hey raymi/lauren,

How do you write so poetically and heartfelt? I think you should write a blog or a book even on how you write better than jack kerouac. really. ive started his ‘on the road’ since you posted your old essay about it, and when i read it i think raymi does it better.

i want to be like you and write like you and look like you and

anyway.

maybe because i am modern day and a girl and aware of my drunkenry and

mania and because i am so lippy and sharp it gets others around me

going so then i have a lot of material to work with. one of my fave

writers is douglas coupland, he speaks honestly and i find his stuff

very amusing because it is simple and makes you go DAMN i know EXACTLY

what he is talking about. if u just relate everything you know or ever

experienced in life and then write it in a way so people are like wow

what a genius how does she know this, they begin to think that u are a

genius but really u are just writing about something u experienced

once. use humour too. i dont want to teach the world how to write

like me, only certain nice people who make a point to email and ask.

everyone has their own writing voice. mine comes from pain and

depression and cynicism, thats how i look at the world and i feel bad

about being negative so i put a spin on things by way of humour and

then everyone is like oh ok that’s funny, so it’s ok.

I don’t really know of any parties yet this Christmas. Not on the scale of the ones I threw at my old place. I live in a swank loft on Richmond now that’s too damn small for a party. They have a party Room in my building but I think that’s really, really gay.

And no more coke buffets either. I think I was one of the last hold outs….

but I’ll keep you posted if I hear anything

yeh those party rooms in loft buildings are totally gay and corny and

thats why theyre a hit because it’s like you rented out the community

centre in your co-op and everyone has to whisper and the lights go off

by 1am so you are not allowed to have a sleepover party

paxil never bothered me at all, barely knew i was taking it, that I guess is

the point with that type of shit, strange as this may sound over 1000 live

shows and the whole band was always sober while playing, with the exception

of a communal type 1 shot of booze thing right before we went on.

drink never solved a whole lotta anything for me either butt it never hurts

to see if one last time it will.

I just had a weird flash of something like Burroughs, Kerouacs’ friendship

obvious reason for you not as much for me, I met Bill in Kansas while

Ministry was hanging out doing video’s and such, he had such great old junky

wisdom, I was only about 20 or so and he kept telling me what an old soul I

was, totally blew me away.

non sequitor do you miss hockey? it’s fucking killing me not to be able to

see a game.

yeh i miss hockey

i am tired of hearing about football/basketball

i cant even deal with sexyness anymore

> What book/s are you reading currently?

currently i am not really reading any books. everytime i take a bath i try and re-read this one book but i end up just lying there with the cat looking at me and i am thinking about the futility of bathing because the not smellyness lasts for only so long.

> Apples or bananas?

both

> DO you have brothers/sisters?

older brother, 1 of.

> Did you ever fry ants or burn holes in stuff with a magnifying glass when

> you were a kid?

no we didnt have a magnifying glass hanging around. only at my grandparents there was one but we were too excited to bother with it for more than 3 seconds, we were too busy running around the yard in circles throwing tennis balls at each other’s faces.

> Do you speak fluent French?

i can read and comprehend it well enough and if i am around french speakers i pick it up quickly and so yeh i can speak it i guess

> Hows Blythe – Does she have many clothes?

blythe is wonderful and snobby and beautiful and she has lost total respect for me now that i have blond hair.

1051am also get it.

fil wonders what in the hell aimee and raymi are planning for his retardedly important birthday. notice how he is trying to see through time. pfft.

raymi practises wearing winter clothing with her backpack on and also gets plenty of stretches in there because the forecast is calling for lazy drunken assholeness and she is like, fil get the fuck out of here we have to get busy, aimee and me.

so fil left

and put on the stupidest not-cool at all hat that he could find. go fil!

aimee and raymi met up to uh, discuss, uhh, fil?

and then raymi took some dancing lessons and totally discussed preparations for fil the entire time.

fil is extremely occupied but still obsessing over how nice and thoughtful aimee and raymi are and he considers a total random act of kindness for them like maybe a unicorn and a rainbow and a trip to disneyworld because he is spoiled with all this attention all the time

gee i wonder what they are doing, for reals.

casual labour and contract espionage, basically

el cid telepathically begs fil to come back before he shoots laserbeams out of his eyes at aimeeraymi

fil begins to have doubts about aimeeraymi giving a fuck at all about him and his birthday

doesn’t anybody care? anyone, at all?

fil is turning three-hundred on friday and i am trying to convince patrick to have a big yuppie party that we all can show up at after the em haines thing. i figure a party will cheer everybody up. patrick and his young thing gone done broke up. i tole him we won’t be able to show up ’til maybe 1 30 or two or so in the morning. i know that it is last minute and selfish to ask of a yuppie party but that’s how things work these days when everyone is miserable and drinking a lot and it is cold out and we all hate ourselves and pretend that our lives aren’t awful, i guess.

anyhow, right now we are waiting for markus to finish up in the tanning salon so we can meet him for a beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeer or two. i know, markus + tanning salon = sounds faggy. markus is going to someplace hot for two weeks with his girlfriend so he is getting a jumpstart on the shit i guess. markus had his picture in the townie hoity-toity paper what comes out and brags about local businesses and other fancy yuppie shit and we like to look at it a lot and make fun of it a lot because it goes into great detail about his hair and how it was cut and then about his clothes which we know he only got to borrow and it’s pretty classist the whole crap altogether but so what, i’d’ve done it if i had my own shoppe though the expression on my face would have been a lot cooler.

anyway.

all i really wanted to do was post that picture i drew and then i started writing about fil’s birthday which turned into making fun of markus and now i feel bad.

but not really.

funniest thing i saw today from here.

right after the sexiest thing i read today from here.

holy shit! no wonder blondes are dumb. there is only time to think about your fucking hair when you are blonde, i swear! it’s ridiculous. making it straight and keeping it not-big, as in, frizzy crackly dry is ruining my life and i have to think about it a lot and then when i see other blondes with their nice hair ends and then look at my hair ends i feel like a big lazy hippie and i want to hide in a library forever and make myself a pair of spectacles out of multi-coloured pipe cleaners and then i am looking at all the pictures of me with long black hair and it makes me hate myself, just a little bit. and i am still not use to walking around with this obnoxious hair, i want to hide it with hats and stupid ponytails and then when i go to all the trouble of making it nice and sleek and straight and i go out and take off my hat and NOBODY CARES OR SAYS ANYTHING AT ALL ABOUT IT I WANT TO KICK OUT A WINDOW AND SMASH THINGS BECAUSE HELLO MY HAIR IS A WHOLE OTHER COLOUR NOW AND IT WAS EXPENSIVE SO FUCKING ACKNOWLEDGE IT AND KISS IT YOU MOTHERFUCKERS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

anyway.

blonde hair = my new enemy = it’s too late to turn back now = something new to complain about = awesome

the following is a tale sent to me from my nice ladyfriend in England where she says in her town everybody knows everybody so i am not allowed to say exactly where, not until she moves away from it i guess, if ever, that is when you are allowed to s-talk everybody.

OK.. something sorta funny and or dark.. thats a toughie but after having

gone for a poo and read the backs of all the shampoo bottles nearby for

inspiration I can only offer this story which begins with the weirdos who

lived in the bungalow next to my house when I was a kid.

From the very start they werent right because they lived in a bungalow which

was set in the middle of a row of terraced houses so it was like a whole

bunch of terraces had been removed and an oddball bungalow stuck in the

middle. So they had a grumpy fat son and a grumpy fat daughter who never

spoke but she used to go out wearing a pair of bright pink stilletto heels

and a black jacket which I always thought was the height of fashion and I

wasnt allowed to have that kind of stuff so I just stayed in my room all the

time trying to dress like Madonna a la Material Girl stylee and Id peep thru

the gap in my bedroom curtains and watch the grumpy daughter walk down the

road every day wearing those shoes I wanted. The grumpy parents of the son

and daughter never spoke to my family not even if we were standing in our

front garden. The dad drove an ugly brown Citroen car which he parked in the

driveway and he always shut the gates behind it and the lock on the gates

made a little arc shaped groove in the cement on the driveway where it had

opened and closed so many times. They always shut the gates because they had

a dog which was a labrador – a black one. I dont know that dogs name to this

day but guess what – yep – it was grumpy but I loved dogs so in my

estimation it was the best of a bad lot… a rose between a bunch of

thorns.Out of the blue the grumpy mother waddled up to the fence between our

gardens one day as my mum was trying to find the front door key and she

asked if we would look after the dog while they went on holiday. My mum said

ok and when we got inside the house she launched into disbelief that the

rude bitch had the balls to never talk to us and then ask for a favour as

large as that and I remember a whole load of kiwi fruits fell out of a tear

in the bag of shopping mum was holding in the hallway and she said ‘shit’.

The fat grumpy lot all went on holiday and left us with the door key and on

the first day I went round their house. Thru the first black wrought iron

gate and the second and to the back door where once I opened the door I was

confronted with a pissed off black Lab dog growling at me. I liked dogs and

I didnt like to see him upset so I filled his bowl up with food and then

looked around the kitchen to see what stuff they had. I remember the kitchen

was green and the floor had brown tiles. The dog didnt want its food so I

took it for a walk and when I brought it home it snarled at me when I took

the lead off its collar. Just as I was going to leave I gave the pissed off

dog a hug and that is when it snapped and tore a hole in my face near my

mouth.

And that is when my mum came running over to see where I had been and she

saw blood down the front of my favourite white t-shirt with a whale on it.

So she grabbed the nearby garden pitchfork and jabbed it at the dog to get

it in the house and ushered me back to our house.

I looked in the mirror in the bathroom and saw the hole in my face and stuck

my tongue through it. A drip of blood landed on the corner of the small rug

which also had a whale on it. My family liked whales.

Several weeks after the incident I had the stitches removed and ended up

with a giant scab which I was itching to pick. My mum threatened me with

death if I picked it because it would scar my face. My finger nail scraped

nervously at the edge of the scab day and night, slowly flaking tiny pieces

of the edge of it away… making sure never to make it bleed.But I couldnt

stand it.

I took my bike across to the pavement on the other side of the road because

it was smoother over there. One of the neighbourhood kids was in her front

garden and saw me riding up and down. She didnt like me on her side of the

street so I rode up and down more, making her angry. She kept telling me to

go on my side of the street but I taunted her. And thats when she went off

and came back with a really big branch from a tree and dangled it over the

fence to knock me off my bike.

She didnt succeed but with some quick thinking I dropped my bike and grabbed

my face yelling “OWWwwwweeee” and I ran like the clappers to my bedroom and

took great delight in ripping that big ass scab off my face…. and stood in

horror as the hole opened up again…

and then lied my ass off to my mum when she screamed at me!

“it was Sarahs fault!” I shrieked.

Sarah got the ass beating of her life and I rode up and down that side of

the road alllll week while she watched from the window of her room where she

was grounded.