wow, gmail said i could invite 10 friends to use the shit. does this mean i am gmail’s favorite or what? does anyone want one? i can’t think of anyone in particular who i should “surprise” with a gmail account so if you are one of these poor sods, email me and i will gmail you and then we can walk around correcting old people when they use the word email in conversations, we can go, no you uncool old person, the correct term these days is g-mail.

like, holy!

ok that wasn’t very funny was it?

anyhow i just took a number two and i feel like the epitome of awesome right now and the cat is like, high 5.

that there is a picture of me and aimee on fil’s birthday. we were at green room after a long full day of other birthday things and that emily haines show

and we started drinking e.a.r.l.y. quite so and by the time we were at green room we were very very obnoxious and this circle of older persons on the patio smoking and drinking tried to be all clever at us and we totally attacked them to the point that the one girl wearing a beret had to leave with her boring sensitive guy-friend and then aimee said i want that fucking pitcher so we started being nice.

i went over finally because my balls are bigger than aimee’s and i said ok so since we are friends now, while i was filling up my empty pint glass with their pitcher and then the old stoner guy was like wow you guys are so real and other hippie shit and i was like, yah mon! real. always.

heh.

fil was filming the entire thing and after i saw it i felt like a big scarey meanie with an annoying smoker’s voice who screams at all the children on her street from the veranda because they are all having fun and my hair is in a tight bitchy bun and i have spaghetti sauce stains on my apron.

yah, i felt like that.

when we got back, mefilsteve played the i am something game you have ten tries to guess what i am ’til 5 in the morning and they were totally taking it seriously, like, all the f.u.n. out of it, being all technical and i am like for f sakes i am a fucking simspon’s character JUST FUCKING GUESS WHICH ONE I AM MY EYES ARE SQUINTING IN ON THEMSELVES JUST FUCKING BLOODY GUESS ALREADY WHAT ARE YOU SCIENTISTS!??!

and then i was angry that they guessed it correctly by the tenth question.

where is the challenge in that?

and they were too cool to play my survivor game, but not too cool to open it up and make fun of all the cards inside it.

when people make fun of survivor or reality shows i get real mad. ok, i get real mad at a lot of things, but i especially get real mad when they make fun of survivor because they always say the same thing, oh yah well i saw the first series like one episode and it was so gay, durdurudur.

and i’m like SHUT UP PISSANT, we’re on series 8 or something now and you are still whining about the first one, get fucked! you don’t see me making fun of you for watching that crappy cottage country show all the time.

urg.

survivor is great because it brings out the worst in everybody and you always want the one that gets picked on a lot to win but that never happens because it is always the deceiving jerkbag who wins and each series they get crabbier and crabbier and you are like YES SUFFERING!

and then when you are out some place and there is nothing to talk about you can start talking about survivor like it is the most important thing in the universe and then someone inevitably starts dissing it and you can turn into the incredible hulk and scream at them about some random immunity challenge and get all deep and insightful about the women’s rights movement and the person totally shuts up and realises that all the opinions they’ve ever had since the beginning of time before ever having met you , are WRONG, and then they start soul-searching and come to the conclusion that their emotional needs weren’t properly met as a child and they need to go find themself…

right.

arguing is what keeps me going.

johnnybeinart

this is me and retardbobear.

retardbo is a manufacturer’s reject of a bear. i got him from the salvation army a couple years ago for a dollar. he use to be a girl.

there was a flower, hot-glued to his chest and i tore it off and then he became a boy.

retardbo’s head is always to the left and his legs were sewn on all messed and they point in at each other and his arms are just miserable looking and the expression on his face is like woah. is. me.

so i try and boost his confidence by telling him i think that he is cute and i sleep with him and carry him around for comfort and i always say sorry when i end up sleeping with him in the small of my back or the cat chucking him at the spaceboard heater.

and i make sure not to give him false-hopes of his legs turning out normally in the future.

i told him he’s a stuffed-thing and that’s how he was meant to be and some asshole donated him because he was a mouthy bear and then i came along to make his life better.

I’m a bear called Jeremy

I can do most anything

I can play and I can sing

Little tunes like Do Re Mi

When he heard me sing

The King of Birds said to me

“Here’s for you to sing

A whistle that goes

tweet-tweet, tweet-tweet,

tweet-tweet, tweet-tweet,

TWEET!”

this bear is so cute i want to vomit

we had a fancy lunch today and then we had a fancy dinner and we watched chris rock say the N-word a lot and after a long while of laughing i said fuck man, all he ever does is complain about being black, wtf?

maybe this is where i went wrong

maybe

i should base my career on white-guilt and pace around with a microphone and bitch about white people stuff and every fucking white celebrity that’s ever fucked up large and bring it back full circle to it all being because they is white.

like what the fuck chris rock, you’re fucking hilarious, and so is/are every other comedian making fun of their race.

why can’t comedy just go back to cute innocent stuff like banana peels and seltzer bottles and some old guy getting really really mad and shaking his fist with a newspaper in it at some cute dog that just shat on the carpet, you know, mr. wilson styles?

why can’t the world be smart enough to be satisfied with monty python and watching tommy boy over and over and over again? why do women comedians always have to complain about their fucking shitty husbands and tampons and the men comics make up lies about some hobag in their hotel room and the wife chained to the kitchen sink.

lazy.

not funny.

disappointing.

trash.

straight up.

if i were a stand-up comedian i’d most likely just stand there shaking my head at everybody and raising my eyebrows and say all this crap that only makes sense to me and some deaf lady and then throw my hands up in the air out of frustration and be hurt that nobody laughed and have zero capacity of piecing together the possibility that just maybe it was because i was insulting every single person in the audience and not in a funny ha ha way.

fuck it.

so far today’s plan of detox has failed. fuckin’ holidays.

a dog is barking in the alley and it is quite loud, the little focker could be in the closet. though, it’s so damn cold out, if i was out there myself, tied to a lamp post, i wouldn’t be making polite conversation to passersby like a collar on me ain’t no thang and my cunty owners are staring out at me while they dip their fancy bread in olive oil, wearing matching asshole sweaters and talk about how much they love me.

fuck them! BARK BARK BARK RAWAAAAAOOOORR BARK BARKITY BARK FUUUUUUUCK!

i got in trouble for writing about that girl and making her out to be a big town drunk because sean shit-disturbed and i show up and adan is all yo dood she read that shit and i’m like serious? and he’s all yeh and i’m all fuuuuck and sean is all yeh guy she printed that shit and has it in her purse! and i’m all yo what the bloody fuck why you’s gotsta start ruckus dood i came here for holiday festivities wha’gwan and girl be all yo my sober friends know me a different way, seen? and i’m all bloop bloop f this soap opera noise, i’m outtie, PAYCE! you’s gotsta understand, aiight, i write things in an amusing light, ya’s ain’ts gotsta feel all like entertainment fodder for my peeps and shit i had notteeng else to write ’bout, dig? and she’s like, werd.

and then we talked about christmas shopping.

you can buy a raymi poster that jamie made of me way back when my hair was orange and shorter and i wore it in tiny pigtails occasionally because it makes you think i am 15 and chew bubblegum and talk about boys and write in cute little flowery journals with matching flowery-print pencils and put hearts as the dot on my “i’s”.

boink!

oh and ps if you don’t want a big dumb picture of me looking at you on your wall then you can buy jamie’s other depressing artwork things that will make you feel bad about yourself and lack of creative abilities and maybe call up an old highschool buddy and say hey tod, sorry i’ve been out of touch the last little while, you wanna meet at the museum and look at dinosaur fossils?

yep.

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