Do you ever wish you could take things back, not because they are are stupid or shouldn't have happened, but simply because you don't know what it's changing and how? Sometimes I'll have the best time but then wish the next day that it hadn't happened because the time was almost too good and I lost control. I just went with the tao (the Way, the flow of life) and didn't analysis for a moment. It's as if I took a really long walk and got lost in the good thoughts, lossing track of where I was or what was surrounding me. So now, I could retrace my steps till I found something I recognized but I can't because there is a big fuckin' wall behind me and I'm not good at climbing shit. I have no choice but to continue on and see what the landscape is. I just wish I had looked around when I was behind that fuckin' wall. Still, would the time have been as good if I had thought about what I was changing?

NOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!! Read this and you'll know why I'm crying. Why, Jesus? Have I not been good to you? Excuse me while I pluck my eyes out and place them in front of my so I'm forced to look at my own eyeless face. *sob*

Word to the wise: Check your fuckin' ticket before you go to bed, then you may realize that your train doesn't leave at 7:05 but at 8:23, thus getting another hour and a half of sleep. FUCK!!

I'm going home on the 7 o'clock train tomorrow. I'll be home by 11:15, if the trains aren't fuck heads. Give me a call tomorrow night, if you want to. I haven't got plans yet. :) If not, have a nice weekend, my little princes and independent women. Nooch.

I think that's my problem. I love men who treat women like a prince would treat a woman. I think it's a prince. So, I'm really sick right. Like, seriously sick. I almost passed out today in my Communications Studies presentation but that's wholley unrelated to my point. After the class was over, I broke my juice bottle. It was sitting empty on my desk and it slide right off. This really soft spoken guy comes over from the other side of the classroom and starts cleaning it up for me. I was sort of like, "What?" So I told him I could get it. He insisted on cleaning it up. I just thought that was probably the sweetest thing any male has done for me in a while. I was beginning to lose my faith in men after the whole Matthew B./Amalie let down but that guy, with one simple gesture, made me realize that, no Alysia, not all men are brutal and they are worth your interest. I'm not interested in the guy. I just thought that that was an extremely "gentlemen"ly (not a word, I know, shut up) thing to do. Sometimes, chivilary will occur in the most unlikely places.

Another side note: My fever broke in the middle of my presentation. I was sweating so bad. It sucked.

I have this "thing" where I love placing my friends in hypothetical situations to see what their reaction would be. This isn't really a hypothetical situation but it is a frequently asked question from Alysia. "If you could have any superpower what would it be?" I've always thought being able to control the weather would be pretty f-in' sweet but my new friend Bailey came up with an even better one: the ability to sing all four parts of four part harmony. Wouldn't that be the sweetest? I thought it was most excellent. If my comments start working again and anyone wants to let me know what their superpower would be, feel free.

I hate forwards that tell me what I am. I hate forwards that tell me that by not forwarding something to all the people on my list, I don't care about them. I'm sorry that I don't care enough to send the same generic, bland statement to thirty people. I prefer telling them with my voice or a personal e-mail that I care for those I love. Every once and a while I'll be touched by something but usually it's only because a friend who I thought had truly forgotten about me sent one. A former friend who I hadn't talked to in three years, who I then started reconnecting with on a one-on-one basis. I'm not heartless because I don't "take a minute" and send it to every goddamn person on my list. If you want me to know you're thinking about me, let me know. All you have to write is "I thought about you today" and I'll feel good. Clicking a box in a row of boxes doesn't make me feel special. It lets me know I'm in your address book.

Hope is smothering.

I'm sorry for making you read this but it was a revelation of sorts

"She's never been in love. No, she don't know what it is". I realized today that, like Jane, I've never been in love. Jenny sent me one of those e-mail quizzes and one of the questions was "Who was your first love and at what age?" I thought about it for a while and realized I've never been in love. Is that strange, to be nineteen years old and to never have been in love? It's not because I'm disenchanted by the whole thought of love. I tend to be a bit of a hopeless romantic but when I think about what I thought was love, I realize it was just infactuation with a healthy does of lust. I think that's why I don't think I can love or be loved. Before any of you fucks say it, I know. "The greatest thing you'll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return." Perhaps I don't think I've ever loved because it's never been reciprocated. The probablem with the question was that it went on the assumption that all people are capable of loving and being loved. Sometimes I wonder if I have that capacity for it.

Stupid quiz I found while cheating on a crossword. Enjoy.


The largest toad found commonly in Europe, the Bufo Bufo species can grow up to 20cm in length with a rotund body. Active mostly at night, this toad will walk about slowly, sometimes making short jumps, in search of insects, worms and other invertebrates. This makes it of great help to farmers. At the end of autumn it buries itself in the soil where it remains until good weather arrives again.

What kind of Frog are you?

Here are some random Kevin Smith quotes that popped into my head while I was writing my English essay:

"You used company funds to fly to Thailand to have sex with an Eleven...Year...Old....BOY!"

"You're his father, you SICK FUCK!"

"Salsa Shark"

"This chick's a slut, BONG"

"Where do you get those wonderful toys?"

"She could tell me I was going to die tomorrow so long as she told me topless."

"37 dicks!!"

So badly do I want to make the last word in my essay "Nooch".

And again my parents show that they don't especially like me

Whose parents hate them? Oh, MINE!! Once again my parents will not be coming to see me do something that I have been working on for months. Walton's Belshazzar's Feast is perhaps one of the most difficult pieces I have ever sang in my life. In my over ten years of being a singer I don't remember singing anything more difficult. I'm so proud of the fact that I can sing this and once again, my parents aren't coming to see it. Did you guys watch Rosanne as kids? I'll always remember how Darlene was the smart black sheep who had her parents love but at the same time she didn't fit in. That's how I feel right now. I feel like I'm the Darlene to my family. I know that my parents really do love me immeasurably. I just wish they knew what was important to me. I don't care about their money. I could get a job. What I really want is for them to come see me sing. It's just disappointing that every other person I know has relatives coming to this concert and I can't even get my parents who are two hours away to come out. It's disheartening when some people's aunt and uncles and cousins and shit are coming out and I can't get my so very supportive parents to come out. FUCK!!!!!!! I feel like one of those rich brats who says "I don't want your money. All I want is your attention." Oh well. My friends are being very supportive about the whole thing. : )

I wish I could hand my prof my rough notes and say "See how good I am at analysis! I can get this much out of a poem! Is this great?!" Then, my prof would say, "Oh, you don't need to turn this into an essay! Anyone could understand what you meant by these notes!" That would be the end of that, but instead I have to fuckin' write an essay and have him say, "You're ideas were excellent, but you needed to edit more." That sentence has plagued me my entire life. It isn't even that they can't understand my point. My points are clear as filtered water. The problem is with my grammer. "Excellent ideas. More editing needed." Isn't it the ideas that really matter? I guess not but I still wish that they were the most important thing. Perhaps they are, considering that I've always done well in English. I just wish that it was "Excellent ideas, excellent editing" instead. *a sigh so loud the moon swings*

I am 42% cruel and unusual!! . I took the newest test at The Spark. It was not as good as the other tests but still enjoyable. It was a lot shorter and featured pictures from some dumb Ben Affleck movie. I was like "What the F are all these pictures of Ben Affleck and Sammy J. doing in this quiz? Is the movie about being a cutthroat? I don't get it. " Perhaps they think that by placing pictures in a quiz people will want to see the dumb movie. Sorry, Kids. It didn't work. I'm not going to see your dumb movie with stupid Ben Affleck. The pictures-in-quiz marketing strategy didn't work. What the hell kind of a strategy is that? I hope the person who thought of that got fired.

A hacksaw, perhaps?

Sometimes, I feel like a tool. My computer says the song "Miss Me, My Dear" by Bitch and Animal is like ten minutes long but after the first five minutes there is like a two minute break that I thought was just a bad conversion. Turns out that it actually has the second half of the song which is too cute. The first part of the song is asking whether a loved one will miss all the shit they do and I loved it. I love songs about leaving and losing. It's that same part of me that loves a good cry. The second part of the song is totally different in mode and tone. Not tone as in the sound but more like the tone as if it were poetry. I could give a flying fuck about the chordal structures and the song's use of musical conventions. I've always been a lyric girl more than a instrumental girl and the tone of the lyrics shifts completely at the second part of this binery form. It shifts to a uplifted mode. It also goes from a minor key to a major key. Also, in the first bit the only accompaniment is a bass and in the second bit Animal does some high pitched back-up vocals and drops the bass for a ukelele. Perhaps, it is more the music that invokes this mode change than the lyrics but I'd like to think that it is mainly vocals.

I love not needing people to contradict me because I can do it myself. Sometimes I wish I could roll my eyes at myself.

"So, how's it going? ... "

I am such an IDIOT!!! Okay, so tonight was the jazz cabaret at Wilf's and the young fellow of my fancy was there. Normally, I can go up and chat with just about anyone. In fact, I usually make new acquantances at such places. He's different though. I can't seem to talk to this guy. It's not that I have nothing to talk about, or even that I wouldn't be able to make small talk. It's the approach. It's the intentional "I'm going over to say hi" that I can't seem to do. I try to gather my rosebuds while I may but the fact of the matter is I can't seem to make the most of time. As per usual, I think Ani says it best when she sings, "I like you so much. I talk to everyone but you." I ran into Candice, the old don/RA from D1, and told her of my plight. She said it's a pretty typical plight but that doesn't make it any less the bane of my acquiring an "other".

By the way, Shaz rocked the Casbar with "Over the sea" I think it was called. Fuckin' sweet voice on that one. You'll get into Voice for a second study. Mad props, Karin. And the kicker is the girl can play piano like a mothaf'er too. Talent got laid the night before that one got her share.

Remind me again why death is a bad thing?

Choir is the only music course still remaining after my switch to the Eloquant world of English. At the time of the switch, I really wanted to keep it because I enjoy the music and it is a good link to my music friends. Now, I'm seeing that the want was like a pedophile's want of the little boy next door, so wrong in so many very good ways. I love the music and the people but Noel the conductor is being a fuck. When you sign up for choir you only practice Tuesday and Thursday from 4 to 5:30 but you must leave room in your schedule everyday from 4 to 6 because you practice everyday leading up to a concert. This is not to difficult and it's also understandable. These practices during intensive week are mandatory. My problem is when Noel the Fuck (like Eric the Red) decides he's going to schedule practice from 6:30 to 9:30 on Tuesday night. The Girl with a Huge Essay due on Friday has some issues with the time change. I normally have class during that time but it got cancelled and I was going to utilize that cancelling by working on this dirty fuck of a Poetry paper. I don't know what I could do because the practies are mandatory. I feel like growing a tree at the top of the CN Tower and climbing to the top of it to scream "GRRRR" at the world. Coming back to reality sucks. Why did the weekend have to turn into the week?

Clara Conrad Hall's "terrorist" attack

Some men "broke" into my building tonight. Chances are they snuck in by an open door that on of the girls left open behind them. They were "seedy" looking characters who were going into the washrooms and shit. In case you didn't know, my res is on of the two all girl's residences. It also is the largest residence on campus and quite possibly off as well. The Dons (or RAs) let us know through the phone so some of the girls didn't know right away. I checked my messages after I got off the phone at 11:30 but I don't like to let shit like that get in the way of my plans so I went out to Paddy Flaherty's anyway. Things were quiet around the res when I left. When I got back, the girls must have finally gotten the message because they were up and about much more than they usually are on a Wednesday night. The girls on my floor were peaking out of the bathroom. I just have to wonder how shady these characters really were. It should be said that no one who doesn't live in the building is supposed to be wandering around unattended but men "with long hair and beards" are a little more conspicuous. I had to laugh at that description on my answering machine though. "Long hair and beards". Are we biased against hippies again? They wouldn't have said "short hair and GAP sweaters". That's alright. Then, they are probably someone's boyfriend who got lost on the way to the washroom. Even with the ridiculousness of the description, I made my friends walk me all the way back to my res. It can just leave you felling vulnerable, you know?

Poetry can suck my ass. I have a 6 page paper worth 40% (!) of my mark due next friday and I'm really hesitating on writing it. I've started. No worries there. It's just the real serious writing of it is having some trouble materializing. I'm going to have to "sink my teeth in", "buckle down" and various other cliches because my mind can't come up with any interesting things to write while it's so focused on formal, scholarly writing. And Italian is currently my abusive boyfriend. It acts like it loves me then beats me furiously while telling me it's for my own good. I wish I could leave this boyfriend but unfortunatly I can't get a restraining order until May. Fuck da polis!

I'm not going to be posting much, if at all, this week because Matt is coming up to the K/W this weekend so I've got to get all my work for the weekend done by Friday at 4. This shouldn't be extremely difficult, if I had a tendency towards motivation. It should be a most enjoyable weekend but I really gotta "get my ass in gear" as some teacher once said to me. That teacher could have been my father. I don't know.

God damn it. Why the fuck do I cry for no reason? I was just thinking about the song Jane Says by Jane's Addiction. "She's never been in love. No, she don't know what it is. Only knows if someone wants her." What the fuck? Why does that bullshit make me cry? Sorry. I'm weak like this sometimes.

One more acceptable pet name: Poopoo Kittie Fuck. If anyone can name me the movie that is from they don't get a prize but they get the respect. That is a pet name I would let people get away with calling their partner in loooove. I guess I'd probably allow any name like that. If someone wanted to call their boyfriend "Ass puppy muncher" or "pumpkin slut" wouldn't mind. Poopoo Kittie Fuck still beats them for the Best Pet Name Using a Profanity Award. Yes, new addition to the "Best of 2001" list. Too bad it doesn't have wax or bats in it. Poopoo Bat Fuck just doesn't do it. Maybe Poopoo Wax Kittie Fuck? No, just doesn't have the same flow.

Caution: Mild feminist rant ahead

International Women's Day

How could I have forgotten? YAY WOMEN!!! Celebrate yourselves ladies. You're beautiful. I was walking along today and I saw something that caught my eye. "After she opens a fashion magazine, it takes a woman 20 seconds to feel bad about herself." It's sick and disgusting that we should have to feel inadaquate. In the words of Ze Frank "What do you want to be one of those Calvin Klien models? Emancipated? Chew on your own bones? NO." And he's right. You're lovely ladies, but your accomplishments are far more important than your looks. Whatever you're doing, know you are doing yourself a great injustice but not realizing how spectacular you are. Chances are even if I don't know you, you are spectacular and worthy of praise. That's just my rant when I think of International Women's Day. Take your 20 seconds and realize that "Damn girl, you are GOOD!!" Here's a suggestion of some things you could do on Women's Day: listen to Ani (everyday!), read some Gloria Stienem, watch a movie about strong women (ie. Foxfire), or talk to the women you know about their lives. May I suggest talking to your mother. Her strength may surprise you. Sorry. That's what I'm doing tonight.

I'm going home this weekend. That's all I got. It's been a pretty uneventful past two days. Oh, I finally like the piece we're doing in Choir. It's called Belshazzar's Feast and it's by William Walton. At first I hated the bitch because it's really hard to sing. It's almost all dissonant and the minor seconds between the first and second sopranos are coming out our asses. Once I got over the difficulties of the piece, though, I really started to like it. We haven't practiced with the orchestra yet so all that liking may change but right now, I'm enjoying myself. Seems like the current trend in Alysia's life is enjoyment. I like this trend, about as much as I didn't like the shpants trend. (Half pant, half short, all stupid. Get some pants that are long enough. F.)

YAY!!!!!

Yeah, mother fucker's yeah!!! It finally CAME!!!! I'm so excited....ooooooeeeee.....and I just can't hide it........no no no no no.....!!!!! I've waited like 3 months for this and it's finally HERE!!!!! My Righteous Babe Records Catalogue is finally here!!! If I could be typing and dancing around the room at the same time I would be, because I am just that HAPPY!!!!!

Life is good in the Land of the Haves

May I just say that there is nothing like having your own printer. Last semester, I had to use other people's printers whenever I had a project. This became a problem considering my tendency to procrastinate. I would be rushing around the day the project was due with a disk trying to find a computer that had a printer and ran Microsoft Works 6. I have no reason for using Works instead of Microsoft Word, which is what I found many of my PC friends used. It just happened that my computer came with Works. When I realized that most people I knew were running Word and that converting from Works to Word would mess up all my formatting I decided it was time to buy a printer. When I came back from Christmas vacation, I used my christmas monies to buy myself a printer so I can do what I'm doing right now. I'm sitting at my computer, editing an essay that is due in 6 hours and feeling fine because I know that my new printer will print off those pages and I will be just fine.

If only I enjoyed writing essays as much as I enjoy writing blogs....

When I say I'm howling, I AM

I can't stand when people say things along the lines of "That's hilarious!" without even prefacing it with a chuckle. Obviously, it couldn't have been that funny if you're not laughing. Maybe it was mildly amusing but it certainly wasn't hilarious if you are just smiling. I smile at stupidity. That doesn't make it worth a declaration of "That's hilarious!" If it wasn't hilarious then don't say so. If nobody made a joke or even if you don't think the joke was funny, don't feel obligated to say "That's hilarious!"
Don't say something is hilarious. Show it. Illustrate your point with a chuckle, a knee slap or even just a simple "ha ha ha". The best laugh to show that something really is "exceedingly funny" is to laugh so hard you're silent (although if on the telephone, it could be interpreted as a lack of laugh). Those laugh are usually followed by some sort of noise though so that's no excuse. It doesn't have to be much. Just show that you really mean it and aren't just saying that because you're supposed to.

And the quiz of the week is...

I am Mario. I like to jump around, and would lead a fairly serene and aimless existence if it weren't for my friends always getting into trouble. I love to help out, even when it puts me at risk. I seem to make friends with people who just can't stay out of trouble. What Video Game Character Are You?

May I just point out that they are in fact all pre-1985 video game characters. Just thought you might like this Jenny. ;)

Throwing Rubber, RMH or Summer camps?

Well, another uneventful weekend. Did nothing all weekend, including all the work I was supposed to do. It seems like the closer I get to the end the more I want to run away from this place. It's not that I don't want to do the work; it's this place. I guess it's good that I'm going home this weekend. Yes, you heard me correctly. I am going home. I have to hand out resumes so I'm actually going home on the Thursday night and coming back on the Sunday. I am excited about this. Call me on Friday night and I'll tell you why I'm excited but I really don't feel like disclosing that here. Let's just say I get the beautiful, new 2001 Chevrolet Cavalier to myself all weekend. I love it. I can go out whenever I want. Also, it's motivation not to spend my monies on the OE. I'm not excited about the resume handing out though. I know it's something that we all hate, loath and have to do, but I still wish there was a magic job fairy who swooped down and gave us wonderful $20 an hour jobs where we had to read books we wanted to read or $30 an hour for a job where we had to listen to or make conversation with wonderful, inspiring people for a few hours before painting whatever we wanted to paint about what they inspired us to paint. This magic job fairy would also have connections to the magic break fairy who would make sure our employeers not only gave us a break in an eight hour shift but also let us have several breaks. (Grrrr... chip truck, nine hours, no breaks.... grrrr....) Sadly, there is no magic job fairy so this Friday I have to get up at the same time as my family (which is like 7 o'clock, way earlier than I would normally get up) and go diligently say "Hello, my name is Alysia Wyville. May I please speak to the manager?" That's what those "how to make a good first impression" people told me to say. I'm just following orders. *snap, salute*

Uggghhh.... Silver Spur last night..... so tired..... so much work...... uggghhhh......

"You were shy?"

Every so often I realize just how much I enjoy being an extrovert. It's not that being shy is a bad thing. I tried it for a while (like the first 12 years of my life) but it just didn't suit me. I thrive on meeting new people, making connections and, as my Jenny Spiers called it, "networking". The last term is a little deceiving because it sounds as though I'm trying to be out going to further my career or something. That's not even close to being why I like meeting people. I want to meet people simply because they fascinate me. As much as I can hate people, I know the world is "simply throbbing with rich treasures, beautiful souls and interesting people (Henry Miller)." It is possible to spread yourself too thin and know too many people. Then, all your relationships are surface and you never really get to know anyone. I think that if I can get to know a few people as well as I can know anyone, more people well enough to hold a serious conversation and even more to just have casual conversation, then I'm happy. Can I let you in on a secret? It's not really so secret. I'm happy.