Just doing my job

Being that I am an opinionated, outspoken woman, I have been treated rather rudely before, but today won the Nobel Jerk Prize. I was working, of course, and a young fellow called in asking to purchase a phone. I was more than happy to sell him the phone he wanted, but first, he had to provide me with some information. Like most men, he just couldn't provide. ;) When I informed him that he couldn't buy the phone because he wasn't authorized he got a little ticked at me. He went on with the usual "I've never had a problem before", "I used to be the authorize contact", "I've got the money" crap that does no good. When it finally got through to him that I wasn't going to allow him to buy the phone, he proceeded to call me a "F**kin' C*nt". I don't mind the word c*nt. In fact, I use it quite a bit but I would never call someone that. I got after work promptly and went to the Gym to work off my aggressions. What the F? Who calls someone that when they don't even know them? Brutal.

1 dot, 2 dots, 3 dots are your enemies

Ellipses, when used in moderation or appropriately, can enhance writing, but if you're using the internet as your means of communication, consider them the Kryptonite to your linguistic Superman. It weakens your writing and makes it seem more vulnerable. I don't know if Kryptonite makes Superman less coherant but ellipses have that effect on writing. If you have a blog page, livejournal or even your own webpage, I beg that you stay away from ellipses. It isn't difficult to finish a thought in a way that is understandable by a reader. Often, ellipses muddle thought. I know I'm not the most coherent writer myself sometimes and rarely do I take the time to proof-read these pieces of D, but I try to avoid ellipses as much as I can. That being said, if you feel the need to use ellipses uses them like alcohol, in moderation.

My sister is making me post this although I'm glad to help out young Byram... er Slakah....

Slakah tha Beatchild

Too Late now

Available now at Sam the Record Man, Cheeky Monkey or CD Source for $13.49 each (plus tax)

It's a mad fine CD. Pick it up. Support the locals cause he's got the plan

He never watched the road as he drove. His gaze always lay out the window. It terrified me, but it was such a facinating thing that I couldn't stop driving with him. I asked him once, as I sat by his side with white knuckles, why he looked out the window. Without letting the landscape leave his vision he replied simply that the road was too boring to be watched for any amount of time. I replied that, seeing as I have in fact been in three accidents I knew how unpleasent it was, so why did he insist on doing this. He turned and looked at me without even glancing at the road, stating that the moment he was more concerned with his own well-being than the facinating world surrounding him, he would make sure that he got in an accident because nothing was worth less than a person who has lost their sense of wonder and curiousity. He turned back to the window, and finally, without glancing at the road, I turned back to mine.

Most of the time I can watch television and it will just be overly mindless entertainment, but every once and a while a smart show will come on. It will have a character who reminds me in the slightest way of myself and she'll be in a situation that reminds me a bit of my own. Then, I'll feel the pinch. You know the pinch in your chest, where the "haves" and "don't haves" get a little too close and enter into the realm of "maybe". On those nights, the pinch is too much. All you can do to stop it is curl, quietly curse and cry. My triple C Maybe Pinch Remedy: Curl, Curse and Cry. It's not a sob but it's not silent. It's like my body can't get rid of the pinch in anyway but to transfer it from my chest to my eyes and lips, but it has to be soft and slow. If it's too fast or loud, it doesn't work with the "maybes". "Maybes" are throbbing. They don't make you cry out in pain but they just may hurt a little more because you know it's not going away, no matter how much you wish it away.

Yeah, I'm mad at you. Everything you've done to me that I've just let slide is back with a vengence like Bruce Willis in Die Hard. I'm tired of sitting back and being complacent. Screw you. If you think I'm not talking to you, I am. If you think I am talking to you, I am. For years, I've let people walk all over me. I think today I'm walking out of the garden. I'm going to stomp on a pretty flower and spit on the sidewalk running by. It's anger time children, and if you think Mommy won't hit you because she loves you, you're wrong. Mommy is a bitch with cigarette breath and holes in her arms. Love gets in the way of truth, but it won't for Alysia anymore. You'll be hearing a lot more from Alysia, and you're not going to like what she has to say. No one likes it when the happy girl tells the truth.

That is what I almost posted last night. I didn't have a very good day and I was a little tired of people. Don't worry. This happy girl will keep telling her lies to keep everyone else as happy as she. :)

If there's a slower way to kill yourself, I haven't found it yet

13 hours on the phone, kids. I worked a seven hour shift at ye olde Vector, followed immediately by a six hour shift at RMH. I actually had some interesting stuff frolicking in my head earlier due to my reading of Franny and Zooey by J.D. Salinger, but now it's all buried behind "Good Afternoon, Vector Canada" and "Thank you for calling Nextel Customer Telesales". It was good shit, too. Perhaps I'll regain it later. I'm never doing that kinda work again, that's for sure.

If only real childbirth was this easy

I'm heading back to the easel, children. I've been away for about eight months now and I'm a little scared to visit after such a long hiatus. I went to Toronto this past weekend and while there I picked up a couple canvases and some new paint from Loomis and Tooles. Also while in Toronto, my best friend Matt and I visited the Art Gallery of Ontario (AGO) for the Surrealist exhibit. Matt gets in free with a guest because the bitch works at the CN Tower and they have some sort of Tourist affliation program. The exhibit was most excellent and it reminded me how much I miss the act of creation. I think that art has had a effect on my need for children in that I have created already. I don't need babies. I have 9 babies sitting in front of me and I have a couple in different rooms. In many ways, visual art is like having babies. There is the conception of the inspiration, which will often include another person, followed by the gestation of that inspiration where it takes shape and form. Then, there is the birth which frightens and thrills me simultaneously. This life giving process is why it is so difficult to show my art. No one would say to a new mother, "Well, your babies not quite good enough for my approval" and no one would judge that baby but with art that's what you get. Now, I'm giving birth again, but this time it's been awhile and I'm terrified. :S

My mother can't say the word "condom" so blame this on her

I still find it hard to grasp the idea that not everyone is as unconcerned about sexuality as I am. I don't care that some of my friends are gay, or if the new friends I make are of any sexual preference. It's not something I take into account when gauging the character strengths or weakness of others. It's never been something that makes me uncomfortable. With that being said, I am uncomfortable with public displays of overt sexuality. Perhaps, it's the prude in me, of which there is much, but I get extremely uneasy when couples show there desire for each other. Signs of affection such as hugs and mild kisses don't bother it, but when couples show that they desire each other it makes me uneasy. Sexual preference has no effect on me, except when it's put on display.

I have the stupidest people ever in my training class. It's been beautiful weather here in sunny Canada, so most of the people in my training class have been spending their lunches and breaks under a tree in the courtyard at work. Some of the idiots in my class decided that they wanted to play frisbee during break and they thought that the best place to do that would be next to a fifteen foot tall fir tree. When their cloth frisbee got caught in the tree, the owner of the frisbee got a little, shall we say, irate? She freaked and started yelling about how she was "getting [her] f**kin' frisbee back", while the other idiots comprised a foolproof plan to get the frisbee down, which was to throw their shoes at the tree. Now, this would have been a wonderful plan if we were in Holland and they were all wearing wooden clogs, but, unfortunately, in the sweltering summers of Canada, people often wear flipflops which they proceed to throw at the trees to remove frisbees from said trees. At one point they have five shoes and a frisbee stuck in the tree. Ultimately, they did get all the shoes and the ill-fated frisbee down from the tree but it took a good fifteen minutes and someone to climb the tree. If I never hear "I'm getting my f**kin' frisbee back" again, I think I just might die with a grin. (That was all she said the whole time the other two were trying to remove the frisbee from the fir.) Idiots.

Awesomeness abound

Well, it was a success. I wondered whether Kathleen and I could pull the Amnesty International Benefit Concert off this year, but it flew with minor turbulance. Just a couple stats for you:
• 225 of the 250 tickets were sold

•all twelve performers were awesome

•we started 30 minutes late and ended on time :)

• we raised $1100!! I just wanted to say to anyone who may be reading this and had anything to do with the concert, YAY YOU!!!

I think I'm in love with this man. Just look around and enjoy his world and the site he's so wonderfully created. I love it. :)

Just a reminder:

3 Days, Bitches!!!

Amnesty International Benefit concert

Saturday, June 15, 2002

Dow People Place

$5 in advance, $7 at the door

5:30 pm start time :)

I'm breaking the rules at work.

Isn't taking a trip supposed to take you somewhere?

Nothing bothers me more than ego trips. So you're good. What does it really matter... I get so aggrivated by people who believe in their superiority because they can do one thing well. Baby, if you think you're so good then get yourself out and try out your talent somewhere else. Talent can roam, egos are stationary. If you want to see whether you have talent or flunkies, go to another city and see how you fair there. (Ouch, that rhymed.) I just get sick of "I'm the most ______ person here." That is the most impossible statement to prove because everything is so multifaceted that you can't pigeon-hole knowledge. For instance, a visual artist may say "I'm the most artistic person here." They may in fact be the most successful VA there but what about art historians, curators, even hobbiest. It's not a fair statement to make and I'm tired of hearing it. My Fiction teacher used to tell us everyday to "Show, Don't tell." Maybe I'm just tired of dealing with over-inflated egos. It's time for a break. Here's a blanket statement for ya, "There is nothing more facinating than other people." How about checking out the validity of that sometime?

Best thing said to me recently

When asked "What is more important: strong in mind or strong in body?", my old Don Candace replied, "Who cares about the packaging if the product is rotton?" My girl Candace knows her shit. I really do love that woman. :)

It wouldn't have worked out anyway...