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| Wednesday, March 29, 2006 |
| I've Been Drinking |
When I was 18, my boyfriend cheated on me. You know this. Well, you know this is you knew me when I was 18 and lived in Cold Lake.
Anyways, continuing with the story, when I was 18, my boyfriend cheated on me. I found out he was living with his other girlfriend (!) but I wasn't surprised. As a result, I pushed him down a flight of stairs. (Sadly, there were only 3 stairs in the flight, since it was actually just my front stoop. Nonetheless, the thought was there.)
In retaliation, he decided to learn how to skateboard to win my heart back.
Just to clarify, my boyfriend when I was 18 lived on the reserve, and thought he was black. ("You know you're not black and living in Harlem, right?" I asked him once, with a raised eyebrow. "I'm as close to be black as it gets," he told me, in defense. I guess he was right, since Cold Lake only really has white people and Native people.)
Anyways, he called me up one day.
"What do you want?" I asked him bitterly.
"To talk to you."
"And?"
"I've been working on something, and I want to show it to you, but not yet."
"What is that?"
"I can't tell you yet."
"Okay, that's nice. Bye."
I hung up on him.
Two weeks later, Helka and I were driving when we spotted him skateboarding down the bike trail.
Our laughter was uncontrollable.
The End. |
posted by Jess at 8:33 PM | Permalink |
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| Sunday, March 26, 2006 |
| Summer Never Comes |
I'm growing weary.
There's too much. There's a man yelling at me, "Hey princess! Merry Christmas!" He's wearing a Santa hat and little else. It's the end of March.
There's a dead cat on the neighbour's front stoop in the morning. It hasn't died of natural causes, and a grey wifebeater covers its lifeless face. There's internships and jobs and paycheques and beer and billboards. There are too many words, and when there is finally silence, the clock ticks much too loudly and the sirens are deafening. 
I want to be someplace completely absent of concrete, even if it's just for a few moments.
(How long is one moment though?) |
| posted by Jess at 9:34 PM | Permalink |
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| Saturday, March 25, 2006 |
| Breaking the Dave Cave Hiatus |
It's incrediably hard being the star of a CD-ROM that is going to be distributed to roughly 7,000 new students at Ryerson with their orientation packages. (I actually mean this in complete sincerity. I was exhausted after spending all day yesterday regurgitating the same lines, all of which ended with an exclaimation mark.)
So I made myself a rye and coke. I was grumpy and had no intentions of going out. I tried to convince myself that staying home was the sensible option, and asked myself, "C'mon Jess, do you really think that the nightlife in Toronto can't survive without you?"
Well, it probably will. But I'm always sure that if I don't leave the house, something exciting will happen in my absence.
So I went to the store to get some Red Bull, which I have only ever had once before. I'm not a huge fan.
After drinking some more rye and the Red Bull, I took a surplus of pictures of myself.
And of Katrina, who demonstrated all the ways she posed nude in Richard's studio yesterday.
I took a brief break from taking pictures of myself for a short session of arts and crafts.
Because I really don't trust myself.
Katrina and her friend Caitlin.
First, we went to the Velvet Underground, where the bouncer took his job way too seriously. "How many drinks have you had?" he grilled Katrina, "I'm going to have to talk to my supervisor before I left you in." (The ridiculous part was that Katrina wasn't drunk.)
I quickly got annoyed with the DJ and his erratic choices, so we jumped into a cab.
We couldn't figure out why our cab driver wouldn't let us take pictures of him.
That is until Katrina noticed something odd. "Hey, why don't you have your picture and your cab registration on display? Isn't that illegal?"
He seemed more than happy to drop us off at Dance Cave. Caitlin got on the phone with one of her friends, and tried to convince him to come out, by telling him who was out, most of whom were fictional people.
"Everyone's here! Andrew's here, Katrina's here, Jess is here! Uh, Bobbi Sue is here! Ummm....Guido is here!"
". . .and, uh, what's your name?"
"Chris."
"Chris is here! I'll let you talk to Chris!"
Even though our new friend Chris already had a stamp to get in, he seemed all too willing to wait outside in the line with us. I have no idea why though.
Caitlin and I.
In my two-month long absence, it seems like I haven't missed much at Dance Cave. Although, apparently they finally got their November issue of Spin, because they're now playing Tom Vek. I'm glad that they got that memo. (Or maybe they just watched the O.C. two weeks ago. Either way, I'm annoyed. . .and probably a bit of a music snob.)
Chris, Katrina and I.
While we were there, I spotted Roger who hosts Scrabble in the City.
Caitlin with Chris, and another one of our new friends, whom I'm going to call Peter, because I don't remember his name.
Erica, Elizabeth and Kat.
Erica and Elizabeth.
At this point in the evening, I hadn't seen Katrina and Caitlin in nearly an hour. I thought there might be a chance that they were still at the bar, so I decided to tough it out by myself until they reappeared. I quickly made new friends:Laura and Matt.
Laura said, "Your friends aren't here? That's okay, we'll adopt you!"
I'm not sure if they decided to adopt me because they liked me, or if they just felt bad for me.
They even shared their flask with me. (I'm the luckiest orphan ever!)
A really creepy looking Roger.
Peter, and another new friend, who we'll call Elijah.
Laura is actually an RTA student at Ryerson, so we share the same building at school. I'm sure I'll bump into her again.
Laura, Matt, Roger and I parted ways early in the morning. I was grateful that I made new friends so quickly.
With no money in my pocket, and left alone, I wasn't sure what to do. So I went to Brunswick. They didn't answer the door. I was taking pictures of myself being sad on their porch while I planned my next move, when I heard this voice ask, "What are you doing?!"
Brendan answered the door in his bathrobe. He got dressed, but within 5 minutes told me, "I'm slightly drunk, and have to meet my Dad tomorrow. I'm so sorry, but I have to crash."
Pierre entertained me for five minutes though, while I dumped out the contents of my purse, looking for streetcar change.
I ended up walking down to College, but as per usual, there were no streetcars in sight, so I walked the majority of the way home alone, again, in a short skirt and knee high boots. (A winning combination for walking by yourself in the middle of the night, really.)
Sometimes I wish I wasn't so stubborn. |
| posted by Jess at 12:57 PM | Permalink |
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| Friday, March 24, 2006 |
| Vampires and Binary Code |
The week is almost over. 
Brie, Mark and I. (Mark's voice, which had been reduced to nothing than ones and zeros over the telephone line, was being reproduced electronically so that Brie could hear it on her end of the phone. The wonders on binary code never cease to amaze me.)
For once, Katrina legitimately had an excuse to walk around the house naked last night. She coated her face and chest with white makeup, put fangs in, and practiced rolling her eyes into the back of her head. (Which is actually totally typical Katrina behaviour, but again, it was justified last night.)
Richard (a friend of ours who is in Image Arts) came over, and they went to take pictures of her topless in the park, posing as a vampire.
(It was so cold outside that she didn't need a "nipple tweaker," as Alice would say.)
Sadly, I wasn't there to witness Katrina in all her glory posing up by the Necropolis, because I was tucked away in my room, hunched over my computer, perpetuating my back problem and developing carpel tunnel syndrome, writing my application for my journalism stream. . .
. . .I've applied to Magazine Journalism, with Broadcast Journalism as my second choice. I'm not even sure I want to go into magazine, but it's the hardest stream to get into, so I figure that I might as well create a challenge for myself, if nothing else.
Today, as soon as I get dressed, I'm headed to school to start filming this DVD for Ryerson Student Services. I've been selected to be the "personality" on it. Yes, that's right! I'm going to be one of those irritating tour guides on those informational videos that ends every sentence with an exclaimation mark! (We all knew it was coming down to this sooner or later!) |
| posted by Jess at 9:16 AM | Permalink |
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| Thursday, March 23, 2006 |
| Country Alien, City Alien |
I imagine there's probably two different basic schools of thought when you are the commander of an alien spacecraft:**
1) To Fly Your Ship Over Rural Areas
PROS: There are less people to spot you
CONS: There aren't very many interesting things to look at in rural areas (which probably results in lots of cows being mutilated out of boredom) and you are more visible because of the reduced lights.
2) To Fly Your Ship Over Urban Areas
PROS: More interesting things to look at and investigate, your ship is less visible because of all the lights and the chance to blend in with airplanes
CONS: There are more people to spot you, you may get in the way of airplanes
After examining the evidence and weighing the pros and cons carefully, it's beyond me why most commanders of alien spaceships opt to fly their ships over rural areas. Or maybe more UFOs are spotted in rural areas, when really they are more prevelant in city areas, we just don't notice them?
Personally, I know that if I was the commander of an alien spacecraft, it'd be a pretty tough call to make.
*Speaking of "Country Mouse, City Mouse" we have mice in our house. Just thought I'd let y'all know.
**I think the most disturbing thing about this post is that I just woke up, and this is the first thing that popped into my head and perplexed me. It's especially absurd considering I'm not an alien fantatic, nor do I ever think about extraterrestrial life, well, ever. I don't really believe in aliens, although I think it would be ridiculous to presume we are the only life in the universe. (On that note, does the microbiotic bacteria that they found on Mars, or wherever they found it, count as an alien life form? I think it does.)
Although, I did see a UFO once. But that's another story. |
| posted by Jess at 11:22 AM | Permalink |
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| Wednesday, March 22, 2006 |
| Petty Thefts |
During the spring of my 13th year, it was all the rage to walk to Mac’s at lunch and steal chocolate bars. In eighth grade, the phrase “five finger discount” was the epitome of trendy and cool.
However, I was never trendy or cool. (I know this fact may come as a shock to some, but it’s true. Feel free to take a minute to let this information soak in, and rest assured, because at least I'm surpassing my cool quotient at this period in my life.) And in turn, I never stole anything.
Ever.
That is, until yesterday.
Canice and I walked out of Value Village* and I triumphantly pulled a Harlequin Romance novel out of my bag and handed it to her, which she placed in her bag with her stolen doilies.**
I was giddy with the thrill of the crime, until I realized that theft has become such an abstract act that I probably do it on a regular basis. So, it was time to write a list.
Things I Stole This Week:
1) 20 minutes of time at work (I showed up 10 minutes late to work and left 10 minutes early, but did not adjust my time sheets accordingly. I’m underpaid as it is.)
2) Margarine from Katrina, Sasha & Court’s fridge (It’s okay though, because I left something in return: crumbs from my toast in the margarine. Seems to be a fair trade to me.)
3) Free long distance from the university (I called this guy in California for an interview.)
4) Mark’s Spin magazine (although I intend to give it back to him soon, because it’s a shoddy piece of writing as it is, but I still feel inclined to read it for some reason.)
5) TTC fare (Canice and I both shoved through the turnstile at once on her Metropass)
6) $72.64 from my Dad’s credit card (but only because my own credit card expired and my Dad lost not one, but both of my new credit cards) to pay for a computer part
7) $37.50 charged to Dad’s credit card for a therapeutic massage
8) Two one-cent stamps from a card Katrina’s grandma mailed to her (Canada Post failed to stamp the stamps).
9) A surplus of illegal downloads
10) And something really abstract (electronic, in fact) that I actually feel really guilty about stealing, and I’m worried that someone will find out.
So, on top of being exceedingly trendy and cool, I'm also a badass now.
It's just too bad I'm not 13 anymore.
*I don’t feel guilty stealing from Value Village, because for the every time I moved, over the last 4 years, I donated my old clothes to them, under the assumption they were a non-profit organization. After discovering that, in fact, they have been selling all my old stuff for profit, I’ve come to the conclusion that they owe me. So really, stealing the novel was more like a trade for all the stuff that I’ve given to them over the years.
**We weren’t indiscriminately stealing doilies and Harlequins, just to clarify. It was for a website Canice is working on for our online journalism class. |
| posted by Jess at 11:01 PM | Permalink |
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| Sunday, March 19, 2006 |
| she dreams a champagne dream |
Time is subjective.
Nine years ago, I was born.
Five years and fifteen minutes ago, my Grandma and I collected wild strawberries from the lawn in front of the cabin. I ate them out of a styrofoam cup, mixing them with Orange Crush pop. My grandfather unboarded the cabin windows, and pointed the intricacies of spider webs out to me. I helped him cut up worms to feed to a bird he had saved. I sang and played the piano and helped my Grandma plant sweet peas.
A school year later, I painted my nails with black nail polish. “That’s disgusting,” my best friend told me. She was destined for popularity, and eventually a child and a husband. I was destined to wear fishnets and go to university. My mom told me that boys liked the best friend better, because she was prettier than me. It made me cry, but it was the truth.
Three weeks ago, a tattoo artist with a lazy eye was injecting black ink into my hip, while my disapproving brother waited in the other room. The tattoo artist kept one eye on me, and the other on the pulsating needle. I was barely 18, and had driven four hours into Edmonton on a whim in Kyle’s 1984 Ford Tempo, for the sole purpose of getting tattoos before Helka went back to Finland. We got lost on the way home, singing along loudly with the Juliana Theory, Sublime and pre-Fergie Black Eyed Peas.
Five minutes pass, the scab is gone and the star’s lines are wavering. We eat meals of bread and processed cheese, and bread and Nutella. The shower curtains have mold, and we’re lost every other day. I write Devon long letters and send Mike postcards. I hold my guilt tight to my chest, drink beer for the first time, and calmly watch people snort lines of cocaine.
After breakfast, Chloe and I drive across the province. With the Kidney Thieves blaring from my car’s speakers, we try to put up our tent in the pouring rain, but get frustrated and open our beer instead. Within moments, two guys come along and put up our tent for us. We smile triumphantly, as that was our plan all along.
Later that afternoon, I’m surrounded by thick salty air. I’m 21, in the blistering heat on a desolate beach crowded with crab carcasses. The tide is out, and a little girl tells Naomi and me how to tell the difference between the males and females. Most of the dead are female. I can feel the skin on the back of my neck scorch and die.
The sun sets and rises again, and I’m sitting on a Toronto rooftop, scribbling furiously into my journal. I don’t feel clichéd. I feel strangely settled, alive, and on the verge of something.
Tomorrow, I’m writing this for you.
And when the next season passes, I’m dead. |
| posted by Jess at 6:01 PM | Permalink |
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| Saturday, March 18, 2006 |
| I hate lines, but I love Sasha. |
I really think the resolution I should have made this year was to not stand in any more line-ups. 
The first line we stood in last night was at Mick E. Fynn's. However, after 1/2 hour of freezing in the cold, we decided to ditch. I couldn't leave without my camera (Sarah, who was inside the bar, had borrowed it) and was excessively grumpy, so Katrina valiently took one for the team, jumped the fence, went inside and got my camera for me.
We went to the Imperial Pub, where Sasha conned some guy into buying her this pitcher of beer.
Katrina wasn't feeling it. Sasha was dancing in her chair. I felt really sick and antisocial. The guy in the glasses to the left of Katrina in this picture kept staring at me.
Mark and Brie.
After drinking the free beer, we headed to Ram in the Rye, just so we could stand in another massive line-up in the freezing cold.
While the girls stood in line, Katrina and I went to Dominion to get snacks. Katrina got some sushi.
I really wanted potato wedges to improve my excessively grumpy mood, but they all came packaged with meat. (Speaking of which, I keep dreaming about eating meat. Like, almost every night.)
Katrina and Sasha tried to keep warm while we stood in line.
Finally, after spending half the night in lines, we got into the bar. Adam was there. "I saw you taking pictures in line, and I made this face for you. Look at your pictures tomorrow morning and you'll see!"
Yup, there we go.
Court explaining to Chris the story of how she cut her knuckle off on her sewing shears earlier in the day. (I came home to find her ashen faced, holding a bloody tissue to her hand. "What did you do?" I asked. "I cut my finger," she pouted. I looked at her shears to discover that a huge chunk of her knuckle was still on them. It was gross. The End.)
Brent once told Court and I that we are "like a pair of socks" and that one of us is never seen without the other.
My mood was gradually starting to improve (I had felt pretty sick earlier in the night) and the fact that Jack was actually using a pay phone made me happier. When was the last time you actually saw someone using a pay phone? At a bar, no less?
Troy was the man of the night, getting us past the massive line-up at the bar for beer.
Troy and Court.
Sasha and her cousin, Robbie.
Sasha's pitcher of beer, which is solely responsible for the following pictures:
We took a cab home, because we knew she wouldn't make it under any other condition.
And I tried to get a picture of her looking really trashed.
But everytime I pressed the shutter button, she miraculously managed to look somewhat, well, still holding herself together.
But when we got home, she couldn't hide her lack of sobriety any longer.
The stairs were a challenge for her.
(To say the least.)
Sasha triumphantly conquered them at last, though.
Then she made herself some popcorn.
Which she burnt.
How funny is this?
It was so funny that in the process of laughing at Sasha, I knocked over a huge glass of water. Seriously though, the bottom line is that I hate lines. |
| posted by Jess at 4:15 PM | Permalink |
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| Friday, March 17, 2006 |
| interruptions are always on my mind. . . |
The truth is, everybody wants someone who is passionate about something.
When I was 16, my boyfriend at the time confessed to me that he wanted to become an orthodontist. I thought this was about the hottest thing ever. And not because I feel that strongly about cosmetic denistry, but because it was a goal, a path, it was something he really wanted to do.
Everyone wants to be with someone who has a guiding voice, a reason for their existance. And if the talent isn't there? It doesn't matter, because at least the ambition is.
Musician, housewive with kids, nurse, a call centre manager, an funeral home director. . .
. . .it doesn't matter.
Just as long as you have some goal, some mark, some target at the end of everything you are doing.
So what the hell is mine?
There has to be a time and a place when I stop telling people that I'm a professional dart player looking for sponsorship. . .
. . .or that I want to start my own record label, or that I want to be a travel writer. . .
. . .or that I'm going to do PR for a non-profit organization, or start a magazine, or make documentaries, or become an international blogging celebrity, or open a restaurant. . . There has to be a time and a place.
At this point, it isn't even a matter of misdirection or confusion. It's not a dilemma of what I'm going to do with my life. The truth is, I just don't really know if I care. But everyone wants to be with someone who is ambitious. I just want to be happy. I want to be surrounded by words and friends and music. . . but everyone wants someone who is passionate. |
| posted by Jess at 6:50 PM | Permalink |
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| Max Galactic @ The Horseshoe |
I've been feeling overwhelmed by school, so I can up with a 3-step plan to improve my mood: 
Step One: Get my hair done. (Yes, I'm a girl. Wanna fight about it?)
Step Two: Spend my money on books* instead of groceries. (Who needs to eat? I mean, really?)
Step Three: Pretend I'm Irish, and create a 3-day holiday weekend for myself.
Alice calls her bed "the sandbox."
It comfortably seats six.
Denise.
Adam.
Alice almost gave up halfway through the night, even before we got out the door.
I conned her out with my charm and natural good looks, though.
Denise, and one of the other Australian exchange students (your name is slipping my mind! Sorry!), who also doesn't quite understand myspace. (I refuse to get a myspace account. I feel like an anomaly of some sort. But I don't like the limitations of trying to talk about myself in 500 characters or less.)
Scott and I.
Alice, trying to hide, again.
In between taking pictures, I had this fascinating discussion with the cab driver about seat belt legislation. (According to Scott, tons of people get killed in cabs. I disagree, although statistically speaking, I'm probably incrediably wrong about this.) Anyways, I found out that cops can pull over cabs and ticket passengers for not wearing seat belts. Not that this ever happens, but, it's still interesting.
We went to the Horseshoe Tavern to check out Andy's band, Max Galactic and the somethingorother. (Yah, obviously, not their band name, but I can never remember the whole thing.)
Charles and I.
Andy, Charles and I. (I love Jesus references, by the way. Yesterday I told my hair dresser that I only date guys who look like Jesus. She was appalled and I had to clarify that I was totally joking.)
Alice and the Aussies bailed early, but when I went back inside from saying goodbye, Nando was there.
And he brought this kid, Giu, who took all the following pictures. (One of my favourite points of the evening was when Giu, completely out of context and for seemingly no reason, showed me the tattoo he has between his shoulder of a pair of barber's scissors. It's a good thing I'm a big fan of the random.)
Andy's band was fantastic. The End.
*The Toronto Public Library system distrusts Albertans, or something, and I haven't been able to convince them to give me a library card yet. Plus, I really like owning books, for some reason.
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| posted by Jess at 12:55 PM | Permalink |
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| Tuesday, March 14, 2006 |
| 'breaking news' this, Joyce!* |
4:30 pm
Come home from school/work in a bad mood. Put on my pirate t-shirt to cheer myself up, and spend the next 1/2 hour dancing around to Lyrics Born and Lupe Fiasco to cheer myself up.
5:12 pm
Decide that my quality of life would be improved substantially if I had gold fronts. (If I've learned anything living in Toronto, it's that bling is the answer to everything!)
5:15 pm
Batteries die from taking too many pictures of myself. Contemplate getting a bottle of wine to get me through the night of writing. Go make myself a veggie burger instead.
5:45 pm
Discover that 10K gold grills with diamond fangs are $350.00 American (courtesy of www.mrbling.com).
5:57 pm
Abuse Craig's List. Again.
http://toronto.craigslist.org/w4m/141925979.html (Click to read my ad).
6:06 pm
I wish Andrew would have kids so that I could be an awesome auntie. I would take my nieces and nephews to concerts and make them wear those awesome kid headphones and then I'd flash my gold grill to get us backstage.
6:09pm
Realize that there are several logistical problems with the above plan. 1) Andrew doesn't have a girlfriend and b) I don't have a gold grill.
7:03 pm
The name brand of the company that makes coin rollers is "coin-tainer." This amuses me.
7:22 pm
"Your posting has been removed by the craigslist community. Several craigslist readers flagged it. . ."
WHAT!? Craig's List just broke my heart. I can advertise looking for men with beards, but not for guys who are willing to buy me gold fronts in exchange for sexual favours? Where's the democracy in that?!
10:11 pm
I called my mom for the first time in 3 weeks. She asked me if I was applying for internships. I answered her question by spending a solid 7 minutes talking about men's facial hair. (Y'know, as opposed to women's facial hair. Aren't you glad I clarified that?) She grew irate and I soothed her nerves by launching into a conversation about Margaret Atwood.
10:17 pm
i feel nostalgia for things i've never known. . . says:
I'd be like, "let me backstage" and they'd laugh, then I'd flash the grill, and they'd laugh in an entirely different way and let me in. I'm not even joking. It would totally work. I'm so brilliant, it hurts.
aSHLEy - "if you want clean fun go fly a kite." says:
it's a small price to pay for the enjoyment of getting into concerts.
hahahaa!! it totally would work!
i feel nostalgia for things i've never known. . . says:
I know you want a gold grill now.
aSHLEy - "if you want clean fun go fly a kite." says:
it's true. you know how hot that thing will make you? i'm tingling at the thought of how hot you're gonna look.
but for serious, no musician is gonna turn down a white girl with a grill.
11:54 pm
I wish I was at SXSW right now. . .
12:04 pm
. . .or going to Coachella this year.
More to come. . .
*Putting my "online journalism skills" to solid use. |
| posted by Jess at 5:13 PM | Permalink |
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| Monday, March 13, 2006 |
| O Fortuna! |
Did someone out there get a fortune that said something to the effect of "you have a loud and demanding presence"? Because I think I might have gotten your fortune by mistake.
On that note, last night after eating cheese fondue with the roommates and Alice, we watched the scene from The Doors where Jim Morrison drinks blood with the witch and then proceeds to have mad sex* with her. Within moments, the conversation quickly turned into what is the first official competition in China. The challenge? To see which one of us can have sex on the roof first. The prize? Well, the winner gets to have sex on the roof. And bragging rights, of course. Unfortunatly, Brie has two obvious advantages in this competition: 1) Access to the roof is through her room. 2) She is currently the only one with an (allegedly) willing partner. I'm definitely the underdog when it comes to this particular competition. But, I'm always up for a challenge. . .especially the ones that were my idea in the first place.
*Note to self: next time you bring a guy home, play "O Fortuna" from Carmena Burana, for ultimate seduction. Also, don't forget to get a chalice for blood drinking, because according to Katrina, drinking directly from wounds isn't as classy or sexy as drinking from a chalice, although I beg to differ. |
| posted by Jess at 11:58 PM | Permalink |
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| Sunday, March 12, 2006 |
| I'll reduce advice to dust |
Let's just forget all about the rural mythologies for a bit. What about the personal mythologies? And I'm not just talking about mine, here. Let's pretend for a second. Let's pretend for a second that you're James Frey, writing the story of your life. . . wait, I have a better idea. Instead, let's pretend that you've moved across the country to a city you've never been to before, and nobody knows who you are. And instead of writing your stories, you are drinking with strangers, telling your tales and trying to garner respect or attention or sex or maybe even just basic friendship. Or maybe you're just meeting with old friends from high school and the shared histories don't seem to coincide or match for some strange reason. The only difference between you and me and James Frey, is that Frey had a fact-checker.
But are the the stories merely just mythologies? After all, the past isn't fact, it isn't even tangible. You can prescribe dates and numbers and maybe what you ate for dinner to the past, but you can't assign what you felt, or how it affected you. And maybe the memories are altered. But if you remember them that way, does it really matter how they happened, exactly? When it comes to memory, linearity doesn't matter. Time doesn't matter. And the truth is, some day, what you are living right now will be nothing more than a story.
(So, there's your answer. Or at least, a start. . .) |
| posted by Jess at 11:50 PM | Permalink |
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| overheard |
Today feels like being seven, when you got up early to play out in the sun and melting snow with your brother. You raced sailboats made of popsicle sticks down the street gutters, which were rushing with the end of winter, rescuing the crafts moments before they fell through the sewer grates.
Today felt like when your mom calls you inside to change your clothes and go to church, but she knows that suddenly it's spring, and instead of heading straight home afterwards, she takes you to A & W for hamburgers and root beer, or maybe to the marina for the first ice cream of the year.
This morning, after Brie and I went swimming at the gym, we headed to Johnny G's for breakfast with Sasha and Katrina.
"I have this explicit sexual fantasy where I seduce a Hasidic Jewish guy by grabbing his curly ques and pulling his face towards mine."
"Drinking blood is hot. Have you guys ever seen the Doors? I just think it'd be hot to cut open your hands, smear the blood and drink it." "Last night, I started talking about the merits of eating babies." "I dare you, on this ketchup bottle, to actually go out for once, and not say anything weird." "Eating babies is second date material."
"In Peru, all these rich women wore their sunglasses while they were eating, even though it was like, dark inside." "I think my new resolution is to start sleeping around." "I think I'm going to start seducing musicians and breaking their hearts, and then they'll write songs about me." "I think I need a haircut." 
"My band is called Perfect Little Kisses." "Yah, I belong to it. I am the band's official go-go dancer." "No, you were the spoon player!" "Perfect Little Kisses? What? And let me guess, you're going to have a My Little Pony on the cover?" "We need lights for our roof!" "Like, Patio Lanterns! And then I can put on Kim Mitchell!" 
"Tonight, let's sit on the roof and smoke a joint." "That's my new resolution. I'm going to take up smoking pot." "You bitch! Santa Claus doesn't exist!" "Yah, well, neither does Jesus!" I can't get any work done here. I'm going to Javaville to drink coffee, and listen to music and procrastinate in an entirely different location.
Today feels like you're seven, and you don't have anything to do except play in the freezing water, go to Sunday School, eat hamburgers and be secure in the knowledge that it's going to warm outside soon. And maybe, just maybe, this spring you'll finally be old enough to go past the end of the block by yourself on your first two-wheel bike. |
| posted by Jess at 3:08 PM | Permalink |
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| Saturday, March 11, 2006 |
| everything's coming up rosy and grey |
Last night, after a party at some random guys house, I became drunk and inappropriate. So we had to head to the bar. 
Sasha with our new friends Katie and Heather on the way to El Mocambo.
I also tried to make friends with the cab driver, but he wasn't very conversational, and seemed eager to have me out of his front seat.
Denise and Sasha.
Even though heading down to the El Mocambo was a spur of the moment plan, everyone seemed to be there. Including Richard.
And Kevin (the red-headed guy in the back, last featured on the blog in November). I also ran into Avery who was pleased to see that I had brought my camera out with me. (The last time I went out with Avery, which was in December, I think, I had decided to abstain from taking pictures, because I didn't want to carry my purse which contains my camera. That whole decision was a poor idea to say the least.)
I know I often do indecent things for drinks, but at least I know I haven't reached the point of trying to fish a twoonie out of the toliet like this random girl. (Okay, I admit it, I egged her on. I told her it was like a reward for using that particular bathroom. She seemed to agree with my logic.)
Scott, Denise and Heather.
Alice (centre) was the organizer of the whole night. She made me share her bottle of wine so she wouldn't drink an entire bottle. I made her share my bottle of wine so I wouldn't drink an entire bottle. It worked out well, because we both only drank two half bottles of wine in the end.
Do you ever have one of those nights you just feel completely at peace with yourself and where you are? One of the nights when you stop wondering how you ended up there, and just enjoy it?
Since it was gorgeous out today, Sasha and I tried to navigate our way through the hoards of people on Queen St. to pick up her fish from Mark's place.
Schizy was originally mine (I bought him a year and half ago to get over my fear of fish) but when I returned back from Alberta in the fall, I realized that Sasha and Schizy had developped quite the strong bond, so I let her keep him. That, and maybe I'm still a little bit afraid. |
| posted by Jess at 4:49 PM | Permalink |
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| Thursday, March 09, 2006 |
| You can't hide from genetics. |
Wednesday night at home. The token glass of red wine. Glasses pushed to the end of my nose. Slippers on. A book read sheerly for pleasure, rather than for school. ("War Without End: Israelis, Palestinians, and the Struggle for a Promised Land.") It's past midnight. 
When did I turn into my mom? |
| posted by Jess at 12:25 AM | Permalink |
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| Wednesday, March 08, 2006 |
| I was never good at subtlety. |
So I’ve got a question.
Speaking theoretically, let’s say you had a habit of making completely ridiculous resolutions at roughly two-month intervals that resulted in much debauchery and somewhat unorthodox behaviour on occasion. And let’s just say that a completely unprecedented incident occurred, and you actually met someone who you felt strangely compelled to see again because they seemed like the type of person who might appreciate somewhat orthodox behaviour on occasion interspersed with conversations about, oh, I don’t know. . .music and albatrosses? So you went out on a limb, and actually called them, thinking that they might be interested in drinking beer on your roof one night. But let's say that for whatever reason, they didn’t return the message.
What would you do? Would you lament the fact they hadn’t returned the call? Or would you get over it at roughly 3:48 p.m. on a Thursday afternoon?
Personally, I think I’d opt for the latter.
(Or would you lose all sense of decorum and write a strangely personal and possibly creepy post on your blog?)
This is all theoretical, of course. Because you know, I’m just wondering. For absolutely no reason.
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| posted by Jess at 1:10 AM | Permalink |
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| Tuesday, March 07, 2006 |
| I tried to talk to him once |
 
When does the shift happen?
 
When do you stop caring?
Or maybe you just stop wondering?
 
It was 9 o'clock in the morning when I tried to talk to him.
I'd seen him once before, late last spring, pushing a child's wheelchair down Parliament Street. It was entwined with fake flowers, a radio blaring classical music carefully tied to the front, and he was wearing a heavy jacket.
But it was 9 o'clock in the morning when I tried to talk to him, and it was late fall.
"Good evening," he warbled to me sincerely, the left side of his head matted with grey dreads. I guess my question had been answered.
But it still left me wondering: does that makes the "art" any less valuable? And more importantly, who is really the crazy one? After all, I'm the one taking the pictures and trying to talk to him at 9 o'clock on a cold fall morning.
I used to take comfort in the crickets behind my house, when I was trying to go to sleep. Now, nothing makes me happier than the rumble of the streetcar late at night as it turns the corner and my entire wall vibrates. |
| posted by Jess at 8:10 PM | Permalink |
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| Monday, March 06, 2006 |
| rural mythology destroyed |
It's confirmed! Brie and I are embarking on Alberta Roadtrip 2006 (which is just the working title for the trip, I'm sure we'll come up with something incrediably clever and loaded with sexual innuendos later, but for now "Alberta Roadtrip 2006" is merely functional).
Here is our tenative itinerary thus far:
1) Thursday, April 27th- Fly in to Calgary. We'll feel like grown-ups for roughly 2 minutes when we get the keys to our rental car and throw our bags in the trunk. However, I'm sure once we start sucking away on juiceboxes and singing along with The Magic Numbers that grown-up feeling will be greatly relinquished.
2) Daytrip to Banff. We will go to the hot springs, and Brie will wear her new American Apparel bathsuit. I will wear nothing. We will then smell like sulfur. (Yes, the way we will smell is part of the official schedule. You wanna fight about it?)
3) Drumheller/The Badlands. Dinosaurs don't need to be justified any further.
4) April 29th- Edmonton. We will stay with Mike, go to the mall (because that's what you do in Edmonton) and likely consume beer at the Garneau Pub.
May 2nd- Katherine's birthday celebration at Ezzie's. Brie will learn my most shameful secret; I'm a terrible two-stepper. Chloe and I will likely set something on fire.
5) May 3rd- Hungover in Camrose. Visiting my Grandma on the farm. I will make Brie listen to the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band the entire way there.
6) Cold Lake- The entire smalltown mythology that I've built for Brie over the past year and a half will suddenly come crashing down.
For example:
"Jess, I thought you said your high school had no windows. That thing has at least TWO windows!"
"I thought you said the drinks here were like $2.00? They're $2.50, you liar!"
"I thought you said all the girls in Alberta were pregnant and barefoot in the kitchen? Well, that chick is definitely wearing sandals!"
"Um, no offense Jessica, but I thought you said you were popular in Alberta."
I will feed her some more $2.50 highballs at the bar, and she won't know the difference.
7) Daytrip to Pierceland, Saskatchewan, to go to McLellan's General Store. We'll probably buy some bridles and horse whips. Not for our horses, but for our own personal stables. By this time, Brie will be an awesome two-stepper and know all the words to the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band songs. In otherwords, she'll be a better Albertan than me.
[Edit: As of Tuesday night our airline tickets are confirmed. And another surprise--Court is coming too!]
And then back to Edmonton (#4) on May 7th, to fly back to Toronto.
Any road trip CD suggestions? |
| posted by Jess at 9:23 PM | Permalink |
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| Saturday, March 04, 2006 |
| Is real life this easy? |
The makings of a romantic evening at home?
It would be. Except the flowers are from Sasha's parents, the candle was burning because I accidentally lit an oven mitt on fire in the kitchen, and needed something to get rid of the smell, and I was drinking the wine alone in my room.
Well, I was drinking wine alone until I headed to the El Macambo to meet Alice and her friend Chloe for an Austrlian showcase of musicians for Canadian Music Week. Here's the condensed run-on sentence version of what happened next: We only had one ticket to get in to see Mstrkrft at Lee's Palace, and they wouldn't let Alice use her VIP pass, so we told the bouncer that we were "on the list" to get into the building (thus bypassing the two-block long lineup for Dance Cave), then I tried to fulfill my dream of being a female ticket scalper by attempting to sell the one ticket for money that could be spent on drinks at Dance Cave, unfortunatly nobody wanted to buy the ticket because it was a single ticket, but that worked out for the best because we ran into a guy who Alice worked with at CMW, who had a stamp on his hand for the mstrkrft show, which he transferred to Alice's hand using the classic "lick and stick method" and we seamlessly got into Lee's Palace.
Alice displaying both of her well-earned stamps.
Mstrkrft was a little bit dissapointing, but I didn't go home dissapointed, because I didn't go home alone. Instead, I brought home a bearded guy to spoon without sex. |
| posted by Jess at 8:39 PM | Permalink |
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| Lists for Saturday |
Things that I hate today: 1. The fact that the draft of my feature article is due on Thursday, but I still need to conduct 7 interviews between now and then, and then write it. (Easy, right? I have a whole week? Well, I work all day Monday and Tuesday, have class all day Wednesday, and then. . .it's due). 2. Somewhere in between work, class, interviews and writing, I have to take my computer to be fixed. This is the second time this year my computer has had to be fixed. 3. I haven't showered since Wednesday morning. 4. I got up at 8 a.m. on my official sleep-in day, to go to First Aid (I need to re-certify to go to Vanuatu). I spent all day breathing into plastic dummies and pretending to care about choking babies, passed the course, and then came home to read through my paperwork and find out that it wasn't applicable because it wasn't a Red Cross course. 5. I stayed in last night, and forewent not one, but TWO keg parties because I had to get up early this morning to go to the pointless First Aid course. 6. My credit card bill was an undisclosed 4-digit figure. However, I still need to pay for my First Aid and my computer, which I will likely also put on my credit card. 7. Alice, who is supposed to coming to Mstrkrft with me tonight, might not be able to get in because all she has is a Canadian Music Week pass, as opposed to an actual ticket, and the show is sold out. I don't know anyone else who is going. 8. I have a couple of weeks to decide (and then apply for) what stream of journalism I want to do: magazine, newspaper, broadcast or online. It may not seem like that big of a deal, but it determines the next two years of my life, and the tuition and living costs that come with that. And I genuinely have no idea what I want to do. (Anyone have any thoughts on this? Advice?)
Things I Love Today:
1. My vanity, greasy, unwashed hair and all, seems to have remained intact. |
| posted by Jess at 5:17 PM | Permalink |
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| Friday, March 03, 2006 |
| the dish ran away with some other spoon |
I just had a brilliant thought:
Since 2006: Year of the Rash is proving to be a completely ridiculous idea, I've decided that it needs to be replaced with a more appealing, equally ridiculous resolution, devoid of rashes.
Let me introduce 2006: Spoon Without Sex, in which I see how many random guys I can bring back to my place from the bar/concert/supermarket to just spoon with me without any sexual activity occurring! Sometimes, my own brilliance baffles me.
On that note (the note being the one about how brilliant I am, of course), check out Mark's blog tonight. I particularly like the subject line: "it's what we're all thinking."
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Also take note of the "why I woke up this morning" section on my links bar. Now you can be a music snob too! |
| posted by Jess at 1:37 AM | Permalink |
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| Wednesday, March 01, 2006 |
| Licking toenails. |
Sasha came home from Peru today. We were happy to have her home. We were even happier when she announced that she had brought presents back for us!
We all got hand-knitted socks.
The girls at China. Except something doesn't quite seem right. . .
. . .oh, wait. That's better.
Sasha also brought me back a baby alpaca scarf, as well as llama toenails.
Yes, that's right. Llama toenails. "That's so you!" gushed Court, in all seriousness. 
"Llama toenails are so me?" I couldn't help but be a little bit offended. Okay, and maybe flattered a bit, too. 
"Jess, you like puss," Court said, "yes, llama toenails are so you." (I'm not gonna lie. The llama toenails rank right up there as one of my favourite and most thoughtful presents ever. They are now proudly displayed in my room near the pregnant skull figure that Chloe brought back from Mexico for me.)
After I took these pictures, the girls were trying to look at my pictures when I grabbed my camera back.
“Hey!” yelled Katrina.
“What? You know perfectly well I’m going to put these pictures on the blog later tonight.”
“Yah, well, maybe I’ll just start my own blog! And I’ll take pictures of myself and write about nothing but myself,” she said, cattlily. “Oh, wait! Then I’d just be copying you!”
“Do you know what my favourite thing is?” Court chimed in, laughing, “I love how Jess sets the timer on her camera and then takes pictures of herself to post on her blog, and then writes stuff like, ‘I looked so hot that I had to take a picture of myself.’”
“Whatever,” I said defensively, “I have to take hot pictures of myself to counteract when I write stories about rashes near my genital region.”*
"Do you want me to take a picture with you with your llama toenails?" Court asked.
"No!" I told her, "I'm going to take a picture of myself, by myself, since that's apparently what I'm so good at." (Check out Brie pulling the classic "L for Loser' in the background.)
I then stormed off to my room, with the toenails attached to my belt, so they would make as much noise as possible and then I took these pictures.
Court, these pictures are for you.
This is what I'm going to look like when I creep into your room to get my revenge later tonight. . .
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*I'd like to clarify the rash story, since I've gotten so many messages about it. Did you really think it was out of character for me to write about a rash? Also, it was perfectly within context because both Ryan and the Rev. have blogged about rashes this week. I was actually surprised (and dissapointed) that more people didn't comment within the confines of the blog itself). |
| posted by Jess at 11:46 PM | Permalink |
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