Log in

Previous 20

Dec. 11th, 2015


We Don't Kiss (part 2)

Since our breakup, we haven't kissed (quotations insinuated). Our usual elbow kisses seem demoted to elbow bumps, as in, elbows are jutted to each other, but not instinctually. 99% of the time, I initiate, and I'm not expecting a kiss, but I never get one anyway. He'll lift his elbow in response, but we don't touch them together like an actual elbow bump (hence, the kisses demoting). He even seems reluctant unless there's a window between us.

My love life is fucking weird. But I wouldn't trade it in for anything.

Nov. 20th, 2015


A Fresh Start

Angel and I got back together after nearly a month apart, with no sight nor sound from him. Once a week, I sent him a text. "Sweet dreams," which he always liked to read from me. "I hope you can see the eclipse from wherever you are." And lastly, just a simple "Hey," to which he responded with a phone call.

We talked for a half-hour and agreed to meet at our usual spot. My heart pounded as I approached, but he greeted me with a smile, and the day played out like we'd never had a blip in the first place.

"Are we all friends again?" asked our friend Kel. We raised our coffee cups in a toast to our fresh start. "Angel, you're such a fuckin' drama queen."

We've been going strong so far. How often do exes get a happy ending? I didn't think I'd be one of the lucky ones.

Sep. 28th, 2015


An Ending

We seemed a perfect fit, but my time in the sun with my Angel has ended. I'm sad, certainly, but life must go on. He assured me we'd still be friends, but we all know how that goes.

I wish I had a viable reason, though. Surely I'm worth an explanation? But I haven't seen him in a week, and I know it's always a bad lesson to harp on a recent ex over texts. I'll have to wait and see.

Sep. 10th, 2015



In the last summer where I had a sizable load of birthday cash from family members, I decided to give my bedroom a teen dream makeover. I always marveled at the chic bedrooms of magazine girls, and wanted desperately to be as organized and coordinated. So I took my money to the shops and bought new linens and a bunch of fixings for a unified look.

My mother took one look in the buggy and tore into me, saying this shade of red is a whore's colour. The whatsits were fine, but the bedding had to go. The darker crimson couldn't seal the deal either. Too morbid, she said. Like the brides of Dracula (so still too sexual for a teenage girl).

Guess what colour my bed is today?

Sep. 9th, 2015

Being Alone

What It's Like

The humidity seeks vengeance for former winters. It strikes in Autumn (I know Autumn traditionally begins in late September, but it's the month that counts).

I like being alone and basking in the peace outside the every day calamity that is September. What is this month but one big traffic jam full of angry and confused students?

At least I won't need to put in much effort until later, when schools start grueling into their theatrical performance of the semester. I've heard there's a dramatic retelling of Raiders of the Lost Arc. I'll be crafting Nazi flags and banners, and an arc. Well. The little angel statues on top of the arc.

But the solitude feels nice, coming home every day and drinking a cold beer or a hot dessert tea, depending on the weather - even the hottest days can cool off sometimes. I think of the feeling of this, and only this. If I let my mind stray too far from the moment, I start thinking, and we all know where that leads.

Misery. It leads to misery. And memories. And more misery.

As my good friend Matt said: In case of memories, stop thinking immediately.

Aug. 17th, 2015


We Don't Kiss

Angel and I don't kiss. We don't touch. We don't usually touch. So any other way we can kiss, I'll take it with joy.

We shared our first kiss in May. Flowers had just been planted at the cafe, and the snow had nearly all melted. We still wore our full armour against the cold. And someone had left two little stuffed doggies in the branches of a city tree. We made them kiss and looked at each other with stars in our eyes. I felt really close to him in that moment.

We kissed last week, when I felt at an all-time low for no reason (most likely a post moon-sickness). The wind picked up and our empty coffee cups flew onto the ground and rolled to each other. The lips touched, and Angel said, "Look, they're kissing!" My mood lifted a little bit, and I smiled for the first time that day.

Our usual way of kissing is in the form of a pre-agreed touch, not often, but enough for both of us to show physical affection: elbow bumps. Like fist bumps, but we just elbow each other, knocking funny-bones. I've learned it's not always his desire to do it on every encounter, so I let him offer first.

Tonight, we had what is probably the closest we've come to real kissing. He rolls his own cigarettes, and I asked if he'd roll me one. Instead of rolling one for me, he took the one from his lips and passed it to me. He never does that! Never. He looked as I put it between my lips, and it seemed like he really meant it. I'd say that was the highlight of my night.

Aug. 16th, 2015



Angel calls me a demon, and rightfully so. I've always called myself a demon, too, even before we met. I am an atheist, but if I had to believe in something, I would believe my mother tore the soul from my body in childhood, and for that, I must always be the villain, just as Lucifer must always be the villain, and bear the weight of our own personal Hell.

So rightfully so, Angel calls me a demon, but that doesn't mean we are enemies. Angels and demons can work together and be friends and may even love one another.

Angel doesn't touch anyone ever, so this relationship is something new, but I also feel myself growing from this. I've always been a hugger, a toucher, a very personable person. It's only ever gotten me into trouble a few times, with those who never told me they don't like to touch (and so I get the worst mixed signals of affection mixed with a sense of disgust of me). Angel said right away NO TOUCHING.

But we do sometimes, and I think sometimes he doesn't mind. His OCD has him rush to the washroom to clean his hands at least twice if someone touches his hand. He has "cleansing" ticks if he can't do that, or doesn't want to right away. He uses his cleansing ticks to clean off the very thought of touch, too. Some things make him spit, some things make him shake off the 'filth,' some things make him run to a sink. And he calls every bath a baptism, which for him is accurate.

I only feel bad sometimes, when it looks like he could really use a hand of comfort, or a hug, or some fingers through the hair when his head hurts or he needs to relax. Or when I do. But those things that would relax others wouldn't relax him. Hair-play is the most enjoyable act of platonic intimacy I can imagine. He knows this, and gave me a love-lock when he got his hair cut. I put it in a large locket with a pigeon feather he plucked off the ground. I wear my Angel Hair when I feel lonely.

But we still have really romantic dates.

May. 25th, 2015


The Ones I Love, Part Three: 2013

And then I met someone. And then I lost someone.

Les called him Cello Guy, which stuck. We met on the set of an indie film. I worked costume detail while interning with the makeup artist. He won me with a smile.

Writing in bulk like this, I realize I am easily won. I can't say how I feel about that. Easy? Dumb? ALIVE???

Alive (dumb).

I didn't know anyone on the set at the time I arrived, and he came right up to greet me with that pie-man smile. The first night of the shoot, we warmed ourselves in the pickup on set and he dazzled me with words. We locked eyes in a way I've never been eye-locked before. Without knowing the appropriate length to stay locked, shyness took over and I broke my hypnotic gaze. Such nice eyes, though. Endlessly deep.

Turning 36 in a few months, and once again, I'm feeling like a teenager.

When the shoot ended, work had him traveling to Thailand, much to my jealousy. Bangkok is breathtaking at night. Three months later, upon his return, I did the thing.

I asked him on a date. I wanted to get to know the charming and sweet guy I met. And coming back from Asia, I knew he had great stories to tell. I asked him to Second Cup. He agreed. And he also invited some other friends. Just coffee. Social beverage- emphasis on Social, so I can't scrutinize this situation so unfairly. He probably didn't know I meant it as a date. But it turned out to be one anyway. His friends couldn't make it, and he and I talked for hours. His tales of adventure blew me away tenfold, but amidst the chaos of emotions, I couldn't sense chemistry between us. I tried to hint things, like leaning on him while he shared photos on his phone and such. I know the old adage of spelling things out for guys, but I'm not ready to get my pen and paper.

At the core, we're very similar. I don't mean in an Amino Acids sort of way, but in personal tastes, hobbies, interests. But on the surface, surface being most seen, we're from different worlds. I can't go into the details. It exhausts me to think so superficially. But that's where it counts, sadly.

I won't end my pursuit there, however. I haven't so far. That's how far I've gone off the deep end.

On occasion, I've asked him on more dates, and will always do so until our friendship falters for good.

Les, who has not only thrown himself headfirst into the Friend Zone by his own volition, with no complaints from me, decided New Year's Eve would be a good time to rear his Green Monster's head. No idea where this came from. I asked him what he wanted to do for the holiday, and he said he didn't want to make plans. I said if he didn't want to decide, I was going to ask Cello. Somehow putting his decision before Cello's meant in Les's head that I made him Plan B. No idea what transpired, because Les was never jealous before, due to us not having any romantic connection whatsoever, and Les was in the middle of playing head games, which I don't play.

He said some really hurtful words, and before I knew it, our friendship reeled into the abyss.

The Ones I Love, Part Two: 2012

Never has one been so sure of her life's choices than when she's gullet-deep in steak sauce and being riveted by a Shamwow infomercial in a bar at 2am.

After one disastrous sort-of relationship, and a loss of friend for Ben due to said disaster, and more post-production blues (caused by some great tech-week work I helped create not making the final cut for the performance) having me second-guess my career, I found myself feeling pretty lune.

A whole year passed with nothing but a few misfirings in the lunar bits. Except one solid hiccough. One minor heartbreak, caused by a friend, and sort of crush. Very crush. Okay, I fell for him ages ago, and the feelings have bubbled back up again. He'd moved away, and my heart sank. When he came back, just a week ago, he blew a hole in the bottom of my ship. And I sank with it this time. He didn't tell me he came back. Only for a week, he said. We could have had a week, but I saw him waiting for his bus back out of town. He has a distinctive way of holding his cigarette between his lips, like James Dean, like Jeremy Irons, like my beloved Camus. He half-heartedly apologized, but never looked at me. He thumbed the numbers on his phone non-stop. The Big Apple has changed him so much. He never liked the idea of texting before, and weeks later, when I tried to text, and even call, he snubbed me.

Forever, I'll always desire nothing more than to return to that time when I only cared for characters in my books, the CD player on the fritz, and the weather's decisions to allow me to eat lunch on the rooftop. Alas, it's now a time where I stay awake nights to allow my fantasies of what might (not) be slap me in the face with what would (will) be.

I admitted my crush because it felt different than before, or other crushes. Like this time had more urgency, more reality than my early 20s college-girl romances.

That would have been much easier to handle. Fuck.

Ben said I need to get a life, but immediately knew it was Zeke who gripped my heartstrings like an amateur fiddler. I should at least fall for people who would call me back, that's what Ben said. I told him that I'd still feel for him, even though it hurt, and when I finished that text, I checked the book of faces to see that he'd de-friended my account.

"I think I just got over something," I declared.

And then I met someone new.
crispin-what is it

The Ones I Love, Part One: 2011

Ben, Omah, James, and I started "Midnight Monthly," where we ate bar food at the end of every month at the same place (Sneaky) and December brought in one of Ben's tag-alongs. He came in strong, flirting with the best lines that weren't lines to anyone but me, in accordance to Ben's master plan, I'll wager. "I wish I had Strange Powers like Stephin Merritt." Won over. Instantly.

We kept it loose, the way I like it, for a small chunk of the year. I have an aversion to getting too close too soon, but Eric crossed that boundary with the most brilliant trickery I've ever seen.

Mix Tchaikovsky, my darling Tchai-Tchai, mix him with (D)Aronovsky, a movie about a stunning ballet performance, and pay for my ticket before asking. I agreed, without knowing his parents would be there. And then the infamous Black Swan scene that no one should see in casual company: Mila accompanies Natalie back home and goes muff diving while parents and teenagers who are watching (because they thought it was a film about ballet) freeze in their seats and unblinkingly stare straight ahead, no eye contact, no flinching, feigning disintrest. Coupled with the little knuckle scene, and you've got one hell of a "meet the folks" date.

I survived that, and so did Eric. This is how much I liked the guy. He also took me for my first cup of hot cocoa at Second Cup (Toronto lifer, Cup regular, and never tried their cocoa. I know, it surprised me, too). Won. Instantly. Again.

We followed the rest of the year with many failed dates and missed opportunities. I work with keeping things loose for this reason, but sometimes things get the best of the system. We missed out on Emilie Autumn, The Pixies, and the Edwards Garden Manhunt.

Work and Lady Lunacy got in the way by coincidence. The Lunacy took a whole month of post-production blues. I found that there comes a time in every person's life when the realization hits that the little 7-year-old you bonded with during one production will not remember you during her next production, only a year later. Post-production blues got the best of me for this one.

Then the Green Monster began taking over Eric, against my usual time-vampires, including my time with the friends who introduced us in the first place. I ditched comic con plans for a night at Pour Boy with some Winnie friends who took me to Mississauga for a little sneaking around at the abandoned Regal. We missed a Jane Goodall lecture in favour of the big Pillow Fight, which he didn't enjoy, and I went to the Slut Walk with Omah, which he didn't approve. DIDN'T APPROVE.

Oh no. Jealousy will not do.

We invited him camping, to try to smooth things over, but I warned him that we are not attached with that many strings. This is what it means to keep things loose. Standard Rules do not apply. He spent a lot of time on his mobile, ditched us during tent-pitching, and got angry when I tried keeping him involved in shenanigans. We had a lot of fun swimming, but we came to the last straw when he put the blame on me after discovering he's allergic to pecans.

We said our final goodbye to Eric before Autumn. Omah was especially defensive against the Green Monster, ending that final evening with her perfect attitude: "I'm a lover, not a fighter, but I'm also a fighter, so don't get any ideas, buddy."

May. 24th, 2015


The Ones I Love, Part Zero

"I was born in 1979 without a soul. At least, that's what it seems. Yes, '79. Not sure about the soul. If souls exist. It would explain a lot."

These were my last thoughts to you, LiveJournal, scrawled in an auto-saved passage that didn't want me to forget it upon starting up this blog again. Unfinished, incomplete, yet surprisingly complete. Surprisingly final.

I've spent the past five years falling in and out of love while crawling from the depths of a sort of lunacy. Off and on lunacy, but mostly on. Something akin to magic, something akin to death, something akin to sleeping belly-up on the linoleum floor of a sopping wet washroom in an unknown bar (let's face it, the bar is probably Sneaky).

The next handful of posts will account for the past handful of years I've spent mucking-about, pulled from the pages of my diary, and their topics will most notably, most probably be...

The Ones I Love.

Oct. 17th, 2010

dash x

The Past Comes Back to Hold My Hand

I've been in a sort of open relationship (I know, if it's sort of, it is pretty open) for about 6 months. It's nice. It's easy. And it's slow. And things are speeding up. Not much, but the hand-on-knee base is getting further and further above the knee, and it's starting to stir our hormones. We are comfortable with just sitting by each other and touching in some way. Hands next to each other, with one finger just barely grazing, or, as stated earlier, hand-on-knee... Stroking has been occurring. Thumbs going back and forth across the leg or the hand or the arm or whatever. Or up the arm and back down.

Up the arm and back down caught me off guard today. His hand came up above the elbow and under my sleeve and lingered on a secret. "Scratch," he said, and realized it was raised. "Or scar." Yeah. "And another." His hand trailed back down to my hand.

"Lots of scars," I replied quietly without looking. And like never before, his hand squeezed mine. Like he wished he could have saved me. Or like he wanted me to know he's here if ever another scar arises. He's not just a guy in an open relationship. He really cares about me and my inner workings. And he'll listen.

I felt very warm.

Sep. 29th, 2010


We Haven't Seen You Here In Quite Some Time

I'm going to try to write a little more often in my LiveJournal. More often than every few years or so. I don't want to abandon something which thrives on words instead of the more addicting Facebook which thrives on petty tweet-sized updates, quizzes, and game scores. So here's my day.

I ran into two friends over in the KPC. I had been trying and trying to get breakfast but kept getting distracted (an easy thing to happen in Kensington Market, though most of mine happened at home). Finally, I arrived at Kensington Cafe and as I stepped foot in front of the door, these two friends came up to me in unnecessary excitement. Jesse, of whom I was less fond than Brenda, confessed that I made an appearance in her dream last night. I had all the answers, she said, to which I amusingly replied, "I often do." And she wastefully cheered on about how crazy the dream was and how she'd run into me just now, and finally, she calmed down long enough to expect another reply from me, which I obliged. "I, on the other hand, dreamed last night that I went to a whore-house." I meant to say 'brothel' but the word wouldn't come to me. I do love that name better than its more descriptive sister. My statement was followed by the most uncomfortable silence, made more awkward by the guttural noises coming from my dumbfounded friends, who said goodbye upon deciding they had no other way to respond. At last, I sat down to my delicious scrambled eggs and fried tomato. And mid-savor, I was met by James and Omah. I told them all about the dream sequence. My ability to render Jesse speechless astounded Omah. Apparently, no one has ever done this. James summed up the whole experience perfectly, though: "You make awkward classy."

Jan. 30th, 2009


Because Sex Was Always Supposed To Be A Spine-Chilling, Technological Nightmare

Direct from Warren Ellis's blog:

RealTouch: a technological orifice that jacks into your computer and turns a subchannel of haptic commands into a servo-driven nightmarish despunking ordeal while watching your favouite porn star on VOD. There’s also a set of commands for homosex where the RealTouch simulates the most frighteningly muscular rectum you ever feared.

The funniest part? It was designed by a former NASA engineer.
Where is MY Mega-Man sex box?

My apartment smells like Chinese food. I must find the source, for I have not had any such food here in weeks.

Mar. 30th, 2008

invisible monster

Home of the... nothing.

Well, I knew there wouldn't be as much here as there is in Toronto, but on top of that, I have had a whole week of crap weather getting me down. Wake up, Mother Nature. It's almost April. The leaves should be in bloom, and it should be light jacket weather.
With all the precipitation out there and the fact that nothing interesting is in walking distance from me (though I could bus uptown if I hadn't gotten so lazy since coming here), I have gotten FAT! Okay, I know it's superficial to say that I'm fat when there are those who are fatter, but I've gained 18 pounds! Do you know how much that is in coconuts? Do you?? No, really, I'm curious to know.

In any case, staying with the family was swell, but the swelling's gone down and the kids and I are officially living in a Rochester 'burb called Henrietta. Also known as commercial town. It's all buildings, and a mall. No hangouts (except for the 24-hour diner at which Omah landed a job).

Well, that's the news. I think I'm going to go to school. Maybe. For some kind of theatrical works. I've always dreamed to be behind the camera and having fame's appearance in my clutches. Now I just have to find a school that offers such a thing. I wonder if I can find a Villainy 101 class somewhere.

As for a job, I'm at a grocery store, which is currently all I want right now as far as responsibility goes.

Dec. 4th, 2007


Emily keeps up appearances, so why can't I?

Emily the Strange - RUESP Quiz

Jun. 10th, 2007

invisible monster

The Bane/End of My Existence

I'm certain this is the most guilty of all pleasures, but I must confess...

I really love the song Fergalicious.

Don't judge me. I associate it with maiming and dismembering and Crispin Glover.

In other news, the caravan (that's me and Omah and James) will be hitting the dusty trail at the end of July. Goodbye Toronto. Hello Rochester. Goodbye life I've loved for so long. Hello life I have yet to discover.

It won't be for long, but I need to get away from it all for a while. I'm glad to have Omah and James along. I honestly didn't think they'd join me as this was a last minute decision. I know there will be nobody I love here in the very near future, but I didn't want to be the last to go (Omah wants me to point out that she gets it hardcore). I didn't plan to be the first, but here we go.

After I leave, Vincent will be going back to Nevada with his father. Ben is going to school in Vancouver, and Linda will be setting sail to Hollywood with stars in her eyes. Expect to see her name on the marquees. Alice and Victoria will be in from Germany. Alice was my first friend when I moved here from St. Catharines. I can't say I'll miss her the most because I've been missing her for a while now.

I will be having my going away shindig sometime between the 23rd and the 27th. Anyone can come, but since I don't know yet the exact time, date, and place of the event, I'm sure it will just be my tight-knit group of misfits (that's Ben and Vincent and Linda and Alice and Omah and James and special guests Victoria and Diello and Charles). Expect lots of hugging, some drinking, and hopefully not too many tears.

Mar. 2nd, 2007


Different like everyone else

It seems that I have fallen prey to the addiction that is MySpace. I suspected it would happen. I've only come back to post the lyrics to what I believe is my favourite King Missile song:

I want to be different, like everybody else I want to be like
I want to be just like all the different people
I have no further interest in being the same,
because I have seen difference all around,
and now I know that that's what I want
I don't want to blend in and be indistinguishable,
I want to be part of the different crowd,
and assert my individuality along with others
who are different like me
I don't want to be identical to anyone or anything
I don't even want to be identical to myself
I want to look in the mirror and wonder,
"who is that person? I've never seen that person before;
I've never seen anyone like that before."
I want to call into question the very idea that
identity can be attached
I want a floating, shifting, ever changing persona:
Invisibility and Obscurity,
detachment from the ego and all of it's pursuits.
Unity is useless
Conformity is competitive and divisive and leads only to
stagnation and death.
If what I'm saying doesn't make any sense,
that's because sense can not be made
It's something that must be sensed
and I, for one, am incensed by all this complacency
Why oppose war only when there's a war?
Why defend the clinics only when they are attacked?
Why are we always reactive?
Let's activate something
Let's fuck shit up
Whatever happened to revolution for the hell of it?
Whatever happening to protesting nothing in particular, just
protesting cause it's Saturday and there's nothing else to do?

That is all.

Dec. 19th, 2006


Regarding My Spacely Sprockets

I thought I might give in to the Web V.2 that is MySpace. Do you know what I found there?


I have been stolen! I wonder if this person means the same thing I mean with the handle.

Regardless, I am not her, and I really REALLY dread the thought of anyone thinking I am her.

I just went by my name if anyone's curious.

Over and out.

Nov. 21st, 2006


Wish List

This is the best idea since sliced beer! I found myself contributing before I even joined :)
The community is holiday_wishes and it rocks!

Just read the guidelines, post up to 10 wishes, and look for other people whose wishes you can grant! Oh, I always get so giddy before the seasonal depression sets in.

Okay, my list...

1. Pocket Goths These are plush toys made by my evil master Voltaire, and they can be found in claw machines all over the country (most people have found them at wal-marts and targets, but the only claw machine I've found them in was at Kmart, so far). They are the cutest things ever and they seem to only be found on ebay, in claw machines or at Voltaire's live shows. He never comes around here, so I never get the opportunity to nab one of the little guys.

2. Kelly:Shoes CD. There was no way I'd walk away from the Shoes and Text Message Break Up videos and NOT be addicted. S/he is so cool :)

3. Message plant These are the coolest things ever. They can be found somewhere among all the awesome stuff at thinkgeek.com or jlist.com. You get a can with seeds, stick the seeds in the dirt, and then it buds with a message written on the pod! SO COOL!

4. Participation in my Letter Project All "rules" and whatnot are there.

5. Corset patterns I just learned that one of my best friends knows how to make corsets of any kind, and all he needs is a pattern and supplies!

6. Lace, ribons, colourful fishnets, or anything EGL-related Any lace of any colour. And any fabric ribons as long as they're not wrapping ribbons (the kind with wired edges or the paper ones). EGL-related covers anything you've ever seen on the subject, as well as whole magazines, clippings, pictures and whatever. I'm a floozy for it :)

7. Liquid eyeliner of any colour I'll run out soon, and if I have other colours, I won't use up my black so quickly :)

8. Foreign ANYTHING. Postcards, candy (even american candy *sweet tooth*), trinkets, magazine/newspaper clippings, beads, paper...

9. Gift Certificates to just about anywhere national, but preferrably to thinkgeek.com, jlist.com, or amazon.com.

10. A nice SURPRISE maybe candy, maybe handmades, maybe fake flowers (they last longer and survive through post), maybe money (you can stop laughing now), maybe mix cds, maybe double eyelid makeup, maybe gift cards, maybe boggle, maybe a card, maybe toe-socks, maybe the Tom Baker Dr. Who scarf, maybe goggles or a gas mask, maybe kosher water sent from a spring in Israel....

mail bombs and dead things should not be sent hereCollapse )

Previous 20