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where your urban spaceman comes to play.
January 22nd

11 pirate cusses:

yesterday, all that i ate, all day, came from hereCollapse ). hey, c'mon, it's MARGINALLY healthy. think how unhealthy i'd be if i worked at McDonald's.

I MADE FOUR DOLLARS IN TIPS LAST NIGHT!!!! once they finally trust me to work on my own (rolling eyes here) i'm going to make mad tips. BY STEALING THEM FROM DRUNK PEOPLE WHO DON'T NOTICE!!!!

oh yeah, i've got a new job. it's not bad, but new jobs rarely ever are. it takes a while for them to get hellish. said job is, however, looking to take over my weekends entirely. last friday and saturday night, i worked 10pm - 4am. and i've got to do it again this weekend, and i've got the suspicion that once i'm on it they'll never take me off it. the guy i close with is an alright sort, except that he makes me sweep, mop, wash all his dishes, do all the prep, and basically take care of absolutely everything except the area directly behind the counter. that means he "takes care" (see: ignores until close, then sweeps and mops clean in two minutes) of only about five square feet of floor space. there's a huge back room and a large "dining area" that's so covered in salt from people's street-boots that when i sweep it, i can actually TASTE the salt.

so the jist of it is that my weekends now are totally blown. because who the hell wants to start partying at FOUR IN THE MORNING?!?!?! that's when people start passing out and falling into bed. also my internal schedule is all screwed up as a result of not getting to sleep until 6am for two out of three weekend nights.

SO HILLARY, if you ever happen to feel like making good on your promise way back before christmas to come to martini monday and get good and loaded with me, that's my only "party night" remaining.

i keep on running into old friends, taking their numbers, and never calling. so i thinks to myself: ian and i should have a party! (parties in my apartment need to be fairly quiet affairs due to the crazy super, but we always try.)

then i remembered that i'll probably never have a friday or saturday night again.

i'm trying not to get depressed by this, i am. i feel like i'm losing out on my childhood or something.

in totally unrelated news, check out the birthday present i bought for my mum:

yes, it's a bad photo. pretend you're trapped inside my scanner, underneath the glass, and you're looking up into the jungle that is my apartment, and you get the idea. the funny little marks are fingerprints on the glass, and there's only a lot of them today because i scanned in cut fruit for my day assignment and haven't yet cleaned it off, mostly because i don't know WHAT exactly to clean the scanner glass with.

oh, and i'm lazy.

but anyway, the waterpipe. my mum has trouble smoking because of, i don't know, pussy lungs or something. so i bought her this $17 baby to try. if she doesn't like it, she'd better send it back, cos i really want it now that i've felt it.

i tried to go with something that didn't look too paraphanelia-ish. as it is i'm not sure her dignity will allow her to suck smoke out of a straw. then again, this is the woman i got doing bottle tokes out my dorm room window when she came to visit me last september.

on a marginally more related note, look what happened when i played around with the curves on my scan to make the waterpipe show up:


i think it's time for a cigarette.
January 20th

2 pirate cusses:


i have made three phone posts in the last two days but ya'll can't hear them cos they're stuck somewhere between my telephone and livejournal.



i'm tired, and Computer Things That Should Work But For Some Unknown Reason Just Won't make me a very cranky girl.
January 16th

8 pirate cusses:

results of typing in the dark. and stoned.

i've discovered i can see the keyboard if i schooch down in the couch on my back with my knees up and my laptop against them. the light from the screen illuminates them.

and shut up, Mavis Beacon Teaches Me Typing, but it's hard to type without seeing the keyboard sometimes, especially in the case of such esoteric keys as "5", or "t".

and since everyone loves photos, here's more.Collapse )

if anyone wants to know, the fear & loathing quote was:

There was madness in any direction, at any hour. If not across the Bay, then up the Golden Gate or down 101 to Los Altos or La Honda. You could strike sparks anywhere. There was a fantastic universal sense that whatever we were doing was right, that we were winning.

the quote page says that "raoul" said it, but we all know it was hunter s.

i think i'm schematically arranging my posts to center around sparks more often than i usually do.
January 14th

17 pirate cusses:

if i ever decide to marry my bodhisatta, it will be here, at jules' (yes, that's as in verne) underwater motel. i mean, what can be more romantic than a glorified bunk bed with fish-patterned sheets?

ian says there's a town outside of reno called "sparks", and that we should get married there. i have this long-standing infatuation with sparks. i wanted to get "sparks!" tattoed on my collarbone before fear of pain overcame me. now i want it engraved on my zippo.

well, i think it'd be cool.

i need a good clear shot of my ugly mug for tomorrow's class (wednesdays are one-day assignment days; i'm assigned design work at 9 and have to have it finished by 4), so ian took photos of me in the snow.

i tried not to contort my mouth in retarded ways, with minimal success.

my nose, it's growing the little bump that always made me think my mother was a witch. especially when she was angry at me. or maybe it was that her bangs would curl up like horns on either side of her head, and she'd sharpen kitchen knives while yelling at me.

it's snowing out, i'm not producing dandruff at the speed of lightCollapse )

my new year started off with cramps so bad i spent the night in bed with a red towel wrapped between my legs. i could see fireworks out my window. ian was working backshift after i'd come home that afternoon with the intention of kissing him at midnight.

no such luck.

and ultramar didn't even bother writing my name up on the new schedules, so i left a note asking someone in management to give me a call and let me know what was up. naturally, they responded by not calling me at all. i ran into biren, who works there, a week or so later and he said that sharon (my ultra-nemesis, whom debbie brought in as her evil lackey when she took over the inglis street ultramar's management) had said that i was fired.

which means little to nothing, but i HAD failed another "ultraservice" secret shopper thing, which means that i forgot to harass my customers by asking them if they want windshield wash, cigarettes, or diaper wipes with that. whatever "that" happens to be. and they can fire me for that. it prevents debbie from winning the "golden gas pump award" another year in a row.

anyway, i'd about had enough, so i handed in my resignation, working on a "you can't fire me, I QUIT!" principle.

i spent a week worrying about not having enough cash to pay my bills. now i'm working at subway.

no "artist" jokes tolerated, okay?
January 6th

2 pirate cusses:

over christmas, ian and i managed to amass all these lightersCollapse ).

that's not actually a true representation, given that there were SIX bic lighters, and the red one with the elastic around it is an old one. i always wrap little hair elastics around pens, lighters, and the like. it gives them texture. and it helps me find my elastics. or helps me lose them, since they seem to be lost more often than found.

i was too lazy to search for the other two. i may have left one at home, anyway. you're only allowed to take one lighter on the plane, in carryon, and zero in checked. i feel like some kind of smuggler of sparks, which seems accurate enough.

the brass zippo on the left is, obviously, MINE. my little sister gave it to me as an xmas present and now i finally understand what all the fuss is about. i lost it for a day and a half and was totally distraught. i found it and was rejuvenated. there's something so classy about a flame so steady you could light a cigarette while riding a horse.

the six bics are the remainder of my grandmother's legacy. she died in march (i went home for three days to do funeral things) of last year. my inheritance was as follows: four and a half cartons of Peter Jacksons along with a whole bagful of assorted cigarettes (still in their packaging). they were all king size and so old that they only had text warnings from the general, not the pictures they introduced a while ago (you know, the diseased gums, the nasty lung, the limp cigarette to signal impotence?). they were stale and it sort of creeped me out -- the smell of Peter Jacksons will always remind me of my grandmother -- but we smoked them all. such troopers.

i brought home six lighters in march, too. i imagine my grandfather must be finding them everywhere, because he gave me another six when i visited him over the holidays, and i found at least another three at hand in his house.

i imagine it was the constant smoking that killed her.

the one on the far right is ian's, a present from his brother. see how alike we are? we even get the same presents from the same people. when you flip the lid, a blue light shines through the marijuana leaf. yes, the leaf and blinding light ARE a little pimped out, but if you hold the button down for a few seconds, the flame turns GREEN and shoots up high enough to burn your nose hairs.

we are going to partake in minor welding. (look out, poor battered apartment!)
December 27th

1 pirate cuss:

i have been meaning to make a css-journal design-ish thing for a long, long time now.

new webspace facilitates doing. i suppose. i hope to actually update it.

i must've hit the refresh button 1,000,000 times while generating the css code. but i like it.

see,i'm not ALL cyanide.
December 26th


when i am rich, i am going to do the following:

1. drink lime perrier on ice en lieu of ice water
2. use pears soap en lieu of "whatever's on sale when we need soap"
3. use those cotton pads for makeup en lieu of toilet paper

and own so many zippos i could lose them.

my new zippo makes me feel classy. and i'm always wanting to light something. my little melted sisterling, you are encouraging my habits.

i'm going to be a light-fairy for a while.
December 24th

3 pirate cusses:


1. getting to drive, even if it's only to take the cat to the vet's, and even if i have to drive the jeep down our ice-laden laneway, which scares the shit out of me cos it's so high off the ground and i already have a nervous constitution when it comes to driving, having lived through two car-totalling accidents the year before last. it's the smoothness of motion, the shifting of gears -- i haven't driven since march and it all came back to me fine. so i'm pleased.

2. going out drinking with my mother and sister (though never together since my sister's underage.) also going out drinking with old friends, which i hope to do after xmas. if my mother ever lets me leave the house.

3. being able to smoke a joint wherever i want to without having to worry about cops or irate landowners.


1. being chained to the house like a fairytale princess again. that's why i left, so that i could FLAMING WELL DO AS I PLEASED. and i don't much care for people telling me i can't do as i please.

2. the fact that my mother is irrational and slightly insane. it's easier when you live halfway across the country.

3. not being able to sleep in my darling ian's arms.

i have had a pretty much constant headache since getting here. and i still have a full week left.

no pictures while i'm home since i'm working out of my mother's laptop.
December 23rd

10 pirate cusses:

the other day i smoked a joint while sitting on my treeswing, ashing into the white. the silence came to eat me alive.

we were supposed to cut down our xmas tree while my mum was out -- AND MAKE SURE TO DO IT EARLY, SO IT CAN DEFROST. yes, defrost. i don't know, exactly.

so i went inside & we watched fear & loathing, and i fell asleep towards the end because i have cinematic narcolepsy. i woke up and the phone rang. nej says we have half an hour 'til sam (my ma, for those not in the know) gets home.

"i'll clean up, you cut down the tree," she says. sure, give me the easy job.

so i run outside all groggylike, grab this kind of saw:

because i couldn't FIND this kind of saw:

which would have saved me a lot of huffing and puffing, had i found it.

you should all be proud of me because i cut that fucker down in all of ten minutes. thank you, i AM an urban lumberjack.

the tree was nine or ten feet tall, and thick as hell, and just COVERED in branches, not like that sparse little black xmas tree the rest of you all have. so of course it weighed nine million pounds as i tried to drag it up to the house, and the branches got all full of snow and thus even denser and heavier, and i kept on thinking my heart was going to collapse from all the heaving and hoing.

but we managed to get our tree in thirty minutes, with time to spare.

i miss being in halifax, where nobody forces me to FUCKING TOUCH A GODDAMN FUCKING XMAS TREE!!!! they ALL look ugly, okay?!?!?! ALL OF THEM!!!!!!!!! THE WHOLE FUCKING SEASON!!!!!!

thank you. i hate this time of year even more than any other time of year. and i hate those times of years, too.
December 15th

1 pirate cuss:

the other night i dreamed that my ultramar was held up one day while i was working. my manager(s) and coworkers fired these laser beams at the robber, with the intention of taking his photo or somesuch (dream logic is so hard to translate). they then all ran into the electrical room in the back, and locked the door.

irony goes here. i need a new job for the new year, that's hardly a metaphor.

leaving me to deal with the (now) irate robber, and his gun. and his friend, who was hiding somewhere. also friend's gun. i woke up while they were chasing me up hundreds of cement stairs.

so i was a little nervous heading to work that afternoon. given that i work the whole shift on my own, and that there's the ever-charming presence of mitchell street next door. (i was offered cheap leather gloves and a cheap leather coat last time i was working.) getting robbed wouldn't be so bad though -- at least i'd get to close the station. and that way i could take bathroom breaks when i needed them.

i didn't get robbed. i listened to a drunken woman ramble on at me about her life and relationships every time she came in for scratch tickets (each time more loaded than before). she'd stand by the cash rabitting on, and twice tried to pick up customers as they were paying for their gas ("you goin' my way?" "i don't think so"). i also recieved a pair of mittensCollapse ) from a secret santa exchange i didn't even know existed.

which i'm claiming is management's fault for not telling me a THING about it. if they had, i would have opted out. i hate secret santas almost more than i hate christmas itself. last year, in res, they made us give THREE secret santa presents on three different days. i barely had enough money to buy my BELOVED FAMILY presents, and since i couldn't opt out, i gave "found" presents, like found art. turns out the archie comic i found in the fourth-floor bathroom actually belonged to the girl i gave it to. whoops.

and while i despise the principle of secret santas, and the idea of giving presents to people because i'm being forced to, or recieving forced presents, i love my new red mittens. they match the red in my hat perfectly, and make me feel like a little girl.

thisCollapse ) is the last assignment i handed in for graphic design this semester, and it's the closest i've gotten to an actual illustrative style in illustrator. i am going home for eleven days on saturday and i am going to spend it having a blast and learning how to design better. and i can't wait to see ottawa streets again.
December 14th

4 pirate cusses:

somebody please explain to me why the hell the lj screen says "success" when i've posted a comment? i mean, it's not like i'm particularily PROUD of having typed out two lines of drivel and hitting a "submit" button. i don't need any congratulations.

..Collapse )

on the other hand, maybe it's livejournal's way of recognizing that sometimes, when you tell it to do something (like, say, change something in your layout, or upload a picture) it just won't do it.

at any rate, i don't think ANYONE needs congratulating for such mediocre accomplishments.

dear internet,

you suck. please stop pandering to everyone and their ego.

love, sarah.
December 13th


i slept in the bathtub last night.

i didn't really mean to, though i suspected i might due to extreme lack of sleep over the past few days. i got home from work at 1130 and ian was sleeping, or trying to sleep. so i smoked a joint and started watching a simpsons episode (i have seasons 3-12 downloaded) to chill my tired ass out.

of course ian, who is usually DEAF LIKE A POST IS DEAF, doesn't like any noise when he's sleeping. which is fine, except i lost my headphones. so i piled blankets into the bathtub (the bathroom being the only other room in the apartment, really), put my computer on the toilet, and chilled out already.

ian woke me up at, i dunno, it must've been six this morning? my legs were so cramped it burned to stretch them.

so, i don't recommend sleeping in your bathtub. i DO, however, recommend downloading the simpsons seasons, especially 3, 4, and 5. the only bad thing that could come of it is that your boyfriend will develop a thing for marge simpson, like mine did.

i keep telling him marge is a wet blanket and a total dork, but he just says, "but when she's not wearing her pearls..."

in that line of thinking, my vote for the two MOST ELIGIBLE men in springfield are as follows: groundskeeper willie, and ned flanders. they're both built like stud horses, goddamn. too bad ned's always wearing such dorky fourth-grader garb.

...Collapse )
December 11th

20 pirate cusses:

holy shit. my webhost changed the quotas on its hosting plans without upping the price. (what is that, like deflation or something?) instead of 200 megs, i get 500. i now have SIXTY email accounts instead of just twenty, and 15 FTP accounts/subdomains. it's like an internet geek party! you know, the kind where everyone updates their respective journal/personal webboringsite every ten minutes with "i'm even DRUNKER now! ifjisaea fdijfadsaso."

i guess my point is, if anyone needs a pop3/imap (it works either way) email address i'll hook you up. hell, i'd even hand out webspace, at this point. BECAUSE I HAVE SO DAMNED MUCH OF IT!!

oh yeah, speaking of website. i made one. GO VISIT NOW SINCE I HAVEN'T MADE A WEBSITE TO ACTUAL COMPLETION IN YEARS, BECAUSE I AM A LAZY ASS. i have an email list again. i used to use one for website revamps/updates (the big ones) and four am ramblings, back when i actually wrote things that meant anything. the photo gallery is the best part, except that there aren't really any photos in it yet. but it's still the best part, unless you're particularily crazy about looking at my bad design. i SWEAR i'm a better designer than that. no, really. i've just been sidetracked. you'll see. i'm actually a design superhero by night.

and as a last note. someone i work with (i forget who now) didn't know what perrierCollapse ) was. please, if you don't know, go buy some. the lemon (shown above) was excellent, but the LIME is to die for.

i've been chained to my computer for the last three days. my limbs are starting to atrophy.
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