here’s me with my one true blackest of black friends. tyranny. he’s a mouthpiece that’s fo’sho. he be my pill poppin’ buddy. he’s more white trash than i. and no we don’t do it.

the nice special people who make donations to me please gimme yer email address so i can send you thank you mails. but if you’d rather be annonymous i understand. i love you.

i feel like i’ve lost touch with civilization. the world outside the drapes is right-mean. i only understand movies i’ve seen no less than eight years ago. there are minimal rules and structure in my life. no cigarettes before 7pm unless i’m pulling an all-nighter which means 7pm equals the beginning of the end and people should be eating breakfast. don’t work more than two days in a row for more than three hours at a time. make sure the cat does not eat the weed. always remember to send panic-stricken, meaningless text messages to all acquaintances and friends once you recognize it is one in the afternoon and people are on their lunchbreaks, wearing ties, sitting at office desks and you’re trying to pay attention to 4 minutes of B A R A K A without bleeding from the veins in your eyeballs. coming to the conclusion that finite math, trigonometry, calculus and algebrae (brae!?) will only bring copious amounts of stress into my life therefore spending as little time as conceivably possible, thinking of such things is probably a great idea and might just be suitable for first place on my list of rules to keep.

wow that last sentence tired me out.

someone please tell me what to do/where to go for New year’s Eve.

PS – thanks GR for the donation. now i can buy rainbow striped socks and a nickel bag. yes!

i want to buy a house so u have to give me money. i have had this blogthing for over 3 years now and i have not ever asked you of anything so now i am asking for it so gimme it please. meow meow. well really its for my minxraymi store but that wont be up for another week or two but in the meantime you can pay for my lunches. i love you.

fuck you.

yah i’ve been pretty impressed with the amount of things i’ve somewhat, um, been accomplishing despite the tiny sum of sleep hours pulling in. please disregard all errors of syntax and uhhh, run-on sentences.

that is all.

oh jesus that was pretty pathetic.

let me try again.

thank you for all the positive support and/or praise and patience with my not returning phonecalls, emails and ignorant comebacks. the lightbulb in my kitchen exploded and i found out when i stepped in to grab a cd and a hat and a copy of my book and then i left. i am avoiding my own space. it feels like i am either gaining or losing days and my words no longer make any sense and i sometimes find myself growing tired of my own voice but then i realise i haven’t been talking for very long.

i know that i am a big fan of self-medicating, it seems.

i have not hit rock bottom.


that is how i feel today

a truck ran over my body

i just want to hide from everyone today and their miserable problems and goals which do not pertain to me

i don’t trust you and i question your motives

and if i burn this bridge

look at me and look at how much i care

oh and guess who is tenth on the list when you search for compulsive zit popping ?

You know what? people hate me. they do. they fucking hate me and i hate them right back. well, sometimes i’ll pussyfoot around by saying, “yah well, they aren’t giving me the benefit of the doubt, they have a suburban mindset, they watch too much wrestling…” no. i hate them. i’m pretty fucking tired of trying to justify my cause to everyone so i’ve decided to stop. if you’re too stupid to see the irony in the things i write about along with the pictures i post then just get lost. i’m not trying to manipulate you and i don’t expect to rise to stardom by having pervs pull their dinks to my photos. yes i am rude. yes i am offensive. yes i will insult you within three minutes having met you and your boring friends, but i won’t do it purposely. well maybe sometimes. i’m not a wacky 19 year old who wears a big ironic tie over my tank top and big skate shoes and i don’t say big controversial things to get a rise out of you.

i just say what i think, when i think it, all the time. and i won’t lie to you.

i don’t care about your shoes or your friend’s band and i probably don’t read your website anymore. i don’t see the importance of reading the newspaper or watching the news or paying attention to politics. i will not commit myself to seeking out independent music groups and paying attention to trends. if i wear something that might appear to be “trendy” i’ve most likely been wearing it for awhile or it was a gift.

i make racial slurs, i take my clothes off and i’ll pull faces at you behind your back if you’re a cunt to me.

i am financially independent and have been since i was fifteen. this means, i pay for my own bills and rent and food and cabs and everything. i don’t even have a fucking credit card. when something gets stolen i replace it. no matter how expensive.

and i do not blame my actions on depression. ever. i’ve only ever admitted to the possibility of being a “depressed person” as of one year ago and it feels weird. so ridiculously weird that to this day i make up excuses for myself and my actions, anything but oh yah, maybe i did that ’cause i’m hypo-manic and i don’t care anymore.

i was ashamed of being sad.

i was ashamed of being paralyzed on my bedroom floor listening, to NIRVANA tapes for three years.

i didn’t travel around the world just to come back to this city and be faced with high school dramas.

i graduated a year ahead of everyone else to get away from everyone else. i was a valedictorian, i studied dance for ten years, i was a cheerleader, i got 30 year olds to take me seriously, i studied journalism at both Oxford and Imperial College in London at the age of seventeen, i was the sole office support, assistant to the editor and manager of the circulation’s department of a very well-known women’s publication for 7 months also at the age of seventeen and then i said fuck you to everyone and flew to cunty New York City to bartend and kind of intern for a soon-to-be selling out magazine and then i lived in buttfuck New England and had a radio show and then after realising i am crazily depressed i flew back to the ‘burbs, slaved for two months and saved money admist a pretty nasty (and still going on) separation between my parents and moved myself to Toronto in-where i have convinced, with my smartyness of course, a moneybags to help fund my retardo projects all the while battling this stumbling block of what you call “depression.” i have one-hundred pages of a book i keep staring at and wonder, “will people really like this?” and everyday i get closer and closer to being twenty years old and i think if this isn’t published by the time i am twenty, no one will care.

i have earned my seat at the fucking table. what have you ever done?

i really don’t care for this little scene of followers. i learned all about that in grade 6. people pay too close attention to gossip in these parts. have you ever met me? have you ever heard me speak?


christmas is gay. but thanks anyway.

ps – to those snickering at my recent drugging incident, it’s not a matter to be taken so lightly, despite my own indifference. yes, it’s pretty fitting that some little hussy who boasts of being naked a lot and even posts saucy pictures of such nekkedness, have her drink tainted and become so looped that she may possbily be taken advantage of. i’ll have you know, i was in a kitchen and i was with people i did not know and for whom did not know me and/or anything to do with being raymitheminx and a big whore. i was wearing dirtbaggy, regular clothes and i was not drunk and i was not in any way, “sexy” so therefore, i was not “asking for it.”

that is all for now.

Dear Douglas Coupland

Hey, i was kind of excited that we decided to not do coke ’til 5 in the morning but you know, it’s now a quarter to howling hour and here i am. up. but not doing coke. only did a tiny tiny bit. i am very annoyed at the hospital for fucking up my drug screening and telling me to come back and pee in a cup again but you know, i think the drug is out of my system for good now so there is no point. i will have to take the law into my own hands. the hospital woman was a cunty whore and in fact, they were all very unhelpful to my cause seeing as i was not bleeding from my ears. i could hear people crying and crapping their guts out and all of them were vomitting hysterically. i was passing notes under the door to my friends in the waiting area and i felt like i was going to be arrested or sent to detention by the mean hospital woman. she kept blowing up and saying, “now LISTEN TO ME CAN I TALK CAN I TALK!??!” and i was not even saying more than three words and then i said, “Yah well i think i’m being pretty calm about this whole thing despite circumstances” and she just looked at me and then this other nurse was all nice and helpful and tended to me immediately and i felt like biting my fucking thumb to that hospital woman but i didn’t because i am a mature young lady. i am.

wow i am listening to NIRVANA’sTourette’s and it makes me want to take a big wicker chair that you find in community centres and smash it into a window.


sorry i just up and left but some dickhead at your party

DRUGGED my vodka n gatorade

because i couldnt walk straight or talk

you remember when i said to you

i am so drunk and scared and i can’t walk?

it was so weird

good thing i left when i did

some pervotron had plaaaans

and im trying to think of whom

i was up vomitting my soul out

til 6 in the fucking morning

and i passed out for a few hours in a

crouch-position on the bathroom floor, snoring

it was one of those dinks in the kitchen

no doubt

i would be so annoyed if i got raped last nite

i mean

i had a beer and not even all of the vodka n gatorade

and a splash of sake

before i came how can i go from

zero to concussed-to-fuck

from that little boooooze

i have a pretty high tolerance

someone will pay for this

ps – the ironic part is

i went out with the intention of

getting laid

was totally unnecessary for someone to drug me


k bye



the contractors are dopes. they put the tap thing on backwards so hot is cold and cold is hot and i haven’t showered still and i plan on going to this big party full of bankers and investors and people with expensive jackets and i am nervous ’cause i won’t know anyone, i’m going alone and i’ll be wearing dirty jeans and shoes and have aids-hair and i’ll probably be all loaded and say dumb shit. i wish i had an extra tape for my camera. hmmm. hmmm. i don’t think there is any place for me to obtain a tape right now. oh well. there’ll be more yuppie parties to attend in the future.

11 45pm i am now polishing off my bottle of sake and changing my shirt and then going to this fucking party dammit and im getting laid tonite by a stranger!

Laura is getting a house at the nigger beach!

Dear you

played RISK ’til 5 in the morning. my eyes were buuurning. such a heated game. such geeks. even had RISK-type army battle marching music blaring to make things more tense. i was going to quit at least ten times. everyone was accusing me of cheating and being wrong. everyone spoke over everyone else and 2 of the 4 players were drunk and stoned beyond belief. do you think i was one of these two? um hello?

i didn’t lose and i didn’t win. i lasted the entire game, i stabbed people in the back, made pacts, broke them on and on. i don’t think i can play that game for another 6 months. it will give me cancer.

not worth it.

i have a nerd working on because soon you will be able to buy stuff off it. like my drapes and my pieces of paper with scribbles on ‘em and nail polish remover.

people came over and gutted my downstairs bathroom so it no longer looks like aids is smeared all over the place from crackwhores washing themselves. it looks beautiful and i can’t wait to get hair-dye stains all over the white tiles. yes yes.

i’m going to get loaded and embarrass myself on that matchmaker show, toronto styles. i’ll get to ride around in a limo and have a friend an the fucking dork-host critique the whole blind date. yay!

fuckin’ YAH! i am listening to incesticide and it is beautiful. this brings me back to my bedroom in mississauga, comatose on my bedroom floor, fantasizing about finding kurt cobain in the woods, alive, and being his girlfriend. nice. loving and worshipping NIRVANA from grade 4 – grade 7 was so important to me and my older brother and his friends. it was like a contest who could learn more information about everything and anything for example, Kurt Cobain was 5′ 7 and 125 lbs up until the day he shot himself and he took ritalin and had chronic back pain from leaning way over his guitar from being left-handed and he got punched by his own security guard once and Bleach was recorded for 608 dollars etc etc…i was so fucking sad and couldn’t eat when that dude perished and i never smiled in fotos and i wore bad grunge clothes and everyone thought i was going to kill myself and my older brother and his friends called me a follower and a poser for liking NIRVANA. i bought all the tapes with the money i made from selling all my crappy toys at our garage sale when i was in grade 4. yes yes.

December 4th, 1994. CHRISTMAS DAY! 8:09am

This is torture! There are about 100 presents downstairs that are for me! And my brother and I aren’t allowed to go downstairs until 11:00am. I think i’ll put my clock an hour ahead! or I might just sneak downstairs. I’ll write back later when I’m finished opening presents! Bye! Merry Christmas!

Boxing Day 1:01pm – my room

This is what I got for Christmas: Nirvana Unplugged, Live in NYC, a cd player, eight hole (blue) Doc Martens, Beavis&Butthead game for Super Nintendo, Nitemare before Xmas VHS, Scattergories and other stuff.