|all the party girl,||entries, friends, dayview, solar plexus|
|where your urban spaceman comes to play.|
mangonnaise. all the interesting bits are under lock and key.
exactly one week from today, i shall be having a party so damned loud that my landlards will kick me out of the building.
before then, i have ten assignments to do.
all i have been doing for the last ... i can't even remember how long is designing and working.
if you thought i was bitter and malcontent before, well.
something about being the grand old age of twenty makes me feel like more of a human being.
maybe it's the lack of the wretched "teen" suffix.
maybe it's my strength of independence.
maybe it's the fact that people call me "ma'am".
( & things to do at 3 in the morning after finishing workCollapse )
( i found this in my kitchen after martini monday...Collapse )
i guess that monday had been the night of the oscars, or something. i got reasonably loaded and ended the evening sitting on the couch with my head in a trashbin, "just in case i have to be ill" (which i didn't). i was playing music and singing along.
i still don't know whether he meant "composure" as in the singing, or as in my graceful way of passing out.
i'm really digging these polaroids.
okay, so for the sake of scanning the following photos, my transparent materials adaptor has kicked the bucket, capable only of producing a perfectly white image. which leaves me no way of accessing the remainder of the photos from the roll, since i didn't get any prints made. THUS i am rendered incapable of completing the poster, due tomorrow morning, which i have also yet to start. okay, i'm not so concerned about the poster, because i think i secretly want to sit around eating chocolate and setting up my darkroom. what i'm most upset about is the possibility that my darkroom is, in actuality, now of little to no use to me, as i can't do SHIT with a roll of negatives anymore. except for holding them up to the kitchen light and squinting to see if they're good photos.
so you'd better fucking well enjoy them, okay?
it actually scanned in in this red a tone, and i couldn't photoshop it back to normal. so i made it darker.
funny story: while walking down barrington today to drop off my film, i walked past two homeless men.
the first was this gap-toothed old guy who always sits on the same street corner and speaks in near total gibberish. everyone who knows him thinks he's a sweet old man. i smiled at him, said "sorry, no change". eventually i realized he was yelling "i love you! i love you!" at me.
the second was sitting down on the street (in the rain) and looking both miserable and shifty -- it's a sign of the young cape breton male. "sorry, no change", i say.
he says: "are you single?"
it's good to know that dirty men who can't get any from normal women are attracted to ME.
and on my way down the same street to pick UP my film, two hours later, this intensely chubby 15-ish-year old girl asked me to "spare any change, ma'am". i'm not sure how i feel about being a "ma'am" at twenty, but it beats the usual insolence and sullen attitude indicative of that particularily ugly age group. of course, it was only because she wanted money out of me. when they want subs out of me, they're rotten and rude and bastardly.
i wanted so intensely badly to insult her, but i only said it after i'd passed her: "you don't need my change. you could probably live off your fat reserves for three months." i wish i weren't raised to be so wretchedly polite.
funny story: last night, ian and i were smoking a spliff across the street from my building, when a cop car pulled up and parked next to the front entrance. by eavesdropping through our peephole into the lobby, we discovered that Loretta (that's my insane and illiterate super, the one who doesn't like students, kids, or foreigners) had called the cops because she saw someone she didn't recognize entering the building.
THEN, she proceeded to yell things like, "but mike's not her boyfriend! steve's her boyfriend! mike doesn't live here! what does he have a key for?" etc etc.
technically, ian doesn't live here, either.
which reminds me, ohsuzyq, when you're here, don't use a key when Loretta can see you. i don't want no cops bustin' my pad of hedonism, y'dig?
jen's flight gets in tomorrow. naturally, freezing rain is forecast for all evening and tomorrow.
i am convinced that the universe hates me.
( the best one's under the cut. uh-huh.Collapse )
i have yet to close el subway on a "normal" night.
the first time i lone-closed was superbowl sunday. i was there for twelve hours.
the second time was saturday night, after we'd been closed thursday and friday thanks to the 60 inches of snow covering halifax. all the prep had to be thrown out and replaced, and there were only two of us working, all day. the town was under curfew from 10p-7a, so i (12-8 shift) closed up, left the mess behind, and was out at 10.
the third time was the sunday following, which was pretty much the same as saturday -- same people working, same shitload of work to do. curfew wasn't on, but my manager thought it was, so i was told to close again. this time, i stayed and tried to do a proper close -- again, i was there for twelve hours, at which point, the mop broke on me and a garbage bag full of old meat vomited its insides all over the floor.
last night was going to be the normal night. sure, there was lots of work to do, and it was pretty busy -- but that's not unusual.
at nine o'clock, my lovely gay coworker mark left me alone in the place. the only other person there was a man sitting in one of the yellow booths nursing a soda. i saw him with his head down on the counter, and was about to go ask if he were okay, when he stood up and pitched a bar stool, with all his might, out the double-paned glass window and onto the street.
then he sat back down.
the window was huge -- probably 8 feet tall by 10 feet wide, but i'm not good with measurements. the hole in the glass was enormous, and as the wind came through, i could hear it cracking further.
in my state of shock (hey, it was a loud noise, okay?), i went out and told him he'd better leave. then i looked at him. something wasn't right. i can't remember what exactly -- it was his eyes, maybe, or the look in his face. it was frightening. he left, i wandered around staring at this massive hole in the glass thinking that there was NO WAY i'd be able to pretend it hadn't happened. people walked by on the streets looking through the window at me as though the fiesty sanwich artist had lost it and sent her (five-foot wide) fist through the window.
it was getting pretty fucking cold.
the police picked the guy up about three minutes after he left me. halifax is such a bloody small town. turns out he'd gotten out of jail just ten minutes before he came to visit me. he wasn't even out for half an hour before he was back there.
i feel a little uncomfortable about having sent someone to jail. especially someone with that much anger in him. i mean, i can empathize. i've broken windows with my arms before. i still have scars. and really, i would have liked to have burst that hole through the glass, if it weren't for my misplaced sense of integrity and the like. and who's to say that he's not dealing with his anger more effectively than i am?
i bought ( this beautiful creatureCollapse ) on ebay a MONTH ago. for a good three weeks, it has been sitting in my apartment, staring at me through its bright blue flashbulb (not pictured, but definitely cool.)
every day, i run to our door when i hear the jangling of keys in the lobby, hoping it's the mailman bringing my package from adorama: ten rolls of b&w film, a developing tank, a battery to make my polaroid work, and three boxes of film packs. i waited three weeks. i was bemoaning the mailman, the us post office, the great halifax storm of the year, part III -- and there's a knock on my door.
IT'S A PACKAGE FOR ME!!!
nothing in the world makes me happier than a package.
except maybe this:
i don't think my camera's been USED since the 1960's, also when it was most likely bought. i found its original battery inside the compartment, complete with the blue guck of corroding battery acid. this box of flashbulbs made me realize that i should be a girl who owns a tattered copy of "twister".
i've only taken two photos so far, but i haven't screwed them up too badly.
i love my sheer white curtains. i also love how, despite the fact that the camera's TECHNICALLY automatic, i could focus it on the tree out the window:
and this is me proving that "no closer than four feet" does NOT mean "no closer than your knees' length away from your head":
once i figure out how to stop the vignetting in those photos (which i like, but only if it's there on purpose), i'm going to fill my studio with image transfers.
i need rope to hang all my polaroids and negatives from the ceiling of my studio. if i ever get clients, i'm inviting them in to see what a triangular studio-darkroom only large enough for a table, and half-filled with empty luggage, looks like.
does pain in my gums, right in the empty gum-space behind my teeth, mean that my wisdom teeth are growing in? i haven't been to see a dentist since -- well, i'm not sure exactly, but it's been at least two years. and i'm a late bloomer in most every respect. and my jaw is tiny. and my BLOODY GUMS ACHE!!
i shouldn't use the internet as a resource so often. the availability of information on every single physical malfunctioning is only there to torment my soul, i'm convinced. sometimes it's useful, like when i went to the free clinic for my bladder/back problems and was prescribed a muscle relaxant that didn't help at all. i self-diagnosed a pinched nerved in my back, took ibuprofen like the good doctor.com recommended, and was fine in a few days. or when ian was really sick, and i decided he had evil parasites and we flushed them down with paranoia and clove tea (yes, it tastes TERRIBLE). and i've narrowed my foot problem which has been plaguing me for months now down to either tendonitis or metatarsalgia, neither of which i can do much about.
but according to dentistry websites, wisdom teeth can give me tumours!
so at-home surgery is on the bill. who's good with a scalpel?
and oh yes, the primary function of this entry was ACTUALLY to say that i'm making a number of entries friends-only, which is something i didn't really want to do, but is probably a good idea due to a number of factors, none of which i'm discussing. jesus, i'm using a lot of 100-word sentences today.
so i guess my point is that you'll have to get yourself a livejournal account (c'mon, they're FREE!) and let me know what you're calling yourself if you have any desire to read the juicy bits. if you're interested, i'll let you in. i'm not selective, i'm just not comfortable with not-knowing who reads this, anymore. okay?
sam, this is not to hide things from you, but merely to de-publicize certain information. so if you'd like to read it, i'm more than willing to allow you to do so. just let me know.
now, i don't look in my fridge an awful lot. i basically subsist on bagels, pita bread, and whatever ian offers to make me (which is quite a lot. i'm a well taken-care-of girl.) in fact, the only reason i found what i did was because i was looking in the freezer for our weed, which we keep cleverly hidden in a sherbet container in the freezer.
and there it was, a tub of dessert topping: an edible oil product. the "edible oil product" bit makes me pretty nervous. i don't like whipped cream that doesn't contain any cream. same goes for mayonnaise that doesn't contain any eggs, fruit drinks that contain no fruit, and chicken mcnuggets (c'mon, does it make ANY difference if they're white? we all know they just added bleach to the chicken necks and feet that they use.)
so i did something radical: i looked in the fridge. normally, ian could hide money in there and i wouldn't notice. i only go there for moisurizer and perfume (poison, always). i found a one-litre container of whipping cream. which relieved me a little, then made me even more worried. WHY DOES MY APARTMENT CONTAIN SO MUCH FROTHY WHITE CREAM?
on further searching of the kitchen, i also found: two bags of two-bite chocolate brownies, which are divine and i love them, and a big five-pound bar of bittersweet chocolate.
then ian phoned me and said that he'd be home at one, since he was going to visit the place of someone he was working with. (he got off work at midnight).
it isn't often that i don't know what he's up to. i'm not sure if i'm more nervous or more turned on.
at any rate, it's probably time for me to offer up disparaging remarks about the institution that is valentine's day.
i was looking through the shoppers' weekly flyer (shoppers' being a major canadian drugstore chain). the whole thing is pink and red. whoever designed it ought to be ... i'm trying to think of a good way of murdering him. maybe spooning out his adam's apple? anyway, something creative. AND did you know that at shoppers' you can buy
yes, that is a perky valentine's day hat! and, in case you're one of THOSE people too dull to add your own excitement to your sex life, there's lover's coupons, which come in two varieties: his, and hers. thank you, shoppers', you truly offer something for everyone.
BUT THAT'S NOT THE WORST OF IT!!
( i told ian that if he really, really loved me -- he'd have to buy me this for valentine's dayCollapse )
oh yes, in case you were wondering, i'm not much of a fan of v-day. last year, i made ian a rose out of a paper napkin, and left it on the pillow. this year, it'll probably be a subway napkin. a guy i work with blew $200 on his girlfriend. and, i mean -- WHY? coupled types already have christmas, numerous anniversarries, and one birthday apiece -- do they really NEED another excuse to spent lots of cash fawning all over one another?
why can't we all just buy painkillers and shut the fuck up?
if anyone out there in internet-land has been wondering what i've been up to, i've been intensely depressed, mostly due to my shitty job serving schlop to the downtown rats -- they're rude, stupid, and they don't tip me well. and they start drunkenly singing bar songs while eating their subs. HELLO, SUBWAY HAS BRIGHT LIGHTS. NOT A BAR. go somewhere else, stupidface.
the working for $6.25 drives me crazy. the working thirty hours a week plus school drives me crazy. i think i need some good strong uppers 'cos i slept through THREE DAYS of classes this last week. i made this piece of crap trying to learn flash, which is OFFICIALLY the hardest, most time-consuming thing ever.
these are the cruelest months. i'm all angst and cactus spurs. once i get past march, i'm in the light.
somehow, friday became wednesday, without my being aware of time's passing. good night, sweet time; let your rest be sweet, and fulfilling.
friday i worked from 10-4am. saturday i finished up youth in action's website, which involved my translating a lot of broken english into "logical, you-can-read-it english". then worked 10-4am again. i agreed to take jon's closing shift sunday night, which would make it my first by-myself close. i'm not a stranger to closing places by myself, though, so i didn't figure it would be a big deal.
i now officially hate super bowl sunday even more than i hate having to work minimum-wage shit jobs, which, let me assure you, is quite a lot.
check out ( my timeclock printoutCollapse )
; you'll see that though i was scheduled for 5-12pm, i didn't leave until 4.30 in the morning. AND i had class the next day, ostensibly. all day, they'd been so busy that they hadn't done any prep (the fridge was empty, and over the course of the night i ran out of bacon, chicken strips, cold cuts, green peppers, and mayonnaise) or any dishes (when i left, i left all my dishes on the drying racks to spite them & show them how massive a pile i'd had to do).
a couple of guys came in after the game and were trying to give me things: a super bowl shirt, which i refused on the grounds that it was just too damned big for me to ever wear, a tip, which i ALWAYS accept, and this groovy pin (found in left of photo above) made out of a beer cap that has a little flashy red light in it. the guy who gave it to me insisted on pinning it on my shirt himself, which i agreed to since i really wanted a red flashing light emanating from the direction of my breast all night.
by the time i left that hole, i was sick of SEEING it.
i slept most of monday, gave my mangled feet and my aching back a rest, then went out for martinis on monday.
martini monday naturally culminated in a lot of pot-smoking and chuck and phil falling asleep together on our couch. we woke them up by pulling the stereo plug halfway out of the headphones jack on my computer so that it made a crazy loud hissing/buzzing/screeching sound, which i've found to be the most effective way of waking up boys in the depths of a beer slumber. is there any sleep deeper than a drunken-boy-sleep? i think not.
i had really hot sex with the boy and slept until ten the next morning. took a cab to planned parenthood since it was IMPERATIVE that i get my lazy, forgetful self some birth control, which i was supposed to have started sunday. i walked to work from there, got in at quarter to noon, braved the lunch rush AND the dinner rush, and didn't leave until after TEN. (i was scheduled until eight.)
of course, i had four postage stamps due the next morning at nine, and i hadn't even started. all the time i'd planned on using got eaten up by unexpected work hours.
so i stayed up all night, and produced ( theseCollapse )
scaled-down versions are under the cut. they look better printed out at full size, but they seem okay at 1.5x1.25", so i'm happy enough.
of course, it turns out that they aren't ACTUALLY due until FRIDAY!
so i handed in my assignment and went home to spent the whole day sleeping.
i think i'm getting used to a schedule of "stay-up 48 hours, sleep 12".
i have a few public service announcements.
dear john kerry,
please cheat on your wife. i don't know why the american people are instantly drawn to the most asinine personalities, but i think it should stop right now. if you were revealed as a "cheating bastard", this whole mess would be cleaned up, and people could start focusing on democratic democrats.
dear mccartney & clapton,
please burn all copies of your HORRENDOUS cover of "while my guitar gently weeps". if you're going to cover beatles songs sounding like a couple of aged rockers, please at least avoid slaughtering a harrison tune. respect the dead, please.
i love them. i came home today wearing them, and ian looked at me like i were an alien. or a bug. or potentially even an alien bug. at any rate, his face said "who's the demented girl wearing the fluffy earmuffs, and why did she just walk into my apartment?"
i figure he'll come around in a few days, once he realizes the utter BRILLIANCE of wearing bright blue kittens to keep my ears warm.
oh, and in case you want to rush out to, i don't know, abercrombie or whatever store it is that sells all today's trendy expensive garbage, don't bother -- these babies came straight from CHINA! home of communism and chinese people. how exotic!
okay, they didn't come STRAIGHT from china. they actually came from halifax's own chinatown, by which i mean the kiosk in the middle of park lane mall that sells chinese goodies, or potentially the two-level asian grocery up my street. the latter always smells like rotten veggies and has a freezer full of treasures, most of which i'm convinced are actually mangled human heads salvaged from car accidents. the former seems to be frequented only by myself, from what i can see, because it always seems to be having "going-out-of-business"-type sales.
halifax has no chinatown, by the way. not even two chinese places in a row. i think that, being a middle-of-nowhere country girl, i need to think bigger.
i want to move to new york city.
really, it only makes sense. if i've lived in the middle of nowhere, and the middle of everywhere, then i'll know what the world's all about. no, really. i'll know.
other "middle of everywhere" contenders include:
london (it's the remnants of british accent in me)
and montreal, mostly because it's the only canadian city of any magnitude i could really see myself moving to.
MY LORD, I JUST USED A PREPOSITION AT THE END OF MY SENTENCE!!
see, kids, this is what dropping out of university after year one does to you. i'm really worried about my impending illiteracy.
one of my old airport "involvements" IMed me the other night. he asked how ian was, and then:
Walid: so is he black (what the hell?!?!?! he always asks this question.)
Walid: no ..then what is he?
Walid: u like him
Walid: how much
Walid: more than me?
sarah: well, i've been living with him for over a year now, and he has never crashed one of my cars. so my guess would be quite a lot.
Walid: more than me?
Walid: that breaks my heart
sarah: i'm sure you're weeping bitter, bitter tears as we speak
Walid: do u hate me though?
sarah: to be honest, i don't care enough to hate you anymore. i mean, i still think you're shit for destroying $3,000-odd dollars of my hard-earned fortune and bailing on it, but that was years and miles away.
Walid: so u like me a lil bit
SURE, YOU RETARD. I'M SECRETLY IN LOVE WITH YOUR DUMB, CAR-CRASHING ASS, EVEN THOUGH MY BOYFRIEND TREATS ME A THOUSAND TIMES BETTER THAN YOU EVER DID.
he's actually more intelligent than he comes off. wait, no, he isn't. but he's book-smart. just people-stupid.
walid is this ugly chapter of my life that begun with illicit back-room work-time break-time sex and ended with my car flipping over the ditch and into the field. the car accident was followed by the most mutually unsatisfying, entirely fear-driven sex i'd ever want to encounter, which was then followed by my gulping down glasses of vodka, heading back to my car and lying to the police. it's actually a great story that encompasses, if i tell it right, a number of airport flings and involvements, lots of sex out-of-doors, an infatuation with sparks, yet another car accident, two lawsuits, insurance fraud, and a good two-year chunk of my life.
but maybe later. it's a long story, and i don't want to tell it if nobody wants to hear it. i could probably write a book out of it, and entitle it "the summer of the airport boys".
more hilarity from ex-airport boys:
I’m sorry the way a dealt with you. I don’t know what else to say to you at this moment. I was not very happy the way you treat me like I’m savage who don’t respect your self-respect and dignity as a woman. Because I have a respect for you and I took time off my crazy schedule to be with you. I have no intention to harm other than going for walk in downtown and go to see some film’s. You have broken my heart too many times. I just don’t want our friendship to be destroy something very stupid. I hope you will understand where I’m coming from. Also I will apologized in person.
oh, wait, that's not as funny as i thought it was. i just liked that the "broken my heart" bit was both bolded AND underlined. i guess he really meant it.
then again, he was a twenty-six-year-old virgin when i met him. i think i got him all confused about religion and sex, and things like menstruation that good muslim boys aren't even supposed to be around. naturally, he developed stalker tendencies.
up until ian my dating history is tumultuous and riddled with unhappiness.
HEY, ANYONE WANT DESIGN WORK DONE?
it's pro bono, baby. get it while it's free.