got bed. got a christmas tree and a bunch of cool black decorations and other shit too. dave’s sister and mom are comin’round for a week from pei it’s his turn to host so it’s christmas big time over here right now. also we’re the only house on the street that doesn’t have lights up so we totally stand out like the yuppies next door to the griswalds ‘cept we’re total slobs instead of snobs. ok maybe total snobs too. there’s a moose in the basement with lights all over it we’re gonna pitch it in the front yard right after we trash the neighbour kids’ hockey net.
would you pay $15 for this piece of shit? shoeless joes i have a reckoning with you.
goat cheese sirloin actually the menu proclaims it as this: Top sirloin on mixed greens, onions, tomatoes, carrots, roasted peppers and garlic croutons with balsamic vinaigrette dressing.
iceberg lettuce does not classify as “mixed greens” unless you meant mixed greens a fucking big mac wouldn’t want anything to do with. we were so angry we ate barely a tenth of it. the huge useless ox of a manager only came over once the waitress saw me taking pictures. the waitress was like is there something wrong with it? um no not really, other than a standard thing. no we don’t want anything else thanks. then the red satin (is not your friend honey) manager comes over excuse me is there anything else you want? no nothing we’re fine thanks (feel like spewing actually) then she inquires what’s wrong? oh ok let me tell you. this is a shitty salad. moreover, this is a shitty fifteen dollar salad. and iceberg lettuce? come on. outrageous.
so they took it off the bill. i wasn’t rude other than being diplomatic. the scene aside from the typical chain resto fare was a huge buzzkill, everything else was just icing on the shit pile and seeing the lazy (reeking of self-entitlement) manager stand around gabbin’ away to other lazy employees while we sat with our huge bowl of garbage (that for less than 15 dollars i could whip up a salad ten times better than) was like that’s it! enough! tired of sub-par standards i don’t care if i’m in the ghetto, get it together.
we were going to let it slide but were both super angry under the surface and then when dave goes i’m going to mcdonald’s after this the pissed off boiled over. that’s another push-pin in raymi’s eating tour map of burlington.
ps. every waitress here and i don’t care if this can (will) be classified as a generalization or not but virtually every single female server we have ever come into contact with plys on the flirty big time. so ostentatious. and i never use that word. then i show up and they’re all deflated. oh. paha.
yesterday was such a clumsy day. cut myself TWICE in practically the same spot while cutting calabrese sausage. see: bandaid.
then when trying on this sweater at mark’s work warehouse walking from the mirror, catwalking rather, back to my jacket, a piece of wool thread snagged looped onto a store rack which comically strangled my entire body lurching me like a motherfucker.
amish thermal pants. i felt like i was wearing pantaloons last nite. i said as much. the small is bulky on me by the way my hips are not shaped like a pumpkin.
keepin’ it burbin’.
“do not use as sunglasses”
THIS FRIDAY JUST GOT CRAY-ZAY!
oh yeah and the bed broke too so um, yeah. needs replacin’ goin’ to ikeeuh for this sucker.
cousin gave me these. three of them. from soho. they can be hung.
i almost want the bruise to appear now. in writing it down i dunno it’s like i am a fucking wizard and i so know what that crack on the arm is gonna lead to whereas every other bruise that appears, not a clue. ever. so far though, no bruise. lame.
oh and mcd’s almost made me ralph last nite (thank god for pepto pills) so won’t be doing that again. i still feel like shit. i made a video about how i have no indigestion, or remorse, i don’t feel fat and so on guess there’s no point in posting it. next stop, burger king.
i’ve had zero nutritional intake o’re the last three days, unless you count kidney beans in chili dip covered in cheese thicker than house insulation. therefore nothing is sticking to my body. skeleton party yeah!
what else do you want to talk about i had other non-important things uuuuuuum. friday already you don’t say eh? what’s going on this weekend?
three yearsish of no mc’d’s down the drain all for you! no not for me. ok maybe a little. gotta say, don’t see what the big ethical deal was. i mean this’ll surely be the first generation ever that will definitely not evolve to outlive their own parent’s generation (despicable really)(and truly fucked) not to mention how equally evil blah blah blah the man fast food wal*mart etc yawn snore. so here i am what’s the big dealing everything these days. JOIN ME!
ok so J maudlin (guy who beats my mom for longest most preachy comments even) inquired/posed the following:
If you write non fiction, and the subject of your writing is, for the most part, you, and you become the “product” (in a way…) that you are marketing, and if part of what you write about is your wild child free spirited explorations of life, including the dope and booze, and if your readers become sort of attached to that “story”, well, you see where I am going with this.
Therefore, may I humbly suggest you experiment with some fiction writing. In this way you can protect yourself, sort of thing. Thanks for letting me park my comment here. My hands are still cold, but I think my heart is marginally warmer…
Buuuuuttttttt, what I really wanted to know was about writing: fiction vs non fiction, making ourselves the character (autobiography) as compared with creating characters that, of course, are attached to who we are. It’s the writing, Raymi, that has legs. By the way…no need to put this up on comments, right? I don’t want to stir up the shit, I just want to be a bone head keyboard cyber tapper killing the time, normal style, trying to relate.
i know that i made myself a product here (so to speak) more or less. it’s the raymi show, we get it. so given that, am i allowed to be annoyed when 50 people tell me what to do everyday? within this little (big) sharing circle i’ve created, it’s a toughie, double-edged (whatever metaphor you feel most comfortable with) thing yes? because this isn’t a link-dump blog i don’t drop articles and then we all discuss them. i write about myself and show my life via photos instead, and that is the subject we all discuss. me. yet i’m not a celebrity (debatable) website either, meaning, i wasn’t famous before this blog so therefore require an internet domain to keep with the times. i am the times. oh god look at the pretentious turn this just took.
i can’t write fiction for shit. every single story i write ends up being about a fucked up depressed girl in pilgrim dresses. or some slut. or something drug-related. something about something that happened to me once. i don’t know how to do anything else, basically. admittedly. my only skill is relationships, feelings, emotions. people. my big mouth. everything that comes with people. stupid advice. every single up to the minute thought i have is my skill. burden. one ryerson student during my talk asked what’s next, why fame, famous for what? being famous? why the drive to be famous, just to be famous? i talked about my book which i can’t (or shouldn’t, rather) discuss here but she definitely got me thinking. a little defensive too. is there a point to fame? why do i want it? why did i want it more like. i kind of forgot.
when i was 19 during the first wave of blog phenom attraction, i recall thinking throughout that insano period of my life i better smarten the fuck up, buckle down and write about it more. you can be a complete mess all you like as long as you have something to show for it. as long as you produce something. no one around me was producing a thing. i surrounded myself with scapegoat artists, addicts, fuck ups. i was the success standard. HA. what a laugh. so with no one to compete with i just kept dickin’ the dog.
applicable and only nietzsche quote i know and often drop:
be not too liberal, it doth belong; to dogs alone to fuck, the whole day long.
if this is the most narcissistic time history has ever seen, what the hell is the next phase? when does it all overflow and backfire? when haters outnumber lovers? where is the movement, moving toward?
when i set out on my blog journey i never once foresaw a shit-movement. i never thought it would or could become news-worthy, omg girls on myspace taking pictures of themselves! what? i can remember a time when people said what’s a blog? so fast you were already back to listening about the mall. things have changed.
i’ve never been good with fiction you can see right through it and you can see right through my shit lying ability too which is why everything in here IS and always has been truth. in fictional writing attempts, without fail, a friend will relate each character’s personality to someone in my real life and will refuse to believe otherwise even if they’re wrong. especially if they’re wrong, actually.
it’s harder to open up the more readers you get. you over think the simple. thinking gets in the way of everything. if you have the ability to write without thinking then you are lucky. you should just do it then press send.
i wrote this on the back of an envelope on sunday.
it’s fucked up to feel damaged. to feel that way about oneself for no good reason at all. to feel marked. to feel poorly, though in actuality you know that you are in fact a good thing. it is also a means to disentangle oneself from unsavory situations. by claiming to be damaged goods you can veto yourself right off the market.
as i wrote that i was annoyed by how if i just wanted to plunk that down i’d have all this explaining to do. i don’t consider myself to be damaged goods but i do feel damaged sometimes. i remember being terrified by depression, feeling plagued by it. ok dark turn post time ha. yes marked. feeling like they could put you away for anything. for being difficult. pretty scary shit. hysteria. this woman is hysterical send her away. more so, in terms of finding a mate, i felt like showing sadness was a no-no. i am ashamed of my sadness still. embarrassed by it. if i cry i apologize profusely it’s the old-fashionism in me. i do not reveal this part of myself as much as is possible here. i see mental collapse as the ultimate trainwreck, more so than a drunk blog post or drug references.
i have no idea how to end this or what my initial point was to be other than justifying smoking pot and talking about it on my blog once in awhile. by the by, this post was written entirely un-high.
it’s to a point now where blogs essentially are entire persons. that’s crazy. good thing. never before this point in history did such a thing exist, entire catalogues are available to you of one’s life story. it doesn’t need to be defined because it is the definition in and of itself. people are storytellers oh look there’s a blog i’ll get on that. why stop?
inspectin’ tour. how did you describe the bathroom again alicia? hotel bathroom? with all kinds of things to check out and play with?
yep yep lookin’ good all clear here.
hair vortex. she was like how did you even get this couch it belongs in a bar.
snoops.
heheh.
christmas town.
chili dip town. see our disney princess advent calendar haha. after we wolfed the dip alicia was all have anything sweet? i said we can eat the calendar. didn’t happen. thinking about it right now.
i swear i stopped drinking.
ran out of ikea tea lites had to dip into the xmas stash.
they make my heart swoon. well, made.
just ate this again right now. diet of champs! so much for post period skinn-ay.
check out my moms.
that ring is broken. no tracks were spun.
best broil yet.
too much cheese if you can believe it. it was basically lasagna thick.
shit yeah.
not enough candles. they’re not even all there either haha.
scrabble cards rules. cards scrabble? oh whatever. you can get crazy high points.
a math lesson.
eventually attention spans got ‘tarded so we buddied up on teams.
my brother said i look like brendan fraser in encino man. i agree.
the last time my face broke out all hot and my ears got super red was doing jagerbombs a few years back. you can’t really tell through all my makeup though i assure you that shit was hot and beat red.
totally burnin’ up had to press a cold brew all over my face for a bit.
going for more of a dewy look these days. paha. hypertension is sexy.
double and triple word booyah! have fun doing blasted math.
Ryan (omg it snowed there!): hahah yeah i can’t tell if i’m funny or crazy today
but aw thx for the cyber shoutout
me: yeah if u think its crazy and I think its funny that means its funny
and vise versa
Ryan: haha fine line sometimes it’s a swing and a miss. today it’s like who and what’s next though
me: but do tell me when my shit is funny it is of the utmost importance
!ALSO! calling all vain/old/tired lookin’ broads (who blog) trumpet horns blaring: i have a sweet offer for one lucky lady. you have the choice of a free facial, botox treatment, cellulite something or other, hair removal etc basically anything PURE med spa offers (within reason). i’m going for a facial and teeth whitening. maybe botox down the line, who knows. all you have to do is email me a reason why i should choose you. PAYCE!
