All the times I got laid..... and other shizz.

Tuesday, December 4, 2012


Here, for the first time in my life, I will not dive

straight into the cool, uncalculated waves of despair and self loathing that lap at the edge

There was no personal rebuff this time. I slept in rather, languidly shrouded in the dim gray afternoon light, only disturbed by the gentle rustle of traffic and dishes rattling around in my kitchen.   

Perfectly tempered beer stands cold in the fridge as I dress in the dark room, prepare my body for the ethereal Vancouver cold, one that gently holds you, untill it's pushing you from your own door to the next. I am not going anywhere in particular tonight, so I dress warm in case the walk is long.    

I wear my long mittens, and put on a story from the New Yorker. The Christmas lights that have sprouted up in trees across the city paint the streets with thick ribbons of truth as I trundle down them listening to American tragedies and their analyses. I purse my lips and furrow my brow, deep in thought, trying to broaden my scope.... on cowboys and marriages.   

Pushed by the early hour, needing to pass an entire evening here,  I delve deeper into the westend, curving and twisting around the blocks, avoiding some streets, gingerly padding down others, earnestly continuing among the holiday shoppers and post work revelers. Coming closer to the wall.    

My phone is in my pocket. I turned the vibrate off earlier that afternoon, as it had been silent for what seemed like an eternity. It's painful, to always be so close to your phone, and it to sit there so immobile. Not actually connecting you to anyone, purposeless, defunct metal and glass.  
"You don't need a phone," you sometimes say into the black.  "What you actually do not need, are the people that are ignoring you."  

The frosty air, filled with a silty breathe of the burrard inlet brushes over me as I loosen from the crowd. I can't help but think of the daytime, and the soft decaying smell of leaves, the beautiful leaves that had decorated the city so splendidly in October.There are memories in October, red leaves cascade over them, the mountains in the background, plainly languishing in the light of day. I hustle now past them, walking towards the blue raindrop, alone in the dark.    

The glittery lights from North Vancouver parallel me as I continue westward. My journey is not long tonight, I walk faster, listening intently. It would be awful to slow down and lose the thread of the story, to become enraptured in the view I had pondered lustfully many times before. I lose myself in the darkness, the narrators voice, letting the stillness of a Coal Harbor evening wet the slate.   

There is no one else out, but I don't notice till I reach Denman. My phone starts to hangs heavy in my pocket and I grope it feverishly, all of a sudden chaffing everywhere.  My mouth feels dry, I notice the story has ended and the only thing I can hear is the gently patter of the rain. I look over my shoulder, lights from late night cafes and the small restaurants spill into the street, their patrons probably tucked inaudibly inside. I continue.    

I start to remember how much I want my phone to be alive again, I want it to tell me nice things and beg for my attention. I have now come all the way down to English bay, pan-faced. I slip down to the water, away from the lights. It's easy to be here,moving, alone. In the black. Eventually a runner passes me by, and then another. It's reassuring to a degree that the earth hadn't magically emptied. I am almost home, but I could linger if I needed to here. I realize as the bridges overhead recede into the background, I can see myself, amidst the sparkling city lights, on the ground. I had been on the opposite side of the creek the night before. There had been an oval patch of dusky blue sky left, and i had let it all in, all of downtown and granville island. I had started another story soon after that point, I had been so far away that I had listened to two before i returned home. I must continue in silence tonight.   

A running group passes me by, chatting breathlessly. It dawns on me, perhaps prematurely, that I have done all my talking for the day. I have no one at home waiting for me to return. No more business as usual to do - no phone calls. I had planned to go to bed after a shower and a tea.  When would I speak next?  
The Next day suddenly sprawled out in front of me, on the carefully laid brick that waved around the lush grasses and soft shrubs.  Tomorrow, was desolate looking! I was staying in tomorrow to study and had groceries already... Plenty of caffeine to keep me jived. There was no one to talk to till perhaps the day after that.  And then who was I going to see? A coworker? W would probably talk, but after a whole day of silence it seems absurd to only talk about .what? A bisque?  
I walked incredible fast now. The whole city had it in on me, the expansiveness of false creek only compressed me further.   I eventually can not bare the darkness anymore, pulling up to coopers park.  I am so close, and it seems foolish, to look at it now.  It would be safer inside, but i cant wait. My mitten fingers carefully take out the black thing, that awful oppressive thing. It glistens, gleefully reflecting the light of the city. It lights up, full of brightness.  

Sunday, November 4, 2012

Bags of Broken Mugs/Back on dicks

So, yea. Here we are. Mid semester. Having the time of our lives.
Little note: stop reading now.  Nothing good happens.

It's so strange how literally, (I didnt originally want to use the word literally here, even though I love that word! L s and t s abound! [gahhhh, I hate how people write these days, exclamation points mid paragraph, bleary, wide eyed enthusiasm abounding, everyone and their imaginary fucking exclamation point quotas that, actually, do NOT exist. ].  I should write, actually, instead. Maybe even use proper grammar and stuff?) I can't form any cohesive thoughts because I am hungover, but I am going to keep going. Because I need to see what's in my head. 

 I have been accumulating apology texts! They are just stacked up in the ol phone. Sighing at me. Unaware of the fact that apology texts fucking suck, and pale in comparison to the steadfast, tall, gooey benefactor of reconciliation that is a tower of nutella and waffles.  Or orchids and juice.  The point is, I don't care anymore, about anything really. Except for my plan, and my new earrings. And for people like this guy I know, who gives really great compliments.  He is the strange part, because last Monday I decided I wanted to make out with him, despite the fact he works at bw cafe (in the kitchen) and then, it totally happened. He just came to me. Zero effort.  This is why I am so lazy, people just me give me things, like money and booze, accolades and friendship.  Jobs. What have I ever done for myself? Certainly not my taxes this year.

*if you are waiting for a climatic point of this post, esoteric revelation, or exciting recap of the past few months, I have to apologize but it isn't coming.  What is coming is several thousand more words of listless, monotone commentary.

So there's that. 


As I stare in the corner, at the plant, and continue to drink my cheap wine, as my greasy forehead undoubtedly reflects the pathos emanating off of the shattered iPad screen in my lap, currently viewing, my Facebook page.  

What is important to you.  How do you feel about being Canadian. Do you lie everyday. How drunk are you on average. 

Do you ever just feel so completely, fucking insane, thaaaaaaaat your roommate has finally caught on.  That you are bombed the night before orientation. 

That you thought making a fucking gazpacho, sepertingthe red and yellow tomatoes, and the herbs and cucumbers, and layering it in a fucking bowl would look anything other that some fucking hippy rastefarianbullshit. As your sous chef looks on, sadly acknowledging that it tastes amazing but looks like some sixteen year old threw up his bong water soaked dreams in a bowl and tried to pass it off for cold soap. ...... I dont know about you guys but labour day weekend is officially over and I am getting wasted to celebrate. 

The last time you have felt something this prolific, ou were sitting in an empty tub in a motel overlooking the shitty part of okay again lake, drunk, fully clothed, writhing aroun like a fish whilst your friends took pictures and pretended along with you that this whole situation was hilarious.  Please stop embarrassing yourself. 


Monday, September 24, 2012

Album review. Drunk. (Things you decide after the world decides against you )

Things you decide after the world decides against you  Is your biased, reddit informed, pre caffeine knowledge of the current state of the world causing you: stress, severe depression, headaches, pelvic cramps, tear/rage sessions with your lover as you sit on a white couch staring at the yaletown moon/morose and somber, decidedly unaroused as you talk about - italics- current events.-end italics- 

You should consider taking up smoking, you neurotic, under qualified, unmotivated lump of misguided intentions. 

Upon first listen of David Byrne and St. Vincent's latest album, I have decided that it is a post modern solution to the depraved craving of this generation; folks, within here lies the menthol cigarette version of huey and the news. Press play at Lazarus. 

Now, I would like to venture a guess of the exact words running through your jazzercised hopped up cranium as your body morphs into a gaseous matter and is carried away by a lung gratifyingly clean and effervescent beat -"Menthol Huey? That sounds like the most fucking on point, cool, neat, just generally fuckibg best thing EVA." to which, if you had said aloud, I would reply , please do not become overexcited dear reader! "Love This Giant" is only seven degrees above the tropic of mediocre, which is still pretty good, and to be quite frank, to sustain the chain smoking level of listening love I have for cigarettes/ breezy, superflously articulated new age music, it is probably better that I learn to balls out fall in love with "love this giant" through familiarity derived from repeated listening, rather than being wholly/completely instantly gratified on the first listen, leaving my body limp and love soaked on a sheet less mattress in some kits bachelor, listening to the rhythm of the shower water, contemplating leaving, but held in place, naked, by the glittering promise of post fuck croissants. 

We all know the croissants were a ruse. 

Thursday, August 16, 2012


How many times must I abase myself in front of the this narcissistic, stimulation starved, apathetic and morally decrepit generation of entitled Vancouver 20 somethings?

When will I ever be good enough? When will I ever be good enough to hear another person's true fucking opinion of me?

Is there a reason why? Why do I have to exist if I am so useless? Day in and day out, we try to better ourselves and push forward, heralding a new day in the hope that it might be better than the last, that we might achieve a full 24 hours relatively unscathed by calamity and disaster, aching to be blissfully unaware during our quiet moments of the dehabilitiating truths that exist about our bodies, our personalities. We are not good enough, we are going to experience pain, but if we try hard enough to focus on the fucking roses perhaps we can manipulate our reality into becoming "positive". I can't handle myself right now, I have no one to cry in the general direction of right now, and once again ###################.  

I think being completely alone is the only way out. 

Wednesday, August 15, 2012

NEVER google calf rennet....just stop eating your fucking Parmesan, and live in blissful unawareness.

Is this neccesary? Answer: NO

Fun things for Vegetarians to do in Vancouver.

-Go to Meat and Bread when it's smokin busy, order a grilled cheese and a beer. By yourself. Not only will you definitely/probably be able to squeeze your skinny butt into a seat inside, you can cry a little after your meal in their super dooper comfortable and discreet washrooms. (I am particularly partial to the "bread" room) - {I actually feel awesome when I do this, their mustard is to DIE FOR.} 

- Walk up and down Davie/Granville/Denman. Particualrirlily exciting at any hour from 12:30pm-4:30am, espeicially when you are starving for vegetables. Your quest for "food" that isn't nauseatingly unauthentic "pizza" or plain fries will be peppered with chance encounters with drunk idiots, friendly idiots, homeless people, people you know, taxi drivers that want your blood on their windshield. Duration: never ending. Pro tip: Don't ever go to fucking Granville street, you desperate alcoholic. 

- Work in a restaurant that on principle, hates vegetarians/vegans

- Date boys. This is fun because you get to imagine all of the gross, dead, chewed up carcasses that have been in/around their mouths. 

- Go to gorilla foods. Three words, "Bonobos Carnival"  Aaaaand "dessert".

- Go to Stackhouse.  ....unless you are afraid of eggs, you aioli snubbing square. 

- Go to the grocery store.  The farmers market. Your fridge.  Your garden. Smile at all the vegetables and tell them your secrets, take care of them. Hold them and love them. 

Monday, August 13, 2012

Dear django django, please tango my mango. 

Play this sweet tits.  Last night I came home from work and sat in the dark for a half hour of silence. Without the Internet. Without my phone. Without a book, or a lusty thought. Without food, without water. No tv, just me on a couch. No pens.

I was dying for something, a thirsty ant in a desert of wanting, changing into a raven, pseudo suspended in the air, circling above a dry archipelago of sand and death. I hover under the sun, with one purpose.  

Below me appears a vast expanse of water,growing and twinkling gold. I change again into a rain drop, surrounded by my brothers as we move together to infinite enlightenment, readying ourselves to become one joined by all. 
 The plane changes and suddenly we are horses racing into the horizon. 

 We look to the future as our bodies hurl themselves ceaselessly into it, a hopeful horizon that holds change and peril in its infinite depth. , our existence is finite and we only have as much of that horizon as we allow ourselves, dropping to the sand from whence we came as our journey to the never reachable dissappearing point steals our years and asphixiates our muscles.  

(I am the problem, I am the ennui filled vessel. In order I become something more satisfactory, even just to painfully inch towards it, I would need to shatter and become empty and nothing simultaneously, in the past only being rebuilt to a )

We are the bugs in the trees, as the dawg by ze breeze suddenly becomes our sole focus as the perspective shifts to round. The woes and rigors of our own personal cuntathalon gets caught in the branches as we expand and become too heavy for the branches, weeping softly as they lower us back to earth.  

I am free of words, of fire and ice. No boys. My heart, although not intact is not unintact either, no bedside squirmishes, but if there were, (I would tell  myself, it's probably happened to snooki. And feel better, instantly.)

We regain awareness of ourselves in the pool, coming back to our bodies, suddenly becoming disjointed as the sun illuminates our slippery skins. The logistical existence we have turned into our aesthetic experience washes away as we swim, slightly apart from another, wanting to be together more than anything else.

^£ We. 

Sunday, July 22, 2012

Album Review: Sean Nicholas Savage - Flamingo

You have been spinning around your apartment for the past week trying not to forget, not only that the love of your life has moved to middle Canada, nonplussed, but also that even if you meet someone TODAY, five minutes from this lung-numbingly unneccesary breathe taking moment of existence, you will be unable to fuck them for at leaaast two years, that is how fucking damaged you feel.  You don't want to forget these things because your whole fucking life has been one fucking chainé from disaster to monumental disaster, learning nothing, ruining everything. Today you pass out for a "nap", unshowered, barely clothed, at 12:20 in the afternoon listening to the blissfully optimistic album "In Rainbows" by the popular and undisputed positive juggernaut electronic ambient ensemble, Radiohead.  

Your mom texts you that she thinks your beautiful, which, oh perfecto, So aesthetically, your mom thinks your still spot on, however, your personality though, which you have been told since fucking birth is THE ONLY PART OF YOU THAT MATTERS fucking sux, you silly little, bitchy little, dumb girl.

You get off the couch and decide to eat and slash or find some different music.  You find this really "great" song.  His name is Sean, and he takes you to this sultry, this sexy little seventies elevator with velvet curtains. 

You begin to touch yourself as the elevator ascends, loving yourself in public like no man has ever loved you before.  You find parts of your private that roll waves out of all the water in your body, you're liquid all over from that moment on, moved only by the moon and this pretty boy, Mr. Savage, and his voice. 

There are purple and gold tassels everywhere, swaying to the beat as a whiff of a fruity SPF passes you by.  It's summer out there somewhere, you care barely, you will get back to the temporary flux of the seasons after this temporary influx of seratonin moving motion. The elevator continues to soar. 

You wonder if this unexpected oasis in your day will ever stop, but stop wondering because the song never stops, the elevator never stops,  and I don't know if you end up showering in the end. 

I showered. 

Thursday, July 5, 2012

Standing in T&T, face to face with Jenny.

.....the saddest cashier in the world.  

Even when shit is falling apart, everything is still pretty peachy keen. I am not an optimist, just to be perfectly clear. I have taken a pointed, cold-hearted gaze at the facts and come to the conclusion that.... I do NOT need to panic, I repeat, I do NOT NEED TO FUCKING PANIC SO CAAALLLLM DOWN BUDS!

At the end of the day, every person that I allowed, yes, that I ALLOWWWWWED to demolish the fragile little kittykat sized balls of emotions that are my privates/heart....... They have all been really,really great guys.  Super nice, considerate, etcetcetctetctetctetctetperfectetcetcetcetcsooperdooperetcetcetcetkindetcconsiderateetcnotabusiveetcetcetcetce.... So I suppose even if 100% of the romantic relationship pies I have partaken in have FAILED......
 FAILURE! Gahahahahaha.

What was I talking about? I can't remember. I think I am actually going to close up shop for the summer though, no more sexy pie time, no more friendly pie time, no more mother fudging, dickin around, text me text me stop texting me for weeks text me text me texty pie bullshit.  Just regular mid day pool, worry about my zinc intake, lay down on the grass and feel the ants bullshit.  

Because, at the veeeerry end of the day, when you are huddled up in your bed alone, listening to valtari as the dying city lights twinkle outside of your window, your crotch twitching and your mind racing, somewhere out in the world there are at least # people that have known you, and liked you considerably, and also consciously chosen to live their life in a parallel universe away from you and your private.  

Friday, June 22, 2012

Some mornings, you listen to You are the Quarry, and groan, because we live in a world that will never know how Steven Patrick Morrissey actually feels.

I don’t know that I can point to a moment when things changed.  All I know is that last summer I was in a bikini, and this summer I’m not.  Several months ago, I hardly thought twice about what the effect of what I am wearing will be on the men I meet out in public, and now I never leave the mirror in the morning without thinking about it.
This girl in California, that recently stopped wearing bikinis. TRAPPED.
I would like to start a discussion about personal freedoms, self restraint, etcetc. For another day, sober.

Wednesday, June 20, 2012

Just another dip; a little slippity slip into the slowly cooling pool of depravity I made for myself.

My friend made me watch that dumb timeline video on the login page for Facebook. [italics, who logs out of Facebook?-]

I was drunk, and watching that video became a weird, instant gratification type of scenario, that or a friends off type of state ensued......anyway. Watching that video was utterly the worst experience of my entire fucking life.  The only thing better than being drunk and NOT watching that movie, is being drunk and deleting your Facebook all together.  For that five minuetes, your mind will be a free raven, a soaring black blip on the cusp of the Internet, heralding in new and old information alike into the new day.  Your hands will jostle busily at the keyboard, constantly bringing witty and exciting subject matter to your most forthright screen, where as before they hovered over only the mouse and your cell phone, twitching nervously with every passing moment devoid of constant smothering attention.  Or touching your private while you masturbated.  

For that five minutes you are nothing, and you have everything, spread before you Like a giant scrollable, reddit page of life.  And then you get drunk, and then you die. The end.  
Ps, nobody loved you.  But I do!

Sunday, June 17, 2012

Oblivion Seeking Slurp

What's better than fathers day?

Being ####### as fuck.

Scared, to call my dad, and my grandpapa, and! Well, die.  Sentence over.

My head is heavy with this past week, and I can not think of Any other way to celebrate than by downing a bottle of shot in the dark, turning up a filthy playlist of crotch grabbing music and falling asleep in my shambles of an apartment.  
It is soooo fucking messy in here.  

Okay, first off, I have found myself entangled in the early stages of what has all the markers of being a long term relationship.  Everything is going swimmingly, at a socially acceptable pace, cues being fired and responded to with an appropriate level of sluttiness.  

We will leave it there for now, because this lovely person has gone back to his home province for a week, to attend a wedding....... Ahhh it would suffice to say that we ALL know about the drunken shenanigans that transpire in east coast provinces under these circumstances, and I can only hope, best case scenario, that we reunite next Sunday more in love, and better for it.  

I have nothing to complain about explicitly at the moment, whoop whoop! ....except for that I wish my little asshole brain would forget the following people,
##### ######
### ########
### ####
##### #########
#### ########

I want to clean my house today, get some rest, and just generally be very drunk for the next 6 days. I believe this method for success will work for me this time, because I won't have to think about a single thing, or work on improving myself, i might even stop crying, nap, drink some more.  .....What type of list did this start out as? Time for some coffee.  I mean wine, and if anyone has a great playlist that matches this spectacular Vancouver summer, please forward toooo meeeee.  (I'm not even being sarcastic, the summer rain is fantastic. )

Sunday, June 10, 2012

Radiohead, crying, open blinds. Breaking up with my  One true gratuitous sex love via text. 

It feels incredibly good to be sitting in your pretty, girl apartment. For about five minutes only though, before the loneliness creeps up your vertebrae, tingling you into a senseless pleasure only to then cut your fucking head off.  At this point, you start feeling a little weird. 

So today I was sooo. Incredibly. Grumppppay with every single person that came within the death shaped radius that surrounded me. I was a ferocious lioness in a field full of lambs, raining my rage down on everything. I might have to deal with the fact that a lot of people might consider me to be a huge bitch now. Or worse, they may know my true self, Just some dumb immature, terrible girl.
I am doing this, jeez whiz, WHHHYY? Everything is so great right now! There is absolutely no need to fuck it up with bratty behavior. Complete Self destruction shouldnt be on ze menu right now! Ahahahahfhghfhdbs.

Okay, breathe deeply, shake The tired sillies outof my eyes and cheer the fuck up! I could be spending my time being a good friend, considerate daughter, I could be an inspiring figure to my younger siblings and cousins, but here I am.  Overwhelmed, but dare i ask, by fucking what?  all of the opportunities and nice people around me? Time to start living! And giving back all of the time / affection I have been sucking my friends dry of.  

Wow, I have been lame lately.  

Tuesday, May 29, 2012

Boys or men, it's the same ball to cock ratio when you're a 22 yo girl.

There are beautiful people out there, that are going to Like. SHIIIIT. They are reeling you in, with their tentacles of flawless skin and supposed infatuation with everything you do. They are going to ravish the fuck out of your private, and then leave.  Not necessarily YOU, but they are most definitely going to check back into their regular routine that you don't fit in, and are too scared to push yourself into.

They are going to ruin the black keys for you, because yea, good choice of fucking music nik.

They are going to ruin your sheets, and give you things, trinkets and scarves, that you haaave to break, because every molecule contains a little piece of them.  

They are going to disappoint you, the hope of them you hold in your heart is going to disappoint you, and eventually, the memories of the great times you shared are going to disappoint you, because they have turned lackluster with time.  

They are going to text you, expecting sex.

AND THEN when you believe in your heart of hearts that you are ready to pull down the shades, light a fucking candle, and get fucking jiggy with yourself, pumping Sigur, loving yourself the way you want to be loved..... It's over.

They disappear, all of them. All of those PEOPLE.  And you can breathe again, you are no longer a ghost, another shade of fucking grey in this insipid rainforest. 

Friday, May 18, 2012

There is nothing fucking funny about half hearted orgasms, you Hollywood lunatics.

The movie, hysteria.

How do you forget about someone that did, actually, exist?

Do you ever get that funny feeling in the pit of your stomach, that every single cock that has ever been in your private was secretly attached to a whole closest case homo nut job?

//disclaimer, this is reaaaalllymore about my rejection issues than my actually perception of these lovely folks' sexually identity. Titty, hahaha.///// For myself, I know. KNOOOOWWWW this to be true.
Par example; henrik.  With his warm embraces and subtle gentlemanly demeanor, his European style of fucking, and catering to my every whim. I believe he was gay because sometimes we would watch, on my sacred virginal bed, those old spice commercials from 2010 (I'm on a horse!) before getting down to the biz nasty.
Adam - ginger and weird
Tony - 30 yo skater. Nuff said. Always wanted to put it in ze butthole.  
Sten - good little Christian boy! Cootchie Cootchie cooooo. Had a girlfriend, wore a lot of lululemon.
Ellie from France - need I say more? He friggin fucked me as I was bleeding out of my vhagine!
Jacob - worked on motherfucking davie street, a whole 15 minute bus ride away from his home. Had a lot of female friends, had a bisexual friend, had a lot of gay male friends, picked me up at THE JUNCTION .... a place he frequented often. Loved his mom like non other, was super considerate and amazing when he wasn't drinking away his closet-cock fueled sorrow to the max, had a very hard time ejaculating, and, quite often, Sperm cummeth Not at all, In a way that led me to believe my body was fucking repulsive to him.  It's been five ish ,months since I've last seen him though, his life might be drastically more heterosexual now, who the fuck knows.
Mac - from north van, maybe they all just turn out that way?
Aaaaaaand last and definitely almost the best lover of them all, this balls out beautiful lacrosse player that was basically cut from marble by Donatello and was brought to life by the magic that is vodka on ice. but who also might spend a lot of time looking at his teammates naked abs and butts and probably has secret crushes on at LEAST three of them.

My ultimate dream in life is to just make nachos, take off my shirt, and do silly little dances in my living room with some dumb guy with super great abs that likes my dumb vegetarian food and has sorta long hair, and we BOOOTH like grizzly bear and tomatoes. AND. MAYBE, on tuesday afternoons, when it is really sunny but we are both so very tired from fucking the nice riiiiiight out of each other, we just sit on my couch, in the late afternoon glow, and read books that we don't really need to read for any particular reason. And then we get to eat MORE nachos! AGAIN!

I basically have decided, I attract These fembot/down lo situations BECAUSE I SECRETLY LOOK LIKE A MAN.  

There is no other rational reason to explain why a crazy, under sexed 22 yo such as myself is still so fucking, mind blowingly, single. 

Wednesday, May 16, 2012

Natalies Rap on repeat! And, if there is anything better than micheal bolton, it is probs michael bolton and lonely island on one fucking track

Sick graphsies by nick gazin via vice, just google it doll face.

you should probably just accept that some days, you are going to spend them so fucking completely blathered on kronenbourg blancs that you are going to not only completely abuse the beautiful gift from god that is photobooth, but you are PROBABLY going to make a huge jerkfaced clown of yuorself on facebook and spend another wednesday night devoid of any tangible moral constitiution, trolling the gum paved street of granville looking for donairs and quiet places to weep with your roommate. fuuuuuuuuck. deleted that biz nasty jd from facebook! free at last.

Monday, May 14, 2012

It takes a brave, or! completely deluded type of person to let a man ejaculate INSIDE of you, knowing that one day you are going to have to push out 7.4 lbs of deranged crazy like me out of your private.

Drinking binge should probably end, right abooouuut, meow.  

I had the whole day off yesterday! HUNG OUT WITH THE OL' MUMSIE POO.  What kind of person receives gifts from their Mummy on Mother's day? .......this girl apparently.

Maybe I am a horrible daughter, for reasons I am actually too ashamed to even admit and definitely won't here.  

I woke up this morning stone cold sober for a change, danced around in my underwear for two hours to Sigur Ros..... Eschewed breakfast in favor of Advil. It was for preventative causes though, I didn't even HAVE a headache Kay.  Contemplated fixing my phone, getting a new one.... Then decided no,  I only use my phone for desperate, slutty purposes anyway.   This is where I am, unable to handle the responsibility of constantly being at the imminent brink of constant communicai with the dilhole ex-lovers of better times past.  

Did I mention that Jacob apologized? Because he did.

Also, little tip of the cock advice here.... Dancing around your apartment naked is fucking healthy for your self esteem.... I guarantee that you will NOT reach a point in your day in which you will feel THAT motherfucking fat.

Kisses fuckas.  

Monday, May 7, 2012

Dude. I just got it

Only old people like me... Because I look so horrible and degenerated, just like them, forever alone, etcetc,MY LIFE IS A MESS.


gee whiz. Ps, my brother just won a piano thingy or something, here I am, the lost child, listening to End Theme and trying on outfits. Who is thrall ire of these two siblings?

Sunday, May 6, 2012


Single People sex kiiiiind of is a huge waste of fucking time.

Nobody loves you after, for starters.  Let us be clear though, it is usually amazing and lovely and blah blah blah privates happy etcetc cock in vag hohum.  

I think I'm just over it, maybe, who knows.  ..... Maybe just up to the midway guzzle of my fourth/thousandth beer when the solitude of early morning debauchery presses most heavy on my heart.

I should probably stop talking about my favourite conquest as well, oh you know the one! The epicenter of the most shameful infatuation I have ever felt. Mostly because I literally can not restrain myself from over saturating our texting convo with my dumb texts.  

I called him kittykat once people, which is part of the reason why my face is in my hands in utter despair.   Other really great moments -
that time you said 'to heck with you dignity!' and texted, called, first, relentlessly, without response.  Oh wait, that was EVERY FUCKING TIME.  
That time he asked me, pointing to a fleur de lis, what this is and I said fleur d'aunis, because apparently I am obsessed with my dumb job and have nothing else except stinky rind washed cheeses to think about.
  That time I was really boring
....oh yea! Best ever! That time after he kisses me goodbye, I whisper in his ear......"..thank you for not cumming inside of me. "

At this point I should have seppuku'd.

Oy fucking vey.

And then yesterday, Because I am amazing, I went to the Flying Pig for brunch. Before work, and drank a half bottle of champagne with a friend, a wise older woman who I wanted to learn from.  At this pointin my life, I needed a mentor to tell me ... Something. Prolific, prophetic, I didn't even care, I would have taken anything.  In fact, I took the croque Madame, sans le jambon, a big swig of champers, and listened to every word she had for me.  It was amazing, but telling, and awful, and at the end, after the brunch crowd had dissipated, I  fiiiinally had the opportunity to use my cod joke (Chef Eric says to us, get over it! Plenty of other fish in the sea! And I say yea, but not a lot of Atlantic cod.  Crickets. ), we said goodbye to the neighboring table of elderly brunching hipster ladies (dump him, they agree, unknowing I actually don't have anything to dump)  and I left for work, all bubbles and foam on the inside, giddy and sad,

What an exciting time.  

Friday, May 4, 2012

It Must be Odd

I feel like I miss the staring in part of life, looking in on a world of hippies and Asians and transient souls from an afar suburb.  

I'm from a small town, I currently live in the bubble.  
I wish I hadn't come here sometimes, that I still had the safety net of my family, my puppy, long dead now, my brothers, my mother.  
What did I trade it all in for? Concrete and bitches.


Thursday, May 3, 2012

Ps, just checked my google reader, hilarious juxtaposition ensued

Hint, it has nothing to do with mad cows.

Bitch in the kitch

Today I made RAW! Vegan! DESSERT NACHOOOOOOSSERS! It was fucking tasty. In lieu of tortilla chips, I used frozen raspberries and grapes, cheese was replaced with slightly slushyish almond breeze, and ground animal parts was replaced with kashi lean crunch. Yea, it all was frozen ish. But DELECTABLE! Xoxoxoxooxoxoxoxoxoxoxoooooxx

Monday, April 30, 2012

Proud to be Canadian?

This is dumbo

Don't Cum Where You Feast

Do you ever find yourself cutting the ennui of your monotone, listless, half hampered early mid twenties by saying fuck it, I'm going to go watch the game and eat my favesies veggie burger of all time, and drink a beer (immediately BEFORE work), just to shake the shit out of the sleeping corpse of excitement that has become your life?  

This is what I decided to do on Saturday, to plague the fantastic burger establishment Stackhouse with my mopey fucking face. I was also dressed like some sort of manic phased lesbian, so there's that. I go there to eat alone k?they have a tv, bar stools, and if you were feeling obnoxiously indulgent, there are also chairs and tables for parties of two or more. On this particular occasion I chose the stool one in from the right, waved away the menus, and set my roots.  

My beer arrived quickly, foamy and frosty, so idyllic, and at this point in my alcoholism, tasting like a life force purer than water, or liquid 325.5 k diamond for that matter.  ......and then it dawned on me.  This is PURRRRRRRFECT. having a place, where I feel so comfortable being alone.  I don't need a reason other than this, and let us be honest here, BALLS OUT INSANE TARRAGON AOILI DOUSED, EDAMAME FILLED, ARUGULA CASCADING VEG BURGER FROM THE PLANET CALLED FUCKING TASTY TREATS BIIIITCHES.
I can orgasm rapidly and silently on my little stool as each mouthful of lovingly crafted vegetarian gold hugs me from the tummy side out. Have you ever had an eating disorder? Dude, just come to Stackhouse, its on Granville and Davie across from the Morrissey, and just love, and be loved, by this delicious inanimate food object.  

But, that isn't even why I'm writing today.  I wanted to type about how fucking precious being alone is sometimes.  I have never brought a lover, as its awkward receiving so much carnal, gustatory pleasure from food in front of other people.  It was bad enough that the most insanely hot bartender/ server that works there had to stand by while I basically fake watched the Washington rangers game, disguising the roiling pleasure building inside of me as I ate and creamed in my seat.  

He was reaaaaally hot.

But yea, moral of the story, Stackhouse is a sacred sanctuary untainted by the visceral grip of death that is the companionship of a lover.  Annnnd, it's gunna stay that way. Haha.


Saturday, April 28, 2012

If you feel like peering into a future filled with endless amounts of anguish and bitter loss

Then I have ze video for you mes amis.

The narrative details a harsh reality,  including the truth that no matter how wasted you are everyday,  you will never forget the tragic, heart wrenching, liver failure inducing, lung collapsing, fact facing moments of your life.  It is a big fuck you to that little optimistic olga in your brain, that believes you WILL and CAN overcome.  So, a little advice,  you might as well grim the fuck up and stop tryyyying to get over it, because you will NEVER.

PS, no one loved you then, and the chance that anything has changed since is pretty fudging slim.

Also! Sometimes you come to realize, that even though you basically live in a box, and there may be an infinite amount of daisy petal encrusted  estrogen tumbling from your very own private boxy box, the reality is you spend your nights dancing down the empty concrete streets of a culturally decrepit  neighborhood. AAAANNND you know zilch. Haha, yea that was me, Just spinning this little convo back to my own personal life here, but yea, idk. Life is pointless, yadda yadda, you have good times, you have bad times. Sometimes you smell like a freshly peeled grapefruit covered by dewy moringaceae that just hopped out of a cookie dough ice cream factory. Other times, you smell like onions and garlic.  There is a little ray of sunshine I want to hold on to though, that even though you smell like Buddhas compost sometimes, you probably deserve to exist and look forward to the next day that you have the power to make exponentially better for yourself, and other people too possibly!

I loaaaathe the lyrics to this song, because it is implying I am going to be gripped by memories of the pain I am currently going through now, forever. Foreva eva, eva eva. That's fun, right.

Thursday, April 26, 2012

Sooooooooo...... Maybe I'll hop back on the ladyporn train before I ruin everything moaaar

Heyo, you. 

Long time, no heart to heartisies, well guess what skanks, it's time to estro out!  Fuck everything, let us just explode in a big sweaty heap of dirty secrets and loquacious shame. 

Do you want to know what I motherfucking did today? Itis baaaaaad, it is quite possibly thee most deranged and pathetic event i have partaken in since that one time with that french kid in kits.

  I crossed a HUUUUUUUGE line, As in legally, you could basically arrest me for flat out being pyscho stalker of the year guinness world record CHAMP,  ya that's me, no bigs.


ps it was JjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjfuckIng cob.  

PPs, why does this city feel so small, every street and park a potential disaster, as the thought of the imminent onslaught of meetings with past lovers chips away at my nervous system.

Ppps chub club. YouTube it. 

Wednesday, April 25, 2012

Do you ever

Find pieces of yourself on the Internet you wish you had been sober for?

Dude stop!pleeease stop typing. You sound like a ruthless maniac!

.... Or at least take advantage of the anonymous option, jeez Louise kid.
< br/>

Down past the quay, where the rainwalkers go,

i sang this to my love about two years ago and we're still in love with each other. even tho i'm 16 girl i think i've found the one. I let him go before because long distance and another girl he started to like. But now he's come back to me and you know what they say. . . But lol i love this song it's changed my life. :-) [sic]

Well, jamming out to my slow jamz and boom.  

I'm basically a sixteen year old girl, on pot.  

Lifestyle change followed by a little euthanasia please. 

Tuesday, April 24, 2012

Ps, online dating has been amping up the hilarity this week.

Fidgety finance guy makes dating look fun! .... I love excel.

Entitled assholes finding other entitled assholes .... For the niche market of assssssholes VS jet set ready escorts

Benny And the jets burlesque style, ring of cocks

Awe! Rich and suzanne must really love eachother!


You tube Tuesday , which is actually YouTube Monday, because these links were probs more relevant to my emotional biochemistry at that point in time.      

  White killer whales

  Some aspirational music  


  Some cray cray


  Annnd this protector by ze white stripes.


So, yea I have basically been a ghost for the past six months, haunting all the forgotten, repressed memory sections of the city.  Like, !!! Davie street! And, the same place i found that beautiful stone lettering above! 

spoiler alert!  


The sea wall. 

Also, what if I smell like shit?  
Honestly, is this the reason I'm still single? ... 
Could it really be, The fecal aroma of stomach acid poached, intestine molded crudité pâté that surrounds me? 
But! Alternatively, What if I'm in the washroom after a little lovemaking, and my partner takes a shit in my room? Do I really want to be that intimate with someone who could defecate, figuratively and literally, all of his baggage all overrrrr the most intimate, personal areas of my life?   

Arrrrrgh. Probs not. 

Sunday, April 15, 2012


Yea, video update for this week today.

Dom bombed on Sunday. Another year marked by the escapist tendencies of this rapidly aging alcoholic fem bot.

Shitcanned Tuesday, dragged in a drunken stupor from yaletown, to the Granville room and east van

Informed by wasted Jacob at 4:36 am that we are not allowed to be friends even, with apologies if that should seem...... Cold. 

Suuuuuuuper dooper Saturday, except. This! Really great video was playing behind my head the entire duration of an otherwise totally satisfactory ravishing sesh.

This fucking video!

Dude. What the fuck.

Why was i born in this dumb generation of stimulus starved narcissistic boys.

Sunday, March 18, 2012

Shows up to work on st. Patty's day three Stella's deep. / has the best Saturday service evar

My boobs are erupting in a soft and squishy explosion of titstacularly mammoth proportions. I have never been happier in my entire life. I am also eating nachos, alone, watching my sensuous tan fade, watching my skin re calibrate to DRY, sobering up. I am also a huge idiota and have no more answers, no original questions. Serious lack of curiosity of the world outside my little itty bitty apartment, check. People still think I am ________. ....... Goodnight! Beauty sleep time. ALONE. Ps might as well stop reading now, I have lost the gift to turn the mundane into the extraordinarily complicated, thanks grown up life. Xoxoxoxoxoxxoxoxoxoxxxxxxxoo

Friday, February 24, 2012

For Fudge cakes pt2

It has been two months since I have had sex. TWO MONTHS. My body is going to erupt.

I am empty

No words





Non sequitur 

I am considering making a bootycallTo poss off ze roommate

Bad person

Tuesday, January 31, 2012

6 days till Waikiki

Do people think you are really nice? I mean like, sooper dooper way too fucking nice so they are going to teach you a lesson by taking advantage of you, shitting all over everything, touching your motherfucking mis en place and asking you to make them food when you are FUCKING BUSY and then.... As it turns out they had this huge quinoa salad anyway? WHY ARE SO CHEAP AND WHY DO WANT TO EAT ALL OF VEGETARIAN LASAGNA FOR FREE. Why are you trying to control me and why do think I  am so fucking nice.   
I am almost, 110% a huge CUNT.    
Just because you haven't seen my face of disdain and disgust and hatred yet, does NOT mean it does not exist.  In fact, you are lucky and should be counting your blessed fucking stars that you haven't seen it yet because you would melt into a sphere of fear and remorse, coated Ina thin film of the sticky bronzer you wear.  
YOu would cease to resist in the alternate reality that is the fucking kitchen.   
Plus, it has been 34 days since I have had sex.  

Tuesday, January 17, 2012

So you decided to buy some lacy underthings even though! You are single! Good choices.

The best thing about spending a bijillion dollars on lacy underwear is that moment when you've put it all on, every bra and thong at the same time. You're sitting on your bed, poking your thighs deciding if you should even bother standing up to grab headphones so you can fall blissfully away into unawareness listening to the kooks, or if you should try crying and masturbating to your roommates current song choice, holiday inn. At the hotel motel wah wah. You choose headphones because,  shitty dance music from several years ago. So there you are, alone, laying down, mascara smudged all over your cheek and pillowcase.  You are a new shade of desperate today.  As your body prepares itself to start bleeding as womens bodies do, and in underwear that nobody cares about, will see, want torip off with their teeth, throw across the room, park, car.  As your phone lays beside you, lifeless cool silver whose function as a bootycall receptor has become defunct. As your roommate switches to smooth jazz and your iPod dies, charger out of reach, as your body changes shape and function, clothes eroding and reappearing, as you stretch and expand, as the cool smooth stream of gin and beer and vodcrans trickles its way inside of you, altering your insides. as your liver and heart, hand in hand with your moral composition transform into something new, leaving the archaic ideal of health as a distant memory.  As the cats, the  cloying and putrid liveliness of the cats, breeding and dying around you.  As you turn 32, you remain this way, alone.  

Monday, January 9, 2012

Why do people even GET excited about sex. You're just alone in the end.

2012-01-08 One thing I love about Vancouver..... My boobs are small enough to go to a bar and drink alone without being harassed by the ever insistent, perineal variety of douchenozzles that are rampant on these mean streets At least they are local though right?

Jacob and I broke upsies....... Alone again.

Have 29 days till Hawaii which leaves no time for the necessary opulence of emotional eating. Hate boys. Roommates leaving.

PLUS I think that, perhaps, there is a ghost in my room. My lamp keeps turning on and off every time I shift on my bed. I would rather deal with a ghost than the imminent danger of electrocution which is probably the case I should face...... But seriously why acknowledge my problems when I can pretend they are not even fucking there?

Like why IT ENDED.

Liiiiiiiike.....I am a huge crabby patty today.