Snapping Synapse

I'm fortunate; without the ability to choose how to remember, I can memorize an entire thunderstorm. Bolt for bolt. Against my will. I'll remember how many steps from my front door to yours, long after I have forgotten how to spell your last name or the smell of your apartment. I only remember the easy parts. Lucky me.

Hit The Coast As Hard As You Can.

The way it’s snowing right now, I feel like I brought it with me. People here said "No, it never snows here. It might rain all winter long, but it'll barely ever snow.”

Well, it’s snowed for three days now. Three fucking days. It came through the crack in my window and it felt like pins and needles.

"I don't know about that, I only know that I didn't put it there."

Who thought that the simple job description of building maintenance worker would encompass such tasks as cleaning human feces out of an elevator or scraping three-day old dried Kraft Dinner© brand cheese sauce (sans noodles) from a fire escape stairwell? Did I mention that these things were found in multi-million dollar condos? Did I mention the feces? Yeah.

DON'T BE LATE FOR DINNER

I've become somewhat of a housewife. I'm decoupaging at an alarming rate. My baking skills have reached level five, and my inventory now contains more new human interest piece podcasts than hardcore discographies. I'm going to celebrate my homemakerness by breaking a beer bottle over a jock's head this weekend and knitting him a wool bandage. Alpaca, brah.

This Is Nowhere Near A Hayden Song

It’s raining, but I don’t mind, I’m gonna find a falafel place somewhere in this town that resembles eat-a-pita and eat the shit out of it and then not tip regardless of service ‘cause the service was bad back home and I’m going to pretend the whole time that I’m in Hess on a Friday night oh dear.

I wanna GOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGO

Pre-show jitters are worse than:

-Christmas Eve
-The last ten seconds of December 31st
- Waking up fifty-eight seconds before your alarm
- Being late for work
-Seinfeld reruns when you’re waiting for something good to happen
-Knowing you’re gonna fall down a flight of stairs
-Bacon fat
-Back pimples
-People you knew in high school
-Zach Frank

Longing Distance, or, Loving Where I Am, Missing Where I Amn't

Six years.

Six years I’ve spent meeting people who weren’t forced into the same room with me. I’ve met and become friends with some of the greatest people this town will ever see, and it kills a part of me knowing I won’t be there for them always, but it’s time for a change.


Vancouver, here I come.

Arbitrary Numbers! Arbitrary Pictures!

I don’t know what the next ten tattoos I get will be, but I know now that when I hit the big two-oh, they’ll be a Jurassic Park logo waiting to get bzzz’d in to my right buttock. It’s that, or Jeff Goldblum in a marching band outfit with a homicidal grin on my penis. No other choices.

Flashing My Skills behind Tarnished Yellow Grillz, or , How to flail in a four by six kitchen.

I am in the process of choreographing the most complex and confusing dance routine to the sounds of Hella’s Been A Long Time, Cousin. It’s a full-body workout and requires the participation of two other highly experienced dancers whom I have already chosen. Dance moves include ‘The Nine-Stage Kick’, ‘The Belly Presentation’, and ‘The Greasy Scissors’. Look out.

Omit

After dragging them metal shears for hours on end, and endless papercuts and paint-stained nails- I suddenly felt that although I was proud of co-authoring THE most fucked up pieces of art in Hess Village, I’d rather people not know what I’ve done. I’d rather stand back and have people wonder ‘what kind of deranged fucks did this?’

Train of Thought! Woo! Woo!

Do I go here or there do I choose now or wait it out do I sleep sleep sleep my weekdaze away do I fend for myself or do I help out people I don’t know do I love you do I care do I make lunch or breakfast do I rest do I think I. Can’t. Stop.

A Short Reflection On Everything Else, or, Yeah, I Bet A Better Use Of Grammatical Structure Would Help, Too.

This will be the only thing I will continue that will remain light and airy and not dive into some melancholy, booze-tinged, rainy-day sighfest because it’s way too hard to be all cathartic in fifty eight little words. I’m sure if I had a bigger vocabulary I could be all sad in so few words, but I don’t.

Trades

Owl's Author, or, Is That A Fat Naked Girl On Your Arm Or Are You Just Terrifying?

He grabbed my hand last night. I knew him best for beating a man's face in beyond recognition in the bathroom of my old work.

He grabbed my hand, and said 'we're only friends if you dance with me right now.'

We tore shit up. People may have died. I don't remember. It's all a big blur, sometimes.

When I Say 'Run Past The Bouncer As Fast As You Can', Run Past The Bouncer As Fast As You Can

When you resolve to stay indoors and play Bomberman until your fingers bleed...then you blink, and you're suddenly watching Pink Eyes pile drive some guy into a never-ending onslaught of drunken headbangers while a near-stranger thrusts drinks in your face...you suddenly think that maybe going out with only six dollars in your pocket isn’t such a bad idea.

Let's do Phil Collins *giggle*

Watching people sing karaoke sober is so so so so so so so

*breath*

so so so so SO much more teeth grindingly hard to watch than when they're drunk. Knowing that they'll go home and live with how awfully they'd sang someone else's song...it makes me question what else these people are doing with a clear conscience.

Fists and Mirrors have nothing to do with you

I may (sometimes) consider myself a person of sound moral judgment and positive karmic balance, but something about Cary Grant totally loopy on LSD makes me reconsider how anyone of public stature might actually act behind closed doors. From now on, I will envision all celebrities in the nude covered in hog's blood singing showtunes from the fifties.

In fairness to the fairer

Girls make me smile. They make me laugh, blush and tense up every muscle in my body. If I spent one day without seeing a girl, I think I'd die from withdrawal. Cramps, vomiting....I'd probably eat nine vats of ground beef and down them with carbonated gravy.

So I'd be pregnant, and I don't really want stretch marks

I ain't blushin'.

When that one guy you know who you’re still on the brink of asking for an autograph gives you The Nod, strangers are giving you back pats while the bar is buying shots, and that girl flashes you her pearly whites... its time for bed, boyo. Knock’m back while your liver’s still living and the world’s still giving.

The DOC is in

This guy moved in last night.

He needs a job in Hamilton, and I hope he gets one. He moved here for the sake of music (the complete opposite of what most people do, which is scramble to get the fuck out of here.)- He makes great pictures, music, and conversation, so if you see him, say hello