...

I haven't been writing at all lately. My journal can't even look me in the eye, and I swear I can feel the computer keyboard glarring at me in my sleep. Sleep has been a stranger for a few weeks now, and the only familar face is red wine and marijuana.
I have been working a lot, and perhaps dating too much. I had narrowed it down to several bachelors; and now it's down to one. I've been losing sleep about having to tell the others I am letting go.
It's still not feeling like Christmas.

Juggling Act

After months of my juggling act, it became painfully clear: I was losing rhythm, coordination and stamina.

To say I am impatient is an understatement. Something about waiting for something triggers my anxiety, and I panic, choke up and have to refocus on the ability to breathe. Being trapped on a city bus for over an hour on the way home from work pushed me to an extreme that I have never been to before. There had apparently been a multi vehicle crash on my bus route and traffic was backed up an hour in each direction, at rush hour.

I started thinking about how much of my time was being wasted trapped with fifty other people on this diesel fueled nightmare. I don't know why I felt I was so pressed for time, or why that triggered the clammy palms and throat constriction.
I then started wondering about bills, deadlines, upcoming projects, failed relationships, new prospects, friends I haven't heard from in a while, friends that probably think I am ignoring them, the boy in the hospital, the boy in my dreams, the lady who's ice tea refill I forgot to deliver to at the restaurant--everything.

It was a good thing that I had a seat, beside the window so I didn't look so crazy closing my eyes and pressing my forehead against the cool glass to cool off. Calming down has never been a strong ability in my personality, it falls somewhere between thinking before I speak and minding my own business. As my heart rate began to race, the claustrophobia turned this entire experience up a notch, and I needed out! I looked to my left and noticed that we were stuck in the middle of an overpass, and started to recall that bridge collapse in America a few years ago. After sizing up my fellow passengers-literally, I concluded that I had got onto the bus with a shocking percentage of the city's obese.

Some lady next to me started to rattle her newspaper, and bitching loudly on her cellphone about how she was about to be late for dinner. My kryptonite, a bitching woman, sitting right next to me. I turned my music up higher. I caught her looking at me, looking at her watch and nervously tapping her right high heel encased foot. She shook her newspaper a bit harder and louder, I was thinking; "this bitch thinks my music is too loud", so I decided to turn it down a bit. As luck would have it, my ipod wasn't agreeing and turned up to maximum, deafening me and attracting a lot of attention. "99 Problems (But a Bitch Ain't One)" by Jay Z began blasting from the skull candy around my head, I looked at the newspaper lady, smirked and commented "sorta speaks for itself, eh?" Eliciting several laughs from fellow passengers, I got a little shy and was happy to see that it would take a little longer, but I could walk from the next stop.

I heard on the news at eleven that a man had lost his life in that accident--It made me wonder if the bus ride was the my only wasted time yesterday.

A Leo baby; born several months too early in a muggy Ontario city twenty-five years ago, during a thunderstorm grows up to one day find himself alone, with a severely over poured glass of wine, a bag of weed and a severe appreciation for run-on sentences.

gardening

I woke up with the notion that I was at a breaking point.
Nothing seemed worth writing about-barely worth discussing, and yet I did. I came to the realization that there were some definite decisions on the horizon, and they were abounding.
Of those boys in my life, I am confused. Perhaps there are just too many of them, perhaps there are just not enough for me to be distracted away from trying not to develop feelings. I have been forced to relearn the importance of ignoring the first impression, and have embraced the impression of the first time they are up to bat for me. Sadly, this only knocked one boy off the list.
I started to tell myself that I deserved to feel heard and appreciated; only one more boy fell off the list. It took me weeding through the importance of being touched, understood and respected before I actually began to notice the bachelors fall one by one. I then concluded that it had little if anything to do with these guys being ALL of the things I wanted in a relationship-- but more with these guys not being in direct opposition to them.

in search of...

Recently I found myself on a very dead-end date, something I realized all of three minutes into it.
The boy was cute, and sadly that is where it ended.
His major accomplishment in life had been being a hair model for redken, and the red flags were abounding.
He was the same age as me, and I was hoping that there would be more in common-there wasn't.
I was convinced that he kept leaving the room to snort cocaine, and at one point I brought the conversation to a screeching halt; "True or false, you are high on coke right now?" He denied it, and to be fair, he was taking ecstasy.

So there I was, trapped at some bar downtown with this hyper little fruit bat. I sipped my grasshopper, and started day dreaming about being there with someone that I found interesting. Inspiration finally hit me two and a half hours into this date from hell. I called up a friend and demanded he come and kidnap me, it seemed like the only logical decision. Thirty minutes later, and I had been kidnapped from the date and moved to a second location.

I was dancing away, when jealousy entered the room. My jilted date, with a little help from a co-worker, had found me at a dance club forty minutes after I had pulled a Houdini and vanished. He made his way over to me within five minutes and managed to pull it together enough to ask "what's up?"

It took me a fragment of a second to come up with a response, and it found me tearing into him about being the most boring person I had ever met. I ended up drinking far too much for the remainder of the night and suffered every consequence the next morning.

...

I feel all wound up.

adam and adam.

Why does the forbidden fruit always taste the sweetest?
It is a question I have been asking myself for as long as I can remember. I have never been happy with things 'as is', I choose to instead pine for things that are unobtainable.
I wish this was just the case with possessions.

Sadly, it is the same when it comes to my romantic life-I am never happy when things are easy.
It hit me tonight at work, when I saw a very attractive gay couple. I instinctively wanted to destroy them. Not because I was jealous of their relationship, I couldn't care less about that. What really mattered was the fact that the one guy became so much more attractive because he was unavailable.
True, he was good looking regardless, but somehow his smile seemed brighter, his body looked hotter, and his style evoked so much energy-because he was off the market.

Looking back over the years, and all of the boys (and girls) that I fell for, they all have one thing in common-a significant other.
And I wonder why I am so frustrated when it comes to affairs of the heart. How can I even begin to feel sorry for myself?
I have never went after someone who was looking for a relationship, I instead choose to be attracted to those who are disinterested, unavailable or worse- in a committed relationship.
I can go from being so cold and callous to being the most flirtatious boy in the room, when the object of my desire is the forbidden fruit.

Smoking Cigarettes

Nicotine has conspired to make me her dirty whore-and I am not ashamed of it.
I do not stand alone. I stand outside, five metres away from the entrance to all public buildings- in rain, sleet and snow and light up. Sometimes I sneak one in my 'non-smoking' house during one of my many predictable insomniatic sprees.
I light up after good sex, after bad sex, while having a coffee, after a big meal, for a quick break from the restaurant, waiting for the bus, listening to music, after a join and am reduced to being a chainsmoker while drinking.

I don't know what it is about the finely packed cancer sticks that attract me.

It's not the cost, the smell, the taste, the dirty looks from non-smokers, the coughing, the phlegm, the shortness of breath.
In fact, I detest all of those things.
It's not just another oral fixation. It's not just an addiction, dirty habit or to fit in.
It has little to do with being able to get a break, relax or look cool.

The Canadian government has been shoving 'antismoking' propaganda down our throats for years now. The grotesque photos of black lungs, hideous teeth and gums, sad children begging me not to poison them, a hospital bed, a wheezing old man and my personal favourite, the limp cigarette warning me of impotence.

It has been argued that smoking is taking a toll on our already failing health system, but I have to question these so-called 'concerned' Canadians.
Each cigarette costs fifty cents. Of that, twenty cents goes directly into the provinces pocket and twenty cents goes into the hands of the federal government.
I will end up quitting this 'filthy habit' soon enough, but until then if you see me light up consider it my personal stimulus package for my home and native land.

cough cough

Life's gone to pot

I remember the first time I got high. I was in the back of a remodeled electrician's van with several of my most hilarious friends. I remember feeling the wave come over me, my shit eating grin appearing and all of the worries in the world melting away.
It was a time where I felt like I was observing myself from so far away, but with the sound off.
Things began to change, and I'd have to smoke more and more to maintain that high, or else paranoia with creep in from the shadows that seemed to be engulfing the familiar.

Lately, I find myself smoking less and less of my favourite herb- and yet, just enough to bring the truth to light.
It's now responsible for the quirky comebacks, witty quips, and the ever popular foot in mouth maneuver. Something about weed doesn't allow me to relax anymore. It resurrects my sinister side to such an extreme, and I have learned to laugh at it.

random questions & answers. insomnia edition.

Q. Am I a worrier? Frantically.
A.It's social suicide... and I am sure taxing to my heart by now.

Q. What’s my favorite CD?
A. Glad you asked, wow... hmm... So Much Shouting, So Much Laughter by Ani Difranco.

Q. What's my favourite season?
A. That depends what part of Canada I am in. In Ontario I love the end of summer and early fall. In Alberta I like late spring.

Q. Does my home have an attic?
A. No. Atleast I hope not.

Q. Have I ever been too drunk?
A. Have I ever!

Q. Have I ever gone fishing?
A. Yes, though it was years ago, I think I was in grade five or six. I had to get my friend to put the work on the hook, and when I finally caught something it was a pike, followed up by a catfish.

Q.Have I ever seen a celebrity?
A. Far too many in fact.

Q. Have I ever been on a motorcycle? .
A. Twice. The first time I can barely remember, I was really young, like four. The second time was with a past boyfriend. He was really into his crotch rocket, both of them. ;)

Q. How much money do I have on me right now?
A. Zero dollars. I am in my housecoat.

Q. How many cars have I owned?
A. Personally, none. If I could the few we had around the house when I was a wee one, 4- Shadow, Tasia, Amber and Dusty.

Q. How many jobs have I had? Eight.
A. Hmmm... Let's see- 2 paper routes, 3 gas stations, 1 family run burger-joint. the retirement home, the spitfire, chapters, johnston's canyon, inns of banff, tony roma's, JD's, the casino, the spaghetti factory, lasik md, the keg, the magazine and the cantina. 19 jobs.... yikes.

Q. How tall am I?
A. 5'10 and 1/2

Q. Last person to call me:
A. Lisa, of course.

Q. Last thing I yelled out loud?
A. "What the fuck is up with his rogue activity?"

Q. Last person I was in a car with?
A. Alex. It still beeps all the time.

Q. Last time I ate at McDonald’s?
A. Sadly, today, Wait, not so sadly, that double cheeseburger was amazing. And only $1.69! ;)

Transit

With the new job being on the otherside of this city's "downtown", I have been been at the mercy of the transfer to another bus. The first bus is one that I am accustomed to. The usual mix of suburbia dwelling nine-to-fivers, emo-hairstyled highschool kids and blue collar construction workers. It's the transfer to the second bus that makes me a little apprehensive about public transportation. It's undoubtedly the shortest bus ride imaginable, but it saves me walking through the construction area that is a pretty sketchy part of the city. Sadly, it puts me in a confined space with the dirtiest, smelliest, most filthy human beings I have ever laid my eyes, ears and nose on.

I am, after all just a boy from small town Ontario. I can't understand a religion or culture that is against the liberal use of deodorant. Worse, is the men that remain sitting while woman, in heels, stand during the journey. I was shocked at how many baby strollers, bad haircuts and illfitting outfits I am daily exposed to.

I love my neighbourhood, tucked away, on the hill, minutes from downtown. I love the fellow passengers on the usual bus... I want them to transfer with me, and several bottles of febreeze, who am I kidding, Lysol is the only suitable weapon for the other.
I can't imagine living wherever that bus ends up. I can't imagine it at all.

waiting to feel sleepy

Another schoolnight case of insomnia. I haven't felt like writing lately. I suppose that has a lot to do with the fact that there isn't much new. Things are getting better, but nothing is new. I have even failed to make the usual silly observations. No awkward moments of chaos driven by an outburst from my mouth.
No hangover mornings full of regrets and painkillers; My liver is taking a holiday. There are a few new people in my life, but they are very new. Infact, I am sure several of them might still have that new car smell.
I have a handful of blog posts saved as 'edits'. i haven't really contemplated their release. I wondered how important any of myramblings are, and why they always had to be about me.
My feelings for, reactions to, hidden agenda of...etc. What about telling the stories of the people that I know?
Would my friends get paranoid and assume I am taking notes on them? If they are unnerved, I think I like it.
Between several handwritten letters, the journal that is constantly near me, the book I am developing characters for and the book I lost-found & lost again- I can't possibly keep up with this gratuitously sensitized recount.
enough about me.

The Supposed Five Year Plan.

Someone asked about my 'five year plan' today. Maybe it was the fact that this person doesn't really know much about me, or the unnatural heat we are experiencing for the end of September, but for the first time in ages- I was speechless. By the time my thoughts had come full circle it was embarrassing to acknowledge the fact that I had no plan.
She had only asked a simple question. It was not in an way, shape or form controversial or inappropriate. She could have asked me anything about my childhood, my sexuality, or my past relationships. I would have been able to answer any form of question with an air of knowledge, but this was one subject in which I have no concept.
I decided to think about it.
I don't want to be a waiter for the rest of my life, and as good as I am in the industry- I am a little apprehensive about working my way into a management position ever again.

The Flip Side

Feels like I have finally landed, solidly... after a very turbulent travel through time.
The summer was spent bouncing irresponsibly from self-indulgent to self-destructive. And the tippy train wreck has seemingly been avoided. I was really terrified about answering the phone, opening the door, cracking a window and experiencing the many flashbacks awaiting therein. I hid away from how I was actually feeling with the usual crutches- it stopped working. I denied myself in order to make someone else happy- it didn't feel right. I took for granted the things that actually matter- and luckily realized before it was too late. I spent an obscene amount of hours working for a corporation that I knew lacked integrity, responsibility and compassion- only for the money. I forgave everyone that I was harboring grudges for- but not myself. I forgot how to trust, how to love and in the process fooled myself in and out of several illusions.

Tonight, a friend asked what the deal breaker in a relationship was to me, and I didn't have to consider my response.
"Respect," I said, explaining that to me that encompassed trust, honesty and compassion.

I spent so many days feeling nothing aside from slighted and resentment. I was full of the feeling of nothing, a strange and marvelous degree above rock bottom was looking me right in the face. I was so worried about the wrong things, and it is about time that I woke up. There is an abounding amount of 'catching up' hovering around me. I tried so hard to learn how to look at myself objectively, but forgot to honour the importance of expanding my soul. It became clear to me that I was impossible to head in any direction, good or bad, while on a treadmill.
I placed the blame on merlot, cabernet, shiraz, pinot noir and the most confused person I have ever met.

After a few terrifyingly real dreams; the kind most would label nightmares, I knew things had to change. I lookedk at everything around me, and made a vow to bare in mind that I too was worth just as much as the one's I raised onto soapboxes. I am happy to have finally put an end to my very own 'dark era'.
It's so fucked up, the way some of us can discount ourselves enough to repeat history's mistakes, over and over until the pattern explodes off into some kaleidoscopic twilight zone.
It took a little while to catch on to my gut instinct. I had seemingly turned my radio dial to all of the wrong stations; inviting all of the wrong satellites to bounce signals into my once fortified galaxy.
The thrill of the rollercoaster is nearly lost when you can't tell if you're going up or coming down, so I have started several new projects, ones that will advance and encourage my growth-and love ain't far behind.

It's been a while...somethings have changed.

I have been home from my whirlwind tour de force for almost a week, and have just found the time to sit down and reflect.
I am still in shock that I managed to pull off each and every date that I had planned, and even added a few extra visits. I developed a pretty intense cold/flu during the first twenty-four hours of my Ontario experience, but with the help of lemons, oil of oregano and ginger tea I successfully defeated the infection... it required that I take a few days to relax, which led to several afternoons of daydreaming, interviews, and a sincere goodbye.

Upon reviewing the week back "home" I realized how much of an emotional high it really turned out to be.
Between giving Holly away during what has to be one the most beautiful wedding ceremonies ever witnessed and deciding last minute to return to Calgary so many things happened.
I spent time in Hamilton, Cambridge, Guelph, Mount Brydges , Strathroy, London, Stratford (twice), Bayfield, Goderich and London. I had two flights, a train ride, several taxi trips and countless car rides with faces new and old. I woke up countless times wondering what town or city I was in, where the bathroom was and how many more days I had left. It was like I was in a race against time, and had so much to do, so many people to see and so many conversational updates to experience.

I saw some friends and family that I hadn't seen in several years, I saw a face that, at one point this year I was certain I would never see again, and also met someone for the first time, sorta. I am tired of the ridiculous nicknames for the sake of hiding identities, but don't want to gratuitously incriminate him either. It was strange to finally meet him and still feel like he was an old friend from highschool.... rare are those instances.

My last night home was when I made the decision that I was not going to extend the tour to relax. I woke up Friday morning and hitched a ride to Stratford in a bitchin' Subaru with a fucking awesome feminist who led me into some amazing conversations. I waited around that quaint little city for a few hours, had some breakfast, some coffee and got on the next train to London. I managed to get onto the standby list for the one and only flight back to Cowtown, and felt exhausted.

Right after my plane landed the parental units whisked me from the arrivals gate, back to my place and then downtown so I could make it to a friend's going away party. The party was a mixture of emotions, sadly, judging from the looks on most faces there, none of them seemed authentic... another room full of closet cocaine fiends. I often wonder about that drug. Why are these people ok with doing a drug they have to hide? I could never imagine excusing myself to the washroom to smoke a joint, unless I was at church, and even that's pushing out. Watching the door of the VIP room swing open to reveal a stumbling, sniffing and snorting version of a friend is terrifying.

I have been looking for a new job since my return to this oddly warm and sunny city, and feeling pretty good about most of the leads so far.

The kid left today. We said our goodbyes at the train station, as it is par for the course. It was hurried, but not painfully so. Somewhere in the realm of reality it seemed that it served as the bandage ripping away experience for both of us.
I am apprehensive as to how I really feel about the aftermath. But there are so many other things to be paying attention to... including the laundry still in my suitcase.

Open Letter To The Kingdom

Friends, Lovers and Jayson Therrien,

It’s a harsh reality. And I am sure that along with me, none of you saw it coming, 86 Ryan Duncan.
Apparently the horseshoe up my ass ran out of luck, or the patience from management ran out of steam. In any case, after apparently suggesting that I was not pleased with a guest through the subliminal art of body language, I was suspended until Dean returns. I felt that was unfair, and made the decision to bust a move out of there…. It was obvious in KB’s tone that I was done for.

I am disappointed that out of all the things I could have been fired for, it was a misconception from a senile old coot.
Really, there should have been fireworks, cirque dancers, a few flipped tables and one giant “Bitch Please” at the next Thomas Crook (not a typo) table.
Or, I could have showed up wasted out of my tree, thrown up on a family of foreigners mid table service, and politely picked a fight when they refused to tip me.

It is my sad duty to inform you that this is not Hollywood, and there can be no take two. I am embarrassed and ashamed of fragment of “Duncanism” that ended up being the final straw. If my life were a movie, I would have gone back in time, bitch slapped the old bugger, grabbed his Bombay martini, thrown it back, climbed onto table 7, produced a megaphone and start to call out each and every one of the guests in sight. I am sorry to have disappointed you all. ;)

Truth be told, I really enjoyed my time working with this team. My only apprehension sticks to the bonds that I have made with you. Thanks for putting up with me, laughing at the inappropriate comments, encouraging the “Duncanese” dialect that I used with guests and most importantly for not launching a class action lawsuit for sexual assault. I am sorry that I never got to tell you the truth; I am straight. I can’t get enough of women. In fact, I am currently also cruising ‘plenty of fish’ for suitable sluts to bang.

Alas, an enchanted era ended.
Keep in touch.


ps- in the great words of Tim Rice; made famous by Elaine Paige, Patti Lupone and Madonna. “Don’t cry for me Argentina”.

pps- you are Argentina.

Twist

This morning was random.
I got suspended at Steak Palace under the pretense that I would be fired upon the GM's return from his 10th vacation this summer. So, I quit. I uttered a few harsh words, gathered my belongings, avoided eye contact with the pregnant woman to whom I whispered "get fucked," and made my exit.
I feel like now leaving for the Ontario tour earlier than expected. Or, maybe extending it to be able to actually see everyone. Both are quite possible. It was a mere moment ago where it was all so calculated. And as I was explaining these plans out load on the phone, I realized how much of a constraint it puts on saying 'see ya later.'

take me to the bank.

I have been rushing around investing time, money and faith in all the wrong things. There was a few warning signs all the while, I would plead ignorance but I knew. I am preparing my next tour of south western Ontario, it has been over a year since I revisited the "prettiest town in Canada."

I wonder how my friends are doing? I wonder what nana looks like; she is aging so quickly. I am really hoping that mr. Hollywood has found his way home by the time I get to his hometown, by motorcar or train. This entire trip feels so last minute. Tonight steak palace proved to be quite entertaining, aside from the fact that someone complained about my body language. I am trying to figure how much control we have over that kind of thing. I know that my facial expressions are always a representation of whatever random thought is running through my mind. I also know that I am rarely 'in the moment', years ahead or behind the true fact of what is.

There was a dark period of time leading up to the birthday party. In it, I was capable of discounting how I felt, pining over the inconsiderate, and feeling alone in a crowded room. During the party it became apparent that I had to boil it down to people that make me feel good. There was no sense in a lot of the shit I have been allowing, participating in and in some cases encouraging.

I met smother's pseudo minion tonight and found him to be quite entertaining. I was only alarmed by his knowledge of a certain friend. It felt like I was standing still as the restaurant filled around me, I tried to snap out of the daze of protecting the friend and it was too late. My section had doubled in size and was miles away from the kitchen and service bar. I resorted to survival mode, and in no doubt seemed unusual. It is a little frightening that I am so capable of recoiling.

I have no other option but to admit that I am exhauted, in way over my head, head over feet and wearing my heart on my sleeve. Time to reinvest.

The Daily Hustle at the LRT

I suppose it's fair that you would be expecting an essay about the city's trains. I rely on foot and autobus and sometimes a lift from the starlet or mr. Novlesky. In any case, I don't have a formed opinion about that, except for that someone yelled "so fresh and so clean" at Chris the other day on a platform.... so clearly there is a plethera of liquor serving establishments nearby.
We have been getting things in gear for the birthday celebration...... oh this house.

festival

Had a very quiet weekend, opting not to spend time in reflection but to instead investigate and understand the current events.
Even with the usual distractions I was coming up confused.
Metric played an amazing show at Virgin Fest tonigh. While I will be the first to admit that Billy Talent puts on an amazing performance, the former could have easily as headlined.
Its getting closer and closer to that next 'milestone'. twenty plus five. thirty minus five. fifty split in half.....

Alarm Setting/Stages

I have several alarms set for the morning.
It's been a long time since I have set an alarm to awake myself in the morning. And I guess that could very well be a sign of how much I have been looking out for number one lately. Earlier this evening that concept came to my head. I am not doing things wrong, but I am certainly not doing things right either.
A friend recently schooled me on "relationship red flags". I didn't realize that I ought to be applying them to all relationships, not just the ones of a romantic nature.
Ahh, Romance. How I miss thee. I haven't felt that emotion in such a very long time. I had nearly forgotten. Then every fucking love song on the regulated Steak Palace playlist seemingly started to apply to my current situations....
I don't feel respected by him. Or trusted for that matter. I feel depleted and empty on account of him. I am not "Ryan" when I am alone with him. I don't even say those mean things, think those thoughts, or even utter a curse when he is not around. I am not funny when alone with him. I don't feel smart, or even talented if he is looking back at me... in the mirror. It's my relationship with myself that really needs work. The state of the union with the kid is just an extension of that. If I respected myself, appreciated my own capabilities and believed in my own talents there is no way I would be volunteering myself to such damnation.
The pumps are running out of gas while Bronco and his stablemates unveil a 25 million dollar footbridge. A piece of steel falls from the sky and instantly takes the life of a toddler metres away from the crown jewel monument. Stages are collapsing, and I often wonder if mine should be next. I've been directing (misplacing) the blame for a while now. Sure, there have been times where I wasn't directly responsible for the fuckup, but I allowed it. Maybe I ought to just bow-out from this version before the curtain call is cancelled by the hook.

After a weekend like that one...

I spent the majority of last week between Steak Palace and my bedroom writing an article for the magazine. This included several sleepless nights, and countless reedits. I felt like I had worked my ass off, so when the weekend came I finally felt ready to let loose.
Did I ever!
Friday night I thought it was a appropriate to drop mushrooms and adventure back and forth between two parties. The initial outing was horrifying. I felt so old, there were 18 year-olds crying, little freakouts and emotional breakdowns everywhere. Include the kid hitting on a chunky fat chick, and I had to peace out.
We threw a party at the house lastnight. It was a really great time, but I remember standing on the porch, feeling more alone than I had ever felt before.
The current state of the Kid and I is unfortunate. I find it to be such a piss off that he basically suggested that I ought not pull away and be distant based on the fact that Lady Oatmeal was returning.
In good faith, I decided to go against my gut and chill out about it.
But it is still really different now. I am sure that it is stressful to have her back and stuff, but if it was that bad why is he even hanging around for it. More importantly, how dare he complain to me?
I feel like the friend who is just used as an emotional dumping ground. My stress level rises, my patience goes out the window, and the tension builds whenever he is around anymore.
It could all quite possibly be related to stress he is feeling, fair enough. But that isn't really my problem, and I'd really appreciate not having to deal with the problems of others.
I am in a big need to withdraw from many relationships and evaluate.
It feels like the more I try to help, the more shit I end up taking, and without being able to say "stop", part of me takes a beating. Recently, a very stressed-out individual was freaking out in my bedroom at 4 in the morning enraged by his hiccups. All I could do was offer some water, and try to calm him down. I got an instant headache, and when he finally left, I had to lay down.
Things are a little off with the resident artist too.
I need to take off, soon.

Party time

I am in dire need of a house full of friends. It's been oddly quiet around the gallery lately. Look out weekend.

The Moth

I was sound asleep, then a light tapping sound woke me up. Initially I figured it was the branches of the tree knocking against the window above my bed-it wasn't. It sounded meatier than that, had the heater kicked on and started to ruffle papers on my bedside table-nope. Then I heard the sound that made me spring out of bed and head downstairs to grab a candle. The buzzing and fluttering of a full out aerial assault of a moth.
It's now 4:45 am, and I am wide awake and lighting a cigarette while nervously scouting the room, remaining at full attention for another strike. I thought about waking up Lisa to come up here and catch the motherfucker, but she had already killed her insect for the day. Not to mention the thought of her having to clickity clack her plastic corset together just to come up here to destroy an insect seemed far too tragic. I suppose if I had some weed I could have coaxed her with the idea of a 4:20 joint-maybe next time.

I am not even afraid of the moth, for all I care it can fly into the closet and feast on a vintage t-shirt. I am not nervous of it flying around me right now, as I sit her typing this, a bit of a headache, a glass of water and incense burning to my right. I am terrified by the idea of closing my eyes and hearing the buzzing of the seemingly kamikaze mission start over. Part of me wishes I could be a really heavy sleeper all of the time. There have been nights where you could have crept into my room, played a game of yahtzee, blended a couple margaritas and maybe even played an acoustic cover of some top twenty song without me even flinching. Sadly, there have been instances where I have been alerted by a car backfiring outside or the intensity of sirens blaring from some strobe light donning emergency vehicle off to hopefully rescue whoever is in harm. There has even been mornings where the plastic wrapped thunk of the newspaper being delivered on the front porch has stirred me from my slumber. I considered ear plugs, but my paranoia would kick in and I would end up imagining all sorts of goings on happening around me.

I am looking down at the Franz Kafka book I have been meaning to read, and the few super painkillers I have remaining-both are really bad ideas while trying to fall asleep I have concluded.
The trick to moths is that they always go bonkers around the brightest source in the room. I, being full of mixed emotions am certainly not giving off much of an inviting aura I suppose. Moths always have and always will be suckers for a flame. Spending the night flying around neighbourhoods, bouncing off of front porch lights and eventually creeping through cracks in the screen. The only thing separating my room from the summer breeze that is five am. Moths have no idea that they are spending their entire life rushing around, investing in all of the bad ideas and either smashing their heads over and over on some unrequited front porch lantern or bomb diving into the inviting glow of a torch. Come to think of it, I hope not to wake up and find the poor winged assailant encased in wax. Only some creatures deserve their place amongst the Madame Tussaud replicas.

Stampeded.

Trampled on, exhausted and ready to go back to being subjected to the soulless rotation of the "top 40."
"The Greatest Outdoor Show on Earth" has once again ended. The country music has ran out of it's chances to fire it's victimizing twang at my inner child. The straw hats, daisy dukes and shit kickers are being packed up again until next year. The baby calfs no longer have to participate in some "barbaric" spectacale in order to satisfy the crowds of drunkards, and the wait times at abortion clinics and price of plan b are about to triple--Stampede is over.

I read yesterday that taxi drivers didn't profit off of the latest installment of insanity, but on the flip-side, I was able to get a cab easily every night of the show. I am a little bewildered by my exhaustion right now, it can't possibly be from Stampede. I feel energetic, but drained. I was only on the grounds for a total of 3 hours, and 1.5 of that was watching Reba McEntire. I think that brilliant Niki B is right about all of the energy from Stampede Park spilling onto 17th Avenue and through the city.

With the midway being disassembled over the next twelve hours, I feel it only fitting to hop off of the merry-go-round.
I feel like slipping off to the sidelines for the rest of the month, that could be foolish.

Lately I have been feeling quite unrealistic, sometimes I feel like I got my emotional ass kicked. This will end up being one of the great stories that I can tell later about "back in the day." Boy meets boy. Boy meets girl. Boy fucks boy over. (Unintentionally, of course.)

I got stoned and listened to the fireworks from the porch tonight. I never did make it down to see them. I suppose I could have made it down to the show tonight, but for some reason, the energy from that part of the city just didn't feel all to inviting. Tonight I raise a toast of sleepy-time tea to the party 30 blocks away.
Until next year, you crazy bastard!

Day Off.

I enjoyed a very rare moment today. A day off.
I had big plans of making the best of it. I took a bicycle ride to my grandmother's and taught her all about itunes, how to use her new ipod and enjoyed some coffee. After, Lisa and I went down to the Stampede Grounds to see Reba in concert (again), and met a cow named Beyonce.
It started to pour rain just as we were leaving the venue, and there wasn't any thunder-at the time.
I made the decision to meet up with the kid, as we did have plans to watch the fireworks. I don't know if they were rained out or not, but the display was moved to Kensington... and ignited by the accidental kicking of a plastic cup.
Lately I feel that I have seen far too much of his dark side, and I start to wonder when, if at all, there was another point of view.

I don't know what it was that had me reduced to tears in my kitchen for several minutes tonight. Perhaps I am just frustrated. Perhaps I too feel blanketed by anxiety in regards to the return of Lady O.

Paranoid

Paranoia.
I have always had a belief that people were out to get me. I think it stems from highschool, when on more than several occasions there were guys trying to jump me. I all but once managed to escape. The fear I used to experience was lost over time, and then one day it resurfaced-as paranoia.
There were tons of people on the dancefloor the other night, the bar was busy, I was having a great night out with the kid... and then out of nowhere, I could feel the evil eye creeping up on me.
Some of Oatmeal's friends were following us around the club, keeping tabs on us whenever we moved to a different area, and eventually resorted to take photos of us with their camera phones.
I wish I could have blamed my paranoia for what amounted with the rest of the weekend...

Recharging

I am currently charging the redhead's macbook, my ipod, and the blackberry. All at once these three things required some attention and power. I decided that I ought to take the opprotunity to recharge my battery aswell. Tonight I traded in the nightcap for a pot of sleepytime tea. I visited with my family, went for a ride on the bicycle, actually stopped to smell the lilacs, and caught up with friend.

I am trying to find a way to make life simpler, and I expect that in less than a few weeks that opprotunity will present itself.

if you really knew me...

You'd know:
*I can never fall asleep wearing socks
*I have a way about me that ensures I can become the center of attention
*My larger than life schemes always have a way of working out
*I am often overwhelmed by decision making
*I have a history insomnia
*I am secretly happy we aren't bunny-sitting for Evan
*The state of my room tends to dictate the state of my finances and relationships.
*I wake up every morning ready to clean
*I try to walk my talk as best as I can
*Nothing makes me laugh harder than my family and their "unique ways."
*I am usually on edge when I ought to be calm
*I often forget to the think before I speak.
*you could offer me a joint at any hour of the day
*i am starting to allow room for every emotion
*iam learning to give second and sometimes even third chances

getting married and having babies...

Lately Facebook has been hopping with people announcing their pregnancies.
It wouldn't be so bad if they didn't have to include pictures of the growing baby belly.... I don't really care about the stretch marks you are volunteering for, also, is it just going to hit a point where they are going to start streaming the night of passion that lead to said semen infection?
I guess I am perhaps too selfish (read fucked up) to appreciate people hitting all the spaces on the board of the game of life. I remember playing that game with my family as a child. It never made sense to me, it all seemed so boring.
Graduate high school, go to college, find a career, get a wife, have some babies and retire.
It was so predictable. I don't remember ever feeling like I would ever be able to model my life after any of that.
I often wondered what kind of people get excited about checking off those moments that society teaches us to be 'milestones.'

have your cake and eat it too.

Yesterday provided me with a potpourri of emotions.
I met the kid for some afternoon wine in the park, and it was beautiful. The sun was shining, the warm wind was perfect and we were toasting over a fine bottle of Spain.

Later in the evening I met with my mother and we made our way down to the Fleetwood Mac concert. She was crazy excited, and I was stoned. Amazingly enough our seats were already perfect, then we got rushed to the front of the stage, the show was awesome, and Stevie still has the voice. I perhaps inhaled far too much marijuana smoke during the show, and subsequently still feel groggy. I should have went home right after the concert and curled up with a pizza.

Instead, I made a bad decision and went to see the kid post-concert, and I think I am suffering every possible punishment.
He asked me how I was going to react when Oatmeal returns from overseas, and suggested that I would get really needy and jealous. Truth is, I already was.

the delicate art of flippy cup

My mother said I look like someone took a cheese-grader to the side of my head and ear. The artists think I was trying to imitate Van Gogh. The jocks are comparing it to Ivander Holyfield, The bloggers are speculating about possible abuse a la Rhianna, and the writers know full well that I was hammered, yet again.
I went the a 70's themed fondue party lastnight, and it was lovely.

I really like being in the situation of not knowing anyone in a house full of people. These are simple sentences.
Hindsight is 20/20, I should not have drank a six-pack of cider before indulging in copious amounts of red wine.
The last thing I remember before running into the side of a garage with my face, was feeling dizzy. I didn't expect the situation to get to that point, I will say for the record that I had full intentions of behaving at this party. I didn't cuss anyone out, though I wanted to. I didn't scream at Chris when he threw a glass of white wine at me-and i wanted to. I didn't take out any frustrations on the kid, or even on his ridiculous roommate and his questions.

I did however decide that it was not only a good idea to participate in an impromptu game beer pong, but also substituted the beer for wine. After losing pathetically at wine pong, I decided to take it an extra step.... enter the worst idea ever-flippy cup.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Flip_cup <-- for those of you unfamiliar.

I don't remember trying any fondue, I don't remember any names of the people that I met.
Luckily Chris was there and was able to recall the events. Apparently there were a lot of things that went unnoticed by me.

1) One of the kid's ex girlfriends was there, dressed in red. Evidently Chris thought she was being rude by flipping through a collection of cds and dvds. He accused her of being a thief... nice.

2) When the kid came into the garage to see if was dead, his brother was asking everyone around the fire "Do I really want to know what's going on in there?"

3) I spent a portion of the evening referring to a "little person" as a nugget and Cheuy.

I remember when the kid's dick-head roommate found it appropriate to bust out drinking games at a fondue party,
I remember deciding to hijack the situation, filling cups with red wine.
I remember being in the backyard and feeling dizzy....
The last real memory was stummbling hard to the left and planting my face into the side of a stucco garage, apparently the mixture of rock and glass does NOT make for a soft landing.

waiting for the train.

Standing on the cement platform, anxiously awaiting the coming headlights gliding down seventh avenue.
As the train nears the station, a million little emotions course through my veins.
I feel nervous, calm and ignorant at all once. My palms get sweaty, and cotton mouth sets in.
The thumping of my heart, deafening. My collar starts to feel tighter and it gets a little harder to breathe.
I step back from the yellow line, just as it arrives, and cars full of poems disguised as people rush past my nose.
The doors open, I feel your lips against mine-and the anxiety ceases, you board the train.
How I envy your ignorance, I hear that it's bliss.

thoughts @ 420 part II

I enjoy the smell of fresh cut grass, lilacs and the air right before it starts to rain. This city has been providing me with these sensual aromas for the past few weeks, and for that I am thankful.
I can feel my time here, in this crazy redneck city coming to an end, and I am starting to wonder where I will head next.
Originally the plan was Europe. I started to lose interest when I realized that I would be breathing in one musky smell across the pond that should remain as a memory of being here.
The kid.
Last night was another (mis?) adventure in yum yum delirium, but this time it wasn't my own psychosis on the line.
Sitting directly beside someone who has been dangling the carrot infront of my face for over six months, and hearing the thoughts falling out of his mouth, I started to feel pretty bad for him, not the usual sympathy-this time empathy played a starring role.
I remember a few years ago when I felt completely lost, confused and like I had to man-up in order to be taken seriously.
I crawled out of that shell of an excuse and realized that I had to stop trying to prove myself, and that it was enough to look around at the things that I had in my life already. Once I learned to not take everything for granted, things seemed to be not so stressful.
I hope that I can influence some sort of boost in esteem for this latest victim of post-teenaged angst.

Now that Europe has been temporarily put on back-burner, I am full of possible destinations.
A big part of me wants to go back to Los Angeles, but each time I consider that as an option some beautiful memory creeps up and brings me right back to reality.

I have been stressing out over the most ridiculous things for several weeks, and today I have decided to take my own advice (for once), and stop and take inventory of the things that I actually do have going on for and around me.

Hope my discoveries aren't too terrifying.
Another brick removed from the wall seperating me from the others.

yum yum delirium

I went for a walk the other night. A much needed one at that. I was exhausted, stoned, a little buzzed and all things yum yum delirium. The weekend had provided many an excuse for a break.

Thursday night was the usual at steak palace, I was stoned, and in no mood to be dealing with jackass guests. The usual banter between co-workers and getting another talking to from management regarding my "comments." I have gotten quite used to those "sit downs".
After work I briefly hit the patio, got offered a job at Starbucks. but I wasn't really feeling the vibe, and peaced out to Spaghettiland. Lately I have been wondering a lot about the "friends" in my life. There have been several times where I have been in a room full of them and still felt terribly alone, and I don't think it's depression, but it might be time for me to leave this crazy city.
I drank far too much that night, and before long was out of control. Thankfully I had the kid and Lisa to wrangle me up and get me in a cab.
The next morning I had two ambitions, take some painkillers and find breakfast before getting to work.

Being a complete glutton for punishment I agreed to work the dreaded lunch shift at steak palace. I entered the front doors, and immediately felt dizzy from the transition of the bright sun to the dark and cavelike quarters. I made my best effort to not throw up while serving beer and tequila in my section, but then something happened-something I was not prepared for.
Lindsay Lohan and Britney Spears have made an art of flashing their lady business around Hollywood, and good on them, I guess when you know what you are good at you should do it. Sadly, the same wasn't the case for the lady sitting a table nine. I was turning the corner, feeling dizzy, bracing the weight of the tray of beer and steak knives on my palm and for some unknown reason (aside from God wanting to punish me) I looked over and caught the execution of the Sharon Stone "Indecent Proposal" leg uncross. What I saw was tramuatizing, stomach turning and down right disrespectful- full bush. Seriously, if I had ever questioned my sexuality this was the clincher. Trying to balance myself climbing two stairs, a full tray of drinks, hungover and dry-heaving silently after the sight of that shrouded lady flower was my personal Vietnam at half-past twelve on Friday afternoon.
My last table had finally paid and left and I had only had to endure two hours of punishment before I was meeting Lisa and the kid for lunch at some new restaurant with clipboard -thin plates. "Double Caesar please."

Before long we found ourselves at such a familiar location, we were back at the park. The very place that has seemingly been the set for several very interesting relationships.
Lisa.
It was interesting, sitting in the park and already trying imagine myself remembering that very moment well enough to put it to words. The kid was thumbing through some book and I was writing in my journal. While he was reading an excerpt to me I swore I could smell him as the breeze picked up, as it does when the rain clouds creep over the mountains and the sun begins it's game of hide and seek. I will never be able to recall what he had said to me, it was pronounced perfectly and spoken so softly, yet far too intelligent for me to have understood.

I was wondering if there was a stark difference between a persons "character" and their "true self"?

Part two of my dreaded split shift at the palace kicked off around 5:30, and having decided that I was in the mood to party again I met up with Lisa for a night of drinking the minute I cashed out. Our scottish friend created a drink that would put most if not all alcoholics to shame. This had 12 shots of Vodka, 3 shots of tequila and 2 beers... mixed with a fruity slush and served with 5 straws... after two of these one thing was clear, but I couldn't tell what that was. Insta-shitfaced. Then we smoked three joints and decided to hit the strip club, it was like a night out in Vegas, but there was a serious difference, this was NOT Vegas. The flashing neon lights, palm trees and slot machines had been replaced by a parking lot trolled by the homeless, a hot dog vendor and prostitutes. After overpaying for cover and a beer we sat just behind pervert row and kept the party going. On the way out I noticed that Lisa had indeed made friends with the hotdog vendor, and then a fight broke out. Two beer fueled straight guys were going fist to cuffs on the sidewalk, one had apparently suggested the others girlfriend was a chubby (true) bitchy (true) slut (rightfully assumed). What is it with the breeders and feeling compelled to defend everything with their fists? One of them got taken to the ground mere feet away from me and the sound of meathead hitting the cement was enough to make me want to petition to have bicycle helmets handed out as doorprizes to the guys who win the most prizes from tossing coins at stripper swamp-crotch.
Lisa looked at me, hot dog in hand and we both shuttered.

The next morning (12:30 pm) I woke up, and retrieved the half bottle of Shiraz from the basement and headed down to my mothers for afternoon drinks. Lisa joined a few minutes later, and there we were having beer, wine and vodka for breakfast with my mother, her bestfriend and my grandmother.
By the time we left at 6 I had the game plan of an early evening nap. Lisa, on the other hand had other ambitions. Two hours into my nap I awoke to the choir of mexicans next door laughing their asses off. I went to the window, and just as my eyes started to focus I heard her voice. She was partying with them, and when I called her name she responded "I am in Mexico!"
She came inside and told me that it was very good Tequila and that they were going to be making us homemade salsa and guacamole, what a hunter gatherer.

She took a nap on the couch and I got ready for a moving away party. I have been attending an awful lot of those this year, and I am always secretly jealous of the lucky ones who are dropping a lot, packing up the rest and taking off. The party was actually more fun than I had anticipated, and all was going well until around four in the morning, when Lisa fell.

I came out to the porch and saw Lisa standing by the railing. She leaned back to light her cigarette, and the top part of the railing gave way. She fell eight feet backwards, and landed on cement. I will never be able to put to words how I felt during the next four minutes. I still feel sick thinking about it.

We checked her into the hospital, and after a few days she came home. Something tells me that she will not be a fan of wearing a backbrace for the rest of the summer, but on the other hand, I bet she's thankful that she is able to walk.

I feel so callous about a lot of the things that are spinning around my nervous mind. All of a sudden it turns to being just the feeling of empty. A machine that is programmed to wake up, get on the bus, run errands, go to work, drink and return home.... lather rinse repeat.

Everything seemed like it was on the edge of a rebirth, and that is when I realized that it was just a fluffy variation of change.
(with all due respect to Buddhists, Born Again Christians and anyone who ever bought a Jennifer Lopez album.)

Intervention in the key of Amputation

The whirlwind that was a few weekends ago was a defining moment of "this is your life...." Friday afternoon I was biking back from the liquor store with a 15 pack of beer, a back pack full of flippy cups and eggs, and high expectations. The superhero/villains party went of without a hitch, Unless you consider a naked man, the whore who stole Christmas and a costume flashback a hitch. After spending twenty-five minutes hanging lights in the tree that is growing through the middle of my porch, and gluing my eye shut while applying fake eyelashes, falling down the stairs looking like I was running late for a Kabbalah luncheon with Ashton, Demi and Madonna I realized that I should have probably not smoked that Louisville slugger-sized joint.

Madness kicked off quite late in the evening. In a matter of minutes the familiar scent of marijuana and campfire was filling the air, and I found myself surrounded by both the most important people in my life and some of the most brilliant fillers in the world. Within a few hours, flippy cup had been the activity of the night and Chris came around with Chief Hardbody's vest followed by belt and pants-there was now an instance of indecent exposure at the party. Hilarity had arrived, and debauchery ensued.

Thankfully the cops did not arrive to this house party, it would have been terribly difficult trying to explain to officers why these drunkards were all decked out in superhero/villain costumes.

There have a been all too many foggy flashback nights of tippy train wreck lately, a fact that is sometimes terrifying. There have been several instances in which I have had to not only reminded, but actually informed of things I said or done on the eve before. Most recently was my latest appearance at the gay bar. Apparently after having a "loud conversation" with the kid I suggested that nothing I felt in regards to him mattered anymore because "Oatmeal returns in six weeks and then I am back to part-time." After collecting my jacket from coat-check I participated in a very awkward and inappropriate dialogue with coat-check-girl.
Ryan: "Thank-you lesbian"
Coat Check Girl:"I'm not a lesbian"
Ryan:"Yeah.... yes you are."

Twenty seconds later I had apparently stumbled across someone using words I thought were too big for him to be using in a conversation that I had decided to eavesdrop on. After asking buddy to spell the word to me, the kid quickly (read thankfully), hailed a cab and had us whisked away from what I am sure was a hot mess moment courtesy of a very drunk, stoned, emotionally exhausted text book passive aggressive.

I wrote a letter on Sunday. It was basically my side of a conversation that I had been trying to have for several months now. I admit that I was quite nervous about delivering it, but it felt right. Things between the kid and I had me a nervous wreck, and I had to learn to be objective about myself in order to step back and dissect the situation as is.
I was wrong about one thing though, I thought I had anticipated his reaction, I was wrong.
I thought he would take the chance and run for the hills, I figured he would then have the excuse he was waiting for, I assumed that he was selfish enough to believe that I was destroyed and he had finally won the tug-of-war over control.
Instead, he made several very strong arguments, one very great excuse and charmingly albeit conceited informed me that people usually give him a second chance. Something about him seemed so innocent again, and I remembered the very first time I saw him. I was feeling really good about hearing him out, then I had to go and fuck it up.

6 hours later and I had already downed several hand grenade shooters (consisting of an ounce of mandarin vodka, and ounce of jagermiester and a third of a can of redbull), eight 20 oz pints of beer, a 'warehouse' sized Caesar and half of a joint. Everything was completely fine, I was convinced that I had been over-reacting, I wasn't all that mad at him anymore and I was having a blast. But one by one the bricks of that wall came crashing down, and at the eleventh hour self-control checked out on me. I slammed the cab door, pissed off to have been leaving alone and begin the textually active shock and awe campaign. I said things that I didn't even actually feel and called him nothing but a tease and an illusion.

These are not times for the weak of heart. I find that whenever I feel most vulnerable I turn for the bottle or pipe and try to distract myself with the illusion of being high n drunkin'. It had kept me upright for years, so it must in fact be my crutch. Aside from the financial impact, headaches and hang-overs there are so many things that go wrong when I am on the sauce and herbs.

1) Making contact.
It used to be just a drunk-dialing. Everyone has done it at least once. After a few glasses of courage you get the nerve to call the unlucky and usually sleeping son of a bitch that you feel you have unfinished business with. Liquid courage even gives you the ability to speak 'truths' as you see them, with beer goggles and blood-shot eyes. But now it's so much easier to be a complete jackass, you don't even have to worry about who is going to be answering the phone. Drunk-text, drunk-email and the ever popular drunk-Facebook. Things hit an all time high (or low) for me when I wrote a letter and mailed it while still drunk... hopefully when it arrives to that person in a week they have prepared for the insanity packed envelope. Come to think of it, I should have included a joint to soften the blow.

2) Confrontation.
I am infamous for my love of confrontation, and sometimes I can even come across as sane and intelligent while in the process of debating and stripping down someone in font of an audience-think of the modern day Roman Coliseum. But add several glasses of wine and tact is so far gone that even my echo would not reach it. It has been said that I lack a filter between brain and mouth, at this point in the night it would prove that the vital part missing between my brain and razor sharp tongue is a connection all together.
For instance, the other day I was en route to Steak Palace for a night of steak slinging when out of nowhere I come across another pedestrian in the above ground network of walkways. At this point a normal person would have smiled a hello and continued on their way without affecting either of their days. I, on the other hand, was for some reason immediately distracted by what could have put any fabric encased appendage to shame.
"Lady, I understand that lulu lemon produces really comfortable garments, and it's great that you are obviously leading a very healthy and active lifestyle, but you are packing a wicked camel toe." REALLY? What the fuck was that? Come to think of it, I am surprised that her reaction was along the lines of a 'thanks for the heads-up', that could have ended with me getting my ass kicked by a very athletic looking, pre midlife crisis woman of the recession.

3) Confessions.
What is it about getting hammered that induces truth to spew from my mouth like it's going out of style? Everyone feels really great after they have confessed their sins in the booth at church, but no Catholic mourns their religion has as much as I have had become a complete martyr in many cases by deciding to tell the world a little secret.
When it comes to confessing shit to people, I tend to just open my mouth and let crazy fall out. I have not only taken ownership for evil plans that I have executed against people, but have gone the extra mile and explained them step-by-step to the alleged victim.

I took some time to review the journals, and I think that this is something that I finally understand. Jumping is easy, falling feels like freedom, but eventually you have to land and more likely than not it is going to hurt. Tonight while I was cashing out a friend told me that I need to stop wearing my heart on my sleeve, I pulled out my phone and re-listened to Lisa screeching "Amputaaaaaaaaation".

The full moon had ended again, and finally things are starting to be a little less fuzzy.

Creative Lull in Retrospect

I haven't really felt like writing lately.
That's a lie.
I have been writing, but in a different book, not even my journal. Perhaps my friend is right, and I am on the edge of some crazy realization, maybe I am just not that excited about much right now. In any case, I don't think that I ought to look into it so much. What if I am giving myself a recess from over analyzing every little thing that is going on in my life? What if I am only giving myself a deserved break from it all?
I am sitting in the living room-stoned. I am watching the redhead starlet create a denim gown, Lisa is tucked away, sound asleep in bed, and I am wondering why it is that I have not been writing.
Steak Palace was the usual tonight, annoying guests, managers with a severe lack of aptitude and sense of urgency, and the ever available alcoholic. I feel despondent when it comes to trying to relate to anyone, or anything in my day-to-day life. The other day the kid asked me if I was being quiet because I was "getting over" him? Not going to lie, that was awkward, but what seemed most insincere was my face made of stone barely offering an explanation.
Maybe I was bored, perhaps I was tired, it's possible that I was purgatorying between throwing in the towel and waving it as a white flag.
Alas, this. What started as a forced entry, almost seems invited.

stay tuned.

Rain, Shine or Snow-Play Ball!

It's been rainy and cold around here for several days, and I see the role that the weather has been playing in my most recent emotional roller coaster ride. If only it were that simple to blame the outcome of your day on the weather, aside from being caught in a tsunami or flood I just don't get it.
My mom is always a bitch whenever the pressure changes, in fact, the mere suggestion of a Chinook and this lady goes from saint(ish) to full out she-devil.
Grandma's knees ache when the weather is about to change, she is also an avid yoga-enthusiast, and from my understanding is over the age of sixty.
I on the other hand tend to blame the weather for cancelled picnics, river floats and outdoor concerts.
I wish that the weather could take the blame for all of the anxiety and restlessness in my life, instead I figure that it has to due with the random combination of the following instigators:

1) Occupation: I am a waiter-and yes I know that waiters are always artists of some sort, writers, singers, models, painters and unquestionably all actors. This job provides instant cash in hand, hilarious stories, an appreciation for the entire hospitality industry from cab drivers to strippers and countless opportunities to sell out and smile in the face of ignorance.
If i had a dollar, hell I would take ten percent of the amount, for every time I stood there, grinning like a complete idiot while Mr and Mrs Needy Cheapo patronized me. Initially most servers tend to develop a thick skin, and the ability to fully objectify themselves. Sadly, for most, the inevitable always sets in, " I fucking cannot do this motherfucking job for one more fucking minute." This can be a great if you are in the backstage area, in the walk-in cooler, or outside chain smoking with a friend stuck in the same job. What is going to be the outcome when I can feel this next "episode" about to happen several times per shift while on the floor and guest-side at the table? Strike One.

2) Caffeine: I need it to cure hangovers, snap out of being stoned, wake up, stay up, have the strength to pretend that i am energetic-basically I am in need of this shit to survive. Some people are addicted to Tim Hortons, and lovingly (sickeningly) refer to it as "Timmies" like for some reason this place should seem as familiar a place as a dear friend, or enemy depending on your feelings towards adding "immie" to the poor sob named Kim or Jim. (sorry your parents did that to you.) I, for one like to spread my coffee loving cash around, throw it at starbucks one day, good earth the next, it's all the same to me after I finish adding the raw sugar, honey and milk. The crash from this drug is unlike any other, mood swing, fatigue, loss of concentration-and the worst, headaches. Caffeine is the most threatening of the drugs out there folks, and they are selling it 24 hours a day, on every corner in the city. Another Swing and a Miss.

3) Alcohol, Marijuana, Cigarettes: I lump these three together in the same way my mother used to punish me and my two younger brothers for fear of having to actually figure out who was lying, who had done it and who was probably already the victim of said attack or ploy. I don't want to actually sit back and wonder which one is doing the most damage, as seemingly I love them all, and although at times have abandoned them each momentarily, I was never able to rid myself of all three in the same attempt. Take away my ipod, dvds and cell phone, but for God sakes, leave the joint, red wine and pack of camels with me.... we belong together on a very sick and twisted level. I didn't really accept any kind of blame here with these three, but there are several issues here, lets call this one a near-swing, but it was a ball. "Good eye Champ."

4) Boys. Grrr. If "grrr" didn't read like a prissy faced fifteen year old girl with braces and freckles that just found out that the "love of her life" had already asked Suzie Homewrecker to the spring fling dance at the local community centre. Borderline run-on there, hard for the eyes to focus... I am sorry.
I wish that finding someone to actually develop a relationship with wasn't such a fucking mystery. Just when you think "this is the one", they pull some bullshit stunt that brings you right back. Over the past few months I have had the privilege to have felt insecure, unworthy and confused by several men. I haven't gone and thrown the towel in on finding someone who isn't lacking brains, emotional awareness, or social skills. Why do I feel the need to employ such extremes when it comes to dealing with "problem" relationships with "poison" people? What kind of that process afforded me such unwilling compromise? If it's all just "in my head" why do my hands get weak, stomach turn and heart race? I often wonder if I am just attracted to these people because they are nothing but more exciting conductors for the roller-coaster, it's clearly shift work at the Ryan Amusement Park. Strike Three.
"You'll get 'em next time sport."

Curtain call, take your bow-it's a standing ovation.
Backstage, behind closed doors lie your true motivation.
I was distracted when the opprotunity to enter or exit stage right knocked, and missed my cue.
It was opening night, the critics had arrived, witnessed and published each view.
Depending on what paper you grab it could be a bomb box-office smash. "Predictible, Pathetic, Tragic and Funny but Lame."
I read the captions flipping the page refusing to take blame.
You looked at me- contact now eye to eye
and I starred back trying to figure out who was fueling the lie...
Dialogue distracting from the reality in this mid-spring play.
History says that in this spotlight I should not stay.
Stay where I was excited and ignoring the abounding fear.
Then I remembered that you were a series of characters made up of smoke and mirror.
And while we're at it, lets get back to the script:
intelligent, yes! But defenseless to a witty quip.
Thinking about it, I wonder if this came to you as a blow,
but if i am going to feel alone, I'd rather it in a one man show.
You probably think this is about you, and it was your plot twist to choose.
But I'm the one backstage, pulling the strings and the show's all you kid, I'll withhold my reviews.

It looks like snow outside my window.... thankfully I can sleep in again tomorrow.

Hot Mess Revisited

An evening of enchanted events was in order. I made my way to the birthday party, and two hours, nine beer and several joints later we were boarding a suv-limo enroute to the dueling piano bar.
Between birthday girl's legs that didn't stop in short shorts, both of Paul's most recent lovers being in attendance, and half of steak palace taking over a section of the campiest bar in the city it was no wonder it didn't seem safe for any of us to be up on chairs dancing. By the time the boy showed up I was surprised there had not been any face planting, I was excited about him showing up, but I was also a little apprehensive. It's frustrating because he is so presentable, and knows exactly what to do or say whenever I am considering throwing in the towel.
We ended up leaving just after midnight to go dancing at the gay bar, something I knew would be the changing moment of the night. It was merely minutes before we ran into Signore Composto, I would have thought that the vision of those two meeting would have made me very uncomfortable, but in my loss of concentration and he fact that I had a lot to drink, it didn't seem to bother me.
Throughout the rest of the evening it felt like the tension between the boy and I was abounding. I was trying to think outside of the box, and there I was locking eyes with the bull while waving the red flag. He asked me what the problem was, and it was just like one of those dreams where you try to talk and nothing comes out. I wasn't mad at him, I wasn't even upset really.
I think I am more confused by him than I anyone I have met recently. And therein lay the issue I suppose.
Sometimes it seems that he is intentionally pissing me off, just to prove that he can make me un-mad with a kiss.
I think I am going to go unplugged tonight....it's unusual that I get the house to myself.

I wonder why I've not been writing...

I've grown tired with all of my most recent social experiments. I am sick of always over-thinking, over-reacting and over-doing. I wouldn't hesitate right now to sit back and let someone else do everything for me. Perhaps that is what is in order, first I would surely have to win the lottery or rob a bank.... the choices are endless.
I suppose that this burn out was an obvious outcome, I was rushing around both starting and putting out fires shamelessly, and it took a little time to discover that I was the one responsible for the shitty outcome.
I am growing tired of working at Steak Palace, I don't feel that I am working towards anything there, well anything aside from money to turn around and drink.
There has been countless sleepless nights over the past few months, and I have to remember that it was me who made all of these decisions.
So once again, it's time for some other reinvention. This journey is in desperate need of something fresh.
Stay tuned.

TGIF

Spent the day napping after lunch with the ladies from the magazine. At around two in the afternoon I felt exhausted. It's really no wonder, this week has been a busy one, but not the usual brand of working like a dog, I managed to only put myself through 5 hours of Steak Palace torture this week, and used the free time to subject myself to another blend of punishment-unrequitedness.
True to form I would be busy reflecting on the conversations and pointing fingers, but this time I can only point the finger and the boy in the mirror. It's funny to see how one night out out can change everything. If I was investing in a fantasy, it would be safe to say that I reached my limit.
I often wonder how I wind up in these crazy situations, and have come to the conclusion that I have a severe penchant for the drama. I tend to seek out the absolute worst idea, and lock my radar on it, sometimes the battle plan is well planned and executed, other times it's a variant kamikaze attack.
It would be best for me to step back and observe this current situation objectively, that being said I rarely do what is best for me.
This weekend, I am ordering a quiet one, and hopefully in the process I will be able to re-focus, and perhaps find the way to be a little more selfish.

A Reason to Stay Inside

Awaking to the sound of rain hitting the roof is one of the most calming starts to day I can think of. If only I had a maid to clean up the empty bottles, a butler to bring me a dark roast coffee and croissant, and a hot tub I would be set.
Laziness has struck today, and I can finally putter around the house sans the guilt of not running errands. I decided to give away my shift tonight, in favour of meeting up with the Kid, encore une fois.
I have already called my hometown to send birthday greetings to a great friend, and decided that I did indeed have my cut my hair a little too short yesterday.
After several beer after work, Sara-Jane and I decided to crash Karaoke at the gay bar-we should have known better.
I ended up meeting a pretty cool guy, but just when I thought "I will keep him in my harem," I noticed the teeth-grinding, forehead sweat and eyes on high alert. Either I was sitting across from Whitney Houston or this guy was a not-so-rookie rail runner,
Sadly, Clive Davis was nowhere to be seen, so this guy was indeed in hailing his thrills through twenty-dollar bills.
I had made up my mind that this was going nowhere, naturally I realize where he was obtaining said thrill.
Out of the corner of my eye I noticed a slightly familiar face, the ex of Signore.
Drug dealers I can tolerate, they have and continue to provide me with delicious smokeables, and the random night of mushroom teaing. They aren't trying to be your friend, they are simply providing you with what you want, one stop show, wham bam thank you dealer.
Drug Pushers, on the other hand, are complete trash.
From the way they dress, their random trips to the washroom and ABM, and their compulsive need to be in the centre of the room they are easy to spot. This time was no different. The dirt-bag is filtering around the small crowd and enticing everyone to "elevate their consciousness." Later I learned that this douche is not just an abusive psycho, but he takes the cake as best in shit-show by getting all the boys hooked on drugs and back to his place into his supposedly very comfortable bed.
After downing a few more barley pops, and a lemon drop shot, I grabbed the Kiwi SJ and we were off, once again I was leaving a situation I was both uncomfortable and all-knowing of, with a beautiful girl on my side.
This morning the beautiful roommates were rushing around heading out for the day, as I brewed a cup of coffee, swung open the patio door listened to the falling rain and decided to hold the fort and marinate today.

The Stock Exchange.

I think that I am really starting to appreciate being single. After much consideration, I find myself somewhat ashamed of my serial dating, there were some really great times, but to be honest, I started to feel a little left out.
I hung out with the boy yesterday. And I saw myself getting caught up in the young delirium. I swear that sometimes there is poetry in our dialogue. The problem with poetry is that it can be misinterpreted, reinterpreted and sometimes just not understood. And while I was on cloud nine, I still managed to maintain my composure. It's not that I am terribly concerned with a future with the kid, but I am starting to get a little worried about his perception of himself, his self esteem puts me to shame.
After listening him go on for over an hour about each girl that was head over heels for him, I had to wonder "Do you not know how I feel?" The black fact is that I at that particular time also had no idea how I felt.
Of all the boys, I decided to focus just on one, and maybe this time it is me.
The warning signs were everywhere for the past two months, and I think I chose to ignore them even though I was recognizing each and every one. I thought that things would be different in May, and I was right.
It may be a really great time to score some deals and invest in the stock market, but in the dividends and stocks of relationships, the recession is just about to hit.

Monday....

There is something a little unnerving about Monday.
It's the first day you can use to fuck over your week, but oh so much more.

The Re-heat of Signore Composto

I was done. I had resolved to not put myself back in that situation ever again-two bottles of wine and a shot of espresso vodka later and there I was willingly climbing into the taxi enroute to a very poor decision.
It wasn't that I was mad that he had called me on my shit, hell I awoke that morning to a never-ending text message from the girl from Brandon letting me know all about how horrible I can act sometimes. It had little to do with the fact that he told me about some "date" he was supposed to be on instead of being with me, or the way he punishes me and then shrugs. My problem was that I didn't know how to feel, and he was not about to help me clear the clouds in my brain.
For the record, I knew exactly what was going on, and though he may never admit it, I was by far the less-drunk one.
When I awoke beside him this morning, it felt different, it felt like waking up beside a friend, and not someone that I was remotely romantically interested in. I could hear my heart and soul let out a sigh, for now the reheat could be frozen and shelved among the other supposed lovers, as a friend.

The miscarriage at six months

Tragedy struck at around noon on Saturday.
Sitting in my room, pleased with myself for finally taking the time to back-up the contents of my hard drive. All of a sudden the screen turns blue and after trying to repair the startup menu my laptop informs me that I have no system-restore dates. I sighed, and closed the screen, and hoped that the problem would fix itself-it didn't.
After taking the piece of shit to the Geek Squad I was informed that there had been a manufacturer's malfunction, causing my hard-drive to die. Essentially I was pissed off that I had lost all of my pictures, music and work I had done for the magazine-then it hit me, like a solid punch to the jaw, the book was gone.
I had spent six months writing, and it was suddenly all gone. The geek told me that he could "attempt" to find the document-for a nominal fee of $1500.00.
Today I have hi-jacked the redhead's computer, and with all of the things I currently have to write about, I somehow feel reluctant.

The Garden of Temptation

Climbing trees in the Garden of Eden, reaching heights and having visions so far gone that the experience immediately resembled a scenario that of a dream. A dream so sweet, you hold there, precious about the moment laced in sugar. After which, you wake up, french kiss the morning, with a smoker’s cough and a smile. Finally finding solitude in the fact that you somehow managed to fall asleep the night before. Still perched up in the tree, being cradled by the same branches bearing the forbidden fruit, tempting juicy and sweet. Keeping six for any sign of that snake... slightly anxious, yet still enough not to re awake. Unsure of the gravity in this predicament, you remain still, still aside from the rise and fall of your trembling ribcage as you shudder out each breath. Recalling the half crazy antics that didn’t seem to really matter anymore. No pearly gates, or smell of sulfur.... it’s purgatory...

and I’ve changed my look, changed my mind. Acted cruelly, forced myself to be kind. With many a trick tucked up my sleeve, I continue to tempt both Adam and Eve.