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| Friday, December 30, 2005 |
| Resolute the New Year. |
This New Year's, I'm encouraging you all to come up with the most absurd resolution possible, and carry through on it.
I'm not talking self-improvement here- after all, if you're anything like me, you don't need to lose weight, are already spectacularly good looking, and probably smoke/drink an adequate amount (I expect nothing less of my friends and readers). And I'm not talking world-improvement here- we've got Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt to take care of that for us. What I'm talking about is a completely useless goal, with no other concrete purpose than to at the very least to amuse you.
My personal resolution for 2006 is to only date guys with beards. And I'm not talking soul patches, or goatees, or chin straps here. I'm talking BEARDS. Beards that will cause my chin to break out in a perpetual rash. Man beards. Full-on heterosexual-I-chop-down-trees-in-my-spare-time-and-wear-flannel-while-smoking-pipes kind of beards. |
posted by Jess at 3:01 PM | Permalink |
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| Tuesday, December 27, 2005 |
| Hello, Pulitzer! |
I feel like I should write something profound. Some sort of Garden State worthy prose about what being "home" feels like, perhaps. I feel like I should write about how the balmy temperatures and the lack of snow is unsettling in Macbeth-esque proportions. I feel like I should write words that will make the world want to fall in love with me. And if not the world, then maybe just one man.
So here goes:
I got a dinner party in a box for Christmas. |
| posted by Jess at 7:35 PM | Permalink |
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| Saturday, December 17, 2005 |
| Blogging Hiatus |
Last night Mark and I went to see Stars play. Since he had to wait so long for me (which is the fault of the TTC, not me) he decided that he had spare time, and required two watches. (What?! C'mon, I thought it was funny when he told me.)
The crazy folky Christmasy opening band that wasn't surprisingly good (as bands like this sometimes are), but they did have a lead singer who resembled a white David Suzuki. He was wearing a sequined vest.
Anyways, since I'm headed back to Alberta tomorrow, this is a bit of a blogging hiatus for me. I hope everyone has a wonderful Festivus, and that there will be many moustaches in your future.
Or maybe that's just what I hope for myself. |
| posted by Jess at 4:52 PM | Permalink |
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| Friday, December 16, 2005 |
| And then there were two. . . |
Scenes like this are probably making the Albertans in the crowd kind of whimsical and wishing that they had snow right now.
And then you remember that snow is cold.
After a long day of trudging through the snow and eating thai food, we decided to head out for a pitcher of beer at Mick E. Fynn's.
Strangely, no one was really there.
Except Courtney and Junior.
And they had fries and beer, which is a pretty big selling point for me.
Court and Junior got into an argument of sorts.
And then Max showed up. I insisted upon stroking his beard and telling him that if you put him in the Green Room and handed him a glass of wine, he would look like he was planning some sort of upsurgal revolution of the people.
Bored with just sitting, we decided to start table dancing, also known as "dancing like you are a parapalegic."
I'm really good at table dancing.
Charles and Sonja showed up too. This is Mick E. Fynn's, after all. I'm sure there's some sort of mathematical formula that dictates after a certain period of time you have to run into all your friends there.
I can't even explain what's going on in this picture.
Or this one.
However, I can acertain that in this picture, Court and I were singing along to a) Guns and Roses b) Bon Jovi or c) AC/DC. (One of the above.)
But then we abandoned the singing in favour of more table dancing.
Junior doesn't carry a hairbrush with him, so he had to use his cell phone as a microphone. Well, I guess they are both "phones." (Haha, that was another knee-slapper, right there.)
Another one of my many talents was revealed- I do a mean impression of the Muppets character Beaker.
Junior's brother Taylor showed up too.
My favourite thing about these pictures is that you can actually see the alcohol working its way through our veins, which is why I posted so many of them.
Taylor just met these two.
Courtney and I felt like we needed to make new friends too. This guy works at homeless shelters when he's not standing all scary like guarding pub doors, which caused Court and her bleeding heart to decide that we needed to not only high-five him, but also take a picture.
We left the bar, and took advantage of the snow to make snow angels. You can tell from this photo that I'm obviously the best at making them. (Sometimes, my talents overwhelm me. But then I remember that my purpose in life is to be this awesome.)
Court got exceedingly jealous of my snow-angel making abilities and attempted to kill two birds with one stone by wrecking my angel and smothering me at the same time. That bitch.
"You bitch! Help me up!"
Aw, that's what friends are for.
After we parted ways with the guys, Court saw the huge park of fresh snow as a mission.
The start of something great.
"Jess! There's not enough snow," Courtney told me. I couldn't make this stuff up.
"There's just not enough snow."
So we borrowed a snowman on the way home.
This is what my hand looks like this morning. Apparently I tried to write myself a note of some sort with a half-dead pen. I wish I knew what it said. |
| posted by Jess at 1:36 PM | Permalink |
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| Wednesday, December 14, 2005 |
| Cabbage is a popular euphemism for. . . |
If you ever read any historical information on Toronto's Cabbagetown, you'll learn that the area was settled by early immigrants, many of whom were Irish. The area earned its name because the first inhabitats of the neighbourhood grew cabbages in their yards to feed their huge families since they were poor, and it was such a cheap, hardy vegetable.
Informational websites on Cabbagetown claim that this is no longer the case, and that current residents of the area are wealthy enough to afford more than just cabbage.
I beg to differ.
Sasha bought this massive cabbage, larger than her head, about a month ago. Why did she buy such a large cabbage? Because it only cost 97 cents. |
| posted by Jess at 6:06 PM | Permalink |
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| Tuesday, December 13, 2005 |
| You, too, can earn a university degree! |
With one more final to go, I'm spending the night at home studying. This involves doing online quizzes from my textbook's website. Questions include the following:
Who assists in connecting the prostitute and client?
A)the john
B)a hustler from the hotel
C)the panderer
D)a gigolo
How is hard-core pornography defined?
A)sexually explicit material featuring themes of anal intercourse, bondage, rape, sadomasochism, necrophilia, and sex with animals
B)erotica
C)slightly more extreme than soft-core
D)none of the above
When Andy is home alone, he puts on his wife's dresses, which makes him sexually excited. Andy would be considered a:
A)transvestite
B)homosexual
C)transsexual
D)drag queen
Nudity is illegal when:
A)it is in the locker room of a gym
B)it is in your living room with an open window facing the street
C)it is sunbathing at a local beach
D)A and B
E)B and C
Which of the following sexual variations is probably the most dangerous?
A)troilism
B)asphyxiophilia
C)zoophilia
D)necrophilia
Can you answer all of the above questions correctly? |
| posted by Jess at 9:42 PM | Permalink |
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| Sunday, December 11, 2005 |
| I didn't take these pictures. |
Back in November (it was so long ago, I can barely remember it) I went out to Dance Cave for Vanessa's Birthday.
Which is apparently the night she met this guy, Avery, who was kind enough to send me a link to his pictures from Friday night.
Before the bar, we discovered the hidden purpose of the random rope at Mark's place. "It came with the apartment," he told us, "along with the Bob Marley poster." (For security reasons, I can't elaborate on the purpose of the rope. You'll just have to use your imaginations.)
Vanessa's delicious ammo, to be loaded in her banana gun.
Mark. (He was rather upset that Brie kissed the duct tape before she put it on his lips.)
At Dance Cave, I ran into the kid who walked me home the night of Vanessa's birthday party. He didn't remember anything about me at all, except for the fact that I'm from Alberta. (This seems to a be a predominant theme in my life. Everything about me seems to summed up for people when they say, "This is Jess. She's from Alberta." This introduction is inevitably followed by a short pause before the new acquaintance responds, "Ohhhhh," as though my Albertan status defines me as a person. I suppose it does explain a lot of things, by Ontario standards.)
I feel like I look so small and young in this picture. Am I that short in real life? I feel like I encompass more space than that.
Avery, Victoria and Vanessa.
I was really sweaty from dancing.
The girls were channeling Corey Hart.
I was really sweaty.
This picture makes them look like the sort of couple that I would pass on the street and instantenously hate for looking so together and happy.
However, I could never hate Vanessa's breasts.
Thanks for the pictures Avery! |
| posted by Jess at 7:56 PM | Permalink |
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| One week until I go home. . . |
| If you live in downtown Toronto, and are staring out a window at snow right now while drinking black coffee, download Sufjan Stevens' "Jacksonville." You'll suddenly feel as though you're in a Sofia Coppola movie. |
| posted by Jess at 3:59 PM | Permalink |
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| Friday, December 09, 2005 |
| I'm itchy. |
I've done a terrible thing. I'm at Mark's right now, with Brie, Vanessa, Julia and Victoria, getting ready to go out for the night. But I've done a really terrible thing.
I left the house without my camera.
On purpose.
I also didn't bring my cell phone, my purse, or any other technology. (Not that a purse is technology, persay, but it is pretty high-tech for me, considering I only started carrying one this year.)
All on purpose.
What was I thinking?! What have I done?! |
| posted by Jess at 10:15 PM | Permalink |
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| Thursday, December 08, 2005 |
| I can't change my face. . . |
. . .but I can change my hair.
Brie and I both went to get our hair done today, and tried out the new look with patented Paris Hilton poses.
Brie's now blonder.
And I'm now redder.
I really should be studying for my finals right now. |
| posted by Jess at 6:32 PM | Permalink |
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| Wednesday, December 07, 2005 |
| This is Dear Diary worthy. |
The weather's cold enough for a postsecret-esque confession.
I always wanted to be black when I grew up.
Then again, there was also the phase where I wanted to be Albino. And today, I want to be East Indian.
I'm bored of my face.
I've been looking at it my whole life.
It's like when you look at something so often that you don't even look at it anymore.
I walk through this park every day, twice a day, on my way to and from school. And only yesterday did I notice Mr. Robbie Burns brooding in the corner. (I contemplated doing a Highland fling for him, but I'll wait until January when Robbies Burns Day rolls around and then I'll pull out my gillies and make my fingers curl into little stags.)
I'm too much in my own head right now. |
| posted by Jess at 5:08 PM | Permalink |
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| Tuesday, December 06, 2005 |
| Fingertips Have Memories |
In feature writing class the other week, my teacher enthusiastically informed us that after a very generous 10-minute break, we would be doing a writing exercise! (The exclamation mark on that sentence is courtesy of her excitement, not mine.)
We all inwardly groaned. We were tired. It was the middle of term paper season, at the brink of finals, and she wanted us to do a writing assignment that wasn’t even worth marks? Why wouldn’t she just let us go home early instead? (This is what university has reduced us to; we now hate writing to the point where we are only motivated if we are rewarded with a letter grade at the end of the day, worth a certain percentile at the end of the term. For a bunch of people who hate math, journalism students sure do love numbers).
After our very generous break, we sat back in our chairs and were instructed to meditate. To focus. To breathe in and out. I’ve never been very good at these exercises. It’s like the minute of silence at church. For the first 20 seconds I earnestly pray, and for the last 40, I think about what I’m going to eat when I get home. (I love grilled cheese sandwiches on Sundays. Soup, maybe? Or maybe I’ll convince my mom to take me to Clark’s General Store and we’ll stare at the frozen lake over burgers.) I meditate and breathe on my own terms. Crossword puzzles are meditation. Repeating single words back to myself is meditation. Sitting in a freezing cold, cramped, grey classroom of 30 students, on the other hand, is not relaxing, by any conventional standards.
But I tried.
“I want you to write about your first memory,” she told us after several minutes of silence, “you have thirty minutes.”
I stifled a laugh. The first memory? What is the first memory? How do we even know what our first memory is? How can you attach a date, a time, a year, an image, to events that may have just been a dream? How can you ascribe a chronology to events that aren’t linear? And what if there are just too many?
My first memories aren’t images. They aren’t even necessarily events. They are colours, vague, blurry feelings with no solid lines. They are like when you walk into a room and say, “this smells like my kindergarten teacher,” and you immediately recall the feeling of finger paint on your hands. They are wavering lines of purples and greens and sunshine spliced throughout.
Those are memories.
With this in mind, when did the photos begin replacing the memories? Do you remember something because someone told you about it, and you saw a picture of it? What’s the difference between having knowledge of an event and the actual memory of it?
When did the photos begin replacing the memories? |
| posted by Jess at 7:48 PM | Permalink |
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| Sunday, December 04, 2005 |
| A Little Word in Your Ear |
In purple pen in my agenda, under Saturday it reads:
"Fun night w/Court! +drag show+ hysterical laughing"
We didn't make it to the drag show, but all of the other requirements were met.
Sometimes, when I have a really good outfit on, I like to take pictures of myself. Oh, don't lie- you do it too.
First, we went to Einstein's bar to watch the Brunswick boys (Charles, Andy, Jake and Pierre) aka "The Pedestrians" play. Katrina's shoe, which she had rubber cemented together before we left, promptly fell apart.
So, with the help of Krazy glue, it was time for some arts and crafts at the bar. We're classy girls like that.
Pierre setting stuff up. Or something.
The first one of many pictures of Court and I.
The Pedestrians.
Charles, who is next on the "let's make him pocket-sized" hit list. ("I'd carry him around in my pocket, and make him sing songs to me," said Court, enthralled at the performance.)
Andy.
Sasha grabbed my camera at this point in time, and gave us directions to do America's Next Top Model-esque poses.
"Be fierce!"
In truth, she was taking pictures of the guy sitting behind us at the bar that she thought was hot.
Pierre, sitting in the dark corner.
Charles, Jake and Andy.
Pierre and Katrina sharing a beer.
Sonja and Sarah came out to watch the show too.
Sadly, we had to leave halfway through the show to get in line to go to Mod Club.
We waited in line in the cold for what seemed like forever. Long enough to sober us up, actually.
We found ways to amuse ourselves though.
Katrina, after she got caught for attempting to lick this guy.
Finally, they let us in.
And we were immediatly surrounded by a little following of guys.
Who apparently took this picture for us.
I have no idea what's going on here. But I really like how the random guy in the background is giving a little smirk for the camera.
But do you know what I don't like? I don't like when guys think that a suitable way to pick a girl up is by performing the classic "ass rape dance" in which they just come up behind you, grab your hips, and start dancing. Seriously, now! That's just inappropriate.
Court and I. Again.
Someone from our little entourage of male suitors that had formed at this point in time, took this picture. We were surrounded on all sides. But Katrina and Sasha were nowhere to be found.
And then Courtney pointed them out. They were in the least expected place.
So, of course, we had to join them.
It turned out that Kash and Sasha were dancing on stage.
Court dancing.
In conclusion, I've successfully avoided Dance Cave for two weekends in row now. |
| posted by Jess at 2:09 PM | Permalink |
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| Saturday, December 03, 2005 |
| I'm a footnote at best. |
Sarah and I walked through blizzard-like conditions to get to a party hosted by Kasia and her friends.
Kasia. What you don't see pictured here is the excellent tattoo she had to match her necklace. Not only was it gold, but it also featured a horse, hearts AND roses. Best fake tattoo, ever.
Kasia was being camera-shy.
Brian and Kyle's band "Dead End Streets" were playing at Sneaky Dee's. We only stayed for a couple of songs before trudging home in the cold to our warm beds.
You told me that you liked me because I didn’t talk about the type of things that "other girls" talk about. I had just finished a rant about the differences between aardvarks and anteaters, followed by a passionate ramble about alternate energy sources, when you pulled me closer to you to tell me this.
“Why? What do other girls talk about?” I asked you, genuinely perplexed by this comment. I knew the anteater conversation was a bit out of the ordinary, but I figured other people must at least show an interest in energy conservation.
“Well, I don’t know,” you said, grappling for words, “tablecloths and curtains and stuff, I guess. Just not this. You’re different.”
I’ve always thought to myself that I never want to be the type of 50-year-old woman who sits around discusses linens with her friends.
At Kasia's party last night though, I realized that everyone in the room ("everyone" being an absurd number of 18-year-olds still in high school. . .I felt old) was using phrases like, "Well, PR is really where all the money is. . ." and, "I'd really like to buy some real estate. . ."
It wasn't the talk of idealistic hopes and dreams for the future. It was talking about linens for twenty-somethings.
I was more interested in the boys on the couch behind us who had a sock tied to a string. |
| posted by Jess at 2:12 PM | Permalink |
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| Friday, December 02, 2005 |
| The most imaginative captions ever! |
Last night Court and I went to see the Trews and Cuff the Duke play. Thanks to the wonders of the TTC, we missed Cuff the Duke's set, and only showed up in time to see the Trews.
They were okay.
"Eh. They're not bad. But they're just not my thing."
"Well, I guess they're good. But they're really not my thing."
So we left, after only four songs.
We went to the Ram in the Rye instead.
Surprisingly, it was packed. Actually, I guess that isn't that surprising, considering that it is the last week of classes. Matt wrote the caption for me, "This is Matt pulling out his sexy face for Robin."
Troy and the boys were there, which was awesome, because we haven't really seen them since September.
Court and I.
Zoheb.
Troy wearing Court's jacket.
After the bar, we were freezing cold while walking home. We passed Junior and Taylor's house, and realized that we hadn't stopped by in a while. Junior opened the door with a huge grin on his face and was thrilled to see us.
How many people are genuinely excited to see two drunk girls banging on their window at 2:30am on a weeknight?
That's why we want a pocket sized Junior.
It was snowing!
The funniest picture, ever! Until tomorrow night, that is. (Courtney and I running to cross the street in the snow.)
When we got home, we discovered that we weren't the only drunk ones. . . |
| posted by Jess at 2:26 PM | Permalink |
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