Well, 'Elephant' was good. The first movie in a long time that has terrified me. On the bus after I kept looking at all the other people and their bags, nervous. I highly recommend that film, it's directed by the guy who did 'Drugstore Cowboy' and 'My Own Private Idaho.' Glorious soundtrack, too - pure piano.
13 pages of the novella done. Getting there. I like the premise: all identity and restriction and what-not. Actually I guess that's more like theme. Who cares. The main character's name is Tabitha, and that's all that matters.
The gin is taking over my life yet again! What a glorious feeling. And raspberry juice and tonic water and endless crackers with cream cheese. I bought Matt a brownie yesterday and watched him eat it, smelled the fudge. I am going to the dentist soon - here is proof that I'm a horrible, grubby person: I have not been to the dentist in almost FIVE YEARS. I have four visible cavities. I hope it's not too expensive. I hope I don't need any root canals. But it will be nice to eat desserts again, and not have people accusing me of trying to starve myself or being a poor feminist because I deny myself sugar-pleasure. Have these people seen me eat fries? Have the noticed that I can eat crackers and cream cheese for HOURS? Apparently not.
A fantastical and racous writing session at my place on Monday. The usual suspects in attendance. We drank martinis and feasted on dried craisans and chocolate-grease delicacies imported from Korea. Wrote some. Busted out the photo albums, which had unexpected results: Genevieve laughed for nearly 20 minutes solid over a picture of my 2nd eldest brother and his dog Jaggermesiter - said dog was dressed in vintage Okanagan plaid and shaking 2nd eldest brother's hand. Prompted the question: "Are ALL your pets named after alcohol?" Sambuca took offence. She is a liqueur.
Had the grand idea of opening a retirement home for sick, unwanted dogs! It would be a non-profit organization and I would get grants and play with dogs all day long on 5 acres of waterfront Salt Spring land. Matt was instantly opposed to the idea, of course. My theory is that men are threatened by women who love dogs. It makes sense; totally understandable. What I don't understand is that old phrase, 'dogs are a man's best friend.' What? My earliest memories are of my father, normally a gentle man, shrieking and banishing family dogs from the dinner table. "Get that MUTT out of here!" he would shout. Sometimes we would sneak the dog under the table, and when he found out he would leave the room, dinner un-finished, enraged. Nothing bothered him like large dogs.
Seeing a film tonight: "Elephant." Should be cool. I haven't seen a decent film since '13 Conversations About One Thing," and that was nearly two weeks ago.
Morgan: You haven't updated since January 6th.
Computer still has that infection. I'm losing hope, and at one of the computer labs at school again. In a basement. I loathe basements.
Remember in my last entry I said I was going to Felicita's to write? Well I sort of wrote, but also got mind-numbingly drunk. I dragged some SUBtext kids over after a few hours, and drank more. Then I didn't remember the bus ride home, only that I passed out at 6pm or so. Jess said I had been raving about small breasts at the back of the bus, and people were staring. At least I didn't tell my Mysterious Vibrator story ...
Martinis on Friday! Many of them! Including one called Pussy Galore! At Hunters with a fine crew, including Matt, Ben, Pete, Genevieve, and Lise. We went to the Brickyard after for pizza and beer, and to hang out with a different social class. Then on Saturday Matt and I bought four martini glasses. I can't wait to make crantinis tonight. I'm going to use the silver cocktail shaker!
Got tix for the Pixies, who are playing at the Curling Club sometime in April. I'm delirious with excitement. I don't even really like live shows that much, and then it struck me that I only want to go if I know I can't, ie, because the Pixies broke up and I thought I'd never see them. And now the reunion tour! Next on my list: Sublime and Morphine. And Tom Waits.
I received the filthiest glare of my life on Saturday. It was after Matt and I had waited for two hours to buy Pixies tickets, in the cold, and of course I was very hungover. I went crazy. I couldn't think. I only wanted to eat, so Matt and I rushed across town to the Blue Fox for breakfast. We were almost running. I couldn't think straight. Then, less than half a block from the cafe, Matt STOPPED and started to intently study this window display at a print shop. "What, what?" I said impatently. There was nothing in the window. Matt wouldn't answer, and I started yelling, "What, what, what, what, what, what, what, what, WHAT?!" Seriously, like ten times. There was a middle-aged woman at the bus shelter and she looked at me with absolute loathing. I've never felt such hate directed at me. I concluded that she must have a son Matt's age with a real shrew for a girlfriend, and I reminded her of this. It was kind of a neat feeling.
Internet been down for a week! Not pleased. Viruses. A viral infestation. No amount of cough medicine or antibiotics can fix.
There's hearsay - from a good source - that all grant funding for post-sec education in BC will be CUT this September. This right after I had planned to do an extra year ... So, probably I will cram 5 courses into the summer and be poor. This fucking sucks. If there had been no grants when I was in 1st Year, I would simply not have been able to attend university. I'm thinking about the thousands of kids out there who are graduating high school this year and will have absolutely no opportunity to get a higher education. I hate this province, it has become a haven for the elite, and I want out.
Valentine's Day was fun - I received roses (white ones), Matt received love poems, and we went for dinner at Rebar and saw a Carolyn Mark acoustic set. Carolyn Mark rules! One of her songs was called "Take Me Out for Breakfast and Buy Me a Bottle of Wine." And she complimented my star bag. "Nice star bag," she said. Into the microphone! Then we watched "Morvern Callar" - a disappointing film - and ate copious amounts of crackers and cream cheese, and drank rye.
Starting the novella today. That's right: starting. I'm going over to Felicita's in a few minutes and will not leave until I have at least ten pages done. Ten pages of fiction! It's impossible, I know, but I was supposed to have 30 done by last week, so I really have no choice. I work better under pressure though, and if I write ten pages in one day, it tends to be stronger, somehow, than ten pages written over ten days. Go figure. I feel panic. Intense. This is good.
Does anybody know how to wash clothing made of wool? Do you just put cold water in the bathtub and add detergent and swish it around a bit? I need help. My favourite sweater has been in the laundry hamper for months. Or weeks. I want to show it off again.
What I Put in my Body Yesterday:
- 1 vegi roll
- 1 bite of a vegi burger
- 3 cups of coffee
- 2 cups of tea
- 2 cocktails
- 1 pint of beer
- 12 cigarettes
Gah!
A glorious quote from Sylvia Plath: "Nothing stinks like a pile of unpublished writing." Hmm ... What about a pile of rejection slips?
Just realized - the sound of a cork being pulled from a bottle of cheap wine is enthralling.
Tip: Never mix together ketchup, ranch dressing, and sour cream to make a dip for tortilla chips. Never.
Apparently I've entered a sort of Oscar contest. I guessed who all the winners will be and if I'm right and win the draw I will get a home entertainment system and free movie passes for a year! Of course I won't win, because a) I voted for Lost in Translation in most of the categories and b) I never win things if a draw is involved. Drinko Bingo, on the other hand ...
A cool brunch at Banana Belt Cafe this morning, with a fine crew of ten. A wonderful shrimp-avocado-lettuce-cream-cheese sandwich experience was marred only when Ben and I discovered - shock! - that the two short stories we had respectively started in the last day both have the same opening scene. How is that even possible? We hadn't spoken since Friday night. Odd.
I had a horrible experience today, attempting to buy bath towels. I had three different towels in my hands and was about to buy them, and suddenly everything was terrifying and I shrieked, "These are too cheap! These are thread-bare!" and hurled them back on the shelf. I was so disappointed. They were nice towels; vibrant colours. But I couldn't buy them. Then on the way home I raged to Matt about this story I had written over a year ago regarding a woman and baths, and how no one understood it and I was too obsessive of people's opinions of me. I don't like being loud in public, I feel undignified, and anyway the story was a year ago, but DAMN. I had liked that story, and couldn't help but yell all of the reasons why. On Camosun St. Thank God I no longer live in Oak Bay - the land where hoodies are looked on with scorn and aggression!
Is that boring? I worry about being boring lately.
I can't write! Spent almost 3 hours this afternoon staring at the computer screen, writing only depressing little self-indulgent things like "all the pretty words have gone away" and drinking coffee and tea and forcibly restraining myself from going out and buying booze. My whole body is tense and I'm thinking this time, THIS TIME, something is going to go horribly wrong, and some weird existential thing will happen where I'll stop being alive if I stop writing. It's all muddled. I'm thinking, come on, just create a character and give her a desire, you've done it a million times before (14 actually) but all the desires are stupid ones, like, everyone else at the "office" has a nervous breakdown so the character wants one too, just DRIVEL. I'm going insane and the landlord is working on the deck so I can't go out there to smoke but if I go outside I may wind up at the beer and wine store and now it's 3:17 and nothing's been done, nothing, except a lot of housework and a phone call to my mother during which we argued about religion and eugenics and the fact that I am "young and impressionable" and therefore university is changing me into a different person.
I can feel the months of excess building up as an intense pain in my bones. Ah, me bones ...
Tried to see the Hunter S. Thompson documentary on Thursday night, but it was sold out. Matt, Pete, T., and I stood in line for half an hour and even bought our $2 VIFV memberships before being told we had to leave. So we went to Big Bad John's.
A fine time was had there - 4 rounds of XXX beer and peanuts galore. I was hit on by 2 men who told me I looked like Sarah MacLachlan, then later, as I was waiting alone for the boys to get back from smoking weed, insisted that if THEY were my boyfriends (I'm sure they used plural), I would not be left alone like this. But I don't mind being left alone at BBJ's for short periods - there is always so much to see. An elderly man leaped to his feet and shrieked like a girl when one of the rubber snakes was lowered onto his table, and this guy I had a class with in 1st Year was sitting at the bar with all the old men, screaming and making a fool of himself at each of the women who walked by. Wonderful times!
Friday - a bit of a difficult day at work, then beautiful lunch with Matt at the Grad Lounge. I had the mushroom swiss falafel burger with a mountain of fries.
At 4 we returned to Big Bad John's to meet with a crew of writing students, but we were late and by the time we got there they had switched plans and gone next door to the Sticky Wicket. On my way over an old man asked for change and I said no, and as I walked away he shouted, "But you're so pretty ... You're beautiful!" Why don't I get hit on by normal people? I think drunks can smell the alcoholic build-up in my blood, and this encourages them, somehow. I arrived in a nasty mood; demanded, "Why aren't we at Big Bad John's?" to which Ben looked worried and replied, "Are you okay?" I was and I wasn't. My bones were hurting. Many of the writing students said, "I hate Big Bad John's, it's so creepy and dirty in there," and I could only say, "My daddy was a truck driver. I like it." Interesting note - there is a picture of me at my 5th birthday party standing in front of my uncle Pat, now deceased, and he is wearing a tight blue t-shirt, the words "Big Bad John's" stretched across his beer belly. I just think that is so cool.
I had a rye and coke, then left and wandered the streets, depressed for no reason and crying for stretches along Pandora Street. I rented a horrible movie - "Bubble Boy" - and watched half of it before heading over to a party at Kerry's house, where there was hummous and pita and avocado things and sliced pear and Brie cheese. Lots of fascinating conversation, but I was not in the mood to socialize, and at 10 or so Matt, Ben, and Michael walked me home, and in an amazing and classy move, Matt stayed, blowing off other plans he'd had, to cheer me up.
And now some of the SUBtext kids want to go to Big Bad John's tonight. Considering this. As Johnny Depp/Hunter S. Thompson says: "Anything worth doing ... Is worth doing right."
Today as I walked home from the bus stop, I observed two high school girls yelling, "Freak!" and "Run, run, you stupid freak!" These two girls were fat and wore a lot of make-up, and they were yelling at a blonde girl who was running as fast as she could down Pandora St. "Freak, freak!" they yelled. I wanted to bash their fashionable heads in, but I had been drinking earlier and was sprinting home to pee.
Drinking - it was at local pub with a bunch of writers at 1pm, and we had an awful waitress, the same one who, two weeks ago, was offensively rude to me and a couple of the SUBtext kids. I was surprised she was still working there, because apparently there had been official complaints filed after the last incident. I don't know what it's like to be a waitress, as I am far too clumsy to even apply, but I don't believe it would take an insane amount of effort to be civil and polite. Anyway. She didn't get a tip this time, either.
Quote from current issue of SUBterrain: "His personal appearance was shocking. Even with nothing to do all day long, his unwashed dishes were piled high. In my experience these are tell-tale signs of a dangerous terrorist." ~ George E. Bush
Best feeling in the world - you drink beer all afternoon and evening, and at 10:15pm you think you've only got one left, and then you reach in the fridge and discover you have two.
Watched "Chocolat" the other night. Charming. How is Johnny Depp so cool? I hope they make a movie out of another of Joanne Harris's books, "Five Quarters of the Orange." I think it's even better.
Story done! A whopping 3700 words. Life good.
New shampoo, Moosehead beer, nachos. A few of the good things that have happened today. There were a lot of strange people crossing my path in the afternoon ... Strangers in the truest sense. The electricity that sizzles around some people is creepy. I also have issues with London Drugs. Why do people stand in the middle of aisles? They don't do that in other stores. Maybe Fairway Market in Oak Bay. But not as much as London Drugs. And at least Fairway Market in Oak Bay has onion cheese buns for only 35 cents.
Tomorrow I'm going to see a Hunter S. Thompson documentary! Oh, and I've also decided to delay graduation by a year. Work in the summer, do part-school, part-classes the following school year. There are many reasons for this. If you care that much, you can ask me.
Well, got senselessly smashed at the Monday night writing thang last night. I don't regret it, but it was quite unexpected - just sort of happened, really, suddenly it was 10 o'clock and I was falling over in the kitchen and taking pictures. It's the wine, I think - not used to it. After everyone left I fell again, onto the corner of my bedside table, and now I have a festering red gouge on my back. Blech! Wrote a kind of cool thing though, based on these writing exercises we've taken to doing now; first line: "We wait, my cigarette and I."
Ugh! Sambuca just puked. Such a horrible sticky liquidy feral sound.
I've been converted to wine! It's taken years but here I am, purchasing and consuming wine. Me.
Writing retreat was good clean fun. Gorgeous cabin up at Lake Cowichan, though we had to boil all drinking water. A dock, where I stood several times watching snowflakes fall into the water. Snowflakes. Got a poem done and a bit of planning for the revision of "The Truck Parade" (retitled "Crashing The Truck Parade"). Some good chats with good people, and interesting food, including squash stew, which was fabulous, and pan-flavoured bean burritos, which Matt and Russ made. :) It was cool cuz there were 8 of us and maybe 4 were vegetarian, but all the meat-eaters decided to go without meat for the weekend to make the cooking easier. I'm amazed. I would never have agreed to that when I was still a meat-eater. People rule lately.
Got 1000 words of my revision done this afternoon. It's one of those stupid revisions that are actually complete rewrites, which is difficult because in essence you're writing a totally new story, from scratch. Well, it's good cuz the end product will be better, but way more work. Oh well, I seem to write better on nervous breakdown inducing deadlines, anyway. My work is always better when I don't have enough time. Why is this? And can I work it to my advantage?
The mirrors in the ladies washroom in the SUB were papered over today, with messages like 'Fuck Beauty Standards' or words to that effect scrawled all over them. So cool. Apparently there's going to be a public scale-smashing tomorrow. I didn't think those were real! I won't be able to go though. I won't be able to do anything tomorrow. Why? Because I have a revision that's actually a rewrite.
Michael's birthday potluck was last night. So much fun. I love potlucks! They make me feel all community! Tons of super-cool people and food, a revealing game of I Never (ask Matt about Sailor Moon, I dare you), and I believe at one point I was described to someone else as a 'Christian Fag Hag.' Meh?