I haven't been able to find any good drugs in Toronto, but this just totally got me high.
Friday, May 20, 2011
Thursday, May 12, 2011
Wax THIS off, mufuka.
Elderly Grocery Store Owner: Hello! I help you?
Illustrious D: Don't you try you Far Eastern charm on me, bubba!
EGSO: *toothless mouth parts slightly*
ID: Shit...is about to go down.
EGSO: *reaches for 911 button*
ID: I AM HERE TO TALK ABOUT V8 JUICE.
EGSO: *retracts hand*
ID: THIS, Mr. Miyagi, is inferior product.*
EGSO: Uh, that's a V8 bottle with water in it.
ID: Precisely, sir. I bought this bottle of what I thought was refreshing, healthful, not at all disgusting and only bought because I'm on a motherfucking diet bottle of vegitable** juice and what did I wind up with, but water.
EGSO: Sir, I do not believe that you bought it like this.
ID: Or DID I?
EGSO: You did not.
ID: *persuasive eyebrow raise*
EGSO: *shake of head*
ID: *stink eye...like a really good stink eye*
EGSO: *uncomfortably averts eyes*
ID: Ha! I win!
EGSO: Sir, you drank the juice and filled the bottle with water, didn't you?
ID: I ju-! I ca-! WH-? Js-? TIHL?
EGSO: Ok, now you're just putting random consonants together.
ID: Your mom.
EGSO: Wow.
ID: *jazz hands*
EGSO: I think you should leave.
ID: Right-o.
*Wow, the Illustrious D is super racist, guys.
**That's Italian for vegetables. Get cultured, fools.
Illustrious D: Don't you try you Far Eastern charm on me, bubba!
EGSO: *toothless mouth parts slightly*
ID: Shit...is about to go down.
EGSO: *reaches for 911 button*
ID: I AM HERE TO TALK ABOUT V8 JUICE.
EGSO: *retracts hand*
ID: THIS, Mr. Miyagi, is inferior product.*
EGSO: Uh, that's a V8 bottle with water in it.
ID: Precisely, sir. I bought this bottle of what I thought was refreshing, healthful, not at all disgusting and only bought because I'm on a motherfucking diet bottle of vegitable** juice and what did I wind up with, but water.
EGSO: Sir, I do not believe that you bought it like this.
ID: Or DID I?
EGSO: You did not.
ID: *persuasive eyebrow raise*
EGSO: *shake of head*
ID: *stink eye...like a really good stink eye*
EGSO: *uncomfortably averts eyes*
ID: Ha! I win!
EGSO: Sir, you drank the juice and filled the bottle with water, didn't you?
ID: I ju-! I ca-! WH-? Js-? TIHL?
EGSO: Ok, now you're just putting random consonants together.
ID: Your mom.
EGSO: Wow.
ID: *jazz hands*
EGSO: I think you should leave.
ID: Right-o.
*Wow, the Illustrious D is super racist, guys.
**That's Italian for vegetables. Get cultured, fools.
Tuesday, May 03, 2011
Two Things
1. My parents went to a royal wedding theme party where everyone was supposed to wear a fancy hat, a fancy top and casual pants. My father later sent me a group photo of the party wherein everyone's lower half was still considerably fancy (full-length dresses, tux pants, etc). I sent an e-mail asking what had happened to the casual bottoms. His response:
"My underwear was very casual. Dad"
2. Today, while waiting in the rain for a streetcar, I decided to check Grindr and guess who was less than 300 metres away from me. Yep. This is my life.
"My underwear was very casual. Dad"
2. Today, while waiting in the rain for a streetcar, I decided to check Grindr and guess who was less than 300 metres away from me. Yep. This is my life.
Monday, April 18, 2011
Loner Week - Day 1: Jaundiced Swan Lake
I have a week off. I'm doing daily Loner Tours of different parts of the city. Today is Day 1.
First up was brunch at Tequila Bookworm. Smoked salmon platter with cream cheese and a Montreal bagel. Apparently so good that my fat ass forgot to photograph it. Here are the remnants.
Next, I stopped by my old building to see if the bike I had left U-Locked to a pole outside the local Montessori school last July was still there. Admittedly, not on the official Eye Weekly tour, but bygones. Not surprisingly, the bike had been removed, to which I say: Fuck you, Montessori. Fuck you and the humanistic instruction horse you rode in on. You don't know me. You don't know my life.
On to the Lakeshore condominium district, where one developer had built a park and within it an art instillation paying homage to Canadian literary hero, Douglas Coupland. I have no answers for you on this point.
From here I started my trek to Union Station, but got distracted by the gorgeous misty lake and the wouldn't-you-know-it schooner and tugboat sitting in its harbour. As if this wasn't picturesque enough, as I was taking the photo a swan swam up. Yep. A motherfucking swan, motherfuckers. True fact about swans: they are the size of pigmy rhinos. No foolin'. They could fuck your shit up if they wanted to.
From the lake, I wandered to the financial district and attempted to find the PATH. These letters stand for something but I don't care what that something is. Essentially, the PATH is a series of underground tunnels and shops that connect the downtown area bordering between Front and Lakeshore (N-S) and Yonge and York (E-W). For non-Torontonians, it's a lot of goddamn space, ayit? Also, move to Toronto. Also, I got lost a lot and it took nearly one and a half adventurous hours to get from Union Station to Old City Hall. Kinda fun. Kinda old-person-power-walking-in-a-mall.
Next on my list was to buy Spanx at The Bay. Do I need Spanx? Did I just buy tight Calvin Klein undershirts instead? Maybe. Was my entire plan a disaster when I got home later and realized I'd grabbed the large size by mistake? Yes, yes it was.
At this point I was nearly passed out from all the walking. This *points to self in drag queen-esque manner* is not meant for physical exercise. I got a burrito. It was awesome. Then I went to my next checkpoint, which was the National Film Board of Canada, where you can watch a movie in a private booth and NOT slip on semen. Aces. Not aces? The fact that they were closed. Fuck you, Can-con, I'm-a go watch Rango. Again.
I did this thing for Luminato a few weeks back and they'd given me a $10 gift card to Kiehls. Way to treat a boy right, Luminato. I bought a bar of soap for $17 and regret nothing. Plus the counter chick was really sweet and gave me tons of free samples, and they had a wicked backsplash.
Then I went to hipster favourite, The Dark Horse Espresso Bar. Actually, no. They just opened a second location so you know those hipsters ain't havin' it no mo'. Still, maybe the best capp I've ever had. And the wait staff is pretty as was my driiiiiiiiiiiiink! And yes, that is a chocolate pecan butter tart. Hate the playa.
First up was brunch at Tequila Bookworm. Smoked salmon platter with cream cheese and a Montreal bagel. Apparently so good that my fat ass forgot to photograph it. Here are the remnants.
Next, I stopped by my old building to see if the bike I had left U-Locked to a pole outside the local Montessori school last July was still there. Admittedly, not on the official Eye Weekly tour, but bygones. Not surprisingly, the bike had been removed, to which I say: Fuck you, Montessori. Fuck you and the humanistic instruction horse you rode in on. You don't know me. You don't know my life.
On to the Lakeshore condominium district, where one developer had built a park and within it an art instillation paying homage to Canadian literary hero, Douglas Coupland. I have no answers for you on this point.
From here I started my trek to Union Station, but got distracted by the gorgeous misty lake and the wouldn't-you-know-it schooner and tugboat sitting in its harbour. As if this wasn't picturesque enough, as I was taking the photo a swan swam up. Yep. A motherfucking swan, motherfuckers. True fact about swans: they are the size of pigmy rhinos. No foolin'. They could fuck your shit up if they wanted to.
From the lake, I wandered to the financial district and attempted to find the PATH. These letters stand for something but I don't care what that something is. Essentially, the PATH is a series of underground tunnels and shops that connect the downtown area bordering between Front and Lakeshore (N-S) and Yonge and York (E-W). For non-Torontonians, it's a lot of goddamn space, ayit? Also, move to Toronto. Also, I got lost a lot and it took nearly one and a half adventurous hours to get from Union Station to Old City Hall. Kinda fun. Kinda old-person-power-walking-in-a-mall.
Next on my list was to buy Spanx at The Bay. Do I need Spanx? Did I just buy tight Calvin Klein undershirts instead? Maybe. Was my entire plan a disaster when I got home later and realized I'd grabbed the large size by mistake? Yes, yes it was.
At this point I was nearly passed out from all the walking. This *points to self in drag queen-esque manner* is not meant for physical exercise. I got a burrito. It was awesome. Then I went to my next checkpoint, which was the National Film Board of Canada, where you can watch a movie in a private booth and NOT slip on semen. Aces. Not aces? The fact that they were closed. Fuck you, Can-con, I'm-a go watch Rango. Again.
I did this thing for Luminato a few weeks back and they'd given me a $10 gift card to Kiehls. Way to treat a boy right, Luminato. I bought a bar of soap for $17 and regret nothing. Plus the counter chick was really sweet and gave me tons of free samples, and they had a wicked backsplash.
Then I went to hipster favourite, The Dark Horse Espresso Bar. Actually, no. They just opened a second location so you know those hipsters ain't havin' it no mo'. Still, maybe the best capp I've ever had. And the wait staff is pretty as was my driiiiiiiiiiiiink! And yes, that is a chocolate pecan butter tart. Hate the playa.
Sunday, April 17, 2011
Unicorns can suck it
Let's not even pretend to discuss how long it's been. Just suck it, okay? And here we go...
My eyes fly awake. Not literally. That would be disgusting (seriously, what's wrong with you?). It is 5am. My natural inclination in these situations is to curse whatever god I'm diggin' that week and try to go back to sleep.
"No," a voice inside tells me, "You are awake. Do not force it. Embrace the morn."
"But it's still dark out," I say.
"You shut your stupid mouth," the voice replies.
So I get out of bed. Not drowsy in the least, I head downstairs, throw out the day-old coffee I had planned on reheating and boiled water for a fresh batch. I sauteed some garlic and spinach, beat some eggs, crumbled some chevre and made an omelet. Such an indulgence on a morning with classes starting at 8:30. I took the omelet and steamy cup of coffee to my room, watched some Rachel Maddow on youtube and chilled my non-sleepy ass out.
This day was good and it had yet to really begin.
At around 6:30, I was still so totally blissed out on the dawn that I decided to be a sport and preorder a couple grab-n-go Starbucks tetrapacks for the morning class. As previously mentioned, my instructor (Big Fat Greek Mama) had lost her own Big Fat Greek Mama in October and on New Year's Day, Big Fat Greek Papa joined her. Greeks...what a bunch of fuckin' drama queens. In light of this and the multitude of assignments raining down upon us with every passing day, I decided that we needed a treat and that my hasn't-worked-in-6-months ass would be the one to buy it.
I left the house at about 7:15 in order to make my 8:00 pick-up at da' Bucks. As I rode the streetcar to the subway station, my mind was filled with unicorns and rainbows and all sorts of uncharacteristic optimism as represented by elements in a Precious Memories greeting card. I arrived at Starbucks ten minutes early (!) and patiently waited as the bariste (that's 'barista' plural, bitches. Italian-lawyered.) prepared enough coffee to require a pack mule. Fortunately, my natural gate is somewhat of a clop and so I am the perfect substitute.
I imagined what they must think of me. Clearly this was an up and coming professional that worked on upwards of the 25th floor of some office tower and was putting in his dues, picking up coffee for the morning meeting. So dapper in his coat and tasteful yet elegant scarf. So clean-shaven. So ballin'.
Messenger bag on back, one tetrapack in each hand, I cantered my way back down into the subway, smoothly navigating the turnstiles and finding a sweet-ass spot leaning against a pole. I enjoy being pole adjacent. The school being only two stops away, I got there in a jiffy (8:10!) and strode confidently out of the car, a stranger shoulder-bumping me upon the exit. I was unharmed (start breathing again, devoted reader) but noticed that one of the two side pouches on the left tetrapack had been near completely torn off in the kerfuffle. Man of calm and reason I, I simply switched its contents (spare cups, various sweetening agents) to the other side and made my way up the stairs, reaching the 10th step before the other side broke off, fell to the floor and sent two full venti cups of milk and cream crashing to the ground, forming a harormonious, roughly combined 7% stream of dairy cascading down the steps of St. George Station.
I would love to tell you that in this moment of faith-testing I kept my cool in did not proffer an F bomb so vociferous as to send unborn children on the platform into immediate prenatal therapy, but this was not so.
Rebuking the offers of aid from the bum who'd been sleeping on the stairs (it shows a real strength of character for a homeless person to wake up, feel his bum all creamy and to offer help to the bloke the creamed all over him), I noticed a classmate staring at me, shoved the remaining tetrapack in her arms and ran off with the other one in search of the nearest Starbucks. And by ran I mean jogged. And by jogged I mean walked ever so slightly quicker than I normally do. Omigawd, are you seriously gonna keep going with this? I'm in the middle of a story here! JEEZ. So rude.
As I walked ever so slightly quicker than I normally do, I fantasized about how I would lay into the barista just in case she should happen to give me some guff upon my arrival. I was gonna be all "Faulty products!" and "Customer satisfaction!" and "You can't handle the truth!" but then she was all sweet and gave me exactly what I wanted so bitch di'in needed 2 be cut 2day.
I got to class five minutes late which was perfect timing to be all, "Oh, me? Yes, I brought coffee. Oh no, I need no thanks. No, please, stop applauding."
I hate rainbows, unicorns can suck it, and the next time I am unceremoniously awakened at 5:30, I am becoming an atheist, I swear to G-... WELL, SOMETHING. I DUNNO. I HAVEN'T FIGURED IT ALL OUT YET. DO NOT TEST ME! DO NOT TEST MEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!
*curtsy*
My eyes fly awake. Not literally. That would be disgusting (seriously, what's wrong with you?). It is 5am. My natural inclination in these situations is to curse whatever god I'm diggin' that week and try to go back to sleep.
"No," a voice inside tells me, "You are awake. Do not force it. Embrace the morn."
"But it's still dark out," I say.
"You shut your stupid mouth," the voice replies.
So I get out of bed. Not drowsy in the least, I head downstairs, throw out the day-old coffee I had planned on reheating and boiled water for a fresh batch. I sauteed some garlic and spinach, beat some eggs, crumbled some chevre and made an omelet. Such an indulgence on a morning with classes starting at 8:30. I took the omelet and steamy cup of coffee to my room, watched some Rachel Maddow on youtube and chilled my non-sleepy ass out.
This day was good and it had yet to really begin.
At around 6:30, I was still so totally blissed out on the dawn that I decided to be a sport and preorder a couple grab-n-go Starbucks tetrapacks for the morning class. As previously mentioned, my instructor (Big Fat Greek Mama) had lost her own Big Fat Greek Mama in October and on New Year's Day, Big Fat Greek Papa joined her. Greeks...what a bunch of fuckin' drama queens. In light of this and the multitude of assignments raining down upon us with every passing day, I decided that we needed a treat and that my hasn't-worked-in-6-months ass would be the one to buy it.
I left the house at about 7:15 in order to make my 8:00 pick-up at da' Bucks. As I rode the streetcar to the subway station, my mind was filled with unicorns and rainbows and all sorts of uncharacteristic optimism as represented by elements in a Precious Memories greeting card. I arrived at Starbucks ten minutes early (!) and patiently waited as the bariste (that's 'barista' plural, bitches. Italian-lawyered.) prepared enough coffee to require a pack mule. Fortunately, my natural gate is somewhat of a clop and so I am the perfect substitute.
I imagined what they must think of me. Clearly this was an up and coming professional that worked on upwards of the 25th floor of some office tower and was putting in his dues, picking up coffee for the morning meeting. So dapper in his coat and tasteful yet elegant scarf. So clean-shaven. So ballin'.
Messenger bag on back, one tetrapack in each hand, I cantered my way back down into the subway, smoothly navigating the turnstiles and finding a sweet-ass spot leaning against a pole. I enjoy being pole adjacent. The school being only two stops away, I got there in a jiffy (8:10!) and strode confidently out of the car, a stranger shoulder-bumping me upon the exit. I was unharmed (start breathing again, devoted reader) but noticed that one of the two side pouches on the left tetrapack had been near completely torn off in the kerfuffle. Man of calm and reason I, I simply switched its contents (spare cups, various sweetening agents) to the other side and made my way up the stairs, reaching the 10th step before the other side broke off, fell to the floor and sent two full venti cups of milk and cream crashing to the ground, forming a harormonious, roughly combined 7% stream of dairy cascading down the steps of St. George Station.
I would love to tell you that in this moment of faith-testing I kept my cool in did not proffer an F bomb so vociferous as to send unborn children on the platform into immediate prenatal therapy, but this was not so.
Rebuking the offers of aid from the bum who'd been sleeping on the stairs (it shows a real strength of character for a homeless person to wake up, feel his bum all creamy and to offer help to the bloke the creamed all over him), I noticed a classmate staring at me, shoved the remaining tetrapack in her arms and ran off with the other one in search of the nearest Starbucks. And by ran I mean jogged. And by jogged I mean walked ever so slightly quicker than I normally do. Omigawd, are you seriously gonna keep going with this? I'm in the middle of a story here! JEEZ. So rude.
As I walked ever so slightly quicker than I normally do, I fantasized about how I would lay into the barista just in case she should happen to give me some guff upon my arrival. I was gonna be all "Faulty products!" and "Customer satisfaction!" and "You can't handle the truth!" but then she was all sweet and gave me exactly what I wanted so bitch di'in needed 2 be cut 2day.
I got to class five minutes late which was perfect timing to be all, "Oh, me? Yes, I brought coffee. Oh no, I need no thanks. No, please, stop applauding."
I hate rainbows, unicorns can suck it, and the next time I am unceremoniously awakened at 5:30, I am becoming an atheist, I swear to G-... WELL, SOMETHING. I DUNNO. I HAVEN'T FIGURED IT ALL OUT YET. DO NOT TEST ME! DO NOT TEST MEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!
*curtsy*
Saturday, February 26, 2011
Slightly Nostalgic/Drunken Review of Disney's Cinderella
0:12 – Worst. Opening Song. Ever.
3:13 – I want birds to pull back my drapes to awake me with the dawn’s rays.
3:43 – But if they tried to touch me or my comforters, I would fuck their shit.
4:18 – I know she just woke up and all, but bitch looks seriously high.
4:41 – Do they hold singing auditions for Disney Princesses? It seems like a prerequisite that birds and woodland creatures must enjoy your vocalizations in order to qualify.
5:14 – BAHAHAHA That mouse’s tail got all knotted up while he slept. PWNed.
5:53 – “Even they can’t order me to stop dreaming!” Deeeeeeeep shit.
7:03 – Why is it always the fat mouse scatting a descant?
7:12 – ZOMG YOU GUYS! CINDERELLA HAS NO TOE NAILS
8:26 – If all the mice (My drunken ass just said ‘mouses’ in my head.. No judgey.) are wearing outfits, isn’t the presence of a naked one kinda pornographic? I mean, he’s fat so you can’t see his junk…but still. Perverts.
8:43 – Jack the mouse: “Hey little guy, we rike-uh you!” Are all mice Asian?
11:54 – The dog just woke up. Is everybody stoned in this movie?! You just know that he and Cinderella totally 420 together.
21:19 – One of the step-sisters is a dead ringer for Olive Oyl
23:55 – Oh goodie, the king looks like the baron in Chitty-Chitty Bang-Bang!
26:46 – “Oh siiiiing, sweet nighdngale, sing sweet nighdngale…” Hey, Ella, this isn’t the Apollo. Reconize.
27:17 – She’s harmonizing with her own reflection in a bubble. High confirmed.
27:37 – Female reflection barbershop quartet. Fuck me.
31:14 – CINDERELLIE, CINDERELLIE, NIGHT AND DAYS IT’S CINDERELLIE!
31:21 – For music geeks only: same chordal structure as ‘Be Our Guest’.
32:31 – “Leaving the sowing to the women; you go get some trimmin’.” This line caused then 16 year-old Gloria Steinam to burn her first training bra. Fact.
36:39 – If I had a mouse, I would totally bead its tail with a 9 year-old girl who just returned from a family vacation in St. Lucia.
41:23 – Frazzled-just-had-her-dress-torn-apart-by-step-sisters Cinderella totally looks like Jem. Way to be 150 years ahead of your time, girl.
42:11 – Aw, poor li’l snowflake is crying by her angel fountain. KIDS IN CHINA HAVE NO ANGEL FOUNTAIN.
43:08 – Why is the Fairy Godmother in KKK robes?
44:06 – “I would say the first thing we need is a pumpkin.” Crazy ol’ bitch.
44:19 – HOLY SHIT IT’S MOVING.
44:36 – For music geeks only pt 2: “Bibbidy-Boppity-Boo” = “We’re Off to See the Wizard” chordal structure. Mash-ups to follow.
44:41 – Does anyone else think that nonsense songs are just ways for untalented lyricists to fake it? No? Just me? Cool.
46:10 – So she turns the mice into horses and the horse into a coachman? This seems like far too much work.
46:11 – Actually, buckteeth aside, that’s a pretty hot coachman. I’d hit it.
47:09 – Um, nice dress, but a black choker? What is this, 1996? I don’t think so, buddy.
48:38 – I just counted the processional and there are 15 eligible young ladies in all of France. IS THE CENSUS TAKER STONED, TOO?! Christ on crutches…
51:09 – “Pompous windbag” is the “stupid motherfucker” of 1850s France.
54:45 – The clock just stuck midnight! Ok, I’m on my second bowl of popcorn, which I air popped on the stove with Crisco and a pot. Do any other grain-y-type-things pop or just corn. I mean, I guess rice pops, cause we have rice crispies. And there’s puffed wheat, too, I guess. Clearly, I’m not so engaged in this movie right now.
103:49 – Omg, bitch just locked Cinderella in her room! I forgot about this paaaaaart! It’ll be okay, Gus-Gus! It’ll be okaaaaaaay.
109:39 - THE CAT HAS TRAPPED THE MOUSE WITH THE TEA UNDER A TEACUP! SHIT JUST GOT INTENSE!
113:05 – Stepmother broke the glass slipper but it doesn’t matter cause Cinderella has the other one!!!!!! Ok, I just misted up.
113:43 – Wedding day. Still with the black choker. Really? REALLY?
3:13 – I want birds to pull back my drapes to awake me with the dawn’s rays.
3:43 – But if they tried to touch me or my comforters, I would fuck their shit.
4:18 – I know she just woke up and all, but bitch looks seriously high.
4:41 – Do they hold singing auditions for Disney Princesses? It seems like a prerequisite that birds and woodland creatures must enjoy your vocalizations in order to qualify.
5:14 – BAHAHAHA That mouse’s tail got all knotted up while he slept. PWNed.
5:53 – “Even they can’t order me to stop dreaming!” Deeeeeeeep shit.
7:03 – Why is it always the fat mouse scatting a descant?
7:12 – ZOMG YOU GUYS! CINDERELLA HAS NO TOE NAILS
8:26 – If all the mice (My drunken ass just said ‘mouses’ in my head.. No judgey.) are wearing outfits, isn’t the presence of a naked one kinda pornographic? I mean, he’s fat so you can’t see his junk…but still. Perverts.
8:43 – Jack the mouse: “Hey little guy, we rike-uh you!” Are all mice Asian?
11:54 – The dog just woke up. Is everybody stoned in this movie?! You just know that he and Cinderella totally 420 together.
21:19 – One of the step-sisters is a dead ringer for Olive Oyl
23:55 – Oh goodie, the king looks like the baron in Chitty-Chitty Bang-Bang!
26:46 – “Oh siiiiing, sweet nighdngale, sing sweet nighdngale…” Hey, Ella, this isn’t the Apollo. Reconize.
27:17 – She’s harmonizing with her own reflection in a bubble. High confirmed.
27:37 – Female reflection barbershop quartet. Fuck me.
31:14 – CINDERELLIE, CINDERELLIE, NIGHT AND DAYS IT’S CINDERELLIE!
31:21 – For music geeks only: same chordal structure as ‘Be Our Guest’.
32:31 – “Leaving the sowing to the women; you go get some trimmin’.” This line caused then 16 year-old Gloria Steinam to burn her first training bra. Fact.
36:39 – If I had a mouse, I would totally bead its tail with a 9 year-old girl who just returned from a family vacation in St. Lucia.
41:23 – Frazzled-just-had-her-dress-torn-apart-by-step-sisters Cinderella totally looks like Jem. Way to be 150 years ahead of your time, girl.
42:11 – Aw, poor li’l snowflake is crying by her angel fountain. KIDS IN CHINA HAVE NO ANGEL FOUNTAIN.
43:08 – Why is the Fairy Godmother in KKK robes?
44:06 – “I would say the first thing we need is a pumpkin.” Crazy ol’ bitch.
44:19 – HOLY SHIT IT’S MOVING.
44:36 – For music geeks only pt 2: “Bibbidy-Boppity-Boo” = “We’re Off to See the Wizard” chordal structure. Mash-ups to follow.
44:41 – Does anyone else think that nonsense songs are just ways for untalented lyricists to fake it? No? Just me? Cool.
46:10 – So she turns the mice into horses and the horse into a coachman? This seems like far too much work.
46:11 – Actually, buckteeth aside, that’s a pretty hot coachman. I’d hit it.
47:09 – Um, nice dress, but a black choker? What is this, 1996? I don’t think so, buddy.
48:38 – I just counted the processional and there are 15 eligible young ladies in all of France. IS THE CENSUS TAKER STONED, TOO?! Christ on crutches…
51:09 – “Pompous windbag” is the “stupid motherfucker” of 1850s France.
54:45 – The clock just stuck midnight! Ok, I’m on my second bowl of popcorn, which I air popped on the stove with Crisco and a pot. Do any other grain-y-type-things pop or just corn. I mean, I guess rice pops, cause we have rice crispies. And there’s puffed wheat, too, I guess. Clearly, I’m not so engaged in this movie right now.
103:49 – Omg, bitch just locked Cinderella in her room! I forgot about this paaaaaart! It’ll be okay, Gus-Gus! It’ll be okaaaaaaay.
109:39 - THE CAT HAS TRAPPED THE MOUSE WITH THE TEA UNDER A TEACUP! SHIT JUST GOT INTENSE!
113:05 – Stepmother broke the glass slipper but it doesn’t matter cause Cinderella has the other one!!!!!! Ok, I just misted up.
113:43 – Wedding day. Still with the black choker. Really? REALLY?
Monday, February 21, 2011
There was a boy I went to school with. He transferred to my elementary school in the fourth grade, distractingly pretty features and slightly effeminate manners. Naturally, the majority of his friends were girls. We never had a class together, but stayed in the same schools until grade 12 graduation and he was always a source of interest for me. He still dated girls in high school, the longest, ironically, being with the girl I went out with...in grade 8. First and only, baby. He had a lightness to him. Not pertaining to his loafers, specifically, but rather that his whole spirit was light. His face shone, his features so finely set. I saw him once after high school, at a gay club in Winnipeg, and we did the "Oh hey! We're both out at a club!" hug and that was really all there was.
Nearly three years ago, he was driving down a street in Montreal, were he now lives. There had been a huge storm the day before and the ground was still littered with debris. A huge branch sprawled across the road in front of him and so he stopped the car and got out to move it. At that moment, another massive bow broke off from a tree on the boulevard and fell onto him, shattering his spine. He lost all mobility below the waist, was told that his chances of walking again are negligible and began a new, twisted version of his former life in a wheelchair. He moved into an assisted living facility for others who had suffered similar injuries. His boyfriend of 4 months eventually broke up with him, understandably unwilling to cope with this magnanimous change in the new relationship.
Less than six months later, he met someone new. The guy was a bit older, not too much, perhaps ten years, but if Facebook photos are any indication, they are very well matched. They got engaged last spring. Engagement photos were taken, white background, my former classmate in his wheelchair, newly huge arms, beaming smile, and his fiance next to him, mirroring that facial expression. They're getting married this summer.
This Valentine's Day, the guy I had been seeing for a few weeks prior forgot that he'd asked me to go out with him and made plans with his friends. Despite being apologetic, no make up plans were made, the only subsequent contact being a text message saying 'hug' around 11:30 that night. This was a guy who broke all my dating conventions (white, same age), was a psychic medium (seriously. That was his business), said wonderful things to me and made no actions to follow through on them. In the first week we met, I was at his place 4 times, taking care of his influenza-ridden body and alcohol-ridden mind, and I was glad to do it. On his end, he said that I was beautiful and that he'd waited a long time for me.
Continuing the outlier pattern established, I ended it, not him, which is likely understandable given what you read in the previous paragraph. I issued myself a little pat on the back with not sticking around longer than a couple weeks after finding out what this person really was. He was cracked, marked and broken, not unlike myself, but in no way seemed likely to patch himself up anytime soon and so I walked, like my friend's ex-boyfriend after his accident, and even more justifiably so.
This leaves me wondering, jackassily: ok, if a guy can lose all use of his body below the waist (ALL use) and wind up happy and engaged a year later, what does it say that I've been going at this with a mere limp for 10 years and can't find someone worth sticking around an entire month for? The decade-old dialogue of "It'll happen when it happens" and "Just be patient" have worn thin and I think it's time to perform a spiritual castration, turning myself into an emotional asexual, existing as the lone member of the species and completely self-propagating. Not a sad thing and certainly not a call for compliments, which inevitably accompany any self-depressive comment in the digital age, but I think it would be very freeing.
I've started a couple entries in the past couple months, but none seem right to put out there. This probably isn't either, but I wrote it out for myself, so might as well post it. I miss reading my favourite bloggers and having those electronic interactions, but things are just too hectic with school. I almost long for the days of an autonomous soul-sucking job, the consequence of which was that I had all this intellectual/humorous build up that needed to come out via posts. But this is how it is for now. Hopefully I'll find my way back.
Nearly three years ago, he was driving down a street in Montreal, were he now lives. There had been a huge storm the day before and the ground was still littered with debris. A huge branch sprawled across the road in front of him and so he stopped the car and got out to move it. At that moment, another massive bow broke off from a tree on the boulevard and fell onto him, shattering his spine. He lost all mobility below the waist, was told that his chances of walking again are negligible and began a new, twisted version of his former life in a wheelchair. He moved into an assisted living facility for others who had suffered similar injuries. His boyfriend of 4 months eventually broke up with him, understandably unwilling to cope with this magnanimous change in the new relationship.
Less than six months later, he met someone new. The guy was a bit older, not too much, perhaps ten years, but if Facebook photos are any indication, they are very well matched. They got engaged last spring. Engagement photos were taken, white background, my former classmate in his wheelchair, newly huge arms, beaming smile, and his fiance next to him, mirroring that facial expression. They're getting married this summer.
This Valentine's Day, the guy I had been seeing for a few weeks prior forgot that he'd asked me to go out with him and made plans with his friends. Despite being apologetic, no make up plans were made, the only subsequent contact being a text message saying 'hug' around 11:30 that night. This was a guy who broke all my dating conventions (white, same age), was a psychic medium (seriously. That was his business), said wonderful things to me and made no actions to follow through on them. In the first week we met, I was at his place 4 times, taking care of his influenza-ridden body and alcohol-ridden mind, and I was glad to do it. On his end, he said that I was beautiful and that he'd waited a long time for me.
Continuing the outlier pattern established, I ended it, not him, which is likely understandable given what you read in the previous paragraph. I issued myself a little pat on the back with not sticking around longer than a couple weeks after finding out what this person really was. He was cracked, marked and broken, not unlike myself, but in no way seemed likely to patch himself up anytime soon and so I walked, like my friend's ex-boyfriend after his accident, and even more justifiably so.
This leaves me wondering, jackassily: ok, if a guy can lose all use of his body below the waist (ALL use) and wind up happy and engaged a year later, what does it say that I've been going at this with a mere limp for 10 years and can't find someone worth sticking around an entire month for? The decade-old dialogue of "It'll happen when it happens" and "Just be patient" have worn thin and I think it's time to perform a spiritual castration, turning myself into an emotional asexual, existing as the lone member of the species and completely self-propagating. Not a sad thing and certainly not a call for compliments, which inevitably accompany any self-depressive comment in the digital age, but I think it would be very freeing.
I've started a couple entries in the past couple months, but none seem right to put out there. This probably isn't either, but I wrote it out for myself, so might as well post it. I miss reading my favourite bloggers and having those electronic interactions, but things are just too hectic with school. I almost long for the days of an autonomous soul-sucking job, the consequence of which was that I had all this intellectual/humorous build up that needed to come out via posts. But this is how it is for now. Hopefully I'll find my way back.
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