the weekend is the skinniest time of the week. well friday is really, then saturday, and by sunday it’s fat fuck town again then you start it all over throughout the week skinnying your way to friday. FUN LIFE.
don’t get sick of this sweater too fast now. i’m going to hunt for others and yes i know every girl owns one these days but so what. all i ever wear anyway is a tiny stupid shirt and a cardigan. so out there.
ikea on a saturday. not so bad as i thought.
comp diapers.
caf time.
i totally cut off a bitchy woman for this window seat. i was bee-lining it, as was she, but she couldn’t see that i could see her cos of my hair so i went in for the kill and won. then she talked shit about me to her husband. sorry witch, if i don’t see you, you’re not there. move faster next time. that was the only hostile thing that happened really. oh and what’s with all the do-nothing but chat employees hanging around he computer kiosks sprinkled throughout the store? i ask a question i already know the answer to and the guy is all showy bravado about telling me no the frame doesn’t come in white. ok cool thanks for nothing please get out of my space now.
they used to at least pretend that an actual salad came along with the lox.
shopping juice.
the hearts have not been phased out yet at all. more like phased in. i want a new comforter already. (though it can be flipped).
maybe i just need more hearts.
same bed months ago i proclaimed was my dream bed and holy fucking shit it so is. it’s super high and sturdy you feel like a princess. now all i need is a canopy like regina george in mean girls and i’m set.
display trick is multiple comforters. works for me!
swoon.
best birthday hat ever.
i am insane enough to buy and wear this, why didn’t i?
most famous spread on the internet.
pink please.
of course looks far better in real life. way more vibrant and pink.
one woman proclaimed how smart it was to take photos. right lady like i have money to come back and buy up all this shit. i recently said i am completely fine with taking an entire year to complete an outfit. mix and match pieces forever, that’s my cheapo tip. i like that ikea has absolutely no issues with taking photos. i’ve been doing it years.
this is the part where dave got crabby.
dave’s aunt thinks i’m useless and skinny. it’s funny. she hires him for moving help, other shit whatever, i tag along and apparently am too dainty to do a thing. meanwhile she’s lifting an entire armoire over her shoulders. i have grunt work capabilities too hello hardware store experience i will never let go of.
ok i’ll just hold the bag of candles then.
STOP COPYING ME!
simple. pleasing. somewhat boring.
bought some black ribbon. up close it’s detailed, embossed something or other i’ll have to go have another look.
yoink.
held off on these. my dad has tons of them. a little overkill.
adorable. these could stay in my room well after christmas.
so so bitter and so so faking that smile hahaha.
guy, your tree is crooked. it’s fully opened up now.
blame meg ryan in you’ve got mail the part when tom hanks comes by with flowers and she’s sick in her beautiful bed, white duvet, sun screaming in oh god so whimsical.
my contribution was folding laundry and drinking bailey’s.
i love you.
right now the room is totally rearranged, tried the bed against the wall where the couch is and put the couch where the bed was. no space to walk beside the bed now so it’ll have to go back to this.
loads bigger IRL.
those had to come off for the tree. there’s some black heart garland in the black ornaments package i may wrap around it. or might get lights with white strand.
wiley and i are in love.
sage loves it under there.
your masterpiece is now complete.
love these little homos. hanging them was irritating why won’t you just face out now it looks like a bunch of grey pubes are dangling from the branches.
couldn’t help it.
cool pic quality grandma thanks for sending!
way bigger than expected. i haven’t lived with a christmas tree in five years.
can you tell stoners were here?
you can never properly photograph a tree. flash exposes way too much while no flash buggers it all up.
see? not really. HAHAHA.
oh look it’s you.
one of the snakes died. it smells unpleasant. not eating today!
ok so this isn’t a stoner chat sorry to get you pumped like that. i was just stoked on the logo that burnout sean ward made us. though stephdid fire me some hip to it high caliber relevant Q’s a few week’s back so here goes. toot toot.
how has your life improved since you started smoking weed?
HAHHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHA
actually. this was my response to reading these over nov 20
oh god (first of all lay off me it’s sunday, i have a fucking hangover and am now cruisin’ thru coffee bailey’s in coffee, go gentle)(went to don vail in hamiltan at the casbah last nite got home at like 2, that’s late for a stoner) um my life has it improved? well my writing has gotten better but i’m not entirely certain weed should get all the cred there. brain has expanded all that hippie credo crap, larger consciousness combined with huge personal life change, possible slight mania, basically, shit changed so learn how to roll with it or get rolled by it. weed has also aided in my cutting in half the amount of booze i used to intake. life change helped that too though. another biggie, weed has helped me handle this life change.
how has your life de-proved?
laugh lines from constantly rippin’em. dry skin. lethargy. it hasn’t really.
have you listened to Aqualung baked yet?
no but i know the voice it’s kinda kings of leony i left that cd behind haha. though i love KOL and i know you and sarah have big ones for ‘em too.
what is your favourite munchie?
so indecisive. chips salt then sweet. green apple powerade and dill chips was past one i remember walking through a fucking blizzard once to the plaza for that. felt completely normal at the time. canada is like siberia it’s so strange, people in LA don’t even know, right?
does the word “munchie” look funny to you?
yes i picture a bag of munchies, those actual chips you can only eat 4 of then get grossed out immediately by and then the hostess weirdo mascot guys looking at me.
have you ever gotten the dog high BE HONEST
no. but one whines to come hang when he’s shut out by the gates like serious jonesing so i guess he’s into it.
sometimes in the morning does it feel like someone was vacuuming out your eye sockets all night?
no but i look forward to that thanks i’ve thought about it every single morning since i read this weeks ago.
have you watched The Wall baked yet?
no.
have you ever gotten super drunk and then smoked a joint and then watched Waterworld and then almost puked on your friends couch?
no but you did it was awesome i didn’t know you were nauseous aw i’m sorry dude! i knew you had the spins. yikes! ps. don’t ever talk shit about waterworld. not you specifically but, EVERYONE. bad movie to watch with a queasy stomach though right hahahahaha.
do you think the olympic torch this year looks like a huge doobie?
YES. then you said when they run after you think it looks like a doobie it looks really funny.
OK BYE send in more questions for spliffereeno and raymbo whenever you want dewds.
xoxox
look it’s me gunned at harvest burger redux last nite.
cool that they’re on top of the visual presentation over there.
red nose from the cold. oh and yesterday was scuzzy vogue day.
after putting the bed together (um being useless actually) post ikea was pretty fatigued. yesterday was a full chores day for real. tree, trimming it, and all that, blah bla to come later.
luh-ove this pair.
the last time i ever saw a hipster was after looking in a mirror. HA jokes guy!
fyi chicks, hipster guys in hamilton MAKE EYE CONTACT WITH THE ROOM go there singletons. there’s a bar downstairs and last nite was hip hop nite i guess. such a weird vibe like how downstairs at 751 makes you feel scared and grossed out but somewhat compelled to stick around cos you cannot believe your eyes?
LOOK! i’m a concert photographer now WOW so hard! actually, it is hard. thanks to my social anxiety fuck man when you walk through the crowd (gunned) holding that big thing and then feeling a million eyeballs all over you, you feel mad pressure. also you feel supremely gay. sorry but it’s like get over it already everyone can get the exact same shots no problemo. stop making me blow you ok settle down dslr.
that’s the guy from treble charger, dave says, bill priddle, pretty good. he’s friends with the whole band, dave is.
bahahahah i just left this comment during my present internet fantastic voyage.
raymi lauren said…
yeah i called beans weeds once and it’s like i’m fucking andy dick. we’re not fucking by the way. hahaha omg im baked.
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?
