Word on the Street

This weekend I headed out to the Word on the Street event held at Queen's Park. I've been meaning to go for a couple of years now, but always missed it or wasn't in the city at the right time. Convinced a couple of friends to come with me, figured it would be a jolly old time.

It was raining.

I was a little drunk.

Aside from these two hindrances, I think it would have been fun if I'd had more money. There were a decent amount of bookstores represented who had discounts, so I put myself in hock to grab up a couple of things and buy my mom her birthday present.

But damn, it was crowded. The crowds really put me off for some reason. You'd think I'd be happy at the amount of people doing the whole literacy thing, but the bulk of the tables were either selling crap or so surrounded by people that the interesting displays were obscured. Not even sure they were interesting, just gathered the best crowd.

The newspapers, radio and television stations were out doing their best to promote to the kids. Really, only a couple of things captured my attention.

The crazy lady warning us that "the waters were coming." Reminiscent of Tank Girl; I liked it. Too bad she was actually crazy and spouting off further pronouncements about sin and Jesus.

The Black Bastard table. Found out that L. has a "collector's edition" t-shirt. As collectors as it gets with a reader base of ten. But the guy who wrote and drew it was all done up in black-sploitation style.

Ice cream truck. Banana split. Tasty.

We ended up admitting defeat to the rain and hauling ass to the TTC to head home for wine and cheese and Arrested Development. Further drunkeness.

(Notes on alcohol abuse: I eat more [good], no hangover thus far [okay], I am an idiot [not so okay.])

I'm still not sure what is going on with L. and the whole relationship, but I am not concerned anymore. Last night was spent doing groceries and cuddling, with minor overtones of clinging to what we have for dear life.

Ah, yes, there it is

I found the crazy. It went to live in L.

After months of doing my goddamn best to prove to him how much I care for him, he still doesn't trust me.

Well, fuck.

So what am I supposed to do? Good natured, well, eventually you won't think that I am a tramp and lying to you constantly.

And everyone knows that I am good natured when I am bitter.

Pleading ignorance

I don't know, I just don't know. I am, frankly, shocked at myself.

I've quit marijuana for 7 years. Bored with it. But for the last three nights I've split a joint with someone.

I'm back on the POT.

Not to mention the recent (see below) uncharacteristic decisions and laid-back appreciation for life.

In the past, L. has hurt my feelings by saying that he will come to see me at x o'clock and failing to show within three hours. It has made me feel insignificant and unimportant, a non-entity in his life and lonely.

Last night around 9pm, he stopped by to let me know that he was heading out to a friend's and he would be back soon.

I'm not sure when I fell asleep, but I had finished disc 2 of season 2 of Arrested Development. I know this because when I woke up at 5:30am alone the computer was still on.

I had a moment of panic, of need to make sure he was okay. Ran out to living room (failed to look out window and notice him sitting on the porch) to grab the phone and hope he's fine.

"Yea, I'm just out front."

"Huh."

I wasn't upset, just glad to see him. He was afraid I was angry, but I just wanted to spend some time with him before work.

What the hell happened to the needy bitch that lived in my skin for 8 years?

God, I love him.

Is this me?

The office is empty, aside from me and a cat.

The tunes are cranked.

You and me baby, we were born ten thousand years ago.
I know it sounds crazy, but we got ten thousand more to go.

And I am dancing.

Last night was wretched/wonderful.

The "will she get fired?" question was replaced with "bet's on how long before she quits. I got good odds on noon here people!" I still don't know if this releases my obligation of a protest quit. Sure, if she was fired... alas. I dunno.

But, let's take a moment: I don't care!

Last night I spent wrapped in L.'s arms. His best friend has just moved to the UK. There was no farewell at the airport. There was very little manly back-slapping. Now he's gone, and we don't know if he's ever coming back/we're ever going to visit.

L. was dispondent. So I dropped a bombshell on him that I've been holding in for a couple of days now.

"I think that group sex is fun and all, but aside from that, how'd you like to try the monogamy thing?"

For much of my relationship history, I have been a staunch supporter of open relationships. I've always stood by my belief that sex doesn't equal love either way you write it and that if there is trust, respect and communication, then there should be nothing standing between you and a bit of fun.

[Please note: in some relationships I have felt the need to remain monogamous for my significant's sake; it was more important to them that it was for me.]

I made sure L. knew my feelings on this topic way back [a whole four and a half months] when all this started. He was amenable to the idea, but after awhile it became obvious that there was jealousy and envy. A feeling of control and need to control that was unhealthy for everyone involved. I've had to sit down and question why this is necessary, or not, and why I want it in the first place.

I must confess, I don't come out so well in the wash.

1) I enjoy sex. A lot. I mean, a lot a lot.
2) I enjoy the differences between people.
3) There are people I care for that I enjoy expressing that care and, yes, love in different ways.
4) I am afraid that if no one wants me, then I am worthless.
5) I am so unbelievably insecure that I need others to lust for me.
5b) I am so unbelievably insecure that I need to give in to that lust so that they don't hate me.

Sounds selfish, don't it?

And let's be honest, these days I'm almost just going through the motions of 4 & 5 because it is how many have come to know me. That it is expected of me.

Fuck it. L. is so wonderful, makes me feel so beautiful, and frankly, is the best lay I've ever experienced. So why the hell do I have to give in to this insecure desire to screw everyone, just to be sure that I have the reassurance that I am awesome at all times? If I wait an hour or so, go home, then I will have the love and assurance tenfold from L.

And hey, maybe this will encourage L. to pick up a sweet little [reel missing.]

But the point is that yes, he only wants to be with me too. He held me and kissed me and we drifted off together, trying to steal each others pillows.

Teh intarwebs, vol. 1

A recent collection of my wanderings on teh intarwebs. To be a regular [...] installment.

Catfish Hotel on YouTube
-I had been searching for this for years. Literally. It used to be easily found on Studio Tanuki's website (which I am not providing a link for, it now scares the batshit outta me. Yes, I am full of batshit.) but at some point they took it down. Now through the wonders of YouTube...etc. Watch it all the way, dammit. It's one of those jokes.

Kingdom of Loathing
-This is the game that if you already knew about it, then you needed to be reminded; if you didn't, then you need to be told. I am a level 4 Starch Savant, Pastamancer. Just started yesterday and holy shits.

Talking to Herself in Cubeland
-I don't know what's going to happen to this. I have it from a reliable source that the main character has been axed. Historical readings in honour of the passing of one who could truly annoy, and entertain us with her annoyance so long as we weren't actually there. Moment of silence to pay homage to the brave pilgrims who recorded her mutterings and never stabbed her in the back of the neck with a dull butterknife.

That's it for this week, as a week now ends at 10am on Saturday.
-Trix

On the side of the street

Cool things can be found on almost any given day in a city like this.

Last weekend I was house- and cat-sitting for my boss. She lives on a residential street just off a couple of main roads. There must have been a memo sent out that I missed reading

"ATTN: Homeowners and Renters

This weekend will be the last nice weekend the city will receive before I drop a load of snow or just start the winds up again. Sell your shit while you can.

-The Weather."

As such, there were two yard sales on the tiny little boulevards provided by the city for just this purpose.

2 SCSI harddrives (with power cables)
2 small white shelves
=$15.00

I have since acquired a PCI SCSI controller and the rest of the cables that I need. This cost slightly more, but I've always wanted to play with a RAID setup. Probably just pull the RAID 0, which isn't really RAID at all, since I'm pretty sure the drives are different sizes.

Later, when I was riding my bike home from work, I found this (mega bloks mr. paino.) L. likes to make sculptures with found, deconstructed, and busted stuff. It still works, so we're trying to figure out a way to make the keys play something besides notes. The lid and blocks that go inside are missing, so there are further considerations as to what to fill it with.

[Distracted. Watching someone make a 21-point turn in the parking lot.]

That's it for today. Back to invoicing and setting up accounting programs.

Nothing nice, nothing mean

Chaos lately.

Chaos is my favourite word to describe stress, upheaval, and discomfort. It's very fitting, because there is always life going on in the background with happiness and fun.

While there is a certain amount of "will she get fired?" followed by "am I going to have to quit?" I cannot worry too much as the cards will be played as they are dealt and the game is over today.

The house situation is also becoming tense. With six of us still living in the house, another over a majority of the time, and still yet another moving in on the first, it is hectic. I nearly killed everyone in the kitchen at 1 am the other day. My room is on the main floor, between the kitchen and living room, below one bathroom and above another. Winter is coming; the windows are closed. It's starting to stink.

The on-again-off-again fighting vs in love battle with L.

The three websites I'm supposed to be making, not including my own.

I just want to curl up in bed and read. I'm currently hitting the Harry Potter series and I'm not entirely sure why, especially after acquiring a friend's entire collection of books. 100 beautiful, never-before-read-by-me books, and I grab the Harry Potter.

Lookit that bandwagon go!

Ah, Fuck. A more objective and subject-based post to follow this rambling lj-based entry.

Vegetarian Food Fest

While working at the coffee shop, there was one incredibly sweet man who came in everyday for a green tea and breakfast bagel with avocado and swiss on flax. Tomatoes and no butter. Hold the bacon. I got to know him pretty well over the months and when I left the coffee shop I made sure he had my email address.

As he is a photographer and I am cute, he did email me. We had an amazing photo session during which I proved that I am not a model and don't know what I am doing in front of a camera and that he is an amazing photographer that can make even my clumsiness look beautiful. During that session he mentioned a shoe project he was hoping to do, and that he would contact me when it was getting closer.

I received an email last week inviting me to the Vegetarian Food Festival where he would be manning a tent. It would be a good opportunity for us to talk shoes, he said.

There was a bit of a snag going; L. came by and we fought some more instead of going to the Veg Fest as had been planned. Worry not! After bruising my hand on the wall, ice cooled heads and reduced swelling so we are good again and were ready to eat broccoli.

Eventually N. made it by, and off we were to the Harbourfront Centre.

My prime goal was find the photographer. Once that was finished, I could feast and fest as I pleased. Unfortunately, I am an idiot and this took longer than it should have. He was at the first tent I looked in, except I didn't realize it until I had finished looking through every other tent and gave up. Fortunately, he was serving tasty food that had lured me before I realized he was serving it. Even more fortunately, he gave it to me free.

FREE! The single most beautiful word in the English language!

Commence eating, talking about shoes, and plan making. He had to get back to his tent, and I had to search the rest of the festival.

There were vegan shoes, vegetarian pet food, and damn tasty barbequed corn.

Then the sorta-cute red-headed girl who looked at me nice and kept near even though we never spoke. I wanted to talk to her, but I am still shy with girls.

I may have come closer to death than I know; I got all excited when I saw a pin with a bunny on it that one of my roomates would like. The terrible thing was that the sight of it immediately launched me into the story about how I've been trying to eat her bunny for months. It's cornfed!

Ah, yes, it's a vegetarian festival. No eating bunnies. So I bought the "cruelty-free" pin with the bunny on it and took my leave.

I will now take my leave with one final anecdote. There was a girl doing a correspondence course through Athabasca University asking people to fill out questionairres about vegetarianism. One of the questions was "If you are an omnivore, what are your reasons, if any, for not becoming a vegetarian?"

And my answer?

"Laziness."

Cue the x-men theme

I always complain when a storm is coming that I'm getting a "pressure headache." I've always gotten them, like a fist wrapped around my frontal lobe and beating my cerebellum with it. My mom contributed significantly to the belief the weather was to blame. She would ask me in the mornings if it was going to rain, what time, etc.

I am coming to understand that my mom is a bit of a flake. But I did manage to develop a certain degree of accuracy, which may have only encouraged her.

I woke up this morning to an old friend on my couch. I hadn't seen the bastard in ages; in fact, I came close to kicking him when I thought he was L. Shrugged, person on the couch, if it's L he can go fuck himself, and went pee. Came back down, checked my email and Holy Shit! It's Bastard!

Apparently everyone explained away my absence for the night as a storm-related migraine, rather than the actual reason (bawling after a not-fight with L.) He shrugged and accepted it.

Perhaps I should milk this weather-thing that everyone has associated me with. Get out of work, school, weddings, social functions, etc. Or maybe I could harness it and come with the thunder and rain lighting upon my enemies.

At any rate, L had better at least call today, or I'll be back to the crying over not-fighting. God, I'm a pussy.

Weakerthans and Metric at U of T

I arrived home from work at 4:30. After screaming greetings to the empty house, I noticed the note on the kitchen table:

"Trixie -
Weakerthans
&
Metric
meet at the time capsule (St. George
& Harbord, lawn of Robarts library)
at 4:15 xox F"

Phone calls to cellphones, consultations to maps, and the subway back to work to retrieve my forgotten wallet. Then, yea!, then L and I made our way to Robarts. [Please note: I have never attended U of T, and all of my wanderings have been late night and blatantly illegal.] Then of course the discovery that there was not, and will never be, a concert at Robarts.

Further investigation (mostly just listening for the noise) led us to the field next to Hart House.

Apparently we had missed the Weakerthans ("they were weak") and arrived just in time to listen to college radio for two and a half hours.

I was slightly amused for an hour, less amused for another, and reading for the final half. We had begun launch sequence to return home when the Metric bus appeared, but were too far into the checklist to abort.

We were still cleaning up our garbage when chicky took the stage and started shaking her hair around in time to the drums with absolutely no stage presence whatsoever.

In conclusion, you get what you pay for, especially at U of T concerts sponsored by Travel Cuts.

At least I made a dollar selling cigarettes to college kids.

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Yes, yes, I have gone one step too far perhaps for this silly whim. Just signed up for Technorati.

Technorati Profile

There we go now.

Interduckshin

A stack of envelopes with an elastic band containing and separating each alphabetized group of 45 has been carefully organized to my right. That stack represents six long hours of addressing, printing (each letter individually, so that the clients can feel that we're really talking to just them when they see their first name instead of "valued client,") signing, licking (because it would be madness to just use a sponge or something; perhaps even logical,) sealing, and stamping. The company logo is printed on the top left corner of each envelope with the wrong website. Don't worry, I set up a re-direct until we use all the out of date stationary supplies.

Oh, yes. I am an "Office Manager." The quotes are for your pleasure; parse as sarcasm and self-mockery. I am an assistant. A secretary. A receptionist. A mailroom. A webmonkey. An advertising consultant. A graphic designer. A cleaning lady. A chef. A productions co-ordinator. A financial planner. A bitch.

I am not particularly sure why I have begun this blog. This is not my first, will not be my last. But I'm sick of my friends knowing where to find me, asking me what I meant, interpreting incorrectly. I'm bored of self-censorship to protect myself; here it will only be found to protect others.

I guess I'm just like thousands of others who key away at their vanity-driven websites. I like to think that at least I've got a great set of tits and a strange job, and that should at least narrow down the categorization to hundreds.

-Trixie Pages, out for now.