Tuesday, March 30, 2010

I'm Getting There

WELL. Wasn't THAT something earlier?

I was feeling pretty down today, I will admit. But, my friend Chiara gave me a call.

There is nothing as therapeutic as girl talk. Nothing. Just sitting and hashing it out with a friend is so great, just getting everything out there. I feel lighter now, and my head is clearer. I laughed a lot. And, we had chocolate mousse cake, and strawberry cheesecake. We talked about the break up a little bit, but mostly we bitched about other things, made plans and watched South Park.

One of the things I'm really looking forward to is spending more time with my friends. Honestly, I never put a lot of stock into friends before, no offense to those that are reading. I just thought that friends come and go, and you can always make more. Anyway, I've always figured I was better on my own.
But now I'm really seeing how important it is to have people around you who are just quality friends. I don't know where I would be without you guys right now. I've gotten more hugs today than I have in the last couple of months. You're all so cool!

I think, already, I'm slowly getting used to this. This isn't the end of my life. I still miss you, Max,
but as I was walking home tonight, with Love Like A Sunset playing in my ears, and a full moon shining, I felt invincible. I'm going to be okay, and I know you will be too, Max.

Also, watching Project Runyway right now, and this Keith fellow is a mega douche. You're clothes suck, dumbass. "Oh, there's criticism, and then there's insult." Get over it, fag. You wanna be on a reality TV show, get some thicker skin, christ.

PS. Goddamnit, they're raising bus fare again, on April 1st. It's already at $2.50 for us big kids! A bus pass is $73!! And do you know how hard it is to scrape together two dollars and fifty cents in change when you are out of bus tickets? Now we're going to have to get together $2.75? Man, give us a break.

Love Like A Sunset

"Hey, Lisa! How are you?"
"Miserable, thanks!"

I seriously never knew like I could feel like such shit before. I know I did the breaking up, but fuck me. I can't stop thinking about Max. I can't eat.

Don't get me wrong. I think I did make the right decision with all of this, no matter how much it hurts. But boy, how it hurts.

Gloria, one of my bosses at Famous Foods, gave me a little pep talk talk today, and it made me feel so much better. But then I went from UP up middle down DOWN. And I really can't figure out why I feel so fucking lousy. I know I made the right decision. God, what if I didn't? What if I just screwed myself out of the only happiness I'll ever know? This is fucked, this is so fucked up.

A few people have told me that the tears are a good sign. "If this didn't upset you at all, then that means the last three years have meant nothing." I have to agree with them. The last three years of my life HAVE been amazing, and I developed into a person I almost like during them. And I know I said this before, but Max was truly the best first boyfriend I could have ever asked for. I think I just changed so much, that I grew out of the relationship. We were so young when we met. Max said that it was a "stretch to think you'd be with your first boyfriend forever."

And I know that I DO want to date other people one day. I want to see what else is out there for me. But I didn't know I'd have to feel so fucked up beforehand.

Canucks and communists remind me of you,
now 20's and 26's hurt me too.

Is it fucked up that I almost wish I would get in an accident that was serious enough to send me to the hospital, so that Max would come and visit me? I dreamed about him again last night. He forgave me, and we went out to dinner. I couldn't stop staring at his lips and his unbuttoned shirt. Christ.

Jesus, this is only the second day. I am a faggot.

Lisa, what drives you to keep on truckin'?

Put my hood up, turn on my iPod, keep moving and never stop.

Did you like my little play on words up there?

Yes. Yes, I did.



Monday, March 29, 2010

Here's A Wish For The Future

3 years and 2 months.

I was 16 when I first met Max. Well, met online. We talked for almost 2 months online before we decided to meet in person. I was unaware that my friend Wendeanna had set the whole thing up. She said she knew a boy who looked an awful lot like Patrick Stump. Being the fan girl that I am, I messaged him on Nexopia (ah, the days of Nexopia). We talked, and talked and talked some more. I was starting to like him, and I had the feeling that maybe, just maybe, he liked me too. This was monumental at the time, because no one had EVER liked me before. I couldn't sleep, I couldn't eat, and all I did was think about him. Was it even possible that a boy as cute, interesting and nice as Max could like me back?

We went ice skating the first time we met. I had never been so nervous before in my whole life. He was a little bit late, and I thought he had bailed and wasn't showing up. Wendeanna and I started skating anyway, and then we saw him walk in, looking for us. Somehow, I grew a pair, and skated over, and tried not to look as nervous as I felt. We talked for a bit as he put on his skates, and then I found out he couldn't skate. At all. So, to remedy this, I linked arms with him the whole time. I know, right? Shy little Lisa? I couldn't believe it either, really. Wendeanna kept trying to skate ahead and leave us alone, but I was so nervous I didn't know what to talk about so I made her stick around. I don't even remember what I talked about, to be honest. And really, I wasn't even supposed to be there. The rule in my house was No Boys Until you're 17.

We went out for hot chocolate after, and then walked back to Wendeanna's house, where my dad said he would pick me up. As we were saying goodbye, Max hugged me. It was kind of a lingering hug, and my heart was beating so hard I felt like I was going to choke. Just as he turned to go, I realized he was still wearing my scarf from when I lent it to him. Later, he told me that had been his plan, to keep the scarf so he had another reason to see me again. That still makes me smile.

Hahaha, I just remembered the first time he kissed me on the cheek. Yes, just on the cheek, but I was like, mind blown. I couldn't even walk properly after that. It was only a kiss on the cheek, but I melted.

On January 26th, 2007, we officially started dating, and I got my first kiss. I considered keeping it a secret from my parents, but they found out anyway, since one of my dads friends saw us together, and then I was in trouble. Max had to come and meet my parents (well, mostly meet my dad) before we were really allowed to see each other. So he came over one night, after dinner. Christ, that was the most awkward, embarrassing thing I've ever had to sit through. It was like a game of 20 Questions, with my dad grilling Max for anything that would deem him unacceptable. But, he passed the test. After, as he was about to leave, I said "I am so, so sorry about that." and he said "It's okay. I wouldn't have done it for anyone else."

And then I was happy. We held hands, kissing turned to making out, I met his friends, we went on dates, had sex for the first time, celebrated anniversaries, birthdays, Christmas. I cried and he comforted me. We told each other about ourselves, and he became my best friend. No secret was safe from Max, because I would tell him everything. The best times were when we had tried to go to sleep but found we were wide awake, and talked and talked, sometimes for hours, about everything.

I don't think we ever had a real fight. There were times where we would get annoyed with each other (even though we wouldn't say anything, I could tell). Sometimes he'd bother me, sometimes I'd bother him, but we never fought. There were disagreements, but more often than not we were on the same page. He was a nicer person than me, however. Once, he tried to argue that he was meaner than me. I laughed.

For his birthdays, I made him dinner (God, I just realized we were only together to celebrate two of his birthdays), and I gave him two really good Christmas presents, his Canucks jersey, and the watch I got him last Christmas. I was so proud of those two, because I'd thought long and hard about them and picked something that he loved. I wanted to make them count because it's his favourite holiday.

We wrote each other love letters, poems, talked on MSN almost every night for the last 3 years, saw movies, and talked about the future.

I don't know when things changed. I think slowly, slowly, I was starting to feel unhappy. Not that anything was wrong with the relationship itself. No one had said or done anything wrong. I was just starting to wonder if this is what I really, really wanted, and if I would be happy with it for the rest of my life. And once you start to have thoughts like this, it's hard to ignore them. Even if we had kept going, they would just be there in the back of my mind. I began to wonder if maybe I was missing something. I felt like I wanted to experience more in life, and do a little more searching. And this sounds awful, but I wanted to try being with other people. I was also worried that if I ignored all these feelings now, one day, I would so something I regretted, like cheat on him. Or keep a secret.

I wrestled with these thoughts for a long time. Was I making the right decision? Or was I just acting on a whim? I didn't want to end things and then realize that he was still the only thing I wanted. I knew there wasn't going to be much turning back. Our philosophy had always been that a 'break' meant 'break up', so that wasn't an option. As for breaking up and then one day getting back together, chances seem slim. I've always thought that breaking up once is a sign that it's over.

I started to get anxious and tense all the time whenever I was around him, or talked to him, because all I could keep thinking was "Oh god, I know and you don't". I tried not to let him see this, but I think he did notice. He's a smart guy. He mentioned to me about a month ago that I seemed "disinterested". I laughed it off and denied it. Then he brought it up again last night, and I knew that I couldn't keep ignoring this. This past weekend at the Girl Guide camp, I mulled it over the whole time. I cried when everybody else had gone to bed, and I worried and worried myself until I felt sick.

It was the hardest thing I've ever done, and sadly I did it over MSN. Funny. Our relationship began online, and it ended online. I'd planned to meet up with him today and talk to him face to face. Jo said that it was only fair, that since I was going to hurt him, I should suffer a little too. But we were talking online when he brought up the disinterested thing again, and I just went for it. I asked if he wanted to meet up and talk in person, but he said that if it was something bad, he didn't want to let it fester in his head all night.

I think it took all of 30 minutes. We talked, I cried, he seemed very matter-of-fact, and then he said he was going to go, and that if I needed to talk to him I should let him know, otherwise he would find me when he was ready. The end.

I stayed up for about 2 hours after, just laying there and listening to the same song, over and over and over again (Ooo Ohh by Daniel Wesley). I finally passed out, and woke up this morning to cry some more. I dreamed about him last night. We were talking, I was topless, he sill wanted to be friends, we made out. Sigh, what a nice dream.

Went on Facebook to discover he had deleted me from his friend's list, and I don't know why, but that made it hurt so much more. I still can't imagine never seeing him or talking to him again. I can understand why he did it, but it just made me cry so much harder. It was that choking sob, I'm sure you've all experienced it once. I found myself wishing I really would choke. I never knew I could feel as awful as this.

Yet, no matter how shitty I feel, I think I made the right decision. It's not fair if one of us was into it and the other one wasn't. I can't stop crying (stupid pussy), but there's almost a feeling of relief wedged somewhere between the emptiness. For the first time in a long time, I belong solely to myself. Awful way to come about it, but it's an interesting feeling. And I'm vowing to make something of myself now. I'm going to allow myself one week, tops, of moping, and then I'm going to get out there and continue living. I was thinking about moving to Toronto one day, just to try something new. Also, I don't think I want to be in a serious relationship for a long time, although it's going to be awhile before I start thinking about dating again.

Fuck, I miss Max already. I just want to talk to him, to know how he's feeling. I'm so, so sorry Max. I almost wish you'd hate me. I just want you to know how much I still care about you, and I wish that it hadn't had to come to this. You're such an amazing person, and I wish I could just curl up and die for what I've done to you. And I hope, I really hope, that one day we can still talk to each other, and maybe even be friends. And if last night was the last time I ever talk to you, I wish you so much joy and success in life. You're an amazing person, you deserve nothing less.

And now I'm going to go and learn how to be single. I've been considering drinking myself to death, but Tanis told me not to, so I guess I won't do that. Man, I never knew I would need friends at all, but thank you guys for all the support you've already given me. You know who you are.

Here's a wish for the future.

PS. I wish that me and Max had more photos of us together. There are maybe 2 or three floating around online, but I wish I had a hardcopy of a photo of us, looking really happy.

It's Over

I'm not sick, but I'm not well.

Friday, March 26, 2010

Lady in the Water and District Camps

I've just finished watching one of my all time favourite movies, Lady in the Water, for the 4th time. No matter how many times I see it, this story will always bring tears to my eyes.

What really bothers me is how people really hate it. If you look it up on Wikipedia (legit, I know), the entire Reception area of the article is just all negative. They talk about the ego of M. Night Shyamalan, and the obvious metaphor of the character that is a film critic. The films was "nominated for four Razzie Awards, including Worst Picture and Worst Screenplay, winning two for Shyamalan as both Worst Director and Worst Supporting Actor."

Seriously? When are people going to stop talking and complaining long enough to be able to appreciate something beautiful? Okay, Shyamalan makes some weird movies, and maybe there aren't enough explosions or sex in them, but christ, doesn't anybody feel anymore? Who gives a shit if Shyamalan is placing his character, and ultimately himself, on a pedestal? Have we lost the ability to just sit and observe and feel?

If you are unfamiliar with the plot of Lady in the Water, I strongly suggest that you head over to your nearest video store and rent it. Personally, I think watching it by yourself is the best way to see it. It is a movie that should be watched in silence, so you can really let yourself think about it.

It is a fairytale, yes. However, it was marketed as a horror movie. I remember seeing the ads for it in 2006 and thinking "Man, I'm never going to see that movie." They made the TV ads out to be way scarier than it is (it's not scary at all). Still, they have it down under "thriller". Sure, there's some suspense in it, and it leaves the audience wondering what happens next, but "thriller" seems like the wrong word to use here. More like, "mesmerizing", if that could be a category.

Personally, I'm a sucker for stories like this. Normal people in a very normal setting brought together by something completely unreal. As much as I say I hate people (I really do, most of the time), I love it when we are brought together in situations like this. At one point in the movie, one of the main characters (her name is Story) says "everything is connected". I would like to believe that, that we're somehow all tied to one another. It's a very lovely thought.

Point is, watch Lady in the Water.

Ho-hum. Today I'm going to go to that District Camp with Jo and Karina, and be kitchen slaves. Jo called and told me the kit list yesterday, and god, it brings back so many memories. For those of you that don't know, a District Camp is when Girl Guides of all ages (Sparks, Brownies, Guides and sometimes Pathfinders) get together and go stay at a large camp together. In this case, it is being held at Camp Howdy in Coquitlam. I've never been here before, so I know nothing about it. But I'm assuming it's the same as every other large camp I've ever gone to. There are cabins, and a large dining hall that's the HQ. There are going to be mundane activities, crafts, nature walks and other seriously boring stuff. Thank fuck I'm not a younger member anymore. As an adult member, and kitchen staff, I'm hoping this gives me the chance to say no to anything I don't want to do.

Things that are a big no-no on the kit list?

-NO jeans
-NO open-toed shoes
-NO electronics
-NO tank tops
-NO baseball caps

You MUST, however, have a wide-brimmed hat though, to protect yourself from all that awful March sun that we get here on the West Coast.
Now, I haven't owned a dorky hat like that since I was 13, and only because I got it for free at another camp that I went to. In fact, I don't own a hat at all. Or a proper pair of pants, running shoes, raincoat, or boots. I am going to wear a pair of leggings, a skirt and some little velcro tennis shoes the whole time, with my head uncovered and a tank top hidden under a plaid shirt. There. And damn it all if I'm not bringing my cellphone or my iPod. No electronics? Are you joking me? What century is this? I will seriously die if I have to be surrounded by children for te entire weekend without the solace of my iPod to turn to.

What's that you say? Girl Guide camp sounds an awful lot like a Nazi internment camp? That's because Hitler borrowed ideas from Girl Guide leaders. Honestly, most Girl Guide leaders are just awful, boring, unmarried, middle-aged women with nothing more to look forward to than selling cookies at the nearest Rona and making grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup for lunch (joke only relevant if you've ever been a in Guides). I don't know what happened to make these women so boring, but for the love of god, I hope it never happens to me. These leaders seem to be anti-fun, only giving you 30 minutes of free time everyday (don't they give you, like, an hour in jail?) and are against you having any time to yourself. I was honestly scolded on a number of occasions for reading quietly by myself in my tent. Yes. This happened. Because damn it if they'll let you be an individual.

All of that aside, however, I think I might have fun. In the kitchen will be me, Karina, Jo, Belinda and Debbie. I don't really know the last two very well, but they seem like okay people. I'm assuming the majority of my time will be spent in the kitchen with these people, which is fine by me. I like food, and I like talking, as you can clearly see by how long this post is. Dear god, I'm out of control.

Thursday, March 25, 2010

Chatroulette!

I've just returned from my first foray into the wonderful, dick-filled world of Chatroulette (hint: "dick-filled" is not a wacky metaphor).

If you haven't heard of it, Chatroulette is like your basic chatroom, except you get to be one-on-one with a stranger. There is video and audio feed, and you can click 'Next' if you get tired of talking to them. Most of the time it's just your average joe's. Sometimes (disturbingly) it's old people. But (disturbingly, yet somehow less disturbing than old people), it's guys with their dicks out. I tried actually counting, for the sake of the blog, but there were just too many.

And in and amongst these people, there are a few cool ones. I came upon a guy wearing a silver skull mask. He was pretty dope. He waved at me, I gave him a thumbs up, he said hi... and then I chickened out and clicked 'Next'. Yes. I am the biggest pussy in the whole world, ever, because I can't talk to strangers on the Internet. Chatroulette is mostly guys, and some of the were pretty cute too, but I sadly lack the balls to strike up conversations, so my first Chatroulette experience consisted of me flipping through person after person as they tried to say hello.

Le sigh.

Nothing cool to report, unfortunately. I'm staying at my dad's house for the next few days as he's away in Victoria, looking after cats and just bumming around, really. On Friday I'm heading of to a District Girl Guide Camp to cook meals for a pack of screeching young girls with Karina and Jo, and, more depressingly, I'm beginning to feel like I have no direction in life. Shiiiiit.

Sunday, March 21, 2010

Beatdowns, Mad Max and Lemonade

Okay, okay, okay. Listen to this.

Now, every so often, I incite people with my "I don't give a shit about you" attitude. Namely, a girl i used to be acquainted with. Let's give her an alias. I'll call her Beth.

In grade school, Beth was the outcast, because she was quite severely physically deformed. Now, I know that it's supposed to be on the inside that counts, not the outside, but we were all little kids, so what do you expect. The world is not, and is not going to be, a perfect place. Thus, she was not the favourite.

In Grade 3 I was invited to one of her birthday parties. Normally, I will be friends with the most uncool of people, but this was a younger, more insecure me, and I knew that hanging out with Beth was (and let's use my most hated term of all time) "social suicide". It's true. But, I was too polite to decline, and my mom made me go. Something about making me a better person? Anyway, I went, and can I just say MOST BORING BIRTHDAY PARTY OF MY LIFE. I didn't know anyone, and apparently we were supposed to come dressed as our favourite celebrities. Now, I don't know how other kids are raised, but I wasn't raised in front of a fucking TV. I ran around outside and climbed trees and rolled down hills. I didn't know shit about celebrities (I also didn't read the invitation properly). I said I was just there as myself. I was invited to another birthday party in Grade 4 but I made up an excuse.

Now, it's been years, and I haven't concerned myself with thinking about her. She went to my high school but I tried not to speak to her. I'd heard my friends say she was rude and had a bad temper, and I don't like associating myself with rude, bad tempered people, so I stayed away. And honestly, I had no interest. I had my set of friends and didn't see any point in widening the circle.

Fast forward to a few hours ago. Beth messages me yet again, and I'm starting to get pretty tired of playing nice. I've told her before that I don't want to add her, and I tried to politely but firmly brush her off. But there has to be a point where you stop mincing words and get your point across. So it finally came to me saying:

"Listen. I went to your birthday party once because I was too polite to decline. Nothing ever happened between us because I didn't consider us friends. I'm not going to add you because you're trying to make me feel sorry for you."

Of course, you can't just say whatever you want without having someone having a problem with it. I was met with:

"First of all im not trying to make you feel sorry second Im sorry to say this but youre a bitch to me and all i did was be nice to you in champlain and cared but now i realize fuck it why should i be nice to you if youre a bitch to me. And tell your dad not to talk to me and piss off cause i dont wanna deal with him. By the way im calm right now but you dont know that i went to jail for punching someone out so be careful what you say."

Now, I only take proper grammar seriously. Anything less means that I don't care about what you have to say.
1) If you think I'm a bitch, fine. I do not care. It's about time that people started saying what they thought. If you think I'm a bitch, good, that means I won't have to deal with you anymore and we can both move on.
2) Listen, girl. My father can't even remember who my actual friends are. Even Amanda, who used to come to my house every single day in high school to walk to school with me, was forgotten. I would constantly have to remind him who she was. So I hardly think it's likely that he's remembering you.
3)Seriously? You don't think people have pulled that "Oh, I'm so tough because I beat someone up" card on me before? I'm a highly controversial person; I say things that people don't like. You, Beth, are in no way the first person to threaten me. I didn't back down before either. I am afraid of NOBODY.
Anyway, Beth then deleted her account, so I couldn't reply, which is actually quite frustrating since I've already got a bunch of awesome comebacks. Buuut I guess if you can't handle the heat, you've got to get out of the fire.

There you have it, my rant. I don't like people assuming that they can threaten me, and why would I want to be friends with someone who "went to jail" anyway? In closing:

Suck my dick, bitch.

PS. Peter made THE MOST AMAZING lemonade ever today. Like, fresh-squeezed from lemons. He got the recipe off Chef at Home, an excellent show. It was sweet, but tart at the same time, and get this: he put ginger in it. Apparently that is the secret ingredient to good lemonade. Now, I can't tell you exactly how he did it, but he did it well, and I hope he makes more!

I also watched Repo Men last night. Awesome, awesome movie. I can't say much more because I don't want to spoil it. Just go and see it, you'll udnerstand.
And I'm watching Mad Max 2 at the moment, so you'll excuse me if my concentration is a little shot. Did you know that young Mel Gibson was one of the hottest things alive? He is seriously so gorgeous, hot DAMN.

Friday, March 19, 2010

So Long's

As I get older (and lonelier), I realize how important it is to have friends.

A boy (Stephen) that I have become friends with from work is going to Thailand in a couple weeks to do charity work. And then, after 2 months, is moving to Toronto. And I actually feel sad.

Now, this has honestly never happened to me before. I don't normally miss people. People leave, life goes on. I remember them fondly, but I have never, like, cried myself to sleep at night because there's a big empty hole in my heart what that person used to be.
But yeah, I'm genuinely going to miss this guy. Also because now there's going to be one less cool person at work, but I really do consider him a friend.

I was talking to him today, while I was slacking off in the deli and he was guarding the stairs, and I was telling him what I know of Toronto. He said he was excited to go to a place where he wouldn't be someones brother/cousin/son/etc, to just strike it on his own in a new city. and I have to say, I'm actually a little jealous. It would be kind of cool to just go to a city where you know no one and start all over. You could pretty much make yourself into anything you wanted to be.

He also made a game. Well, it's kind of a game. Play along, and comment below!

STEP 1: Think of the most disgusting thing you have ever seen.

STEP 2: Now imagine you have to put it in your mouth, and eat it.

Yaaay! My answer was either a) my brothers puke from last night. It looked like he'd eaten eggs (Mmm, omlette vomit!) or b) the dead guy at the funeral I had to go to when I was 15. Either, way, ew and ew. Now you have to play too!

Also, you know what really bothers me? When people pin the terrible behaviour of today's youth on video game violence. Kids acting out? GTA 4's fault. Apparently, a 13 year old boy shot his cousin in the face with a shotgun after playing Grand Theft Auto. Honestly? Any kid fucking dumb enough to pull that shit fails so miserably at life, it's not even funny. Because, you know, if it didn't kill you in the game, it won't kill you in real life. And for some reason, this story and another one, where a kid stabbed a person in a line while waiting to buy the newest GTA, both happened in England. What the fuck is wrong with you guys? Get your moron children under control, and stop owning guns. This isn't a case of video games being violent, this is a case of kids being dumbfucks.

Aaaah, just feeling melancholy right now. I don't know why. There's something going on in my head right now that I can't talk about. It's very confusing. I'm giving myself a couple of months to think about it some more, and then I will make a decision (hopefully) and obviously you guys (What are there, like 4 of you now?) will be the first to know.

She holds a smile
Like someone would hold a crying child.

PS. Fuck, I forgot!!

http://www.patrickstump.com/


Listen to this! Listen to this immediately! Especially Fall Out Boy fans. Non-fans are allowed too, however, to marvel at this man's musical genius. ALSO: When did Patrick get so freaking skinny? Omg omg, fan-girl mode engaged.

Party Awkwardness and Books

Long time no blog, I know.

Sorry! I've just been busy being cool for once in my whole life. I actually went to a party. Exciting, yes. It was a St. Patrick's Day party at Chiara's house! I was awkward, as per usual. I seriously fail at parties though; I don't know what my problem is. I WANT to talk to people, and whatever else it is that people do together. Although, today, I did actually (kind of) converse with people (at Chiara's house again). It was a Wine and Cheese party, and it was pretty great. All parties, as a rule, should have food. It eases the awkward.
But anyway, yes, we made fondue. Well, it was from a package, but we melted it, so I guess that counts. There was also goats cheese (fig and herb), a creamy one that tasted like garlic butter, smoked cheddar, triple-cream brie, and a disgusting blue cheese that burned my tongue, it was so strong. And I TALKED to people! Well, two people. And only kind of. And mostly about books.

...fuck.

It's not my fault! I was raised to run around like a wild animal in the trails and forests behind my house, taught how to climb trees, drink nectar from flowers and know birds by their calls, not how to interact with people! Life is hard for us feral-wolf children.

But yeah, I bought 3 books today: A Portrait Of The Artist As A Young Man (James Joyce), This Side Of Paradise (F. Scott Fitzgerald), and Far From The Madding Crowd (Thomas Hardy). I am trying to make myself read more classics, because I've learned about them all to death, so I guess it's about time I actually read them. So, at this party, I was talking about books with Chiara's friend, Matt. Well, kind of. I was making a joke about how I was addicted to books, and "at least it's books and not coke!", and he said "Oh, do you like books?" Hahaha, I liked a boy in Grade 10, just because I saw him reading a book just because he liked books. That is all it takes for me.
Then he (party-boy, not Grade 10-boy) brought out a book he had, which I actually love and already own! The Unbearable Lightness of Being, by Milan Kundera, is seriously a good book. I can't actually remember what it is about at the moment, but I recall really loving it when I read it in Prague.
Anyway, he asked me who my favourite author is, and I said that it's most likely Fitzgerald, although Somerset Maugham is really starting to make his way up there. I believe they are both from about the same time period, but while Fitzgerald sets his stories mostly in 1920's East Coast America, a lot of Maugham's short stories take place in Pacific/Polynesian settings.

After coming home from this party where I was showing off how awkward I am, I walk in to my house to find Peter and Rachel with a fully loaded pipe, ready to go out and blaze on the scaffolding outside of my house. Myself, giving no shit, went about my business getting plugged in to the interwebz. They come inside a little while later, and everything seems okay. Peter says he's going to bed, and Rachel watches an informmerical. Standard Thursday night.

Until Peter comes downstairs, FREAKING OUT, because he thinks he's dying. Seriously.
He was hysterical, saying his lungs hurt, and then he started dry heaving, so I told him that if he's going to throw up, to do it in the garbage. He starts throwing up, but like, he was trying to cover his mouth, so he ends up throwing up all over his hand. Yes. And he wouldn't move it either! Then he started crying that he had cancer or something, and was like "Lisa, Lisa pleeease. Pleeease help me, please, I'm dying."
I know this will make me sound heartless, but oh my goooood, it was so funny. Me and Rachel were cracking up, and she told me he does this every time they blaze together.

Long story short, I calmed the psycho down, and cleaned up vomit.

The End?!!

PS. Btw, this webcomic is secretly about me:



And in other news, I got sparkly green liquid eyeliner. Does this mean I'm cool now? Fuck, I hope not.

Friday, March 12, 2010

Sick Days and Time Travel

Day 3 of my Annual Cold. I was planning on going to a gigantic Japanese $2 store in Richmond called Daiso. There's one very similar to it in Tinsletown (for non-Vancouverites, that's on the outskirts of downtown), and bought an adorable little plastic make-up bag with cupcakes on it. Anyway, Jo told me she was going to take me on a magical journey to the Land of Daiso, but if I had gone outside today (for longer than a dog walk, that is) I would have died.

So I spent the entire days indoors, and holy FUCK, it was boring.

I did mention a dog walk. That was my fresh air today. I'd woken up very, very late (since I'd gone to bed at 5am last night/this morning), so this walk took place somewhere around 11:30-noon. Poor Macey, normally she gets out a lot earlier than that.
As I left, wearing the dress I'd fallen asleep in, and a huge red winter coat that belonged to my dad (my mum has the matching one; seems pointless now that they're separated).
ANYWAY. Man, I'm good at getting off topic.

We walked down the little path behind my house, and continued walking in the direction of the playground at the bottom of the hill. But we hung a right, at the little island in the intersection of three paths. When I was much younger, I had a dream that that area was filled with high grass, and I was playing with Tigger. The dream then took a sinister turn, as the sun was blotted out and crows called. Tigger was gone, and I was filled with the sensation of dread. I think of this dream almost every time I walk past that island.

So we walked past this little island, which actually looks like a real island in the middle of the cement, and keep right. This is the way I used to walk to kindergarten (and grades 1, 2 and 3). There's a little cement semi-circle that jut's out from the path on the right side. When it used to be empty, and I used to be about 7 or 8, I would debate with the mother (Brenda) of a childhood friend and neighbour (Midas) about what they would put there. I argued that there would be a bench, a picnic table and a garbage can. She told me they'd probably put three benches. She was right, they did eventually put three benches there, all dedicated to someone dead. I still think my bet would have been cooler. Pfft, adults.

It starts raining off and on as I come up to the road, but by the time I cross it, the rain stops completely. Funny, funny weather. I cross the street and head towards the Annex, my old primary school. They have like, 10 cherry blossom trees planted all around the small parking lot, and they're all in bloom right now. Every year, they're gorgeous for about 2 weeks, and then all the petals fall off and turn into brown slop on the road.

I walk around the left side of the school, the side where all my classes were, kindergarten through Grade 3. Venturing into the other side of the school always felt weirdly foreign to me, like I was traveling to somewhere completely different. My own side was very familiar and comforting. I still prefer walking along that left side.

Hugging the outside of the red building, Macey and I walk onto the cement, painted with hopscotch outlines and other games that were always a mystery. There was one, where you stand on a line and jump, as far as you can, and measure the distance. I always thought I could jump farther than I actually could. I was tempted to try it again, but for some reason I didn't let myself. Maybe I will next time, and see if I can finally live up to my own expectations.

Wow, I started writing this on Friday, and now it's Monday night. This is why I don't write stories anymore, I'm just about the best procrastinator there has ever been.

Thursday, March 11, 2010

Musical Language and Annual Colds

I know I talk about Radiolab a lot, and here I go again:

I am listening to yet another mind-blowing episode, called Musical Language, and really, this show never fails to deliver something awesome. First off, they're talking about tone languages, like Mandarin. I already knew about this, but you can say one word in four different tones, and each tone will mean something different. It sounds like 'ma', but changing the way you say it can mean, 'mother', 'help', 'horse', or a reproach. They also said that the people who speak these tone languages are, essentially, pitch perfect. That means that you can perfectly tell the pitch of any sound you hear. Like, if I knock on the door, that would be a whatever, a D, or a B, or an A or something, and they would know it instantly. Then I wondered, but is this what fuels the stereotype of Asians being good at music? Is it not actually a stereotype? Can they just understand the notes and pitches better because they posses this power of being pitch perfect? And lo and behold, a few minutes after I wondered this, they were talking about it. I don't want to spoil too much of the show for anyone who's actually going to listen to it, but let's just say that I thought correctly.

Ugh, and now I'm sick. I'm just at the beginning of my Annual Cold, and now I know why you regular humans complain about being sick. It fucking sucks. I really only get sick this one time of year, and it lasts about 2 weeks. During this time, I will feel like I am going to die, consume a lot of ice cream, and sleep. Oh, how I will sleep. No one has ever slept the way I am about to sleep. Long, undisturbed periods of sleep, full of the most amazing, crazy and terrifying dreams. This is what illness is to me. Ice cream and dreams. I spend my wet March afternoons in a reverie of dreams.

Jesus, sorry I'm so boring these days. Literally nothing interesting has been happening, so there's not much to talk about. Max is going to Indianapolis for a few days. My friend Chiara is having a St. Patrick's Day party on Saturday. Macey just burped in my ear. Ew, ew and ew.

Wednesday, March 10, 2010

All Your Base Are Belong To Me!

So you know how you can google your own name, and then see how many hits you get? If I google my name, I get maybe 3 hits on the first page, and that's all. When Max googles his name, the entire first page is all him. Then I wondered what would happen if I googled my pseudonym, Ellemar. I use it for EVERYTHING. Every username for every website or forum or what-have-you I've joined in the last 3 or 4 years. So I gave it a go(ogle). Hahaha, fuck, that was terrible. Please, find it in your hearts to forgive me.

Anyways, I googled 'Ellemar'. And while there weren't entire pages devoted to my good name, I did manage to infiltrate pages as far back as page 46! There was an old Livejournal account (yes, I was one of those people), Photobucket account, Cracked account, forum posts, video comments, and (more importantly) this blog! But all the way back on page 24. Ultimate sadness.

You know what this means?

I am everywhere! I am so deeply woven into the very fabric of the Internet, I am in it's very farthest reaches. I don't know how I find the pictures, posts, comics, forums that I do, but I DO find them. Every time I send him something, he asks "Man, how did you find this?" Most of the time I don't remember.

And you know what I wish? That that could be my job. Max said "media researcher". Can someone actually be that? A media researcher? If so, sign me the fuck up. I know, it sounds like a trap, like the video game testing job. You think it'd be a sweet job, sitting around all day, playing video games and getting paid for it. But really, you have to play hours and hours of games that you don't get to pick. You could be playing Dora the Explorer video games, and every time you find some kind of glitch, you've got to write a report about it, and then start playing the same game again. And again. Media researcher does sound like it could turn out the same. But can you ever really get bored of the Internet?

This is a bit of a ramble, I realize, but I've just noticed that it's 3 am, and I am so fucking hot because of this laptop on my legs. I drank all my orange juice, and now it's time for bed.

Tuesday, March 9, 2010

This Is Not Just A Cry For Attention

Christ, who was that emo? "My life is starting to feel pretty terrible." Haha, what fag hijacked my blog?

Anyway, what I am, chopped fucking liver? Why do I have no comments on these entries?
Read something you liked? COMMENT.
Read something you hated? COMMENT.
Read something and got an idea from it? ESPECIALLY COMMENT.

That's what this is about. It wasn't supposed to be just me sitting in front of a computer and talking and talking and talking. I wanted to stir something from deep within you. I wanted to make you hate me or love me, or whatever else you FEEL like.

I know there's like, maybe two people who read this regularly. But what are you guys, robots? I want all your questions and answers. Give me your arguments, for fuck's sake! I want to be flooded with your memories, stories and thoughts! Make me feel real here, make yourselves heard!

COMMENT!

Monday, March 8, 2010

Space Capsules

Listening to Radiolab again. I know, I know what you're thinking. "Enough about Radiolab already!" No, there will never be enough. I am not going to stop talking about Radiolab until somebody finally listens to some, and comments on here about it.

Anyway. I'm listening to Radiolab, and they're talking about a space mission (Voyager? I'm not too sure, I was doing other stuff while I was listening and not paying attention). On this mission, they compiled a record (clearly this was a long time ago) of music and sounds from all over the world, and then shot it into space, as a sort of 'Space Capsule'. Maybe, somewhere millions of light years away, some aliens will find it, and be able to listen to it, and learn a little about life on Earth.

Seems silly, I know. And naive. Like, even if aliens did find it, how would they listen to it? But then they asked "If you could send some kind of compilation of what life on Earth is like, what would you send?"

I've been thinking about it for the last hour. What so perfectly represents our lives here on our blue planet? Obviously, I would include some music in my Space Capsule. But what? It's so hard to pick just one thing. Some music that I love? If so, I would include Kaki King. I haven't met too many people who've heard of her, but she makes some amazing music. This is one of my personal favourites.




But what else? Famous speeches, my favourite sounds (the wind at night, the rumble of thunder), the general sounds of life (talking, laughing, crying, yelling). But what if you could include more than sounds? What about smells?
Some of my favourite smells are rain on warm pavement, ink from a ballpoint pen, my dog's fur, Max's clothes, Famous Foods.
Taste? Curry, magnolia petals, chocolate, pomegranate, rapini, crème brûlée.
Visuals? Some of my favourite movies (Lady in the Water being one of them), perfect clouds, birthday cake, my bed at the end of a long day, your Caller ID when it's someone you really like talking to.
What if you could put the sensation of touch in this Space Capsule? The pages of a book, the smooth clicking of the keys of my laptop, Max's beard (yes, for real), new leaves, silk...

In all likelihood, there is nobody out there who would be finding this Space Capsule, but if there was, what would you send into space that would epitomize our life here on Earth?

Sunday, March 7, 2010

The Oscars and An Original Screenplay

I never really had a problem with George Clooney before, but now I just think he's a pissy little bitch. Tonight, I am watching the Oscars, and every time they've showed him, he just has this smarmy look on his face. And what, they aren't allowed to say anything bad about him? Steve Martin and Alec Baldwin open the Oscars by making fun of everybody, but not Clooney? As they came to him, he was giving them this "I could buy you guys 3 times over". Dude, fuck you, George Clooney.

And so far, they've mentioned two movies I've never even heard of before! Scratch that, make it three. Crazy Heart, Paris 36 and The Secret of Kells! I would really love to see The Secret of Kells, it's an animated film that looks totally cool. I love animated movies. I don't care if they're for little kids, they always have the best stories.

Tina Fey and Robert Downey Jr., some of my favourite actors, are announcing the results for best screenplay. Downey Jr. said the funniest thing, that movies were "a collaboration of handsome, gifted people and sickly mole-people."

Oh dear, I'd forgotten that John Hughes had died (1950-2009). You know, he made some of the greatest movies, and those movies were the only good thing to come out of the 80s.

To interrupt my Oscar viewing, here's my original screenplay, starring my little brother Peter, in "Being A Dumb Cunt".

BEING A DUMB CUNT
by Lisa Recchia

DAD knocks on the door. He and PETER have plans to do something with a car, I don't know, some kind of MALE BONDING RITUAL.

DAD: Are you ready?
PETER: Yeah, hold on.

I walk over, joking.

ME: Can you believe this guy brought the XBOX over, but forgot my favourite game?
DAD: (sounding confused) You brought the XBOX to mum's?

PETER gets quiet and walks away. Apparently, this was some kind of secret.

RACHEL: Yeah, and a TV. How did you not know?
DAD: Peter?

PETER acts like a rude bitch and walks away to watch what's on TV. DAD is offended and hurt, and leaves.

RACHEL: What the hell! Get your shoes on!
PETER: I don't have any shoes here!
ME: You don't have any shoes here? What are you talking about, you must have worn a pair of shoes here.

PETER mutters something horrible, I'm sure, and stomps upstairs like a BABY. He comes downstairs and starts to put on a pair of shoes. DAD has already left.

RACHEL: Dude, Dad left already.
PETER: FUCK! (slams one of his shoes into the wall)
ME: Quiet, mum's sleeping!
RACHEL: Do you want me to call him?
PETER: ...Yeah. Yeah, call him.

RACHEL calls DAD. PETER puts on his shoes so slowly, like omg, I've never even seen anyone put their shoes on this slowly. On the TV, BEN STILLER is dressed like a creature from AVATAR, providing plenty of distraction for any retarded 14 year old.

RACHEL: Okay, Dad's turning around. Get a jacket on, I told him you were ready.
PETER: I don't have a jacket!
ME: What are you talking about?
RACHEL: Just wear this. It's Lisa's, but it's a boys hoodie.
PETER: Fuck that! I have one upstairs.
ME: What the fuck is going on.

PETER stomps upstairs, while RACHEL and I are saying things such as...

RACHEL: What the fuck is wrong with him.
ME: I hate this family.

Stomping down the stairs, PETER returns wearing a hoodie that looks almost exactly like the one he didn't want to wear.

RACHEL: Dude, why are you walking so slow? Goddamnit, Dad's waiting for you!
ME: Peter, you're being rude.
PETER: Shut the fuck up, my leg hurts!
RACHEL: Buddy, Dad is going to leave again.
PETER: FUCK YOU.

PETER slams his elbow into the door and leaves. I am left with the feeling that I never want to see him again.

Man, w
hy haven't I gotten an Oscar?

I don't know what's wrong with my lately. Everyone is getting on my nerves,
and I just feel angry and fucked up all the time. I'm starting to get irritated with people I thought I would never get mad at, and I don't want to get mad at. And it's leaving me with all these crazy questions: What am I doing? Am I being petty? Is this just pms? Or am I finally losing it? Was this just something that was always coming, this insanity. It runs in the family. My great-great-great grandfather hacked his wife to death with an axe. I have one aunt that is pretty much insane. Was it only a matter of time before it happened to me too?

Sigh.

Okay, since I'm pretty sure nobody reads this, I'll tell you what's bothering me. My period is over 2 weeks late. On the 3rd, I took a pregnancy test. Negative. On the 5th, I took the other one. Negative. But still, nothing. The chances of my actually being pregnant are low, but it's this nagging paranoia that's haunting me.

ANYWAY!

Took my dog out so she could throw up (she didn't, stupid bugger, and it's freezing outside), and now I'm going to have a roast chicken dinner, complete with stuffing and roasted carrots, at 8:30 at night. My life (besides the chicken) is starting to feel pretty terrible.

Friday, March 5, 2010

Decoys and Waiting For Summer

Watching a movie on the Space Channel, and I thought it was The Ring, but turns out it's "Decoys"(???). You can tell if a horror movie is going to be crappy, based on what music they open it with. The sign of a bad movie is having some unknown punk band playing. I don't know the logic behind this, but it is true.

So far, we're on a college campus, and the boy from Lassie is the protagonist, Luke. Hanging out in a laundromat, he is accosted by some sexy cousins. One is flaunting her mad rolls of change for the washer, and the other is sucking on one of this horrible lollipops and telling us she has an 'oral fixation'. Har har har.

My brother accurately predicts that these cousins are some kind of fucked up monsters. They seem to be about to reveal themselves, and... there seem to be tentacles coming out of holes in their sternums. And they take turns spraying these tentacles with... liquid nitrogen? Truly, I am in for a hilarious time tonight. Haha, you know who else is in this? The sidekick to Toby from The Listener.

WHOA WHOA WHOA. What just happened? Lassie Boy was going to have sex with a Tentacle Alien so he could expose her tentacle-ness on a hidden camera that he and the girl who's really in love with him planted, and when her sicko tentacles come out and knock a candle over, and then she freaks out when she catches on fire and turns onto a total monster rip-off of Sil from Species before running away. Huh. And the movie is not even over yet.

Oh, and what a crazy twist ending. The cute girl who'd had a crush on Lassie Boy for years is actually a Tentacle Alien too! That was actually really surprising, and made pretty much zero sense with the rest of the movie. Good game, Decoys, but no win for you guys.

Today was such a beautiful day again, and it just makes me want summer all the more. I've never actually looked forward to summer before. I've eagerly awaited spring, and anticipated fall, and wanted winter, but I'm actually excited about summer! It's been so grey for awhile, I want some sun. I'm going to plan lot's of fun outdoorsy things to do.

And that's all I've got for tonight, sadly. I'm strangely exhausted today, and I think my Annual Cold is going to happen soon. I normally only get sick once a year, and it's always around this time. I hope I can fight it this year, because I need more hours for work! Get money, get paid, beetches.

Wednesday, March 3, 2010

Ethics

Just watching Chef At Home, and the guy is poaching a piece of salmon in olive oil, with lemon zest and rosemary. You can poach things in oil?! That is one thing I totally have to try one time.

Adding on to yesterday, another point to my List of Things to Improve the Quality of My Life... well, goddamn it. I was at work a few hours ago, and thinking about it, and I was trying to remember it so I could come home and write it down. Oh well.

And there was totally something else I was talking about...

Ah, yes. Radiolab. Listening to another show the other day called "(So-Called) Life", and my mind was blown by the stories that they told.

So there's this woman. In 1995, she is told that if she does not get a new kidney immediately, she will die. So, they take some of her blood, and test her husband and her sons. A few days later she gets a not so positive phone call, saying that there is something going on that the doctors have never seen before.

She is not the mother of her sons. They tested it, and her DNA doesn't match up. She tells them that's impossible. She remembers giving birth to them, and: her husband is definitely the father.

So they try and think of possible answers, and the doctor says "Well, we only tested your blood. Let's collect some more samples of DNA from other places." So they take saliva samples, hair samples, tissue samples, anything they can think of. And by doing this, they discover that she has two sets of DNA.

You see, this woman was a twin. Her egg and her twin sisters egg were floating around in the womb, when they kind of just bumped into each other. And fused. But instead of growing up with a weird lump on her body, and then having doctors cut into it one day to discover that it was her own twin joined to her body, they simply became one person. Essentially, she is two people in one body. Because her DNA has been split. Like, the woman's blood is her own DNA, but other things like her kidneys and her eggs are her twin sisters. Essentially, this woman is a plural, not a singular being.

I could not believe my fucking ears at the end of this story. Turns out that this woman is a chimera, one of the coolest sounding genetic disorders ever. Also, if she and her twin sister had not fused together within 4 days of being conceived, they would have been siamese twins.

From this awesome story they went on to talk about genes, and where do you draw the line between human and animal? Their either are, or going to be, cows that produce human blood instead of their own cow blood. "Why the hell would anyone do that?!" you may ask. I suppose for blood transfusions. We get the blood normally used for blood transfusions when people donate their own blood. This way, there's no need for that. You simply go to the Blood-Cow Farm, request a couple packs of Type-Whatever blood, and bingo. Hundreds and thousands of lives are saved.

Somewhere in the Middle East, there is a mouse with a tiny, functioning human kidney.

Scientists want to do experiments where they inject human brain cells into the brains of mice. Again, why? Just for laughs, maybe. But they have said that they would stop the experiment if the mice started to show any human signs development, like improved memory or problem-solving abilities, they would end it.

I don't know how I feel about experimenting and manipulating the genetic structure of animals like this. On one side, saving lives is awesome. But the way we go about saving lives is sometimes questionable.

Now, I have no problem with using the organs from a person in a vegetative state, so long as they are definitely not coming back. If they have written down "Yes, I would like my organs to be donated after my body is no longer of use to me", right on. Now, if they haven't written their express desire for their organs to be used, I have no problem with using those organs anyway. If you have to appeal to the family. Hopefully that person would have been a decent enough person in life that they would understand and have no problem with it. But when you start to use animals for this purpose, I get a little uneasy.
Maybe it's because they are just animals, and they would have no concept of what we were doing to them. Now, born into it, they might not know any better, but that makes it even sadder. They believe that their entire existence is devoted to producing blood and have people taking it from them. But is that any crueler than killing them for food?

See, now I've confused myself. In a way it is, but that may just be because it is something unnatural. Now, we've been killing and eating animals for eons. But when you start to do something like change the genetic structure of a being, things get a little tricky.
I can't decide if I'm for it or against it. What does make an animal human? What if it's insides are all human, but it's outside is all animal? They do say that's it's not what's on the outside that counts, but what's on the inside. Is an animal considered human when it speaks? Loves? Laughs? Does it's molecular structure count towards humanity? If we bleed the same blood, is a cow and myself related?

I'll leave you with that to ponder.

PS. For dinner (a very late dinner, because I had a nap from 5:30 to 8) I sauteed some mushrooms, onion, kalamata olives and pine nuts, and tossed it in with some plain spaghetti with a little olive oil. I tried an experiment where I tossed in three chili peppers with the boiling pasta to see if it would make the pasta spicy. Unsuccessful. Next time, I will make little cuts in the peppers, so the spiciness can leak out. Despite that, it was freaking delicious.

Tuesday, March 2, 2010

Bored, Bored and Bored

I feel like I'm stuck in this horrible, boring rut.

I'm not in school, I'm not really doing Guiding anymore, I am in no sports, and social gatherings give me anxiety attacks.

What's a reject to do?

Start improving her life, that's what!

I made a list in my journal (an actual, numbered list. The term 'dork' is applicable here) of all the things I want to do to make my life less bland, and perhaps more meaningful (???).

1. Read more books.

I used to read ALL THE TIME, and now I never do, which is stupid, because I have loads more time than I used to. To remedy this, I'm going to go to the Burnaby Public Library and get a library card, and try to spend a lot of time there.

2. Ride my bike.

Riding a bike is much nicer than busing everywhere, and it's such good exercise. I remember a time when I rode my bike everywhere. I miss it. But! My dad got me a cool new bike! It was made in France, and it's pink! Needs a little work, but it will be in working order soon.

3. Exercise.

Self-explanatory. I need to lose some weight before the summer.

4. Savings account and an RRSP

I am going to go to the bank on Saturday, make an appointment with them, and get myself a goddamn savings account. This is ridiculous, I'm an adult. I want to move the fuck out, but I keep spending all my money. Also, I need an RRSP so I can be super rich when I'm an old lady.

5. Volunteer?!

Yeah, I know right? Me, volunteering? But I am suddenly feeling the need to help people. Maybe it was seeing all those images from Haiti and Chile. I actually considered dropping everything and just volunteering for relief work in Chile. Maybe I'll do something a little closer to home. I would love to help out in a Women's Shelter. I don't really know what that entails, but I would like to do it. Geez, where is all this humanity coming from?

What I'm trying to say is, I feel like my life has no meaning. I work, I sit at home, I (sometimes) get to see Max. But I want to do more. I almost miss being in school, and I'm thinking about taking one class in the summer to get the old noggin' working again. Karina said her Philosophy class was really great, and I bet I could get into some great arguments in there. And, I've really been wanting to take Italian, and apparently Capilano offers it. Now, I was thinking about going to Capilano for post secondary schooling anyway, so this offers some incentive.

Well, food for thought. That is all, just the musings of a bored girl today.