jump out, jump out, get your groove on [i lit a joint and burned my eyebrow] <$BlogRSDURL$>

Wednesday, March 31, 2004

it's all a bunch of fucking crap, if you ask me... 

I have effectively decided that I am never going to get my Masters' degree or my PhD.
This all goes back to an earlier post that had me explaining why certain people are outright unhireable.
Since I finished school, I have been the only person I know to have held a job continuously (not the same job year after year, but I have only been unemployed for two months). Plus, I have interviewed for positions where I was picked over the dude with the Masters' degree because they figured I would have less of a chip on my shoulder and interact better with my co-workers. I hate to rant and rave about the same thing over and over again, but I am starting to get quite irate when people with Masters' and PhD's bitch about not being able to find work that isn't teaching. Well, slap my ass and call me Alice, but why did you get extra degrees then? My prime beef (ha ha...'prime' and 'beef'...) right now is one of my friends in Toronto. He has three Bachelors' degrees (one in History, one in Management, and one in Marketing) and a Masters' (in History...go figure). He has applied to at least five or six companies a month since September, but he still doesn't have a job. I have explained to him the most probable cause of him not getting hired on anywhere, and that it has to do with the fact that most companies find he has a lot of education, but he lacks the work experience. He hasn't worked a real job in over four years. But he still insists his shit don't stink, and gets his folks to help him pay for his apartment in downtown TDot, which costs my entire paycheque per month.
Then he has the gall to bitch at me with regards to what makes me such a fucking good hire. Well, in case he really wanted to know:

1) I am a girl.

2) I able to be hired for a lesser position, read: I cost less to hire, and will simply work my way up the ladder (or throw people ahead of me off it, whichever comes first).

3) For the past four years, I've had a job.

He gets pissed off everytime I e-mail that response back to him. He tells me it's 'people like me' who will make him have to go back and coach Little League Baseball eventually. Come on. It is not 'people like me'. It's your fucking waffling and whining and thinking you're better than everyone else.
Choose a goddamned career and stop blaming other people for your self-inflicted misery.

p.s.- sorry if you are one of these so-called 'uber geniuses'. i just prefer to believe that the letters behind your name don't necessarily account for your eventual success in life.

I like long walks; especially when
they are taken by people who annoy me.

- Noel Coward

Tuesday, March 30, 2004

cable television was the primary cause of her death 

Voices whine
Skyscrapers are scraping together
Your voice is smoking
Last cigarettes are all you can get
Turning your orbit around

Wilco -Jesus Etc.

Sometimes I hate it here. I mean really hate it. Sure, most of my friends live here, and I know where everything is, and I can go to certain bars and they know who I am and will give me free drinks and food on occasion... mmm, free drinks and food. But is that ever really enough? Is it? It really doesn't bother me to go places where I know no one. I make friends easily enough (something to do with finding that we have alcoholism in common), and I am not afraid of anything. Except maybe wasps and guns. And that's not much... plus, I said

Back to my original point, though. Why I hate it here sometimes. Sometimes I hate it here because nothing is ever different. And when things do start to become different, it is not in a very good way. Somedays, I really wonder if I'm not holding myself back by staying put.
Then again, most days I like that I'm almost someone here. I'm much closer to the top of the pile than the bottom, and by leaving, I would definitely lose that status. Fuck, I wish that being cool didn't mean so goddamn much to me sometimes. It's not like it gets me anywhere in life.

* * * * * *

Rocko just made a super*fucking*awesome good point. If I left the c-town, I probably wouldn't like it very much in the long run. I would miss the free freight train and Jagermeister shots from the Ship on my b-day. And the Battle of Alberta hockey games. And the gorgeous view of downtown from Crescent Heights. And I think most of all I'd miss the Rocky Mountains and the bad drivers. Also, I'd probably die of the humidity anywhere else- there's absolutely nothing like dry heat in the summer. You know, being where you are really isn't about being cool. It's about the shit you'll miss if you ever left.

I tell ya, it's this stupid cold. It's making me have crazy thoughts. Perhaps I ought to lay off the antihistamines (I don't give a rat's ass if that's not how you spell it).

Maybe this world is another planet's Hell.
- Aldous Huxley

Monday, March 29, 2004

charlie's fixing his van with a left arm tan 

I have paid the price for being cool. On Saturday I went out in miniskirt (no leg coverage whatsoever) and a black hoodie (no t-shirt underneath, not even a jacket over top) because I thought it was really warm outside, and I thought I'd look nice for the Boy for once, since I think he has gotten too used to my slobbery over the winter months. It was not warm. I got the weather for Saturday and Sunday fucked up. Sunday was the warm day. *Mothafuckin'*Damn*Hell*Ass*Crap. The outcome of my idiocy is that I now have a cold, and it's not like I can blame anyone but myself. If there's anything I hate worse than Mondays, it's being sick. Especially because I never get sick. Well I guess I've managed to dispel that myth. Sometimes looking hot just ain't worth it. In my case it's the damn truth, anyway.

There is more stupidity than hydrogen in the universe,
and it has a longer shelf life.

- Frank Zappa

Friday, March 26, 2004

well at least it's friday, yo... 

This is what I was listening to in my car on the way to work.
I'm just being lazy. I can't think of anything good enough to post. Meh.

God, what a mess, on the ladder of success
Where you take one step and miss the whole first rung
Dreams unfulfilled, graduate unskilled
It beats pickin' cotton and waitin' to be forgotten

We are the sons of no one, bastards of young
We are the sons of no one, bastards of young
The daughters and the sons

Clean your baby womb, trash that baby boom
Elvis in the ground, there'll ain't no beer tonight
Income tax deduction, what a hell of a function
It beats pickin' cotton and waitin' to be forgotten

We are the sons of no one, bastards of young
We are the sons of no one, bastards of young
The daughters and the sons

Unwillingness to claim us, ya got no word to name us

The ones who love us best are the ones we'll lay to rest
And visit their graves on holidays at best
The ones who love us least are the ones we'll die to please
If it's any consolation, I don't begin to understand them

We are the sons of no one, bastards of young
We are the sons of no one, bastards of young
The daughters and the sons

The Replacements - Bastards of Young

* * * * * *

Well guess what. I got to work half a day 'cause there wasn't anything left for me to do.
Now I am at home. About to eat lunch and drink a beer! Don't mean to brag, but I'm super
happy about it. Happy Friday everyone, and have a fanfuckingtastic weekend. ;-)

I don't drink anymore. I'm allergic to alcohol and narcotics.
They make me break out in handcuffs.

- Robert Downey Jr.

Thursday, March 25, 2004

robin is a rockstar... 

This has nothing to do with anything, but I was reading this and, dammit, I want this cat.

* * * * * *

A few years ago, I had this friend Robin. She was five years younger than me, and she had moved to Cowtown all by herself when she was all of seventeen years old; pretty brave, since she didn't know anybody out here. Anyway, I met her when I was working at a local deli (also known as a starfucker hangout, in case anybody cared). You have to understand, I don't normally make friends of people at work unless there is a very good reason for doing so.
Most of my co-workers at said deli were insipid little bar stars (if you have read my 'About' page, you know all about my aversion to such girls), or holier-than-thou Catholic girls (just because I was brought up Catholic don't mean a thing 'bout me). I'd be damned if I was ever going to add girls like that to my social circle; after all, I was going to garner all of my fame and fortune filming music videos (ah, but the times they do change)! Amidst all the makeup and mayhem of the 'hopeful starfucker' staff, there was Robin. Truth be told, I didn't know what to make of her at first. She seemed pretty quiet, and that's really not my bag. Quiet people fucking scare the crap out of me; you never know what the hell is going on in their heads, but you're positive it can't be good. One day when we were working at the same sandwich counter (I'm bad at detail here- there were two sandwich counters, the big one where I hated to work, and the smaller one with a window, which was way better for passing the time), we got to talking. She was from a small town in Ontario. She used to play basketball and was quite good at it. One night at a bush party, one of the drunk guys that was there threw a can of something explosive into the fire. Her whole face got burned, and as a result she spent a long time in the hospital. She was lucky, because once she recovered, there were barely any scars on her face. When she returned to school, however, it just wasn't the same. Nobody treated her like the same person. They referred to her constantly as 'the burned girl'. Basketball was the first thing she lost interest in and, ultimately, school. That was when she made the decision to move as far away as she could get from her hometown, and now, here she was. She wanted to start a band. She liked Weezer and Wilco. She liked to drink beer. Any suspicion I'd harboured for her before vanished. Everyday after work, thereafter, found us hopping into my 1986 silver-green Chevy Celebrity and burning rubber down to the watering hole 'du jour', the good old Ship and Anchor. The soundtrack was almost always the Blue Album by Weezer. The beverage was a pint (actually more like five pints) of Grasshopper-that's a local beer brewed right here in Cowtown- with a slice of lemon. The conversation was anything and everything; politics, religion, music, books, society in general. She was very bright for a girl who hadn't taken more than one class in the twelfth grade. She had a lot more self confidence than I had- she was convinced she was destined to be a rockstar. But she also had a lot of confidence in my abilities. She would always tell me that I didn't give myself enough credit, and that I would accomplish things that would eventually take me beyond the confines of Cowtown.
We rarely hung out without the other that summer, and the following summer was much the same. We even decided, eventually, to quit the deli and take up landscaping jobs.
I received a call in late August that I had landed another contract with Princess Cruises (I used to play string quartet gigs with the company at least once a year), and that I was scheduled to fly out to Florida at the end of September for four months. So at the end of September, off I went. Four months is peanuts to a twenty-four year-old, but evidently not so to a twenty-year-old. Things were quite different upon my return. Robin had started a band (I had originally been slated to be the bass player, but I had never taken it up in the end), and it took up much of her time. I didn't hang out as much, since I was on hiatus from the drink (yes, I actually jumped on the wagon); I always did this after a cruise contract. String quartets on ships work only three glorious hours per day, and this leads to at least fifteen hours of straight drinking.
Anyway, we just drifted apart. We made a mutual, unspoken decision to let eachother continue on seperate paths. Periodically we will run into eachother at the Ship and Anchor, and we'll sit down and have a beer, and we'll fill eachother in on what's happened in the past while. Robin is still doing gigs with her band, and she's slowly earning her highschool diploma.
She seems to be doing very well. And she's glad to see that I'm still me; just a little bit more me than before.
I realize this is a long story, and I have probably lost most of you by now, but I promise there is a point. I guess the point is that sometimes it's the most unexpected people who have more faith in you than anyone else. And these are the people who ultimately make you free.

* * * * * *

The best way to prepare for the munchies is to go to 7-11 before you smoke. That way, you don't end up buying thirty bucks worth of junk food because ::i'm so hungry i can't decide what the fuck i want, but i know i want to eat lots of stuff, and i just got payed so i will buy all of this shit no matter how much it costs:: .
I have no idea why this stroke of genius never hit me until just last night.
Fucking crap. Do you have any idea how much money I could have saved?

I don’t give a damn ’bout my reputation
You’re living in the past it’s a new generation
A girl can do what she wants to do and that’s
What I’m gonna do
An’ I don’t give a damn ’ bout my bad reputation

Oh no not me

Wednesday, March 24, 2004

don't ask me... i just work here 

I don't really like giving people the impression that more things piss me off than don't, but let's face it; people do some severely annoying things, and since I'm not going to hunt them down and do a drive-by on their collective ass, I may as well just bitch about these things.
A prime example of said things: stupid little teenagers who hog all the cardio equipment at the gym. Now, to the best of my knowledge (and I'm not saying that I am the most knowledgeable person about, well, anything) twenty minutes of cardio at the gym is a fairly sufficient amount, especially when you are in highschool and only weigh about ninety pounds soaking wet. So, yesterday I get to the gym, and there are these four girls, ages ranging from fourteen to about sixteen. They are using both treadmills and both elliptical trainers. No big, I'll just go around, check the signup sheets, and ask them who's almost done. Now this is where it just gets fucking annoying. Turns out, they're all signed up for twenty minutes on each machine. What the hell? You have to understand that this is the only gym anywhere near my house that I can even remotely afford to go to right now (it's a small one, at that)... and these little bitches are hogging all the cardio equipment? Needless to say, I left. Not doing cardio at the beginning of my workout nullifies my whole point of working out, period. What can I say, I'm damned picky about things concerning my physical maintenance (excluding the drinking and use of chronic, of course). Now I have to go to the damned gym today AND tomorrow. Fucking crap. I think that what pisses me off ultimately about the entire situation is the lack of respect of people under the age of twenty nowadays. I mean, what would have been wrong with one of them giving up twenty minutes (of their hour and twenty minutes) so I could get my cardio done, just to be nice? Nothing. There's nothing wrong with doing something just for the sake of being kind.
The again, these are probably the same girls who don't give up seats for little old ladies on the bus. It all makes sense to me... but it's a fucking shame that it does.

I am free of all prejudices. I hate everyone equally.
-W.C. Fields

Tuesday, March 23, 2004

see you, space cowboy aka springtime in the ghetto 

I am not sure whether or not I actually like spring. I mean, sure, it signifies the end of winter (in most areas of the world anyway... this doesn't hold much water in Cowtown), and it sure makes it easier to drive and walk places. But there's that smell. You know what I'm speaking of. That smell that is the result of people letting the dog shit pile up in the yard all winter and then letting the layers of snow pile up over it. People, what the fuck do you think it's going to smell like when that snow melts? Roses...? Ugh. Also with the melting snow, you look around and realize just how ghetto everything has become; all the things you presumed lost over the winter materialize all across the front lawn and back yard. This is the case at my house. It is borderline embarrassing. It would be fully embarrassing if only I weren't too damn lazy to do something about it.
I am the embodiment of sloth. Meh.

* * * * * *

I got home from work yesterday with good intentions. Intentions of not sitting (read: lying slumped) on the couch and falling asleep, fully clothed with bowl in hand.
The Boy thought this was a fabulous idea. And then we realized that leaving the house to do something involves money. So, fuck it. Sitting slumped and stoned on the couch it was. I took my (actually the Boy's and my collective) laziness to the next level, however, and we both managed to sleep through the Simpsons and and Jeopardy!; which is something of an unprecedented feat for me, though I cannot say it is for the Boy. I did manage to wake up eventually, though, and consume a vanilla Smirnoff and soda before bed. What I learned? My laziness is only challenged by my addiction to the drink.
Okay, so I already knew that. Shut up.

p.s.- My back is badly injured from lying on the couch. Perhaps that is the actual lesson here. Goddammit. Sometimes I really hate lessons.

I see the light... and it burns.

Monday, March 22, 2004

the silicon chip inside her head
gets switched to overload
and nobody's gonna go to school today
she's gonna make them stay at home

The Boomtown Rats- I Don't Like Mondays

I wish I had some amusing anecdotes about my weekend, but unfortunately I do not.
I drank little more than one pint; this due to the fact that the Boy's folks were around. I am fairly sure they know we are raging alcoholics, but sometimes you might as well pretend. On a sad note, I fell asleep during the Simpsons, and it was a new episode.
I imagine this has something to do with lack of booze for the bulk of three days.
On a happier note, I finally received my Times Square Soundtrack CD in the mail.
Why can't all soundtracks be like this?

Mmmm, forbidden donut.

Friday, March 19, 2004

happy fucking friday 

It's Friday. Whoo. As you can tell, I would like to be a little happier about it, but alas, I am not.
The boy's folks roll into town around dinner time tonight, and there is so much cleaning to be done in the two hours we have before then. And much as I enjoy their visits, I am afraid this cuts down my booze time quite a bit. Sober on the weekend? What the hell is next for me- renouncing the chronic? I fear I am slowly (kickingly and screamingly, that is) being forced to become a responsible adult... what the fuck. Maybe it would help if I didn't still look nineteen. And act six.

(i deleted yesterdays post because i HATE yesterday. my thursdays always generally suck.)

Well, gotta finish up some work-like stuff. Happy weekend all. Catch you on Monday ;-)

I feel sorry for people who don't drink. They wake up in the morning, and that's the best they're going to feel all day.
-Dean Martin

Wednesday, March 17, 2004

happy st. pat's 

Well, here it is, the day of ultimate debauchery and such, St. Patrick's day.
Unfortunately, I am not well on this occasion. I knew I was probably coming down with something yesterday when *gasp* I did not quite feel like drinking. That happens almost never. Never, I tell you. But don't fear, for although I will not be joining in festivities at the ol' Ship and Anchor, I will definitely make a stop at the neighborhood liquor store on my way home (maybe if I'm lucky this will come sooner than later) so that I can enjoy a pint of Guinness sitting on the couch in the comfort of my own home, watching 'Slap Shot'. I know. I suck ass.

* * * * * *

Damn, I think up some stupid things in my boredom.
Like earlier this morning, I was imagining what I thought would be a good idea for a T.V. quiz show. I figured it would be a lot like Jeopardy! but whoever got the wrong answer in Final Jeopardy (or whatever it would be called) would get dropped into a pit full of stinging jellyfish and crocodiles. Jesus, that is so retarded I can't even begin to understand why I dreamed it up in the first place.
Fucking thinking about things- sometimes I just shouldn't even bother.

It was like that when I got here.

Tuesday, March 16, 2004

and he shall be named 'pen stealer' 

One thing that I absolutely hate about sharing an office with other people is the pen thing.
I started off with three pens in February; one blue, one black, and one red. One by one, the pens started to go missing (although the blue one was my bad; I left it on top of the car...don't ask). Now I have no pens. Not a one. Here's the twist- the other day, I turned my head to answer a question one of my co-workers (who has his own office, but has to do work in my office 'cause it's the 'project room'- fuckin' feds, there's an empty office across the hall you could give me) was asking me, and lo and behold, I see a black AND a red pen sitting on his desk. How do I know they were mine? I wrap a piece of tape around the sticking out part of the pen cap as a sort of 'territory marker' (I'm a bitch, of course I do shit like that). Both pens possess said tape.
Fucking guy. I mean, if you are going to steal my goddamned pens, at least keep them in your office where I can't see them, or throw away the caps so I have no proof that they're mine; just don't draw attention to the fact that you're a klepto. Fucking crap. I'm stealing them back this week. I don't want to have to go down to the supply room to get new ones- the building supply lady scares the bejeezus out of me... she scares me worse than 30-year-old virgins or people who don't drink.

* * * * * *

People ask me all the time why I decided to go with geology as a career.

1) I didn't. This is NOT my career. I think geology is stupid. I took communications in school.

2) This job PAYS, dude. With the money I make here, I may someday be able to open a recording studio. Or a bar. Or maybe I'll just say 'fuck it' and write a book.

Why do people always assume that your job has to deal with your major in school?
I just really don't like the way I look on T.V., and there's no money in radio.
That's all. And fuck you for asking.

* * * * * *

A friend once mentioned that I am the jealous type.
For the record, I am not the jealous type.
I don't want what other people have, I just want what they haven't got yet.

Let me tell you, so I can kill you.

Monday, March 15, 2004

It is Monday yet again. Where the fuck does the weekend go?

On Saturday night, I went to see this movie called 'Touching the Void'. It was the story of this mountain climber dude from England named Joe Simpson. He and his friend Simon Yates were climbing the west face of the Siula Grande in the Peruvian Andes in 1985 when both were twenty five years old, and things went totally wrong. Admittedly, I am really not into mountain climbing (actually, I quite hate it), but I got pretty into this movie 'cause it was super intense; worth a look if you've got a moment.
Still relating to said movie, I had a typical Felice moment whilst watching. There is a section in the movie where Joe Simpson is going all delirious and is hallucinating, and he mentions that a song popped into his head from a group he did not particularly like, and the song kept repeating in his head. They proceed to play this song loudly in the background. It is 'Brown Girl In the Ring' by the Swedish group Boney M. If you're not old enough to remember who they are, this probably isn't very amusing to you. Anyway, I found this just*fucking*hilarious, and I started laughing. Out loud. Lots. Then I started looking around the theater, and no one*else*was*laughing. I should be used to this by now- it happens all the time but... goddammit. Why are moments like that so lost on other people? Sure, the movie is pretty serious (even so, Joe is able to laugh about some of the events in hindsight), but the song... the song is bloody hilarious. It's pee-your-pants hilarious, even.
I wonder what song I would hallucinate in a situation like that.
I'm guessing it would be this.
It was stuck in my head without the hallucinating.

* * * * * *

Fucking crap. I had in mind to write something else today, but now my mind is completely blank. It's the fuzzy dark pink Kangol (okay, the colour is actually 'orchid'). This hat has effectively erased all intelligent thoughts from my brain.
Shit, yo.

* * * * * *

So, I remembered what I was going to say.
All of my friends who possess multiple university degrees constantly complain of not being able to find work. This used to baffle me to no end, but now I can see why most companies are wary of hiring these scholarly wonders. Here are (in my mind which, incidentally and in spite of the fuzzy hat comment above, is not so fucked) the top three reasons:

1) They took more than one degree because they were waffling about careers (I totally can feel it from the prospective employer's perspective. Hate wafflers).

2) They stayed in school for an extended period of time to avoid working (read: they will be lazy as fucking hell).

3) They will make everybody else at the company look bad (my personal fave).

Long story short, my smart, waffly, overintelligent friends; I may be the jack-of-all-trades-master-o'-none, but I'm gainfully employed and can buy supacool shit.
And THAT'S how I like THEM apples.

I am so smart, S-M-R-T

Oh, BTW, I recant my earlier statement (see 'hate waffles') of 'respecting those who choose not drink...blah, blah...due to various reasons'. There is only one good reason, that being that you are a recovering alcoholic and hurt a lot of people with your drinking in the past.
I am neither a recovering alcoholic, nor have I hurt anybody with my drinking. So there.

It's my party, and I'll drink if I want to.

Saturday, March 13, 2004

hate waffles 

Why is it that when people ask me what I like to do in my spare time, and I say, 'Well, drink, of course', I get the look?
Fuck you! Yes, drinking is my only hobby, and hell yeah, I do it any*chance*I*get.
This is not some jab at people who don't drink, because I respect that. There are many reasons why one would choose not to drink. But it rubs me the wrong way that there are so many people who will outright discriminate against me just because I choose to do something that doesn't fit into their lifestyle. Well, slap my ass and call me Alice, but MY lifestyle has nothing to do with anyone else's, last time I checked.
Why can't these people understand that when I want to go out drinking, I mean that I want to go out DRINKING- not combine it with some other lame activity. No, I don't want to play a board game and drink; I just want to drink. No, I don't want to rent a movie and drink; I just want to drink. No, I don't want to come over to your place for a dinner party and then drinks; I'll just show up when the drinking starts.
See? What is so motherfucking hard to understand about this concept? There are no formulas to it. You don't need a doctorate in physics to figure it out. I*Fucking*Just*Like*To*Drink*Goddammit. When I want to go out, I want to go out. I hate any delays that get between me and my 20 or 30 Stoli Raspberry and sodas/gin and juice. This is why it was a lot simpler before I started hanging out with people. Fucking people sometimes. They say they want to do one thing, I say cool, we'll do that- then there's waffling. Then they say let's do something else, I say cool, let's do that- then there's waffling. I am really starting to hate waffles. So I say hey, let's just pick a bar/pub/dive and get with the drinking! You know where I'm going with this one. ::Fuck, Felice, don't be such a little spoiled bitch. We're trying to decide what we're going to do here::. This is effectively when Felice grabs her car keys and drives herself to the bar, leaving everyone else to toil in the misery of making plans that will never come to fruition.

Fuck, tonight I'm getting blotto. Somebody just try and stop me.

Friday, March 12, 2004

Friday just doesn't go by quickly enough. I mean, fuck, it's not even ten o'clock yet. I actually thought it was ten o'clock two goddamn hours ago, when I first got here. I attribute the turtle-like pace of my day to the fact that I went through half of yesterday thinking it was today. It's like deja-vu. Like a less freakazoid acid trip. Fuckin' double Fridays... it really sucks sometimes.
Ah, whatever. It's FA-Q Friday and I couldn't be more ecstatic.

It's supposed to snow again. Sure, normally I'd be all 'Whooo! Let's head out to the slopes!', but alas, I have no ski equipment this year due to poor budgeting. So, now I'm pretty pissed about more snow. I mean, it all just amounts to more days of walking around with the bottom of my pants soaking wet (that's what I get for only owning pants that drag across the ground), and wearing my ski jacket. Which I like, but not nearly as much as my jean jacket which I got brand new, and for a bargain, since it was missing a button. And to be fair, I look like the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man in my winter clothes. It is so non-hot. Not that I really need to look hot, but c'mon, I'm sure Matt totally appreciates it. And random strangers.
Ah, well. Off to go look out the window (yeah, my office is the big suck; no windows makes Felice a little bitch) for signs of the white stuff. Jesus, I'm not talking about blow.

Bob Marley thinks you're Hot.

it's fa-q friday 

For the record, it's not 'FAQ' like 'Frequently Asked Questions'. Screw that; I answer questions bloody rarely, if ever.
No, it's FA-Q as in 'Fuck You'. Damn clever, hey? I came up with that myself in junior hell school so that when teach' busted me passing notes, at least the language looked clean. FA-Q. Sheet. Goat Them.
All so brilliant I could shed a tear.
What're you laughing about?

Thursday, March 11, 2004

you'll take your car to work, i'll take my board 

Might as well bitch...'cause there are only so many hours in a day.
So, Blogger can sometimes piss me right the hell off. It takes so*fucking*long for any of my posts to publish sometimes, that I seem to write a book before anyone actually sees anything. Meh. I'm a cheapass. I still like that it's free. Who the fuck wants to pay for stuff anyway?

Because my day has been spent doing shit all, I had plenty o' time to reminisce about the good old days. It seemed peachy and the like, before I remembered that I no longer have my skateboard. This is not to say that I used to be some hardcore skater chick, grinding the railing down at city hall...I am actually quite mediocre on a skateboard, and nearly broke my neck (and numerous other body parts)plenty of times as I tried to imitate the boys who could skate.
Still, I had that skateboard a long time before I finally broke down, decided I needed to get caught up with the bills, decided I drove way more than I ever used the board, and sold it. And I guess I've been a little saddened at my decision ever since, or else I wouldn't be telling you this little tale, now would I?
It wasn't anything spectacular- just a plain-jane maple deck, a Rush sticker underneath, and no name everything else that I purchased at some second hand store... can't even remember the name of it. I bought it with my allowance in the summer right after grade six. *Sigh*. I could never ride it worth shit, but I dragged it with me almost everywhere I went for years. It went to Vancouver and back with me four times, even though I don't think I rode it more than a handful of times down there. I even brought it camping with me. Man, we were tight.
Mom and Dad were never into the whole 'girls riding skateboards' thing, but they were always pretty cool about letting me do whatever I would... all the while hoping that someday I'd just grow up, move out, and get a real job.

Guess what? I did.
::So, Felice, what are you going to do now? Are you going to Disneyland?::
No, sucka, Tom Brady went to Disneyland.
I'm buyin' a skateboard.
The thing about Thursdays is that I never realize that it isn't Friday until about noon.
This makes Thursdays kind of a letdown. I get through the first four hours of my day excited by the prospect of the Saturday morning sleep-in, only to realize that I'm completely and utterly on crack. ::It's NOT Friday, Felice, it's only Thursday::. My point? That it may be somewhat helpful, perchance, to saunter over to the Staples one of these times and buy myself a desk calendar. Or lay off on the crack. Whichever comes first.
Meh. You know, sometimes crack just flat out wins.

damn, that's catchy 

None of the titles I pick ever seem to have anything to do with the content of the posts.
This is a bad habit of mine- failing to recognize that there are people in this world who need things to relate to eachother, or else they will not understand the point that is being made.
But...that's not the point.

My only 'hobby' right now appears to be eating. It's weighs heavy on my mind all day at work: what am I going to do for dinner? I have decided that eating is not, in fact, a very good hobby, and I am out to replace it with something else. After thinking (well, for argument's sake we'll call it 'thinking') about it for some time, I have decided that my new hobby will be knitting. I haven't learned how to knit yet, but I reckon that'll be part of the hobby. Quite honestly, I was never into the 'domestic' arts. I've always kind of smirked (secretly, of course) at cross-stitching and embroidery, and I didn't learn how to cook a proper meal or hem pants (still suck at it) until I was well out of high school. Anyway, I figure it's about time I learned how to do SOMETHING other than ride a skateboard and play an instrument. And the latter does lend itself to the learning of knitting, since knitting employs the fingers.

Yes, I am finding myself a hobby because I am lazy.
Shut up.
You're probably lazy as hell too.

Wednesday, March 10, 2004

Check it out. My blog has been given the 'Coolest Blog Name I've Seen Lately' award, courtesy of Pigeon-liver'd.
Rock and roll.


I guess maybe the squid theme is a little over the top. Meh. This is the life I chose.

I was trying to recall, the other day, how my obsession with the giant squid and squid in general started.
And then I remembered. In high school, my friend Camille and I started using the word 'squid' to describe things that we found aesthetically unpleasant. For example, if we saw some guy with really bad facial hair; 'Ugh, look at that squid on his face.' Or if we saw someone wearing a particularly ugly hat; 'Why the hell does she have a squid on her head?' Juvenile stuff, really. And then later on, I started referring to get-togethers, youth orchestra tours, family vacations etc. as 'squidfests'. For example; 'Hey, are you going to that squidfest on the weekend?'

Fucking crap. What the hell is my problem?

Tuesday, March 09, 2004

A surprisingly good show on T.V. right now is Smallville (A.K.A. Superman, The Early Years).
At first, I will admit that I wrote it off as complete tripe, but after getting through a few episodes without needing to switch the channel, M*** and I now watch it religiously every week. Sure, it has it's saccharine moments since the target audience is obviously meant to be teenagers, but as far as television goes it's pretty entertaining.

Friday, March 05, 2004

Is there anything better than only having to work half a day and still getting payed for a full day's work (other than winning the lottery and never having to work again)?
Hmm... let me think about it...
Exactly what I figured.

Thursday, March 04, 2004

This fucking place. I know it is only March, but why the hell does it need to snow every other week? I was starting to get stoked on the fact that all the snow had melted and dried up, and spring was quite near on the horizon. Then, to my utter dismay, I wake up one morning (for argument's sake let's say... Monday morning) and find that all of the beautifully dry roads are now completely snowed over.
This pisses me off to no end! I realize that I have no way of controlling the weather, and neither does anyone else for that matter, but I definitely had plans for when the roads were dry! Like washing my car. You can't wash your car with desireable results when there is a foot of snow on the ground; even less so when the roads are all melty and muddy/slushy.
Goddammit. This is what I get for not moving to the tropics when I had the chance.

bye bye, super size... 

I guess that fast food chains are really scrambling to make people believe that the food they sell isn't quite as bad for us as we think. I'm still not sold but, that aside, here's an article about McDonalds' effort to ::contribute:: to a healthier America (I'm sure it will be doing much of the same here in Canada).

Wednesday, March 03, 2004

How do you lose weight if you're always hungry? I think I've tried everything; drinking lots of water, eating smaller portions throughout the day, eating exactly three meals a day, filling up on more fruits and vegetables... the list is neverending. And I'm still hungry! Going swimming and to the gym is great, but all it is doing is turning my vast reservoirs of fat into muscle (lots of muscle), thus, keeping me pretty much at the exact same size I've been since June! How frustrating. I would embark upon one of those crazy diets that some of my friends (who shall remain nameless) have tried, like the 'all coffee' diet, or the 'only vegetables and water' diet, but let's face it- I have way more common sense than to abuse my body in such a fashion. I refuse to be one of those people who develops serious heart problems by the ripe old age of... thirty.
Meh. What's a little extra weight so long as I'm healthy?

Tuesday, March 02, 2004

I refuse to be productive today, and this is my third post in less than two hours. I don't know why. Maybe it has everything to do with my earlier revelation to go back to school and rekindle my aspirations of a career as a writer. After all, my late paternal grandfather was a writer, and I know that there were always hopes of it popping up again somewhere in the family.
It's funny, but I've always known that it would have to be me. No doubt, my brother writes a superb paper, but that's his thing. He's very ept at researching things thoroughly and, thus, proving valid points and opinions based on this research. I, on the other hand, am very adept at coming up with stories on the fly. None of the stories I have ever written have been based on anything other than what I envision in my mind. I suppose that is precisely what baffled my teachers at school. I don't think they believed that a grade-school student could come up with anything so inventive unless it was pilfered from elsewhere. Seems to explain a great deal of things now that I actually have time to think about it.

Fuck, sometimes thinking about things so thoroughly is just goddamned inspiring.

more poring over personal decisions 

I probably failed to mention in my last post that I have no affiliation with broadcast networks/media whatsoever. I sit in front of a computer and fix maps for the government. None of my local stations would hire me; probably something to do with the unconventional methods I used on my portfolio tape.
See, I love working with a camera and editing shit. But not for news. That is definitely not where I shine.
I did aspire, once, to be a news anchor, but when I saw myself on television I recanted.
I look absolutely dreadful on television; it brings a gap (if you know me, you KNOW I don't have one!) to my two front teeth, a green tint to my skin, and makes my head look much bigger than it ought to.
Yes, the voice. I know I have the voice. But for someone watching me, wouldn't it be like when I am watching an ungainly news personality? ::Oh, he/she has a great voice, but what the fuck is up with those teeth? Is his/her face really that crooked?::

Let me just put it this way. Yes, I like the sound of my voice. But I am really a musician. And a writer.
I don't think I'd be happy any other way.
Why do boys have to be such babies when they start losing at board games? Sure, I'll vouch for the fact that I can be a baby in certain circumstances, but board games? Come on, it's not like being the dictator of a small country and then suddenly being overthrown by the populus. I suppose that, being a girl, I just can't understand why boys always seem to take games very seriously. Perhaps it is something I will never fully understand! I just like playing games for the fun of it; I fail to see the serious side of it at all.

I am thinking of going back to school because communications is such a dead end street for me. In the past few years, I have effectively decided that I want nothing to do with the media whatsoever. I have come to the conclusion that I have too many biases to work for a news station, and I follow formulas/scripting/directions horrendously.
But what do I take? I would like to complete my BMus., but I refuse to do it at the University of Calgary since it has a third rate music department. Out of the few other things I qualify for, there is English. It is probably one of the only things I could tolerate now, at my advanced age. I have absolutely no desire to embroil myself in the sciences once again; I despised science other than biology. I believe I have lost most of my aptitude for history or philosophy. So perhaps a degree in English is the way to go. Especially since I have never quite given up on my childhood endeavour of becoming a published writer (blogging doesn't count since you don't go through a publishing company).
It's just good to give these things some thought; particularly if there is something you'd rather be doing than what you are doing at present.

Monday, March 01, 2004

monday, i'm all high... 

M***'s friend S*** came into town Saturday night, and he brought the Lord of the Rings Risk Game for us to play. And it was so fun! So, I went and bought it for me and M*** yesterday. Honestly, though, it is better than a video game. If you've ever played regular Risk before, it's kind of like that, but the board is bigger, and it's of Middle Earth. You also get more men to start with. I can't wait to play a full game! Yep, I know it; I'm a huge geek.

We also went to see The Passion of the Christ Saturday. I admit, I went in expecting a typical Jesus movie, and I actually proclaimed that the only reason I wanted to see it was for the 'two hours of pure violence and gore'. I have to say, it ended up being much better than that, although there was a bit of credibility loss with the amount of blood that Jesus lost during the scourging scene; I found it hard to fathom he could have survived such a heavy beating. But please don't take my word for it- just go and see it for yourself and come to your own conclusions.

He said,
Monday, I'm all high;
Get me out of F-L-A!
I fooled ya,
In school yeah,
Now I know I made a mistake.

Wilco- Monday