Happy Holidays You Bastard

Is the title of a blink song, if you were unawares.

Tonight, my friend Mike from Scotland and I went to see blink-182 play at some sports arena here in San Diego. On our way there, we went to In N Out, which was nice.

So we got to the venue and weasled our way up to the front and saw some band called Mutemath. They were okay. Not my favourite but they were super entertaining to watch.

Everlast went on. I've never heard of them before and wouldn't buy their album or anything, but their cover of Folsom Prison Blues was cool.

I think DMC was next? It was okay. It was like. Half of RUN DMC. Or whatever. So that was okay.

Pennywise went on and I saw SO many bloody noses. They were rad. And at the end, I think I managed to get against the barrier. Which is my goal in life for all shows ever.

Switchfoot went on. They were like, my first real show when I was like 13 or whatever. I had a t-shirt from their show. It was brown with a pink logo. Yum. Anyway, it was really funny seeing them because I didn't know they even still toured. Upon further ferreting around on their wikipedia page, I've been reminded that they did Oh! Gravity at some point while I was in highschool. It was a rad song and I recall once sitting on my desk and rocking out to it.

Social Distortion were good. They were all really well-dressed which was cool. Their singer, Mike Ness has face tattoos and a fight broke out somewhere behind me and he started talking about how people with tattoos weren't necessarily badasses. They covered Ring of Fire as their last song. Which was exciting. I love Johnny Cash. And literally the entire time Mike Ness was staring at me. Which was awkward. Because he's okay looking I guess and his tattoos are hot, but he's 49... so yeah, whatever. I just smiled about Johnny Cash songs and sang along and stared right back at him anyway. Because seriously why not?

Blink went on last and they were amazing. I was literally dead centre for them when they first got on (but was slowly pushed over to Tom). After they played two songs, Tom came over to the middle and we looked at each other and he mouthed hello at me, so I said hi and waved. ...And then he opened his mouth and drooled a massive gooey looge. Ew. So I spit at him. It didn't hit him or anything, but the guy next to me gave me a high-five for it.

Mark Hoppus is gorgeous.

Like. Actually. Freakishly good looking. It should be illegal to have eyes that blue. Or not. Actually. Just... to sleep. Or blink.

Anyway. He is excellent. At everything ever. Like bass and being cool. And funny. A+ for the funnies.

He was rad and came over and played in front of me and smiled at me a whole bunch. Which was awesome because obviously I love him and want to stare at him forever. He also came over and was like, HEY THESE ARE FOR YOU! when I was looking at him, and threw a bunch of plecs at me. So rad! Oh. Also. My bra matched his nail varnish. I actually didn't remember his nails when I chose to wear this bra.

...Also I took my shirt off because it was coming down anyway. I was totally going to throw it onstage, but it's my Kid Dynamite shirt so I decided that would be a dumb idea. It was also just nicer to be topless. I was in my bra, anyway, though.

So yeah. They were lovely and wonderful and I adore them.

Things I Do

I'm in San Diego now.
I work at a hostel in the gaslamp.
I'm the only girl.
I have 4 roommates. They're all guys.
We sleep in a 3-storey death trap. Basically.
But it's really cool. In fact. It's probably; the coolest place I've ever lived.
Having 4 guy roommates is a million times better than having 5 girl roommates.
Also, California is better than Alberta. Like. A lot.
I feel a little rebellious sharing a room with 4 guys.
Mostly because even public bathrooms are kept separate.
Even though I'm 21. And it's not like I've never slept with guys before.
But still. I've never actually gotten to share a room with them. It was always against some rule.
The nightlife here is really great. We go out a lot. It's actually a part of our jobs.
We went to a pretentious 3-storey club called Stingaree's last night. It had an outside upper deck which was beautiful.
I decided to suit the occasion and drink iced water with lemon in martini glasses all night.
The ends of them were really sour since the lemon would side there, so my face would squick like I was actually drinking alcohol.
And not drinking water out of a martini glass like the pretentious ass I actually am.
I met the most perfect looking tattoo artist there. He only does oldschool stuff.
Having tattoo artists as friends is my favourite thing ever.
Half the staff/my roommates are sick today. Including myself.
Instead of going to TJ or Boudoir, I'm staying in with my computer.
Hopefully I'll feel better in the morning.
I like California and I love the hostelling thing. I meet tonnes of really awesome people all the time.
I haven't been to the beach, yet.
Not as though there's really any point right now. I'm not allowed to swim for another 4 weeks.

Anyway. That's my life right now.

Ships Have Names

Mine needs colouring. Soon. Maybe.

The Idiot Adventures of Merk and Tum

This is a photos post.

Mister Stephanie paid a visit to Mister Alan last night. We assumed alter-alter egos, Merk Heppish and Tum DiLung.
Because we're kind of giant idiots and it's funny. A lot. Anyway.


This is my mullet.


This is Tum being kawaii and Merk thinking he's clever.


We like each other lots.


Kind of idiots.


Massive dingbats.


Misters Stephanie and Alan are attractive humans with attractive expressions. But not really.


This is our band, HPC.


I... don't have words for this one.


I think it was our faces in a prior picture...


This is what we do.

Let Us Take Some Time To Complain, Shall We?

Yes. I think I will.

I'm not allowed to exercise until the second of December.
That means no bike rides. No "power walking" either.
Not that I actually do that, I don't, but it was specified.

I wonder if yoga counts as exercise. I feel like I'm just stuck in bed listening to Angels and Airwaves songs.
Not that this isn't good. I like AVA.
The lyrics are brilliant. Music... it's like experimental space rock / stadium rock. I feel like if I was on some sort of hallucinogenic drug, it would be one of the most amazing experiences of my life to just sit and listen to their music. But like. I don't do drugs because I'm much too terrified of being at all out of control of myself. So I don't see that happening. Anyway, musically it's okay.
But seriously, the lyrics.
If I listen close enough, I cry.

All I want is to exercise. I have a new body. I probably could actually exercise without feeling like I'm going to die. But of course I'm not allowed. And how shit is that?
If I'm out of shape from lazing around for an entire month, how am I supposed to be able to surf?

Anyway. I have all these cool bruises. It's a lot more bruised than this picture would let on. You can't see how bright yellow my skin is between the purple and blue bits. I love bruises, I'm so excited about this.

32 Days.

Why is my life eternally count-downs to things? Glord.

Anyway. That's happening.
GA Floor ticket to see blink.
File this under reasons I like breathing.
A lot. Being alive is so cool right now.
I like my life. Everything makes me happy.
Except for coffee. Espresso makes me super unhappy.
It's delicious, but ohmygod all the caffeine. It kills me.

I spent all last night in bed alone making sad cat noises. I must be the most annoying person ever.

I'm only going to be in Toronto for 12 more days. I have to do Toronto-y things, I guess.
Like go eat at Hot Beans. I think I'll do that today. Go get a burrito the size of my head.
How ironic that I should be eating burritos here.

Anyway. My new body and I are going to go thrifting and go get a burrito from Hot Beans.

Maybe next month I'll write about the fries I get from In N Out. <3

This is my new blink shirt. I bought it before my surgery and refused to wear it until after.
Now I refuse to take it off. Me gusta.

C Average

C's are not a good grade in school.
But they're a really nice boobs size to be.
My clothes fit now and it makes me the happiest ever.

Dandy Brandy

I'm being Russell Brand for Halloween. It's fucking excellent and hilarious.

Tony Hawk Was The First Person To Pull Off A 900

It's true.


I'm doing my hair.
I've been doing my fucking hair for the past 48 hours. It's an ordeal.
I smell like candy and my lips taste like grape medicine because of the chapstick I got today. It was on sale and it has a monster on it. I couldn't resist. Plus that plastic-grape taste is delicious.

I have mint green and light pink hair dyes. Maybe I'll do a mint stripe and a pink chunk in my otherwise nearly white hair and it'll be like the cover of the untitled blink record. How fucking tacky.

But that's what I want. Tacky.

I want to wear lurid shades of lipstick like sky blue, orange, violet, and mint green. I want to never shave my armpits again. I want to walk down the street and have people look at me and go "Oh God. What is that person wearing? That's ridiculous/horrid/disgusting/tacky! It's fucking fabulous!" I want to be so fucking disgusting that it's not even horrible anymore, it's just awesome. I want to wear over-sized metal-band t-shirts with patterned tights and Doc Martens.

I like MollySoda. I like Yo-Landi Vi$$er. I like Kim Schifino.

I... have no idea where I'm going with this.

ANYWAY. If you see me, and think I look hella fucking tacky and completely unaware of current fashion, don't worry. I'm aware. I just want to look this way. :)

Depression

File it under things beyond my comprehension. I mean, apparently it happens. I just... It's like the 1903 Frank rockslide. 90 million tonnes of limestone slid off the east face of Turtle Mountain near Crowsnest Pass in Alberta. But really. What the actual fuck is 90 million tonnes? It's like trying to comprehend infinity or the scale of The Universe. I can't.

According to Wikipedia, depression is a mental disorder characterised by an all-encompassing low mood accompanied by low self-esteem and a loss of interest or pleasure in normally enjoyable activities.

I genuinely believe that I could never be depressed. At all. Ever. Seriously. Like. I cannot imagine a single thing that would ever make me depressed.

It would have to be something I did to myself because I refuse to take bullshit from anyone. If you do something that bothers me, I will remove myself from your presence. End of story. For example, if you're throwing up and I'm the only person around, I won't be for long. I don't care if you're puking blood. I have emetophobia and a panic disorder, in terms of my priorities, my ability to breathe is higher on my scale of things to worry about than anything to do with your health. I dont apologise for this.

And I can't imagine doing anything to myself that would cause me to be depressed. Apparently the following cause depression:

• loneliness
• stress
• relationship problems
• financial strain
• alcohol abuse
• unemployment
• health issues or chronic pain

I feel like my parents were always rather worried about me when I was a teenager. They probably thought I was lonely. My mother probably still thinks I'm lonely. Maybe most people assume I am? After all, I do spend most of my time alone in my room... Alone ≠ lonely. I very much enjoy being alone in my room. After all, I frequently quote "Adam's Song" and say, "I couldn't wait, 'til I got home, to pass the time in my room alone". It's so true, too. There are few things I enjoy as much as being alone in my room.

Being alone in my room means there's no one to bother me and I can do whatever the fuck I please. Also, alone isn't really alone. At present, I have a whole shelf full of books, a bass guitar, an acoustic guitar, a Halloween costume waiting to be made, two computers, and a stuffed turtle. Guess what? They're better than people! They do what I want. They don't bug me about things. They don't even talk back if I don't want. Honestly, if I were stranded on an island, I'd rather be stranded with a computer than with another person.

I'm not lonely. I'm a fucking hermit. + I kind of hate people.

Another thing is stress. I don't like being stressed. It rarely happens to me, but when it does, I don't like it. So I get rid of it. I had to work at a thrift store once, which was fucking awful and boring and a whole bunch of monotonous physical labour... which REALLY is not my thing at all. I'm more in the brainwork spectrum. I found it unpleasant and stressful. So I stopped working there. It was simple. If it's stressful, I either make it not stressful, or I stop doing whatever the fuck it is that's stressing me out. Life is too short to be stressed. If you're stressed out, clearly you're doing something wrong.

Relationship problems! This is something I don't think I will ever have! I don't do relationships. I haven't for years. Don't plan to any time soon. Too ridiculous and clingy and... blergh.

Financial strain. As if. Moving on.

Alcohol abuse... see above where I mentioned emetophobia. Too afraid of barfing to drink. Also. I just don't like being drunk. I don't know why. Any time I do drink, I'm just like, ew, why did I think I would enjoy this?

Unemployment. Why is this a reason for depression? Shouldn't this be a cure for depression? Don't most people have fucking awful "worker-bee" jobs that are just a part of the whole machine that suck all the life out of them? Work, eat, sleep, repeat. Fuck that! Do what you love. Fuck the rest.

One of the main reasons why I can't comprehend depression and am positive I will never be depressed is because I like pain far too much to ever be unhappy about experiencing it. I like pressing my fingers into my bruises. I love the sting of a slap. I like sitting for tattoos. It's not a thing I unhappily sit through for the art. It is a thing that I unflinchingly endure because I enjoy the way it feels. If I didn't, I'd have stopped getting tattoos a very long time ago. I don't do things I don't like. I don't do things that actually hurt. I think "pain" and "hurting" are different things. I like pain, but I don't enjoy things that hurt. Does that even make sense? I love being sad. I love crying. I love being so miserable I could tear my skin off. And then I listen to music when I'm tired of it and I put myself in a different mood.

I like getting piercings. I love, love, love cutting designs into my skin with razor blades. I really like watching them bleed. I like the healing burn that I get for the next few days. I like the scars they leave. I like being scratched and bitten. I find it thrilling to go flying off of my bicycle and leave a few layers of my skin attached to the pavement once I ride off. I don't even know when I became so enamoured with pain. I like that I am, though. It makes me feel superhuman.

Another thing is that I could never have low self-esteem. Sometimes I hate my body so much I never want to eat again and just want to tear off all of my skin... but then OhMyGod, food is SO good! Sometimes I won't eat for a while. Which gives me these empty stomach pains that feel so so nice. And then I remember how awesome food is and eat again. Pasta with sauce. Cookies. Home-made peanut granola with Kefir to promote fucking awesome gut flora. Food is just way too fucking amazing to not eat. Of course I'm jealous of concentration camp victims, though. It's not fair. They didn't even want to be that thin. Save all of them and starve me to skeletal. I would if I could. I'd trade places with every single one of them. How fucked is that? But really. I love food and don't have an eating disorder. Promise.

But so what? A fat ass can be exercised off if I was really so inclined to do so. Perhaps when I live somewhere that doesn't have such unpleasant weather. Seriously, fuck Toronto. Just because I hate my thighs, it doesn't mean I hate myself. Because seriously, fuck off, I am awesome. If I don't like me, who the fuck else would I expect to? I certainly don't like people who don't like themselves. And anyway, why wouldn't I like myself? I'm witty, clever, intelligent, and a total Slytherin. I can play polo, bass, and paint. I like aliens, pirates, and dinosaurs. I have tattoos and cool hair. And, I can make myself orgasm. What's not to like? I am exactly what 5-year-old me would have wanted to be when I was my age. Winning at life, this is how it's done. OH! And I'm being a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle for Halloween this year. Seriously, I'm awesome.

So... yeah. I might seem depressed because I sit around alone in my room all day crying about Russell Crowe dying in Gladiator, or being unhappy about my fucking fat ass, or carving snakes into my flesh with razors, or staring blankly at the ceiling while listening to songs about suicide. But it's because I genuinely very much enjoy doing these things. I don't do things I don't want to do.

Strange...

When did 'sleep' become synonymous with 'fuck'?
I mean. If you're comparing sex to sleeping with someone, it mustn't have been very good, then.

I Don't Believe In Love

I believe in enjoyment and adoration. In comfort and satisfaction. But I do not believe in love. Well. Not romantic love, anyway. I certainly believe that people love their friends and family members... or should.
But I don't believe in love or romance. I don't think it's real. I think monogamy is something someone made up to stop STIs from spreading once upon a bible.

Maybe it's because I've never been in love. But honestly, I don't think I ever will be. I've always had specific reasons for being in any given relationship I've ever been in. And "love" was never one of them. It was usually boredom, to be honest. New relationships are thrilling... for a while, and then they just get annoying.

I don't believe in love. I believe in masturbation and chocolate.

She Brings Me Mexican Food From Sombrero, Just Because

The above is a line from the blink-182 song "Josie". I just got back from going to Sombrero, here in San Diego.
It was an adventure, to say the least.

It started off with walking 3 miles out to Sombrero. Which was relatively uneventful.
We got there, ordered, and then left. We were on our way to catch the #2 bus when we ran into some people on a free beer bus or something to that effect. It was like this bus that drives you around to a bunch of different bars. For free. So we got on that. And then got off and waited for the actual #2.

We got that and the driver was weird as hell. He seemed like he was on drugs or some shit. He looked as us (two healthy kids in our early 20s) and was like, "Oh, it's $1.10 for disabled" and I was like, >_> what the fuck. So we paid him $1.10 and then he was just kind of like, K YOU'RE GOOD. Maybe it was my boobs? I have no idea.

Anyway, we went and sat down. So first of all, some dude legit had tourettes. So I was like, sit next to me. now. NOW. To my friend, and he did. So then the guy at the back of the bus started loudly talking about how unhappy being around unattractive women made him. And he just kept talking in circles and going on and on about it. Which was hilarious because of how fucking rude he was. So we were basically sitting there and actually crying because of how hard we were laughing. I honestly thought I was going to throw up I was laughing SO hard. It was ridiculous.

And then the guy in front of me shit himself. Like. Actually. It smelled SO bad.

So yeah. That was my night.

Shit.Fucking.Cocksucker.Dammit.

FUUUUUUUUCK!
fuck. fuck. fuck. fuck. ass head in hole dammit.
BALLSACK. ugh.


Yet again, I have failed to meet Bill Nighy.

Ugh.

I can't sleep.
I can't stay awake.

I am a zombie.

I need chocolate and feather comforters.
And also, to be naked.

...very, very naked.

Jet lag. Why?
Rude.

Album Review: Neighborhoods

I reserve doing album reviews for special occasions and exceptionally good albums. This is both. It's the first new blink-182 album in 8 years, and their first new material since their break-up and make-up.

It's a blink album, to be certain. They're the same band as they always were, but they're a completely new band at the same time. The 8 years it's been since their last album came out really, really shows. They've grown up a lot since 2003; they are not in their 20s anymore. They're married [and divorced] and have children.

It sounds nothing like Enema of the State, but why would it? This isn't the 90s anymore. During the band's hiatus, they all had time to expand on their own. Travis has his own album, Mark did +44 (with Travis), and Tom has done both Box Car Racer, and Angels and Airwaves.

Some people are saying that blink sounds too much like Angels and Airwaves featuring +44 now. But is that not what it always was? To me, AVA sounds like Tom and +44 sounds like Mark. Obviously Travis sounds like Travis. In having the chance to separate and do their own projects, I feel it gave them a chance to develop their own sounds, and us a chance to differentiate between the two.

So, there's a lot of Tom on the record, and there's a lot of Mark on the record, and the whole thing has Travis putting in the solid beats in the background. It's a fitting place for him, I think. He puts in what needs to be there and it holds everything together perfectly. He seems to be a lot like that in person, as well.

Ghost on the Dancefloor:
I think this was a really good choice for a first song, it's one of my favourites on the record so far. It's very up-beat and really quite dancy with lyrics about being incredibly sad and lonely, which is what a lot of blink songs are about anyway, so nothing new there.

Natives:
The bass on this song is amazing. It sounds like it could have been released on their last album. Nothing has changed, which is not a bad thing at all.

Up All Night:
This is the first single, which I personally think was a mistake. It is a very new sound for them and I think a smarter choice for first single would have been After Midnight. Not that this isn't a great song. Since it was their first single, I've had a long while to listen to it. It has the back and forth style that they have perfected and it's executed brilliantly on this track. It doesn't sound like their old sound at all, but you can clearly hear the merging of their 3 signature styles and it's a great marriage.

After Midnight:
This is another one of my favourite tracks. It's a perfect balance of their newer sounding songs, and their classics. It's absolutely brilliant lyrically. And it's catchy, which I love. I have nothing else to really say other than this song is, in my opinion, excellent and should have been the first single.

Snake Charmer:
This song is really dark, both lyrically and musically. There's a lot going on, but it fits together well, somehow. It's very much a "Tom and Travis" song. The bass line is great, but that's really all I hear of Mark on this track. It's lacking, there.

Heart's All Gone:
It has an interlude before it which is rather haunting and pretty experimental. It's a different direction for them. I'm glad it's on its own track so that I don't have to listen to it repeatedly, though. It's nice for sometimes and goes great for a straight listen-through of the album, but I wouldn't want it fused to Heart's All Gone.
The drumming really stands out on this track. It seems like a counter to Snake Charmer; it's very much of a Mark and Travis creation. The vocals and lyrics are both really strong, and it's up-beat.

Wishing Well:
Musically it sounds like some of their older stuff, which will never earn any complaints from me. It's vivid and interesting lyrically and is taking a lot of what Tom has been working with in AVA.

Kaleidoscope:
This, lyrically, one of my favourite tracks on the album. Mark sounds amazing on it; he has a really, really gorgeous voice. Instrumentally, it's nothing special or extraordinary, but the vocals are stunning.

This Is Home:
It's electronic and dancy. The vocals fit in great with the instrumentals. It needs a few more listens for me to really make a solid opinion on it. It isn't a bad song, but it doesn't stand out like some of the others do.

MH 4.18.2011:
Sounds like old blink. As always, Mark sounds great.

Love is Dangerous:
Their vocals mesh perfectly together. It's very much a balance between both of their styles. The drums don't stand out, and aren't lost in the background, either. It's a perfect marriage of 3.

Fighting The Gravity:
It's dark and electronic, which works perfectly with the dark lyrics. Bits of it remind me a bit of Asthenia, which is great, as it's one of my favourite songs they've done. It doesn't really stand out, but it's got a big sound and it's nice to listen to.

Even if She Falls:
A lot like old blink. The bass really stands out on this and sounds great. The vocals are good and the lyrics are great. Good ending to the record.

Over-all, they've made a very strong come-back. There are throw-backs to their classic sound, and they're also bringing new stuff into the mix. I feel that on the whole, it would have been stronger if there was more vocal contribution from Mark. It's very diverse and it wasn't repetitive. The songs that didn't really "stand out" were not bad or boring. I wouldn't remember them enough to put them on repeat, but I also wouldn't skip over them on shuffle. It's a very dark album, which makes sense since they're on a come-back from a quite public, seemingly rather harsh, break-up.

It's way more grown-up and mature than Enema of the State or Take Off Your Pants and Jacket, and picks up where their most recent album left off. Although it's grown up, it isn't all, "We have kids and this is how we feel being parents", it's still full of their always relatable, very real, lyrics. They certainly have not lost their touch.

Note: it pains me greatly to have to spell "neighborhoods" instead of "neighbourhoods".

Geek Rock Rebel

I love Boomer. Okay?



He is best.

Also. I am in Texas. Where everything is bigger.


...especially the people, it seems.

Also. That is an ad for Macbeths. I am currently wearing a pair of Macbeths that I am borrowing from my roommate Geoff. I think I will buy them off him. I don't want to give them back... haha. They are amazing.

Also. Fucking hell, Mark and Tom are such goobers:

I Hope I Won't Forget You

I love September 11th's. Excellent things always happen to me.

2009, Ewan McGreggor kissed me.
2011, I spent an hour and a half eye-fucking Tom DeLonge.

I sound like a frog. I'm in an aeroport without any underwear on. I'm hungry. It's cold. My [roommate's] shoes are falling apart. I have to go to Texas. I have to pee.

I don't care.

Last night was amazing. I get to go to the beach tonight.

Look at all the fucks I give > ...
Yup. None.
And no fucks were given that day.

Because. I saw my favourite band last night. I've been waiting 11 years for that night.

Also, Asthenia is such an underrated song. It is brilliant.

Please Don't, Actually

This song is called "Stay Together For The Kids" which is nice, and all.
But really; please don't.

Having parents who are divorced is a million times better than having parents who argue fucking constantly.
Really. I would know.

Having parents who date other people is weird, fucked up, and gross... absolutely.
But it's still better than them fucking fighting all the fucking time.

If you can work through your shit and stay together, by all means, absolutely do.
But whatever you do... do NOT ever stay together for the kids. They will hate you for it.

Fish-Hooked

Again.

Why did everything hurt so much more when I was 18?
Does a person's pain tolerance grow with age? It was high then. Now it's just ridiculous.
Is this a neurological problem?

My mouth is an homage.

I Still Love Alice

I wanna hurt you just to hear you screaming my name.
That one time Carol and I saw Alice play at the state fair and it was free.
That other time I spent all day walking around Toronto looking for an Alice Cooper shirt.
That time David Granzotto played this song for me in his car on the way to school.

Bananas

I like bananas.

I made a chocolate-banana smoothie earlier. It was delicious.

Things I Cry About:

• blink-182's break-up.
• blink-182's reunion.

The second nullifies the first, and neither actually matter anymore as they both occurred years ago. However, I legit cry when either is brought up.

I think they're my favourite.

Really This Time

Can I just say how excited I am to see blink in less than 3 weeks? Night of my life.

I get to see Tom. In the flesh. In the same building/arena/venue/whatever.

But really. Tom DeLonge. In person. With his eyebrows. And his butt.

The one he sticks out all the time? Yeah. That one. The one attached to him.

I'm going to be in the same place as it. Yup.

OH. ALSO.

I guess this happened:

Pet The Albums

Ugh. I'm too excited to even brain.

I've accepted the fact that I am never going to Warped Tour.

And I thought, when they broke up, that I'd never get to see blink-182 because I'm an asshole and I keep missing their shows. Which is stupid. Because I fucking love them so much.

But now I have a ticket to go, so everything will be allright.

Anyway.

The point of this was to mention the first time I ever listened to them.

I love telling this story.

When I was 10, the only music I ever listened to was what my parents listened to, The Backstreet Boys, etc.; Spice Girls, etc.; and Britney Spears, etc.; as well as what was played on WNIC. Because that was the only radio station I'd ever heard in my life.

In music class, Bracken Merrit brought in Cheshire Cat, for us to listen to... so there were a bunch of 9 and 10 year olds sitting on the floor listening to Carousel. And It was the first time in my life I'd ever heard anything that could actually be classified as some form of punk. I found out what CD and band it was and straight away asked my parents for it. They never actually got it for me, but I kept asking. I don't know why they never got it for me. I really, really, really wanted it. Perhaps it was because it was pop-punk? Or maybe the parental advisory label scared them away.

Parental advisory labels are censorship of art and are therefore horrible and wrong.

Anyway, I used to go to Borders and every time we'd go, I'd go up to the music section and find where they kept the blink-182 CDs and I used to go through them and just look at them all and pet them. I wanted one so badly, but they all had parental advisory stickers on them, so I wasn't allowed to buy them, and my parents refused to get any of them for me. So I was stuck with stupid bubble-gum pop. I feel like I'd have grown up and gone to more fun shows earlier if I had been able to listen to blink-182 as a kid.

Also, I feel like I'd have been more awesome if my babysitter had let me listen to Nevermind when I was 7. Of course the only reason I wanted to listen to it was because of the naked baby on the cover. But still. It's a great album. I could have been a little grunge kid. But no. He wouldn't let me. I still don't know why. It's not profane or anything. I think censorship of inappropriate things for kids is stupid. You can tell all the sex jokes you want and they really will not have a fucking clue what the hell you're on about. Stuff like that is only inappropriate when you actually get the references and kids don't, so it's fine to let them watch stuff like that because they just won't think anything of it.

The first time I actually got to listen to more than Carousel was when I went to Molly Curry's house when I was 12. She had a lovely assortment of blink albums that we listened to while sitting on her floor and playing with her horses. It was a lovely moment for me.

At some point, I finally managed to acquire a copy of Cheshire Cat. I listened to that album over and over and over again. It remains one of my more cherished possessions. Others include my mother's charm bracelet, my great-great grandfather's cufflinks, Richard Kruspe's guitar pick that I got after the Rammstein show in Montreal last year, the signed Silverstein drum-head Kevin gave me after their 10th anniversary shows, my cast, and that picture of Travis Barker and I when I was 15. Obviously it's very important, if it's as important as all of those things. (Okay. I'm kind of exaggerating, here. It's not actually that important to me. But I do like it a lot!!)

I met Travis Barker at the airport when I was 15 and he was on my plane to LA. I didn't actually know who he was, to be honest, since the only album I had was Cheshire Cat and Scott was still their drummer on that one. After that, I started listening to their newer stuff because I finally figured out how to pirate music. And now I love them and I'm going to see them.

So yeah. That's my whole sordid history on my relationship, up until now, with blink-182. Who knows what will happen at their show?

Actually. I'm pretty sure of one thing that will happen. And that will be...

I'm definitely probably most likely going to cry.

All of my tears of joy ever.

Every Word

I'm going to sing. So, so, so loud. To every single word I know.

11th of September, Two-Thousand and Eleven.
I'm coming for you, Tom, Mark, and Travis.

Hanging out behind the club, on the weekend.

Acting stupid, getting drunk with my best friends.

I couldn't wait for the summer and the Warped Tour.

I remember it's the first time that I saw her - there.

She's getting kicked out of school 'cause she's failing.

I'm kinda nervous, 'cause I think all her friends hate me.

She's the one, she'll always be there.

She took my hand, and I admit it I swear.

Because I fell in love with the girl at the rock show.

She said "What?" and I told her that I didn't know.

She's so cool, gonna sneak in through her window.

Everything's better when she's around -

I can't wait 'till her parents go out of town -

I fell in love with the girl at the rock show.

When we said we were gonna move to Vegas -

I remember the look her mother gave us.

Seventeen, without a purpose or direction.

We don't owe anyone a fucking explanation.

Because I fell in love with the girl at the rock show.

She said "What?" and I told her that I didn't know.

She's so cool, gonna sneak in through her window.

Everything's better when she's around -

I can't wait 'till her parents go out of town -

I fell in love with the girl at the rock show.

Black and white picture of her on my wall.

I waited for her call, she always kept me waiting.

And if i ever got another chance, I'd still ask her to dance.

Because she kept me waiting.

Because I fell in love with the girl at the rock show.

She said "What?" and I told her that I didn't know.

She's so cool, gonna sneak in through her window.

Everything's better when she's around -

I can't wait 'till her parents go out of town -

I fell in love with the girl at the rock show.

With the girl at the rock show.

With the girl at the rock show.

I'll never forget tonight.

With the girl at the rock show...

- The Rock Show

Also. Is it just me, or is EVERY post lately about blink-182 in some way? Whatever. I love them. I'm also excited to get to see MCR. I really, genuinely enjoy their music. I always kind of liked them and listened to them, but Danger Days is seriously an amazing album!

Problems

Adam's Song is difficult. It's the best song, but it's also a huge fucking bummer because it's about suicide. So it can be your favourite song, but it's so hard to express this. You can't jam to it at a party. You can't sing it at karaoke. You can't put it on a mixtape for a cute person. You can't post lyrics of it anywhere without people wondering about your mental state.

It has such a good rhythm to it.

The other problem is that if they'd put any other lyrics to the same music, it wouldn't have been the same at all. It's haunting. It's beautiful. It's sad.

Sad things are beautiful, I think. It's true, what they say. Pain is beauty. Not in that you have to wear awful blistery heels to look gorgeous. But in that art generally comes from people in pain. Pictures of sad people are so much more interesting than pictures of happy people. Sad indie songs are always better than those pop songs about sex and drinking. I like pictures of funerals better than I like pictures of weddings. Happy is so simple. It isn't interesting. It doesn't have anywhere near the same depth and beauty that pain does.

I will admit to identifying with one line of Adam's Song, in particular. That being, "I couldn't wait till I got home to pass the time in my room alone". But this is because I am a hermit.

My favourite line is, without a doubt, and always has been, "remember the time that I spilled the cup of apple juice in the hall". I don't know why. It's just so picturesque.

Also. Really. How foxy is Tom Delonge?
He's not really, anymore, because now he's old and his face got fat.
But ohman, he was scrumptious when they did this video. Do want.

Your Smile Fades In The Summer

Are we alone, do you feel it?
So lost and disillusioned.

I really, really, really want to see blink-182 live, at some point.
They mean everything.

I never thought I'd die alone

I laughed the loudest, who'd have known?

I traced the cord back to the wall

No wonder it was never plugged in at all

I took my time, I hurried up

The choice was mine, I didn't think enough

I'm too depressed, to go on

You'll be sorry when I'm gone

I never conquered, rarely came

Sixteen just held such better days

Days when I still felt alive

We couldn't wait to get outside

The world was wide, too late to try

The tour was over, we'd survived

I couldn't wait till I got home

To pass the time in my room alone

I never thought I'd die alone

Another six months, I'll be unknown

Give all my things to all my friends

You'll never set foot in my room again

You'll close it off, board it up

Remember the time that I spilled the cup

Of apple juice in the hall?

Please tell mom this is not her fault

I never conquered, rarely came

Sixteen just held such better days

Days when I still felt alive

We couldn't wait to get outside

The world was wide, too late to try

The tour was over, we'd survived

I couldn't wait till I got home

To pass the time in my room alone

I never conquered, rarely came

Sixteen just held such better days

Days when I still felt alive

We couldn't wait to get outside

The world was wide, too late to try

The tour was over, we'd survived

I couldn't wait till I got home

To pass the time in my room alone

- Adam's Song.

Candleshoe

When I was growing up, I was kindof obsessed with the movie Candleshoe. I seriously wanted to be Jodie Foster's character in that movie. What a tomboy badass.
Super crushing on her. She looked like this in 1977, in case you were wondering.

My friend said she looks like a 12 year-old-boy there.
I said, "Duh. I'm queer. Not a lesbian."

This Is Pointedly Directed At You

I am not being subtle. I am being glaringly obvious.

I don't always know how to say how I feel or what I mean.

Sometimes I don't want to. I have such a big wall around me that I've spent years building up. I love my wall. I don't know how to be without it. I change the paint on it every so often, but it's always there. Layers and layers and layers thick. Miles high. Of course there's a gate, but it's a very small gate and doesn't open very often. I like this.

What I do not like is being metaphorically naked. Physically, yes, certainly. But I can't stand to have anyone see ME. Just look at my painted walls, instead. My carefully constructed citadel. It looks enough like me that when most people just glance, they're fooled and think I don't have walls. That I'm just an open meadow. But if you look close enough, the walls are always there and the gate is often shut. I don't open it for just anyone.

I do not like being naked. I do not like hooks being thrust into my chest, ripping away my skin and baring my heart for what it is. I know what it is. I know if it really is overly large and throbbing with blood and oversensitive nerves; or if it is black, shrivelled, cold, and dead. That I know is all that really matters to me. No one else needs to know. No one else needs to see me that naked. So I have my prettily painted walls. And I hide.

This isn't a hiding time, though. I just happened to go off on a slightly unrelated tangent. This is one of those times where I don't know how to say what I feel. So I'm going to let Russell Brand say it for me, instead. Straight from his blog. Unchanged. I mean every word as much as he did.

"For Amy

When you love someone who suffers from the disease of addiction you await the phone call. There will be a phone call. The sincere hope is that the call will be from the addict themselves, telling you they've had enough, that they're ready to stop, ready to try something new. Of course though, you fear the other call, the sad nocturnal chime from a friend or relative telling you it's too late, she's gone.

Frustratingly it's not a call you can ever make it must be received. It is impossible to intervene.

I've known Amy Winehouse for years. When I first met her around Camden she was just some twit in a pink satin jacket shuffling round bars with mutual friends, most of whom were in cool Indie bands or peripheral Camden figures Withnail-ing their way through life on impotent charisma. Carl Barrat told me that "Winehouse" (which I usually called her and got a kick out of cos it's kind of funny to call a girl by her surname) was a jazz singer, which struck me as a bizarrely anomalous in that crowd. To me with my limited musical knowledge this information placed Amy beyond an invisible boundary of relevance; "Jazz singer? She must be some kind of eccentric" I thought. I chatted to her anyway though, she was after all, a girl, and she was sweet and peculiar but most of all vulnerable.

I was myself at that time barely out of rehab and was thirstily seeking less complicated women so I barely reflected on the now glaringly obvious fact that Winehouse and I shared an affliction, the disease of addiction. All addicts, regardless of the substance or their social status share a consistent and obvious symptom; they're not quite present when you talk to them. They communicate to you through a barely discernible but un-ignorable veil. Whether a homeless smack head troubling you for 50p for a cup of tea or a coked-up, pinstriped exec foaming off about his "speedboat" there is a toxic aura that prevents connection. They have about them the air of elsewhere, that they're looking through you to somewhere else they'd rather be. And of course they are. The priority of any addict is to anaesthetise the pain of living to ease the passage of the day with some purchased relief.

From time to time I'd bump into Amy she had good banter so we could chat a bit and have a laugh, she was "a character" but that world was riddled with half cut, doped up chancers, I was one of them, even in early recovery I was kept afloat only by clinging to the bodies of strangers so Winehouse, but for her gentle quirks didn't especially register.

Then she became massively famous and I was pleased to see her acknowledged but mostly baffled because I'd not experienced her work and this not being the 1950's I wondered how a "jazz singer" had achieved such cultural prominence. I wasn't curious enough to do anything so extreme as listen to her music or go to one of her gigs, I was becoming famous myself at the time and that was an all consuming experience. It was only by chance that I attended a Paul Weller gig at the Roundhouse that I ever saw her live.

I arrived late and as I made my way to the audience through the plastic smiles and plastic cups I heard the rolling, wondrous resonance of a female vocal. Entering the space I saw Amy on stage with Weller and his band; and then the awe. The awe that envelops when witnessing a genius. From her oddly dainty presence that voice, a voice that seemed not to come from her but from somewhere beyond even Billie and Ella, from the font of all greatness. A voice that was filled with such power and pain that it was at once entirely human yet laced with the divine. My ears, my mouth, my heart and mind all instantly opened. Winehouse. Winehouse? Winehouse! That twerp, all eyeliner and lager dithering up Chalk Farm Road under a back-combed barnet, the lips that I'd only seen clenching a fishwife fag and dribbling curses now a portal for this holy sound. So now I knew. She wasn't just some hapless wannabe, yet another pissed up nit who was never gonna make it, nor was she even a ten-a-penny-chanteuse enjoying her fifteen minutes. She was a f**king genius.

Shallow fool that I am I now regarded her in a different light, the light that blazed down from heaven when she sang. That lit her up now and a new phase in our friendship began. She came on a few of my TV and radio shows, I still saw her about but now attended to her with a little more interest. Publicly though, Amy increasingly became defined by her addiction. Our media though is more interested in tragedy than talent, so the ink began to defect from praising her gift to chronicling her downfall. The destructive personal relationships, the blood soaked ballet slippers, the aborted shows, that youtube madness with the baby mice. In the public perception this ephemeral tittle-tattle replaced her timeless talent. This and her manner in our occasional meetings brought home to me the severity of her condition. Addiction is a serious disease; it will end with jail, mental institutions or death. I was 27 years old when through the friendship and help of Chip Somers of the treatment centre, Focus12 I found recovery, through Focus I was introduced to support fellowships for alcoholics and drug addicts which are very easy to find and open to anybody with a desire to stop drinking and without which I would not be alive.

Now Amy Winehouse is dead, like many others whose unnecessary deaths have been retrospectively romanticised, at 27 years old. Whether this tragedy was preventable or not is now irrelevant. It is not preventable today. We have lost a beautiful and talented woman to this disease. Not all addicts have Amy's incredible talent. Or Kurt's or Jimi's or Janis's, some people just get the affliction. All we can do is adapt the way we view this condition, not as a crime or a romantic affectation but as a disease that will kill. We need to review the way society treats addicts, not as criminals but as sick people in need of care. We need to look at the way our government funds rehabilitation. It is cheaper to rehabilitate an addict than to send them to prison, so criminalisation doesn't even make economic sense. Not all of us know someone with the incredible talent that Amy had but we all know drunks and junkies and they all need help and the help is out there. All they have to do is pick up the phone and make the call. Or not. Either way, there will be a phone call."

So there. That's that part that's directed straight at you. And now you know it. Because you already knew all about my walls. After all, you were the one who told me I had them.

Dead People

So I guess Amy Winehouse just died and people are flipping their shit about it.

What about the Norwegians who got massacred today? Come on people. You need to sort out your priorities.

Anyway. Half the shit I see is "BLESS HER SHE WAS WONDERFUL" and the other half is kindof jokesy or like "She was a drug addict what about Norway?" And there's also people who are like, SHE WAS WONDERFUL DON'T SAY SHE WAS A DRUG ADDICT BLAH BLAH.

But like. She was a drug addict.

Not that that's a bad thing or whatever. Far be it from me to judge anyone on decisions they make which do not directly affect me. She could have been a junkie or straight edge and neither would really have made any difference to me.

So since she WAS a drug addict, why is it so bad now that she's dead to mention this?

My mother was annoying as all hell sometimes. She drove me insane and I wanted to kill either her or myself. Not always. But sometimes. When she was annoying me, that's totally how I felt. And I don't think it's wrong to say these things just because she's dead. I certainly said them when she was alive.

Teenagers are supposed to kindof hate their parents... right? Too bad she didn't last until I wasn't a teenager anymore. Oh well.

Anyway. The reason I can say these things and not feel bad is because even though she was annoying sometimes and drove me mental and I did just want her to go away, I can also recognise that I miss her driving me fucking insane. I'd give almost anything to have her back and being annoying as all shit. I miss wishing she'd go away and leave me alone.

If you can be alright with yourself saying something when someone is alive, you should sure as hell feel alright with yourself saying it when they're dead. If neither, just don't say it.

Sharks

I love sharks.

I think they're SO fucking cool. They're really primitive and I love the way they look and they've been around forever. Hence my description of them as primitive.

I love Jaws. Although I think that actually has more to do with Richard Dryfuss and Steven Spielberg than it does with actual sharks.

Because come on, Richard was a fuckin' babe in that movie for sure.

And at the same time. They're absolutely fucking terrifying.

They're fish. That can smell blood. And eat people. And move fast as fuck through water.

People are designed to run away from land predators... water ones? Not so much. Which means that when a shark wants to eat you, you have very little chance of pulling off getting the fuck away from them. Which is scary as hell.

My Boyfriend Wouldn't Like It

I always thought this was the most bullshit excuse to not do anything.

I can kind of understand:

• it's illegal.
• my parents would kick me out.
• I don't want to.
• it would probably kill us.

But really. Where's the fun in any of those reasons, anyway?

The only reason things are illegal is because a. they're too much fun to do b. they'll probably kill you. Which makes them even more fun and exciting. Adrenaline junkie much? Perhaps.

Anyway. One excuse I could never and will never understand is "my boyfriend wouldn't like it". How bullshit and cowardly is that?

Then again. I never really understood the point of having a boyfriend, either. But that's beside the point.

I can kind-of understand not doing something because of one's parents. But I always did things anyway because I don't care who you are: I don't care what you think. For example, here is a list of things I did that my parents disapproved of:

• Getting my tongue pierced when I was 17. (I didn't bother asking because they always told me I wasn't allowed to have it done if I lived with them.)
• Getting my nipples pierced a week later.
• Getting my ears pierced multiple times after asking and having them say no. (That time was funny. I was 16, which is legal in Ontario to get pierced. So I asked if I could get my second holes done... and they said no. So I did it anyway because I was legally allowed to. I didn't even bother asking before getting my 3rd holes done.)
• Getting tattoos. (I got all but one after I turned 18, so they really couldn't do anything but shake their heads anyway. What did they expect? I was always going to have tattoos.)
• Dyeing my hair black. (This is dumb. For years my mother wouldn't let my dye my hair black because she thought it would look "witchy". I am partially Spanish and Native American, why on Earth would black hair look anything but natural on someone with my complexion? I did it anyway and it looked fine. Just like I always thought it would.)
• Dyeing my hair weird colours. (I just kind of stopped asking after a while and did whatever I wanted.)
• Wearing makeup.
• Wearing short shorts and skirts.

Anyway, my point is that someone is always going to object to something about your appearance. But you're the only one who has to actually live with it, so why on Earth would you possibly adhere to what anyone else wanted you to look like? Then they get to choose how they look and how you look? That's not really fair, is it?

I have always thought that appearance is one of the biggest forms of self-expression and to repress someone by telling them how to look is just fucking terrible. I don't care if my son wants to dye his hair pink and wear skirts or if my daughter wants 6 holes in her lips and a tattoo on her face. It's not my body and therefore none of my business. I have never, ever thought that the appearance of a child would ever have any sort of reflection on a parent... which is what I have always thought was my parents' reason for not letting me get bits of metal put into my body a whole lot sooner than I did.

When I was 18, I had a zebra stripe mohawk, 4 lip piercings, and 2 tongue piercings. My bratty cousin came up to me at the Christmas party and said, "You look weird." My reply was "I am weird." At the most recent Christmas party, I looked less like a rebellious 18-year-old and more like a punk rock 20-year-old. By that, I mean, facially more normal but with a shit load more tattoos. And my cousin looks like Justin Bieber. I win.

Anyway, back to my point, which is that looking anyway to please anyone but yourself is bullshit. The one and only time I had a boyfriend who said anything about my appearance was when I was 17 and had to dye my hair back to brown for the school play. It had been bright orange. He didn't really want me to. I said "Oh well. Too bad. It's not up to you what I do with my hair." And that was it. No big deal.

Also. Definitely always listen to Chelsea Smile. I detested this song when I was 18 and now I fucking love it. Bring Me The Horizon isn't so bad. And Oli Sykes is hot.

Shane, etc.

Silverstein, a photo by free underland on Flickr.

This one time I got an all-access media pass to SCENE fest in saint catharines the day before my 21st birthday. i took this picture of my buddy Shane. I like it.

Harry

This is going to start off structured... and then just kind of fall apart as I remember things.

I was 8 the first time I heard of Harry Potter. It wasn't really a "thing" yet. I was in second grade and I was reading an article in one of those flimsy little monthly magazines that everyone used to get. I was reading an interview with Jake Lloyd, the kid who played young Anakin in the Phantom Menace? Yeah, anyway. He said his favourite book was Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone. I'd never heard of it and I didn't go rushing out to buy it.

The next year, when I was 9 and in 3rd grade, my mum worked at the school book fair. Which, being the little book worm I always have been, was one of my favourite events of the year. Anyway, I think I was either "helping" or just being super nosey. I remember Harry Potter being sold out. I thought it was lame because everyone seemed to like it, so I refused to read it. How very rebellious of me. Anyway, I remember coming home one day to it sitting on the kitchen table for me. I probably rolled my eyes, but it was a book and I couldn't resist. I recall being immediately entranced by it.

I definitely had a crush on Severus Snape, just throwing that out there. And I've been obsessed with Lucius Malfoy since the second movie came out when I was 12. We have a deep love that you just wouldn't understand. I named our Thanksgiving turkey after him that year and I made everyone address it as such. "This is Lucius. You'll be eating him tonight. Say hello." Super fucked. Oh well. I'm lucky my parents indulged me.

I've been to all of the midnight premiers. Both movies and book releases. I've never dressed up per-say... but I dont usually wear entirely normal clothes, either. In line for the 4th book, I bought a stuffed moose. I named him Melville. I don't know where he went, which is sad because he was lovely.

I was 13 and on an aeroplane to Florida for my birthday when I read the bit in the 5th book where Sirius died. The summer I was 15, I was at theatre day-camp when the 6th book came out. It was 2 weeks long and the book came out on the weekend in between. On friday, I discovered I had been cast as the lead in the final play and that I was expected to memorise all of my lines by Monday. With Harry Potter coming out in between the two! So I read it in less than a day, then memorised my lines with the rest of the weekend.

When the seventh book came out, I spent a day and a half on the loveseat in the livingroom. I think it was one of the few times my mother just let me sleep in the livingroom. She always hated when I did that, but it was Harry Potter! The last one! So she let me. Thanks for that, since I know you read this. I think I read until just after Hedwig and Moody died and then I passed out. But I definitely cried when they died.

I've been to Platform 9 3/4 at King's Cross. I've been on a train across that bridge the Ford Anglia flies over in the 2nd movie. Chocolate Frogs are one of my favourite types of candy, but I have a special place in my stomach for Ice Mice. I have 2 of the unforgivables tattooed on my wrists. My friend said I'd regret them. I told her she didn't understand.

I was, and remain, disgustingly good at Harry Potter Quidditch World Cup for GameCube. Unless it's on the easy setting. Because then I suck since it's easy. That's always the worst. I put it on that for when I play people and they always beat me super easy. But then I put it on hard without telling them what I did so all of a sudden I'm sitting on them and smooshing their face into the mud of the Australia National Quidditch Stadium and they're wondering what the fuck happened because they had just beaten me. It's because playing on hard actually takes skills. I once played so much that my thumbs hurt for a week. I promise I'm sort of cool and social....

Anyway. I'm saying all of this because on Friday, the final movie comes out. Which is... y'know. Really sad. Since going to Harry Potter midnight premiers has been something I've loved doing forever. And this is the last one. :/

Little Booger

When I was little, the highlight of my week was sneaking downstairs after my parents put me to bed and sitting in the living room while my parents watched ER and watching it from behind their backs. I thought I was so clever.
I don't even know why I liked it so much. Probably because I thought Carter was beautiful.

I remember the smallpox episode with the two kids. I think one died. I remember Dr. Green telling some dude he had some form of easily curable cancer and the guy freaking out and being like, YOU DON'T KNOW HOW I FEEL!!! and Dr. Green being all, I HAVE BRAIN CANCER. I WIN. I remember when there was a girl with a splinter or something and she was talking about constellations while Dr. Green took it out and she didn't even notice what he'd done.

I remember other things, but those stand out the most.

Queer

It's strange being "queer". Which I am. By the way. In case I hadn't mentioned.
I don't think I have. But I am.

I don't fit into the LGBT community since they mostly insist upon keeping it "LGBT" and I suppose I wouldn't really feel like I fit even if it was LGBTQQ. Mostly since I pretty much pass as a straight girl. There's this whole sort of "GAY AND PROUD!" or "I know exactly where on the Kinsey Scale I fit into" thing going on with the LGBT community. There's this whole "you're either gay, straight, or bi" thing that goes on in most people's minds. I don't really fit. Not with the gays, and not with the straights. I don't even fit with males and females. I don't have a number on the Kinsey Scale that describes me.

Am I even making sense? I'm polysexual, panromantic, and genderqueer. If that makes more sense. Polysexual and panromantic imply that although I'm pretty much gender-blind when it comes to attraction and dating, I am not sexually attracted to all genders. However, since I am polysexual, it means I am sexually attracted to more than just one gender. And by that, what I mean is that I basically just like people with dicks. I don't care if it was there when they were born and I don't care if they have boobs along with it. I just like penis. Also, as for the genderqueer part, I don't identify as either gender all the time. I'm gender fluid, but I also sometimes identify as neither. I can't be a straight girl if sometimes I feel like a gay boy.

This past week was Pride week here in Toronto. I'm not sure if it's because I'm not gay, or if it's because I've never been made fun of for being queer, or what. But I don't really "get" pride. I guess it's a fun time, but aside from that I just don't really understand. Perhaps it is the total exclusion from any sort of group sexuality identification that I feel. Perhaps it is because no one with female genitalia has ever been persecuted for being attracted to people with male genitalia and so I don't really have the whole, "I want my rights!" thing going on. I could never be fired from a job for my sexual orientation. I can get married in every country of the world. I don't feel a particular sense of pride about my queerness. I don't want to tell everyone. I'm not ashamed or anything. To me it would be like running around telling people that I have an olive complexion. It's how I was born and is slightly obvious upon association with me but nothing Earth-shattering. It's probably also that I just don't identify with the gay community in any other sense than that I was raised by lesbians.

21

Years old.

Right now.


...yup.

Being Vegan

I have a love-hate relationship with my diet/lifestyle choices.

This mostly stems from my soy allergy/intolerance.

"Wait. What? You're vegan and don't eat soy? How do you live? I thought you all only ate like... tofu and stuff."

In fact, I hate soy. I avoid it like the plague. In teeny-tiny-dip-your-veggie-sushi-in-the-soy-sauce quantities, it's fine. But I'm not about to have some tofu scramble for breakfast, or have a glass of soy milk with my vegan cookies, or have some soy-"beef" chili. Mostly because if I did, my body would hate itself for the rest of the day. I would adore being able to have soy yogurt with my cereal for breakfast. Or some chocolate soy ice cream with peanut chunks in it. Yum, right? Yeah... except for the soy part.

It sucks enough being a. lazy and b. vegan when grocery shopping for something you can just easily pop into the microwave and then eat. Which is gross, actually, but also super quick when you're exhausted or starving, which is nice. Being vegan is limiting enough, but then you factor in the fact that I don't eat soy and that throws half the "healthy lifestyles" section of the grocery store out the window.

So yeah, it's limiting and kind of annoying when all I really want is some fake'in or ice cream sandwiches.
But that's enough of the hate.

Like I first said, it's a LOVE-hate relationship, not an "I hate being vegan so I'm going to stop now" relationship.

I adore being vegan. It's one of my favourite choices that I've made. Right up there with reading Harry Potter, watching Doctor Who, and going to the London Dungeon with my mum when I was 16. Talking of, another excellent decision was buying that horribly unflattering picture of us on that ride at the end... even though my mum DEFINITELY specifically instructed me that I was, under no circumstances whatsoever to purchase that particular print. Of course I did anyway, far too hilarious. I don't regret this at all, and I also do not regret the fact that I still have it... even though she told me to cut her out of it and get rid of it. Wouldn't dream of it. Pretty sure that was about 5 years ago. How time flies.

Anyway, this is supposed to be about how much I love being vegan. Because meat is gross, cheese is creepy, and who the fuck would drink another animal's bodily fluids. Like really. Ew.

Meat is murder and dairy is rape... and I'm pompous as fuck. At least I can admit it. So yes. I do kind of think I'm a little better than you because I don't eat things that had the ability to scream while being murdered for your consumption. But y'know. Whatever.

Italian Food

...I don't get it. Like. It's not horribly nauseating or disgusting or anything. It's acceptable and tasty enough... especially if you're actually in Italy. But I really don't understand the hoopla over Italian food.

I understand why people love Sorbetto and Gelato.

But I can't comprehend people's adoration for lasagna or tortellini or ravioli. Like I'll eat it if there's nothing else, but it isn't a thing I would ever choose.

My general revulsion for Italian food does not include desserts. Actually. I pretty much love every dessert ever unless it involves coffee or melon. Because I loathe both coffee and melon.

In addition to my lack of understanding where it comes to people's love of Italian food, I also fail to comprehend why people think English food is so sketch.

I happen to LOVE English food. I like beans on toast. I like full breakfast. I like black and white pudding. I even like Haggis. Which, although not actually "English", is "British", so I mentioned it anyway. I love offal. I love head meat.

This seemed to baffle the people I shared a house with in Katimavik. They didn't understand how I could worship haggis and black pudding but have never eaten more than a few bites of steak in my life. They also didn't really comprehend that as a vegetarian, they couldn't just make everyone a salad and say that it was my main course. I also don't understand their issues with the fact that they'd make some sketch vegetarian dish, and then i wouldn't eat it, and they'd get frustrated and pissy about it. But then again. I really don't do well with structure when it comes to food. I eat when I'm hungry. When I'm not hungry, I don't eat. When the food looks the opposite of appetising, I don't eat. When I feel fat, I don't eat.

But, in the category of things that I will ALWAYS eat: asian food. Every single time. I love Asian food. I love Thai. I love Chinese. I love Japanese. I just love, love, love any sort of Asian food.

So if you want me to eat, no matter what, feed me Asian.

I can never resist.

Shit Disturber

I just remembered that when I was 18, I'd go visit my mother in her retirement home/condo/thingywhatever, and I'd always convince her to let me use her motorised wheelchair.

And like the little shit-disturber that I have always been, I'd be zooming around at top speed wreaking havoc on the elderly who lived there.

It was fucking awesome.

...until they gave her a memo telling her not to let me do that anymore. Bummer.

Je Ne Regrette Rien

I keep trying to find a regret about leaving Alberta 5 weeks early.
...And then I think for about half a second, and come to the conclusion that no, I'm glad I left exactly when I did.

I missed the no-trace excursion.
But let's be honest here, did I actually want to spend a week trapped at some camp site with all my roommates? Did I actually want to climb some sort of mountain? Did I actually want to spend nights freezing my ass off surrounded by insects?
Of course not.

I missed the "reunion" with all the other groups.
But I'm pretty okay with that one, seeing as it would have involved having to see and/or hang out with someone I would have felt super awkward around. You know? Because there's just those things that happen sometimes, where you're like, well that was fun for a weekend, but now I don't really ever want to see you again so that I don't have to deal with any of the bullshit that would come with it.

I missed riding a brakeless death-trap bike up and down a giant hill and then hauling a watering can around twice a day.
Yeah, I'm not even going to pretend on that one. Why would I possibly miss that? Apart from getting to read in the sun, which was nice, but I can do that from my front steps anyway. Or a park. Or anywhere outside in Toronto. Like the beach. Because there's a beach here. And a lake. And y'know... stores.

I missed going out and drinking with my roommates on weekends.
Oh... wait no. I don't do that one anyway.

I recall at one point, one of my roommates told me that everyone was kinda bummed out that I stayed in my bed a whole bunch and would rarely come hang out with them outside of forced group activities. She said, "y'know, we kind of like you." And I'm sure that's nice and everything, but being home the past few weeks have made me realise somethings. Firstly is that I actually really, really didn't like most of my roommates. By that, I don't mean I hated all of them, because quite honestly, I really did completely detest four of them. Another, was okay when not being annoying, but when she was annoying me, it was like my insides turned to hellfire and I hated her in those moments more than I hate Mark David Chapman all the time. There were three that I actually really liked as I either just kinda gelled with them, or they gave me enough fucking space to breathe. But then one of them went home, which sucked. The others... they weren't godawful, but I wouldn't hang out with them if given a choice.

We did an exercise, the Friday night before I left, about roles in a group. We did this thing where we had to pretend to be all these different roles, like the nice guy, or the bully, or the clinging vine, etc. Then, because the mosquitoes were getting unpleasant, we went back to the house and did another exercise in the living room where we had to pick the roll that we saw ourselves as or that we liked playing the best and felt most comfortable in. All of my roommates picked to be either the "nice guy" or the "compromiser". I picked "the calculator". The calculator is interested in everything they care about being perfect, correcting people when they're wrong, not actually giving a shit what other people think about them, and other such things. Sound familiar? If you know me at all, it should. Most people will do anything to get people to like them. I really don't care. I only like people who like me. But that's like a square is a rectangle. People who like me are rectangles. I like squares. Meaning I don't like everyone who likes me, but everyone I like likes me. Anyway, back to this story about exercises. My roommates were all playing nice. Which was super awkward... because really, they're not like that. The one I liked a whole bunch, but left 3 months in, was like that. They also aren't very good at acting. It was all fake and plastic. They ended up all sitting together on one couch. I was sitting on the couch adjacent and they kept asking if I'd come sit with them. There were like 9 people on that couch. 9 people I'd had more than enough of. Of course I stayed on my own couch and politely declined.

I don't understand why people don't seem to understand the concept of "no". You don't have to ask more than once if you get declined. No is an absolute. If someone says 'no', it isn't because they're unsure. It isn't because they think you can convince them. It isn't because they mean 'yes', or 'keep asking'. It's because they mean no. Or at least, that's what should happen. People should be direct and absolute. Even if they are unsure, they should say 'I'm not sure', which is both direct and has some sort of absolution to it in that they are certain they cannot determine if they mean yes or no at the present time.

The reason I mention the above, is because a day or so earlier after a meeting, there was some sort of hug business in which we all had to hold hands, and then someone started to roll into the middle and it turned into some sort of person roll thing. For some very strange reason, it was decided that I should be in the middle of this, being the first person to roll in. Have these people met me and spent 5 months living with me, or not? Why on earth would anyone possibly think I would want that? I said, "no". And there was literally 3 minutes spent trying to get me to be in the middle. I thought it would have been quite clear by then that I am the exact sort of person who doesn't do anything she doesn't want to. I actually can't remember the last time I did something I genuinely did not want to. I'll do things I find unpleasant. And things I'd rather not do. But I don't do anything I do not want to do. And I'm pretty much the most stubborn person ever, so good luck trying to make me do anything. Therefore, it was rather surprising to me that not only did they keep asking after I said no the first time, but they somehow actually believed that I would relent at some point. "Guys, she's not going to do it." Fucking duh? What part of no, did they not comprehend?

Anway. The point is that I don't regret going, I don't regret not staying, I dont regret being a calculator and not putting on a front to make them like me. Because honestly, I don't mind group activities. I don't mind volunteer work. I don't mind having to share a room if my bed is surrounded by curtains. But for the love of, if I'm not required to be with you, leave me the fuck alone.

Disturbed

There are few movies that actually disturb me. And by "few" I'm going to say along the lines of three?

There's "Being John Malkovitch" which I found disturbing as a 13 year old... or however old I was when I saw it. There must be another that I find disturbing. And the third is one I literally just got finished watching. I really don't feel like dignifying it with its name, though. It was horribly unnerving and the fact that it was made, offends me. Although it was well made, it was an absolutely vile film and I'm going to stop thinking about it now because it doesn't deserve as much as a brain wave from me.

And that is all I have to say about that.

Music Tastes

When I was growing up, I listened to whatever my parents were listening to on the radio, the cassette tapes I owned, and The Beatles. I think it was like this until I was about 7 or so and the Spice Girls came out. Everyone at school listened to them and they were on the radio, and they were brilliant. I still think they're... well. Entertaining to listen to, for sure. Anyway, I think the Spice Girls "Spice" was the first CD I actually personally owned. And it all just sort of went downhill from there. I think out of anyone I grew up around, I probably had the biggest CD collection of anyone. It's massive and despite the fact that I rarely buy CDs nowadays, it is still growing. I even have 3 new things to put into it from the time I left it in Michigan, until now that I'm back in Toronto. This doesn't even touch my DVD collection which is the most ridiculous ever, but this is about music, so we won't get into that.

Anyway, I guess when I was about 11 or so I discovered the magical wonders of MTV and music that my parents had never heard of, which was great. It was also around that time that I discovered the internet in terms of listening to music. But... y'know, barely. This was only 2001 mind you. When I was 12, I saw Switchfoot on VH1 and thought their singer was cute, so I had my mother take me to see them at the then State Theatre. And honestly, I don't care what you say, to me, it will always be that and never The Fillmore. Fuck The Fillmore.

When I was 15, my mom and I went to see The Rolling Stones at Comerica Park. Not because I liked them... but because they were famous as hell and I had never been to a show like that. I walked out a fan. Liking them, meant I went and looked up other bands they had played with and sounded like. And later that year was my first foray into early punk rock. That being, my obsession with Sid Vicious and the Sex Pistols. Subsequently, I did my end of year English paper on the influences of punk rock in today's music and subcultures. Which was fun as hell and led me to yet more bands I now adore.

I don't remember the first time I saw Billy Elliot, but it was love at first sound wave for glam rock and I. T.Rex remains one of my favourite bands to this day.

An obsession with all things English led me to The Clash, and the fact that half my high school friends were in ska bands, led to my love of ska. So I guess a lot of music I came across was from being influenced by my friends and movies. Another thing about my music in high school was I had a crush on this boy named Greg... who is pretty much an encyclopaedia for movies and music. So I'd stay up late talking to him about Spoon and They Might Be Giants, while he stayed up late talking to Hillary about who knows what. So then she'd go to bed, so he'd go to bed, and then I'd go to bed because no one else was online at 3am. And then we'd all be tired in photography class the next morning. How I adored high school. Dear God.

Having a car was my in to the world of hardcore/screamo/whatever. When I was 18, I knew nothing of the scene except there was screaming and I didn't listen to it, and the girls had crazy hair that I wanted. My friend Libby wanted to go see Chiodos. I had never heard of them, but I liked shows, so I told her I'd totally drive her. This small decision pretty much changed my life. So we went to the show, and stood in the front row, and my mind was pretty much blown. I literally and legitimately have not been the same since.

I looked up all the bands, went to see them in different places on different tours with other bands, and from there, my knowledge of the scene and of the bands that played within the genre, exploded. I looked up all the bands I saw, listened to their music, listened to who they toured with, checked out their influences, and pretty much built it up from there.

And now I have the most insane taste in music ever. Right now, I'm listening to The Monks, but as soon as I'm finished, I'll be listening to Paint It Black.

But then, you'd know this if you saw my last.fm.

There's a whole bunch more to this story, but I'm tired of typing it without letting my arms rest on my laptop, or my laptop rest on my lap... so I'm just going to leave it at that.

Reading... or, Why I Wish I Lived In England Right Now

Summer music festivals are a staple for anyone in the whole... "scene" as it were. And even people who aren't regularly included in said group.

I, personally, have never attended a summer music festival. Ever.

I've been to shows all over, but I've never been to Warped, The Bamboozle, Bonnaroo, SXSW, Coachella, SCENE, or, awkwardly enough, NXNE. (However, I can scratch NXNE off my list in a few weeks as it takes place here in Toronto, and I am [hopefully] going to at least a few shows. Also, SCENE in St. Catherine's for my birthday in late June.)

Never having been able to attend any of the above, it is my dearest and sincerest wish to go to some of the European summer music festivals. Namely Reading Festival, and Rock Am Ring, in Germany. Exclusively for their brilliant lineups...

Reading 2011:
My Chemical Romance, Bring Me The Horizon, New Found Glory, The Strokes, The National, Jimmy Eat World, Muse, Enter Shikari, Frank Turner, Taking Back Sunday, The Naked And Famous, Jane's Addiction, Crystal Castles, OFWGKTA, Panic! At The Disco, Best Coast, Fucked Up, DRUGS, Does It Offend You, Yeah?, Comeback Kid, Boysetsfire, Title Fight, Descendents, Flogging Molly, and Hot Water Music.

Rock Am Ring 2011:
Kings Of Leon, DeadmatInu5, Interpol, The Gaslight Anthem, Plain White T's, The Pretty Reckless, August Burns Red, All That Remains, Disturbed, Bring Me The Horizon, Hollywood Undead, Escape The Fate, System Of A Down, Simple Plan, Silverstein, and Frank Turner.

So tired of living on this continent. Get me somewhere better with more culture, please?

Summertime Forever

June is just a few days away and I couldn't imagine myself being more excited for the summer. I can already tell this one is going to be amazing. Last summer in North America for... well, hopefully a long while.

I'll spend most of the earlier half of the month longboarding around, playing my bass... roller skating... the usual. David comes home on the 18th or something. I can't wait; I haven't seen him since the day I left for Alberta in January. We will have SO much fun and shenanigans. Hopefully I'll visit Michigan, pick up Otto dearest, and make cupcakes with Eva as test trials for her wedding deserts.

At some point, I need to acquire this lovely item because a. it's fashionable, b. Cézanne was smart, and c. great things can be done with small objects. Of course I also want the saying as a tattoo, but that comes later. Right now, I just want a new jumper.

I want to go to SCENE fest in St. Catherine's on the 26th for my birthday... and then perhaps go visit Chris in Brooklyn once I've actually turned twenty-one. Just kill me now because that sounds SO old!!! I promised Simon and Christina I would visit them in Quebec so I need to get out to Montreal at some point. Preferably after Isa gets home. I really, really need to go back to Aux Vivres and get a few more of their vegan BLTs because they're better than oxygen. ...And talking of Katimafriends getting home, Anelia and I promised each other we would go to This Is London together at some point.

I need to get my ass on to getting a Canadian passport so that I can submit a visa application in time to leave in November. Luckily, I started that when I was in Canmore and most of my application is already filled out, so I just have to a little extra work on that which shouldn't be too complicated.

In July, I want to go back to California, because I guess I just like it there in July? I'll have to go back to San Francisco and hang out in the Haight some more as I really liked it there. I'll also need to actually visit the Castro, the Tenderloin, and Alcatraz as I didn't actually make it out last time I was there. I want to go back to the Mission and get some of that amazing Tartine bread, so I'll have to get there early because I know they sell out fast! And while I'm in the Mission, I'll have to go back to the Mission Bicycle shop because it's pretty much my favourite bike shop in the world.

I'll definitely be bringing my surf board and going down to Santa Cruz. I need to get some quality beach time and surf mornings in. My mother is in that water now, so I'll be that more inclined to stay in it longer. I can't miss the boardwalk or Mexican food up in Boulder Creek. I should definitely have some cousin hang time with Clarissa because she's like 12 or something crazy like that now, and she's really cool. I'm pretty much stoked to see everyone though.

Eva is getting married in August so I'll be back in Michigan for that. I'm super excited. Genevieve and I are making cupcakes for the wedding which should be great... I'm so crazy about cupcakes, I'm already looking up recipes to try out.

I'm also really, really, really excited about September. I gauged the approximate cost of staying in hostels around the American south for the whole month and it's about the same as rent would be, a bit more, perhaps, but what is saving up for, after all? My plans are to spend a week in Nashville and Memphis each, some days in Georgia or Arkansas, a week in New Orleans, and the rest of the month in Austin. The south is really the only place I haven't been yet, so I'm really excited for it.

I have no idea what I'm doing for October, but I fully intend to jet off to London, England in November. Hopefully, anyway. G and I will have a grand old time, I'm sure. And talking of London, if I really do love it so much, I'll take a leaf out of his book and go to school there. I'm thinking theatre with a minor in photography. I always did like the arts more than anything practical. I'm really, really excited about living in Europe.

The Summer Room

Toronto in the spring is wonderful. Toronto in the summer is wonderful. Toronto in the fall is wonderful.

I get to spend my whole summer until September in the most glorious room. It's right in the middle of Parkdale, which means it's close to hip hang outs, close to the beach, close enough to the city center, close to no frills, close to a shopper's, close to the library... pretty much close to everything worth being close to. Which is why I love Parkdale so, so much. When I first moved to Parkdale in 2009, I didn't really even notice anything because it was getting cold out and I was busy. Once it got warmer and I became less busy, I noticed what a fucking fabulous neighbourhood I was living in. Naturally, when I got back from Alberta, I refused to live anywhere else. Why on earth would I want to? Cheap rent and all the above listed perks of living here... forget about anywhere else.

So anyway, suffice it to say, I'm pretty fucking stoked.

There's a nice sunny window with a quaint garden view. A wardrobe and dresser, which are a VERY nice change from living out of two suitcases squished under my bed + a large pile of clothes IN my bed. A desk, room for my bags to be hidden away, and it's about the same size as my old apartment with a nice big bathroom next door, and a good sized kitchen just up stairs. And I get a porch! And I don't have any psychotic drunk neighbours who will throw things at the walls and scream out the window at 7am. Fuck that dude. Seriously.

I shall now lounge in the gloriousness that is my summer flat.
Good night, and good luck.


I should totally see that movie, shouldn't I?


Also.

I bought Walk The Line yesterday.
I've spent forever in a coma of the deliciousness of Joaquin.

Johnny Cash; Underwear

Basically.

I'm celebrating the fact that I can once again walk around in a thong and tank top without anyone flipping their shit saying I'm inappropriately appareled.

I'm celebrating the fact that I can once again do whatever the fuck I want, whenever the fuck I want.

I'm celebrating the fact that I, once again, am home.

<3 Hello Toronto. It's nice to be back.


And tomorrow, I'm going downtown to finally buy Walk The Line. Because no video shop in Canmore had it.

However, I do still mourn the fact that I was away during every opportunity to see Rammstein.
Fuck my life. They mean absolutely EVERYTHING to me.

So close when we were in Edmonton on the same nights... but could I go see them?


Of course not.




Europe. In Europe, I can.

I Wasn't Going To Say Anything

... but seriously? All this business about Osama Bin Laden is such bullshit.

People are celebrating that he got killed.
As if he was at all still relevant.

This hasn't been about Al Qaeda for a long time. And even if it was, there is more than just one person in it and behind things.

If this REALLY was going to make ANY difference at all, wouldn't soldiers be getting pulled out of the Middle East??
Yes.

And are they??
No.

Which means that this makes no difference to anything. Cool. Osama Bin Laden can't plot any more terrorist attacks.
It doesn't mean no one else isn't going to.

People are celebrating and chanting "USA!" in the streets, or so I hear.
How embarrassing.

He's being compared to Hitler.

How absolutely ridiculous. He was a fucking terrorist. He occasionally orchestrates mass murders to get a rise out of people.

Adolf Hitler managed to become chancellor of one of the most powerful European countries, take over most of Europe, convince enough of a country that genocide was the way to go to make Germany a better place to live, actually go through with widespread genocide, cause a World War, etc. Plus he had a whole bunch of nasty associates to play with. (I'm sure Bin Laden also has many of these, but I don't know their names)

You can't claim that Bin Laden started a war, because that probably wasn't his intent. I'm going to blame that one on the government of the United States. Way to go. By the way. On that one. Yeah.
Not really.

Hitler, on the other hand, wanted to take over the world, and would start a war over it if necessary. He ordered the ethnic cleansing of millions of people, and then caused a war, which killed tonnes of other people.

Added together, I'm sure the death toll far surpasses however many people were killed in acts of terror.
Not including suicide bombers themselves, of course, because if you really want to die killing other people, that's your problem.


ANYWAY.
I'm in Southern Alberta right now. On a farm. Just until Wednesday, though.
I can see Montana from the barn.
Chief Mountain (or something) in Glacier National Park.