Let’s get baked! January 17, 2012

In my home, animals outnumber humans.  Since my last post, the habitat has changed and the creatures have increased.
A shoulder cat named Darbi joined us over a year ago and a trash dog named Emma was introduced at the peak of summer.
We are surrounded!  At the very least we can all pile together for warmth.

Any moments that place me within an arms length of all the furry creatures at once are especially noteworthy.

More than one year ago my brain was vacuumed sealed.  Recently it’s been thawed, re-introduced to fresh air and permitted to stew in it’s own juices.  I am again seeing through the muck of every day work and routine, but this time without completely halting any productivity and still chugging toward the vaguest of goals.  I must say, I did miss the keeping of odd hours.  Consistent sleep always seems to distract me from the most succulent thoughts and activities.  There is no need to fret, my restlessness has returned!  One very large step in the right direction began two or so weeks ago with the half drunken promise between myself and a very good friend; typically grand plans with branches of possibility shooting dangerously in every direction.  The thing that made it different was the follow-through.  That is to say, we actually followed through.  An absolutely rare (if not nearly extinct!) occurrence in my shared life with others.  If we did even a tenth of the things we discussed…

We joined forces with this basic objective: Bake our faces off!
With our adventure off to a not-so-surprising late start, the first leg of our plan began: the gathering of supplies.

It is difficult for me to shop with other people, whether I’m at the grocery store, fabric and crafts, thrift store or anywhere!  This is because I get excited.  Very fucking excited.  Things and colors and ideas swirl about my head in a joyful delusion any time I am exposed to many items at once.  Match this overwhelming amusement with my scatter-brained judgement and you get a lot of strange grunting sounds, clapping, gasping and jumping up and down.  A lot of cursing too.  Plus I have to touch everything, I’m like a four-year-old (a four-year-old muttering FUCK out of excitement and subsequently spending all my tip money).

However, on this day my shopping partner was Laura.  With her I don’t feel rushed and my general sense of being overwhelmed is accented with her equally childlike amazement and delight at being surrounded by so many options.  This being said, we are still a spectacle of oddity.  One giant and one half-ling skipping about wildly, communicating perfectly with a series of high pitched sounds and clicks.  I wont venture too far into the details, just know that our three stops were a perfect mess.  The bulk foods section made an especially strong impression on me.  For the first time in the my life, under the valuable guidance of Laura’s experience and knowledge, I would have a kitchen filled with all the basic baking supplies needed to fuel many a late-night, green-induced foray into a new recipe.  I’d say we got more than enough to start us off.

The rest of the event was a whirlwind of creation!  We set out to make several specific items.  A 7-up cake (with green butter), Nanaimo Bars (a Canadian favourite), Madeleine cookies/cupcakes, Sourdough bread (in the bread maker) and apple bread.  The kitchen ended up completely trashed and all the counters covered in more treats than we knew what to do with.

The Nanaimos are a sweet I’m very fond of.  A tasty no bake, triple layered bar that just requires a little patience.  This was my first attempt at making them.  If I remember correctly, while growing up in southern British Columbia my mother made them with mint in the top layer of chocolate.  This is either true, or just something I want to be true because minty-chocolate goodies are magnificent!  Unfortunately on this day I had no mint in my kitchen so I attempted to capture it’s sense by dying the middle cream layer of the nanaimos green and by also crushing up two candy canes I found and incorporating them into the top chocolate layer.  I don’t think the canes were enough to really add flavor, but they sure looked excellent!

The night spun by in a sort of lovely exhaustion.
Creation is something that I feel should be respected deeply by all.  Whether it’s art, music, food, words (or socks woven from cat hair) it’s simply incredible!  Of course, the individual attached the hands of creation should be especially grateful.

[green butter]

And remember kids: always buy bulk!

climb the water tower April 11, 2010

A lot of well formed habits make up my day to day routine.
There are fifteen stone stairs followed by twenty-one full steps to get to the front door of my apartment with a four-stair/one-step set leading up to those. Volume settings must remain on any odd number at all times. When doing two loads of laundry I have to put the quarters in both machines simultaneously, same with pressing the setting buttons, then I always start with the machine on the right when unloading. My point is, there are certain objects associated with my obsessive routines that have become almost important as the acts themselves. My ipod is the number one item I have on my person at any times of any travel beyond my home where there is the threat of not having quality music to listen to for any period of time. I walk a lot, skate a little, adventure at night and a soundtrack seems absolutely necessary for each endeavor.


There is also a pair of gloves (fingerless, black & gray and extending to the elbow!) my aunt gave me for Christmas that I have found myself strangely infatuated with. They are always on my hands, even after I take off my survival jackets. I fucking wear them to shows, play beer pong in them, sew in them, play piano in them.

I ordinarily wear them while typing, but I am not wearing them now.
I do not know where they are. SIGH. I lost them at some point last night, I am hoping heavily they’re in my buddy Paolini’s car or at the restaurant or just hiding in the depths of my room. In any case, I find myself feeling guilty in mourning their absence because, after all, they are only a silly object. Still, though, my arms are sad and hope their warmers return some how.

Of late, I have been consuming fairly decent meals in comparison to my usual lot of metabolic encouragement. Dinners have included a lot of blueberries, potatoes, rice and beer. Now that I put it in words, it doesn’t seem like a healthy diet, but it’s an actual improvement on last week’s dining. There are breakfasts of apples and bananas at times, plus extensive amounts of water.


While on the topic of habits…I find it extraordinary how they become, almost by definition, a muscle memory of an action as opposed to one intentionally sought to complete. Many of mine tend to go unnoticed by my conscious self so I’m always surprised when I open my birth control pills to find that the day’s pill has, indeed, been ingested and all is well.

Good job brain, keep it up!

Today is the second of of a three day workless weekend for this human. I slept in yesterday, a rare feat! It impeded my efficiency a little but I managed to accomplish quite a bit regardless. This morning, my mind will not allow additional slumber which just as well considering there is so much sewing and cleaning to be done! Then there is the song writing and dog bathing and hair cutting and drinking and smoking! So I thought it best to make an early start of it all. Though I do really enjoy the two jobs I have at the bridal shop and hosting karaoke in a couple Pasco bars.

Dresses by day, tequila/sound equipment/tips by night!

I am watching Bronson the dog twitch his little feet while he sleeps and Sean Connery is passed out cozy on the floor. I adore these little creatures and Sunday is family day! Which means walks for Bronson, cat nip and combing for Sean, a clean tank and filter for Norman (turtle). The fact that there are people who don’t have pets to enhance their lives baffles me!

In fact, while sitting on an idling bus at the transit center a few days back I was observing a young puppy and it’s owner. This probably three-month-old animal was the most jolly little bulk of fuzz, happily romping at the heel of his leash holder and responding merrily to any requests of stopping or sitting. I began to think of Bronson and how I wish I would have taken more steps to strengthen his training (and thus, our bond) when he was younger and more eager to please. I wonder if it feels the same way to be a human parent watching a new mother with her child; cure-less pangs of regret due to the most selfish and personal bits of one’s own, mostly unavoidable, characteristic nature. In any case, I know my relationship with my animals is strongly in tact, doubt just has a way of possessing the most effective forms of ego-bashing osmosis.

I call them my puppikittikins!

Part of my adventures yesterday involved a trip to the grocery store to get a bus pass and a few apples. While in line, the gay rude girl (LOC!) in me couldn’t help but stare at a woman I had seen several times already during my current trip in the store. I was staring because I loved the gray of her hair. It’s exactly what I wish my hair would be, colour-wise. I eventually mustered up the impoliteness to ask her if I could take a photo of her head before leaving the store, she agreed!

This image really doesn’t do it justice.

My knees have not been treated favourably in the past few weeks. They were consumed by massive, mosh pit induced bruises for several painful days, aching at the joints due to four inch heels and an extensive amount of walking. They are currently skinned and re-bruised following yesterday’s graceful public portrayal of myself eating shit on the busy sidewalk while skateboarding. The real victim of this little accident, however, was my pants! I wear these damn things everyday, they’re wonderful, perfectly broken in and serve my survival function to near exact desire. The denim has been violated by pavement now and it’s only a matter of time before they become unfit for wear in visible situations. I will have to start searching for the pair that will eventually replace these ones.

Until then, larga vida a los pantalones!

caught in my eye April 9, 2010

I spend a lot of time trying to explain the inconvenience of  desk perching to Sean Connery the cat.  He walks on the keyboard, bats at the mouse, leaves awkward comments on Facebook and impairs my view of the monitor.  I have to commend his persistence, though, because no matter how many times I pick him up and relocate his fuzzy orange kitty body he always eventually returns to his favoured position, rubbing my face with his while big fat purs rumble in his chest.  He head butts my hand as it tries to click on things and gets eye juice all over my fingers.  God damn adorable little fucking bastard!

You know when you wake up with a pounding head, smelling like sweat with quarters stuck to your tits that you had a good night. If my life were a movie, which scenes from a Wednesday night adventure would make the final cut? :

[couch in a bar]
her: You’re drunk, I feel like I’m taking advantage of you.
me: Well…I’m on top, so that has to count for something.

I’ll have to take a break from being a great American party girl for a day or so considering the lack of funds, booze and patrons. My depression hates me for it, but my body is thankful. It seems today I will have to get creative and dig up some distractions that do not depend so heavily on the voluntary ingestion of poisons.

As visually based as I consider myself to be, I always find it more efficient to express my innards through words. The impact and clarity they lend really makes me feel my message is being relayed with the ever present possibility of reader by reader interpretation. Visual art, of course, contains the same properties but I find little finesse in my abilities there. I tend to combine the two and litter the world with confusing, not-quite-art pieces. It frustrates me a lot of the time, I just want to create something more subtle that lets the viewer really soak an image in without having their feelings interrupted by direct captions on the work itself. I want the words without the letters, I guess that’s what fashion is for.

I wonder if civilization will eventually build up higher and higher until it collapses in on itself and burns to a crisp. I kind of hope so and I hope I’m here when it goes down. I want to be a piece of the reconstruction, a bard and a trader because this isn’t working and we need something different! There is a pile of books that I haven’t picked up in a few years and I think I’ll be reading Anthem this week just to encourage my little bits of (unwillingly) sober social revolution.

Spitting is a terrible habit that has a strangely huge impact on my life sometimes. I spit constantly and I realize a lot of innocent bystanders find it to be rather disgusting. I don’t do it on purpose! I just have to get that crap out of my body or something. The other day I began to wonder what my face must look like while I use the power of internal suction to gather up all the phlegm in the throat. Not the most appealing images…


The bus stop outside of my work is on a busy street right in front of a gym. While waiting to pull into traffic I watched the shoulders of a welled toned, tanned, middle-aged woman flex and ripple as they worked smoothly to lift a water bottle to her lips and suck its contents down. I could feel the smoke from my cig burn my eyes as the cookies (later to be joined by tequila) settled in the pit of my stomach and the THC cuddled my blood stream. Here I was at 21-years spitting blood and chunky mucus into gravel while someone twice my age was in her physical prime just yards away, it’s almost enough to make a girl feel guilty like I’m not living this existence to the fullest. My overactive imagination corrected this for me: her clear, alert eyes detected an opening in the rush hour rat race and she turned into the street.

BAM!
A truck, a crash, a split second.
I was breathing still,
she was not.
I win.

If we’re gonna die, we’re gonna die (from our own arrogance) so we may as well take our time.

I do, at least, have an appealing torso.