat unless I am committing the sin of lust or exercising. Don't ask me to cut the lawn or wash dishes either, it sparks anger which god doesn't much like.
thank god I don't believe in you