I gotta get out of here. It's like I'm being tied to the hood of a yellow rental truck being packed in with fertilizer and fuel oil, puched over a cliff by a suicidal Mickey Mouse! - I've gotta find a way
To jump over the moon
Only thing to do is jump over the moon.
(Leap of faith, leap of faith, leap of faith, leap of faith)

(I couldn't say it so I thought I'd bring in Jonathan Larson to do the job)

What's on my mind can't possibly be English...

I haven't been posting lately because I'm not thinking in English. At least, that's what I figure it has to be since I can't seem to put anything I want to say into words. It's not a language that I'm thinking but more colours. I wish I could post a series of colours here and have you all understand exactly what I mean. To look at my colour series, nod and say "Honey, I know exactly how you feel." I could list a series of adjectives as well. I have plenty of adjectives for how I am right now but none seem adequate or in the right sequence. With my limited knowledge of foreign languages, I have no other language but English to tell you what is happening in this head of mine. So, forgive my lack of posts. When my head comes back from Saturn, I'm sure it will have plenty to say.

If you haven't had a cavity, skip this

I hate getting cavities filled for two reasons:

1. I hate the gas

2. I hate the freezing.

First, the gas freaks me out. It reminds me of this nasty habit I have of not breathing. My dentist and dental technician both know that I hate the shit so they're constantly asking me if I'm okay, which is comforting yet aggravating because I just want to get it over with. I only get the gas while he administers the needle but it still goes to my head.

I hate the freezing because it lasts so damn long. TWO HOURS after I left the dentist the freezing still hadn't worn off. I had been home for less than an hour and my da came home with piping hot, delicious Firenzi's pizza. I decided that being that it was six and I hadn't eaten since noon I was hungry so I was going to eat a piece of the fabulous Firenzi's pizza. That was a mistake. I was fine until half-way through the slice I got cocky. I decided that instead of placing bite sized pieces into my partial frozen like soft serve ice cream mouth I was going to bite the pizza. I know my mouth was only partially frozen because I could kind of feel it when I took a big chunk out of my cheek. Every time I have a cavity filled, I take a chunk out of my cheek. And don't give me any of that shit about "Maybe you should brush your teeth, scungy mouth" because the crappy dentist's crappy enamel came dislodged from excessive brushing so you can shut your scungy mouth.

Get thee to a nunnery

In Trainspotting, the character Sick Boy kicks his heroin habit just to spite the main character Renton, by showing the stuggling Renton how easy it is to kick the habit. Some days, Sick Boy's ease is mine. I've kicked habits before. Sometimes I like to show my internal Renton how easily I can kick the habit. When there are no addictive substances left for me to quit because I've quit them all, I'll start just breaking my character traits freely. "So, you think I've got a sense of humour. No more." *dead pan* Right now, I'm still like Simon in that I keep going back. I can break the habit, so I don't ache with need but every once in a while I'll dabble, just to prove how easily I can revert back to a simpler time of peach fuzz and popsicles.

All is Full of Love

See Amelie. It's a beautifully done feel-good movie. The best phrase I have to describe it is a warm spot in a freezing lake. It made me cry and never wanted it to end. Just see it. I should have gone to see it despite the surrounding situation so many months ago.

Thieves at the gym

For two hours today, I lost my identity. Every piece of identification I own is in my wallet. After I got home from the gym today, I wanted to go to Fabricland, FABRICLAND, so I went to get my wallet out of my purse and, behold! It's absent! Of course, I remember the last time and place I had it, which was at the gym yesterday. I went to the gym and Stephen at the front desk said they didn't have it. I naturally assumed that someone had stolen it. My dad pointed out that it was highly unlikely that anyone at the gym would want to touch my disgusting purse, especially looking for money. My dad cancelled my credit card, while I went to the bank because it's closed tomorrow when I get home from work. In case, you're wondering the bank is exceptionally thorough when replacing a card for someone who has no id. Anyway, when I got home my dad had found my wallet, which sucked because he had cancelled my credit card. The real purpose of this blog is not to relay my story of distress, but to get you to think of the cost of replacing your wallet. In my wallet was my ISIC's card ($16), my student card ($20) my venda card (my photocopy card @ WLU ($5)), my social security card (approx. $10), my birth certificate, my health card and my license. To replace all my cards it would have cost at least $50 plus the cost of a new wallet and all the other cards I'm not taking into effect. I figure that it would have been about $75 to replace my wallet. Also, I wouldn't have had an identity for at least 2 weeks. Thank god Da has better eyes than I do.

In my head: Well, that was stupid. *delete*

I think two seconds ago was the first time that I have deleted a blog in two months. In case you're curious, the subject was appearence and the apathy I do not possess. It wasn't worth reading a first time, let alone a second. If I can't stand to proof read my own writing, then why write it. That just may be the problem with many of the bloggers out there. There is no censorship. It hurts, honey, but not everything you write is worth reading. The same is true for everyone, myself included. The blog I didn't post was shite. It was even more shite-like than this. (I wanted to call it "excremental" but I'm positive that isn't a word. :) ) I'm just glad I had the sense to highlight and delete that one. Perhaps, I should have done the same here?

Oh, my sweet Radmobile, how I miss thee so! You, parked right beside my shiny new car, showing your supple seven seats and flexing your glistening hatchback, in the RMH parking lot. Does your new owner hold you so tenderly by the bottom of your worn, sticky from use, steering wheel? Does he give an internal chuckle at your painfully hot vinyl and cool fabric when he sits on your rod straight seats? Oh, Radmobile, so loved, does he enjoy the back windows that roll down fully, allowing for friend's of friends to puke with ease out the window of your moving form? Oh, my little Beast, you are still loved and we Wyvilles curse the day we sold you to those slimy agents of smelly, shoddy fix-ups, the used-car salesman. I miss you, mia bella machina. It is only in my dreams that we dare have another bittersweet encounter, allowing my fellow co-worker to again exclaim, "Alysia, what the hell are you stroking that car for?"

I watched a bug fly against the wind today. In the ten minutes I watched him, he never flew out of a five foot radius in front of me. Eventually, I just got up and went inside. When I left he was still flying, trying to arrive at the place 6 feet in front of him. Good luck, unidentified black dot. I'm sure it will be great when you get there.

I like this quiz. :)



I'm the badass burgundy patent Doc Marten...
I'm cool as hell, I'm deep,
and maybe a little dark

Which Doc Marten are you?
(by *coffeebean*)

Best thing said to me by a Nextel customer recently:

Spoken by a southern gentleman regarding his wife when said wife's phone is broken:

It's like going home to a pack of piranhas on amphetamines.

I had to mute my mic I was laughing so hard at that one

"I want my old friends. I want my old face. I want my old mind. Fuck this time and place." - Ani Difranco

Some days I feel this. Some days I don't. I don't know what old face, old friends or old mind I want. All I know is that today (or yesterday, as is the case) whatever it is that I have right now is shite. My face and my mind were shite. My friends were blowing me off so they were a little excremental as well. This feeling has passed, but I know it will return and I think I'm okay with that, today.

Does anyone stand up straight anymore? Is it an Atlas effect? The weight of the world has everyone slumping through their lives? Not me, children. I'm standing up tall, but I wonder who will stand tall with me?

Now on Fox: When Websites Lie

I'm a puzzle junkie. I admit it. I love puzzles. Whether they be jigsaw, word, 3D or other, I get inthralled by them. I found a website that does jigsaw puzzles of art works. It says that "Ogni mese Artonline ti propone 3 nuovi soggetti" which means "Every month Artonline will have 3 new puzzles". It lies! Ch'è una nuova mese e ci sono zero nuovo soggetti . (It's a new month and there are zero new puzzles.(Yes, zero is zero in Italian.) ) I was looking forward to the nouvi soggetti, but no such luck. I don't know why I expect anyone on the internet to follow any sort of schedule when they say they will. Grrrr.....

It has been a long time since the written word has taken my breath away with its beauty. Visual art does it to me all the time. I could have spent two hours staring breathlessly at Rodin's Eve at the AGO last week. It was this marble statue of Eve that moved me. It's hard to explain what it is about Rodin's sculptures that leave me wanting but it's there. Robert A. Heinlein does a pretty good job of discribing the impact of Rodin in Stanger in a Strange Land but it still doesn't explain it. I'm sorry. I'm digressing.

Lolita. Vladmir Nabokov's Lolita is currently taking my lungs and squeezing them till I have to put the book down because I can't breathe. Please realize that I am not exagerrating. I have had to put the book down because I can't breathe. Don't think that my lungs are week, either, because they're not. I've been training my lungs since I was nine to be able to take in as much air as in physically possible in as short a time frame as possible and, with this book, I can't breathe. I have this nasty habit of throwing books that I like too much because I can't stand my own need for them. Last night alone, I felt the urge to throw this book at least 7 times in an hour. I don't know why I'm tellin you this. Perhaps, I want you to read the book. The subject matter is controversial, but Nabokov prose makes me weak. I think it's from the lack of air.

I hate how these quizzes stretch my page. Bye, Goddess quiz.

Cities that Kill

Today, Dow had another chemical spill. Looks like Sarnia's wonderful petrochemical industries are at it again. I was not in the area that had to "turn off [thier] air conditioners and shut all windows and doors" but my brother still freaked out. If I stay here Sarnia will eventually kill me. I was also talking to a friend who lives in Toronto last night and he was talking about how the air in Toronto is going to kill him. Now, I must ask, is there any city that won't kill a person? I believe the answer is no. Any city will eventually harm, if not kill, its inhabitants. The ideal place to live free of smog, pollution and chemical spills, is the country. Now, I must ask myself, can I live in the country? The answer again is no. I need people and a lot of them. I have problems with isolation. So, it's a lose/lose situation. If anyone finds a city that won't kill us, let me know. Then, we can all more there so it will promptly become a city that kills.

Spoken in the whispered voice of a twelve year old: "Can I have the new i95cl, but can you put it on a credit card? I don't want my dad to know I bought it."

And that is verbatim.