Inventory on Captions

So, some stuff happened.

Alex and Melissa came to visit. Melissa's still here, sleeping in my bed, forming half of the heart that represents the blogging love brings.

We went to Mick E. Fynn's for Halloween. Courtney and I decided that we love each other intensly enough to roll around on the pool tables, arms entwined, short skirts likely flipped up, much to the delight of all the people loitering. We were trying to enhance the experience of Daylight Savings Time to make their night more worth it.

We played some cribbage. Which really doesn't explain this picture.

We ran into Tom, the smallest man alive.

We saw some lady wrestlers. Tom is not one of them.

And we may have drank some beer.

We may have ended up in Etobicoke. There was wind and water and birds and beans. And then some jazz.

And then Adam, left. Again.

Bye Adam. Again. See you soon. You smell delicious.

I'm a 5-year-old before school picture day.

This is seriously my new favourite picture of myself. I find every aspect of it completely aesthetically and visually appealing.

Although, this picture may be a close second. I think I look like some sort of a reptile. Awesome!

When I was in Vanuatu one of the Canadian guys told me, "Your eyes have an animalistic quality to them. When I look at you, it's as though your body is just a container for your eyes."

I think it was the best combination creepy-nice compliment I've ever gotten. . .at least I think it was a compliment.

Today, when I was walking through the park to school, a pigeon flew into the side of my head. It didn't bother me. Its feathers offered a nice cushion to the blow, and I continued merrily walking on my way. (Okay, maybe I wasn't "merry." I was going to work, after all.) I'm not going to lie, I kind of enjoyed the sensation; this leads me to believe that my career as a bird lady is imminent.

I looked over to see why the birds were flying in that direction, to see a lady feeding them a loaf of bread. Bird ladies: they have the power to make pigeons fly into the side people's heads! That's the kind of control over nature I want to have.

So why can't I wait to go home?

This is where I come from.

I cry when I watch movies alone. But only in the happy scenes.

Is it strange that I constantly worry about being too normal?

(Of course it's not strange. It's totally normal behaviour.)


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Mark updated Get Off That Thing! for those of you not in the know, you know?

I take comfort in yuppies.

I woke up this morning in a terrible mood.

There's nothing worse than waking up in a bad mood. There's also usually no reason for it, but this morning it was justifable. I mentally itemized the reasons why the day had started off poorly, hoping that compiling a list would soothe my nerves:

1. For this first time in a week, I fell asleep relatively quickly last night (it only took me an hour to fall asleep as opposed to two or three hours) which pleased me greatly. But I woke up from a nightmare about being attacked by iguanas to discover that it was already 10 after 11. I had set my alarm for 9:30 am, planning to get up, phone some people, do some paperwork for my corporate masters, conduct some interviews, and maybe even write a bit. It turns out I accidentally set my alarm for 9:30 PM. Two productive hours of my day already gone to nightmare-filled sleep. Shit. The day had started out badly, and I hadn't even known it because I hadn't been concious.

2. There was no mail for me. No bills, no handwritten letters, not even an envelope from my mom containing Cold Lake marriage and birth announcements clipped from the local newspaper (I love these packages from my mom- my favourite was the time she sent me the court bulletin about my ex-boyfriend being sentenced for stealing a car, a Playboy, and a pack of 70 cent gum. . .they serve as constant reminders of where I come from). Nothing. I hate it when I don't get mail.

3. Because I had slept in, my journalism assignment, which should have been slipped under my professor's door before 10am was already a "day" late.

And then there was reason #4, which was entirely my fault:

Yesterday, for whatever reason, I got this burning urge to apply fake nails. I've never done it before, and we all know I have a soft spot for fake appendages. I'm also somewhat self-concious about the state of my hands, particularly the scarring on my right hand from having severe eczema. It seemed like an activity- so why not?

Sitting down to watch Project Runway (the one television show I religiously view weekly- this is what happens when you live with fashion students), I laid out the decidedly feminine chunks of plastic, the little container of glue, and the emery board in front of me, and set to work.

I almost immediatly regretted the decision. Within 2 hours of applying the nails, I became so annoyed and disgusted with them that I cut the ends off, completely defeating the purpose of wearing fake nails. So when I woke up this morning, my nails were covered with this hard chunks of shiny plastic which pulled at my skin.

This is not the way to start a day.

Writing the list hadn't made me feel better, but I knew what would:

Less than 24 hours after their application, the fake nails were removed by soaking my hands in all the harsh chemicals that nail polish remover has to offer, except for the pinky nail on my right hand. I figured I should keep one on for good measure. That, and I kind of want to emanate a drug dealer.

I felt slightly better, but something still wasn't quite right. Determined to no longer be grumpy, I went to HMV and spent my entire paycheque on the strangest assortment of CDs I could find: Born Ruffians, Paul Simon (Graceland), Citizen Cope (Every Waking Moment), Mastiyahu and the Best of Bon Jovi.

Small better.

There had to be a solution. I was determined to be in a good mood.

It was time for a visit to my friend Robbie. He would have an answer to my problems.

"How do you feel about the token fake nail Burns? How can I possibly still be grumpy when I have a really long pinky nail? What do you think? What should I do?"

Play in the leaves.

Practice your bird lady skills. You'll need them when you're older.

But the birds wanted nothing to do with me. I think it might have had to do with my fake nail.

You're not an old lady yet.

No, I'm not old yet.

I chased the pigeons all over the park, until I was laughing so hard that water was coming out of the corners of my eyes.

Today, I love life. Today I remembered that I only need my own company to make myself laugh so hard that I cry.

And today, I realized that I'm going to be a fantastic bird lady someday.

Say What?!: Match the Girl to the Quote

Pop Quiz: Which Girl in China Said Which Quote?

1. "I want a baby with a trach[eotomy]. You know, with a little hole in their throat? They are so cute. I want a sick baby to take care of. But only for a couple of weeks, like how we foster the sick kittens, and then give them back. . . I want to adopt because I don't want to get fat. . .For a while I wanted to have my own baby, but only so my boobs would get bigger. But I figure, why not just get implants?"

2. "I think we should all take a community college course on shadow puppets."

3. "Once, I thought I had rabies because I tried to feed a squirrel and it bit me."
"How did a squirrel bite you?!"
"Well, I was trying to feed it because I wanted it to climb onto my hand, but I didn't actually have any food."

4. "I'm gonna shove this down that slut's throat!" [holding a box of birth control]

5. "Wanna give me a sensual back massage? I'll give you fake nails in exchange."

a) Jessica
b) Katrina
c) Ivonne
d) Karen
e) Sasha

Before the Cockroaches, there were the rats.

I updated the travel blog with lots of new pictures. Yay me!

Want some smut to go with your smit?

I've been insanely sick all week, too tired to get out of bed, and I've lost my voice. There was only one logical solution to my problems:

First, Natasha Bedingfield.

Next: An afternoon at the Bicycle Show with Canice and Sarah.

Oh, wait, that's not quite right. . .

. . .but this is.

Of course, we had legitimate reasons for being there.

I'm sure our parents would approve of our being so studious on a Saturday afternoon.

Right, Canice?

Problems in China: The Series

This adorable ball of dead skin, hair, dirt and dust was collected from the stairs leading up to the second floor in our house.

I think I'll name him Barry and keep him in a jar beside my bed, and pull him out from time to time to keep me company through those lonely, cold winter nights.

Problems in China Update: The affront on the cockroach problem is going poorly. So far there has only been one cockroach stupid enough to wander into the crappy glue trap our landlords gave to us. Allegedly the exterminators are coming on Tuesday.

These Pictures Were Too Funny Not To Post

Wan Bigfella Fundraiser

Thanks Ryan. I owe you a beer. (Again. In fact, at this point, I owe you an entire night at the Strat.)

Problems in China: The Series

1) I just walked downstairs to witness Katrina doing the dishes in her underwear. Now, anyone who's been in China knows that this isn't unusual behaviour, or a problem by any means. In fact, it's par for the course, and although Kash is the reigning queen of being consistantly pantless, Sasha and I have joined the ranks.

No, the thing that threw me off was that Katrina was wearing a pair of men's underwear over tights. A little odd, even for her. "I like the underwear,"I told her.
"Thanks," she said turning around, to reveal a huge bulge in the front portion of the underwear. "Do you like my penis too?"

2) We have cockroaches.

3) Katrina has been waking up with mysterious huge red welts all over her body. The source is unclear. Bug bites? Aliens probing her in her sleep? It's a mystery, really.

4) Karen is sick, I have a ridiculous cold (I have been home sick for the past two days), Katrina has been coughing for a month straight, and Sasha is getting over a case of strep throat.

5) Three/Five residents of the house are strangely and contently smitten. This is not a problem- just another oddity worth noting.

6) Brie is gone, and Sasha is leaving in two months.

Fundraiser- Public Service Annoucement

Mark your calendars!

November 3rd is going to the the sequel to the Kegger for a Cause!*

The event is going to be DJed by your very own Scott and Alice, and sponsored by RockStar Energy Drinks. And behind the bar, you will find the very lovely Katrina G. and me, clad in appropriate bar-maid outfits.

What could possibly be better?

Oh, wait, but it does get better!

Drinks are going to be ridiculously cheap. However, the more pre-tickets we sell, the cheaper the drinks are.

Tickets will be $5 in advance and $10 at the door. E-mail me at jesslockhart@gmail.com for tickets.

All proceeds go towards Youth Challenge International. You will be sponsoring Stacey, who is headed to Vanuatu in December, and helping me, who is ridiculous in debt (think 5 digits, here) after building a school in Vanuatu this past summer. For more information about YCI, you can check out my travel blog or www.yci.org.
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*Except this time, I actually have a legitimate liquor liscense.

Bloodstock! Give Pain a Chance!

I downloaded the beta version of Windows Live Messenger. However, it keeps mocking me by insisting that it's signing me in. . .and then it just never does. I've been lurking on some forums trying to resolve this issue but haven't been able to. Anyone out there have any advice? I'm thoroughly annoyed. I'm going to embrace my luddite values and disconnect my Internet as a result.

Also, if anyone tries to tell you that I "giggle," know that it's a lie. It's against my genetic engineering.

(I need sleep. . .and less parenthesis in my life.)

Photographic Revival!

Before I left for Vanuatu, Melissa and I were discussing our newfound boredom with blogging. And by newfound, what I really mean is that we have been bored with it for quite some time, which is why every five seconds we try to quit. (Threatening to quit blogging seems to be a prevalent trend in the blogosphere. Personally, I can name several bloggers who regularly quit blogging "for good" and then start again about 2 days and 18 hours later when they a) download a new Matt Good song or b) make a jar of jam*.)

But we are so compulsively and habitually linked to the blogging process that we don't know how to live life without it. Despite the possible reprecussions of publishing the sordid details (or in my case, photos) of our lives, the constant disapproval of our parents, the enouragment of bearded stalkers who send photos of their grandchildren as a means of seduction, and the fact that blogging is probably reinforcing our social awkwardness, we don't know how to stop. It's probably because we feel the need to seek the daily reaffirmation of our comments section, where our self-esteem regularly drops a notch when there are less than 8 comments.

We need to be revived. So we thought of a temporary fix: Melissa and I decided that via our super secret shared gmail account** we would send each other on photomissions.

Of course, this never happened.

So, here goes Melissa. Photo mission #1. Let's make it something easy.

Take a picture of what you wanted to be when you grew up.

(Oh, wait, was that easy? I'm not entirely sure.)

I encourage everyone to participate. And likewise, you're all encouraged to submit your own assignments.

Or else, I might have to quit blogging. And this time I meant it. . .

. . .well, at least until 2 days and 18 minutes later, when I a) get drunk with my friends or b)take a really hot picture of myself rolling around on the floor.

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*Bonus points to anyone who can name who these two people are.

** Oh, you may laugh, but really, what did you expect? C'mon, after all, we met each other via the blogosphere. Having a shared secret gmail account is hardly the tip of the iceberg when it comes to concerns about our normative socialization.

Sunday Morning Conversations

I'm too caught up in the narratives, the dialogues, the mythologies that bind us.

(no. scratch that.)

I'm in love with the narratives, the dialogues, the mythologies, the stories. I'm in love with the thick, heavy words that make us whole.

I'm in love with the story.

One.

Tide yourself over by reading about some creepy crawlies. (Rev- this one is for you.)

ETA

I'll become more compelling in five. . .

four. . .

three. . .







two. . .

It's October!

Tyler just came online to inform me that I'm gross.

For eating meat. And not just any meat- raw meat.

"Huh?" I was confused. I'm vegetarian.

And then he very politely reminded me that with each new month, comes a new calendar picture!

I bet this one is making all you poor suckers who didn't order the Naked Behind Gnomes calendar remorseful.

My condolences.