Friday, July 29, 2005

well...I wont smoke THAT much...

Fucking scrambling to find a dropped lighter while stoned is one of the scariest 5 seconds of your life.



Yes this is how I’m spending my Friday evening.
Why is being shirtless stoned such a mission impossible?
I can’t believe how paranoia-central it makes me. Who are these freaks of nature that walk shirtless on the beach or in groups of other people? So of course I’m chatting on the phone in front of an open window when two people walk DIRECTLY by and make eye-contact with my half-and-half naked self. I never did such an awkward duck in my life. Now I’m totally “that guy who spends Friday nights shirtless and stoned” of this geighborhood.
And seriously waiting the 7min + for water to boil 3 eggs is a triumph deserving of a metal. I had to eat three mini ice-cream sandwiches just to tide myself over. They’re mini so technically I’m still on the Zone.
---
UPDATE: contrary to the belief of a man who just e-mailed me I am not pleasuring myself in that picture. Nor was I completely naked. There were pants people. And I WASN’T touching it.

Wednesday, July 20, 2005

you're disgusting, and you're nasty

Dearest My Bitches,
Unfortunately my home-computer is suffering from some serious plague, which will mean my posting will be sparse at best. I’m hoping to get it fixed sometime before the weekend but it might be prognosis-negative.
Until then, please enjoy this ghey tid-bit from my travels:

I am currently at an internet café and there is an exceptionally cute boy leaning over close-by, and like the pervert I am I keep checking out his bum. It’s very nice. Someone really ought to invent a patch for me or something.
May the ghey be with you.

Sunday, July 17, 2005

the one about anal

Fleshburt says:
who needs a boyfriend, when my girl-friend's have boyfriends who want to impress them by befriending their faggot.

Rock-Snob says:
That's a good point.
Rock-Snob says:
and I like how you refer to yourself as "Their faggot" as if you're a pet.
Rock-Snob says:
it's cute.

Fleshburt says:
I am a pet really.
Fleshburt says:
yeah, I almost didn't embarrass myself last night.

Rock-Snob says:
HA!

Fleshburt says:
dance remixes of the Scissor Sisters is the ghey-est EVER.

Rock-Snob says:
I can only imagine.
Rock-Snob says:
I really didn't think they could get any gayer.

Fleshburt says:
they DID.

Rock-Snob says:
apparently, I was wrong.

Fleshburt says:
oh god, I'm feeling ass-y today, I'm never drinking again.

Rock-Snob says:
you lie.

Fleshburt says:
Yeah I am, but fucking hell, I'm such a moron.

Rock-Snob says:
what are you talking about? You’re a comic genius when drunk.

Fleshburt says:
ugh, I’m such a whore.
Fleshburt says:
"backwards disco-tech" tell me that isn't about anal sex.

Rock-Snob says:
Aaah!
Rock-Snob says:
I'm totally calling anal backwards disco-tech FROM NOW ON!

Fleshburt says:
They sing some dirty-ass SHIT on this CD.
Fleshburt says:
Why is it only straight boys make me mixed CDs about anal sex??? Hmm, I ask you.

Friday, July 15, 2005

Ghey-Voice

Ugh, so of course my internet at home is on the fritz for no apparent reason.
This will mean significantly less internet-trolling as the time I spend on the work-computers should probably have at least the pretense of being work-related.

I had the greatest moment with coffee-boy this morning. Coffee-boy is the man-boy who I buy coffee from every morning on my way into work or class. He's attractive and all, but I usually just lump him into the "man candy" section of my life, as he's too Fratboy-ish to be a ghey or intellectually stimulating [is that mean?]. In any event, I assume he just thinks I'm a random idiot anyway, as I usually stumble in still half-asleep with my aviator sunglasses on, hoping I look like
Mary-Kate or Nicole and not some asshole who doesn't take his sunglasses off indoors.

Today we actually had a little more banter than usual; low-and-behold Coffee-boy has a lisp. Now I've made the mistake before of confusing a lisp for "ghey voice" but I know now there is a subtle difference. I knew this guy who had a very definite lisp but was completely heterosexual. I'd need to talk to him more to determine definitively whether Coffee-boy had "ghey-voice" or not, but it was a nice morning surprise. Maybe I'm just the queerest ever, but I find lisps and/or "ghey-voice" to be incredibly sexy on a man. He was also sporting the popped-collar, which I have so many mixed feelings about. I mean there is a time and a place for everything, but I really don't think you need to be popping your collar every day for every non-event that you attend. It's weird how the popped-collar can at once be so Fratboy-ish and yet so faggoty. Time will tell which it is in Coffee-boy's case.

They really need to institute some sort of signal-system so ghey's can detect one another. I mean obviously it would have to be subtle, so homophobes couldn't catch on, but what if all gheys had a slightly blue-glow that only other ghey's could spot? Not that I'd do anything about it, as I'd only hit on someone if I was drunk off my ass, but it would be nice to at least confirm my suspicions. Gheydar is great and all, but there's absolutely nothing you can do short of asking the person which way they swing.

I ask the people of the interweb: what are some of the tell-tale signs that alert you to ghey?
Have a good weekend, peace out bitches.

PS - I reaaaally hope everything goes according to plan and Rock-Snob and I are able to get stoned proper-like this fine summer evening. I realize I say something related to being stoned a lot, but it's the weekend. I'm totally allowed.

Thursday, July 14, 2005

Inside the Blogger's Studio: FVo edition

In all honesty I've been suffering from a lack of inspiration as of late, so I thought I'd participate in this super-duper happy-fun game as presented on Viva Las VegASS. I have been asked 5 questions, and if you in turn would like to be asked 5 questions by me, for your own blog [no pressure] comment-as-such!
Here are my answers, bitches:

1. If you could do one thing for a living, what would you do? Explain.
Well, as much as I would like to be professionally the child of a rock-icon who made billions of dollars like Kimberly Stewart or an Osborne, I suppose I could be forced to settle for author-exordinar. I would love to be so internationally recognized that I no longer need a day job and can spend my time writing amazing works of prose that keep people in stitches for years to come. Of course, this might require I actually write something, but still.

2. Give your feedback as to why the hell "Will and Grace" is still on the air.
Oh, what, because I’m a ghey, I automatically have the inside scoop on that crap show?! What am I part of some Faggot Mafia?!
Jokes. I think its still on the air because the little old ladies who watch it have no idea that there are even queer people on it. They just think Will and Grace can’t get their shit together to make it work and that Jack is delightfully childlike or something. Seriously I fucking hate that show with a passion of a thousand suns going supernova.
I was so excited when it came out because I was finally going to get to see some homosexuals on television [I don’t remember if “Queer as Folk” had debuted yet, but I never related to that show, not being incredibly hot and fucking constantly]. Then I watched it and realize all “Will and Grace” is, is a big old tease! You keep waiting for something ghey to happen but mostly its just “aren’t gheys stupid?” kind of jokes. And frankly I make better ones, I don’t need to slum it by watching tacky celebrity-product-placements.
Karen’s funny, if they spun her off and got rid of the “gheys” currently on that show I’d be all over it.

3. Based on your experience, is it really necessary to wait an hour after eating to go swimming?
You know, I’ve never had a problem, when I was a kid they called me a fish because I was always in the water. Even after eating. I bet you thought I’d have something funny to say but I didn’t.

4. Is there one food that even the site of makes you sick? Which food?
Ugh, yes. Whip-Cream.
Some idiot in rez insisted we do “whip-cream” shot or something and I’ve never been able to look at that shit the same again. When people ask if I want whip-cream on my grande-super-duper-latte-mocha-frappa-shittah I look at them like they’re dense. Nothing could make me eat whip-cream. Except Seth Cohen.

5. If you could go back in time and "get in the head" of a writer during the creative process, which writer would it be and what work would he/she be creating?
I would totally want the inside scoop on Oscar Wilde’s writing experience of the picture of Dorian Gray. I know it’s so ghey of me, but never has a book so perfectly captured what I felt. It was just beautifully written and incredibly interesting. I wish I could say more about it, but mostly I’m just in awe, I hope one day I write something half as meaningful to someone as that book was to me.

Tuesday, July 12, 2005

boys will be boys

Here is a conversation that illustrates why our female roommates should not have left us alone for the summer:

Roommate: What would you do if I just stabbed you in the chest right now?
Me: You couldn't stab through my rib-cage, there's no way. You'd have to stab me in the stomach or something.
Roommate: I totally could.
Me: How the hell could you stab THROUGH my rib-cage? My ribs would deflect the knife.
Roommate: What if I turned it on an angle, then it would slip right through, like butter.
Me: I doubt you have the skill to do that. Besides you'd need to take a couple of stabs at it and I'd ninja-kill you before you could get your 2nd stab-in.
Roommate: I bet I could.
Me: Fine, lets try it in the kitchen, the floor is easier to clean up. You first.

Sunday, July 10, 2005

practice makes perfect

A recently-single girlfriend and I were having a discussion on love and sex, as you inevitably will do. She mentioned that having had sex on a somewhat regular basis while dating her ex, she now felt her libido had been ‘activated’. Despite not really being interested in reentering the dating-market she has been feeling extremely sexually frustrated in a way that she had never felt when still a virgin. That made sense to me, it must be easier to miss something you’ve developed a taste for, like cocaine or brownies.

I made an off-handed joke that in our culture if you didn’t want to cook you could order-in fast-food and that if she wanted no-string-attached sex, I was quite certain she could find that too. She thought I meant a male-prostitute to which she replied: “I’d rather have sex with a guy I met at a bar than pay for it”. I found that rather interesting, because frankly I think I’d prefer the opposite. I’ve never paid for sex, and I probably would never [I wont say ‘never’ having developed a taste for alcohol and weed after having claimed to be “straight-edge” in grade nine] but the idea of paying for it seems entirely more favorable to sex with a stranger.

I would like to preface my reasoning by saying that in no way do I mean to degrade sex-workers. While I wouldn’t want anyone I love to be involved in this industry, I definitely respect a person’s right to do what they want with their bodies, so long as it is their choice. Here is my reasoning:

* Automatically there is no-string-attached, because it’s a business deal. I feel like there is less chance of hurt-feelings or one person wanting something the other person doesn’t.
* You don’t have to worry about the person not being into you. I mean I imagine prostitutes do turn people down but probably not on the basis of “you’re not my type”.
* I would imagine sex-with-a-stranger would be quite awkward and mismatched having had no experience with the person. Practice makes perfect and all that jazz. A sex-professional would probably know what they were doing.
* Finally the issue of safety. Maybe I’m deluded, but I feel like a stranger who invites you to come over to their place to have sex is more likely to hack you into pieces and keep your brain in the freezer for a midnight snack than is someone making a living off it.

I really hope my parents never ever read this.

Friday, July 08, 2005

14 for the record

1. I am suppose to be doing shit at work right now, but the printer is jammed and the boy that I usually get to come fix it wasn’t very friendly to me when I asked him the first time. So instead I am reading back-dated entries in Gwen’s journal and spiting him for leaving me with a printer-problem I can’t fix. What a bitch. We get it, you just broke up and crap but that is not my fault.

2. I pretended not to see this girl on the way into the office because I find her baby-doll voice annoying, not cute. Go away.

3. I’m at a crossroads in my life and I’m too lazy to choose.

4. I am at once lonely and bored of people. I want company and to be left alone. I may have started my period.

5. I had this awesome idea for a book last night on my evening continental* that I will probably never get around to writing.

6. When reading about the goings-on in London I felt scared and numb at the same time.

7. I want to get drunk tonight but probably no one will want to get crunked with me.

8. I want to get stoned tonight, but my source will probably stand me up. Where is that bastard anyway?

9. Part of me wants to get stoned with my mother and and sister on saturday, as my sister is going away for a while and I’m going to really miss her. But to do that I would have to admit I smoke pot and I don’t know if my mother would be cool with that.

10. Last week a girlfriend told me I give off ‘snob-vibes’ when I meet people, especially men. She is right, but it’s annoying because generally it really is shy-dom and not that I’m a massive-bitch. Although, admittedly I do have my days.

11. I am annoyed Alanis is so happy because I could really use some good new man-hating songs right now.

12. Liz Phair is underappreciated.

13. I’m hungry but I didn’t pack a lunch.

14. I’m bored, who will fix this fucking printer?

* I told my roommate I was going for a “continental” last night, but I meant a “constitutional” and he was all: “what is that?”
And I was all: “you’re so stupid, it’s a walk, major DUH.”
Then when I got home and looked it up I realised that in fact I’M stupid. I live in fear of when he will call me on it.

Thursday, July 07, 2005

Dickens sucks Donkey-Dick

Perhaps I am a hypersensitive bastard, but there is something I find vaguely disgusting about the way my postcolonial studies class is handled. While I applaud my prof’s desire to expose the class to authors of backgrounds that have been traditionally marginalized, such as ZZ Packer and Pauline Johnson, the way he goes about teaching them seems to only do a further disservice. He will spend about an hour of the class audibly masturbating over the likes of Joyce, Faulkner and Dickens, without criticizing their work at all. He fails to mention that these are white upper-middle class men who are canonized in no small part because of who they are not NECESSARILY what they did.

Then he will take the remaining half-hour to discuss these marginalized female authors in comparison to their male-counterparts. He will make comments about various ‘inconsistencies’ he sees in their writing, and comment that perhaps such-and-such a passage would have been better had the author chosen to “show us” rather than “tell us”.

Essentially what he does is open up these ethnic “other” and female writers to criticism and debate, while male-canonized authors are made to seem beyond reproach. I’m not suggesting that we shouldn’t analyze and criticize an author’s writing because of their background, but I do think it’s irresponsible to create such a blatant and time-honored divide between who has something of value to say and who is open to debate. We should either criticize all or none, but this very blatant division only reinforces the idea that some people have a greater right to their opinion than others. And that sucks ass.

Tuesday, July 05, 2005

Whoa, that lovin’ feeeeeelin’

I think that I am going to write to the PM to see what he can do about banning crushes. It is my personal belief that crushes and acne should cease to be a problem once you’ve turned 18. If once you hit 18 you are considered adult enough to vote, protect your country in the armed forces and serve alcohol [at least in Canada], then it is wholly unfair that I should also have to worry about so-and-so liking me.

Couples should be determined based on lottery, and whose genetic make-up society would most like to see combined [not in a eugenics sort of way or anything]. I haven’t worked out all the details, but surely some reality-TV executive could figure out a way to make the process fun, fair and far less tween-y than it currently is. Because I’m about sick to death of feeling like a 13 year old girl going through puberty all the time.

Monday, July 04, 2005

Alias is the new Banking

I was at the bank today in order to pay my bills before heading into the office. I use this bank all the time, and while the teller I went to was new to me there were tons of faces I recognized. About half way through the process she got me to sign something only to examine it like I'm Sidney from Alias and finally asks for some form of identification with my signature on it.
At first I couldn't find anything, finally it dawned on me to show her my driver's license.
"You're signature has changed" she said.
"I was 17" I said, by way of explanation.
"Well do you think you could sign this like you did then?"
So there I was forging my own signature when it struck me, there is a picture of my FACE on the card, is that not enough? I certainly haven't changed that much.
I've never had that problem before, surely she could have used her computer to look up the number of EXACT same transactions I'd made at that branch and deduced I wasn't some impersonator trying to get free hydro and phone-services.
Not to mention I'd just waited in the longest line ever in front of this very pushy old lady who felt it necessary to stand DIRECTLY behind me every time the line moved up. She was totally invading my personal bubble.