Tuesday, June 21, 2005

The Fuck Stops Here

So during my whole pre-grad stress, along with shitty-job stress and exam stress and other random stress I probably created for myself (because one or two kinds of stress just LOVE company, so you create unneccesary stress just to shut up the Other Stresses which are already quietly shrieking inside your skull, night and day, for weeks on end...) on a scale of 1 to 10, 1 being mellow-as-if-comatose and 10 being Dear-God-let-me-take-a-nunchuck-to-the-left-temple-right-now, I was operating at around 12, meaning my days were spent in a haze of perma-fear which caused me to have dizzy spells, break out, stop sleeping well, and my tongue became so sharp I started to cut the insides of my cheeks and my gums with my acidly bitchy remarks. Exam stress culminated in me eating what could possibly be the most fucked-up diet ever hear of today alone. Mostly because we had a huge Father's Day BBQ a few days ago and I'm helping to eat our way through the random leftovers and shit in our fridge which has replaced all normal food.
Em's Sustenance For the Day:
Breakfast consisted of a buttered hamburger bun with sauted onions and mushrooms on the side. And a glass of Coke. (It's the Breakfast of Champions, folks! Nothing says "I am ready to take an exam which will alter my future as my good marks in it alone will determine if I get into the only university I applied for," than burger-topping-leftovers, warmed over. THERE IS NO PLAN B HERE!)
Lunch was ice cream cake, potato salad, and pasta salad, and more coke...I mean Coke. In that order.
Dinner was eaten at someone else's house, therefore making it normal and sensible. I had great tasting ham, with carrots, broccolli and scalloped potatoes.
I get home, and I slide right back into the Fridge Contents of Madness: Dessert is 5 Bean Salad.
I've felt vaguely ill all day, but I dunno if that's what I've been eating or my relief that all my crap is done with.
But now grad is over, I have written all my final exams, and tomorrow I have what looks to be a promising interview at a new prospective job, meaning hopefully this weekend may be the last weekend I need to work, even then I may be able to quit before the week is out. I'm getting a haircut on Friday, will probably end up dying my hair, and for some reason I've been having visions of myself with a nose ring and having shed about 40 lbs., ("Ha!" Say You, After Reading What I Have Eaten Today) which is a very very uber-sexy me. This makes me happy beyond reason.

The result: Mentally, I feel as if God just handed me a fattie the size of Madagascar and said " S'cool, kiddo, I gotchyer back. Ain't nuthin' bad gon' 'appen when I'm here. You wanna go get some Irish nachos?"
And I say: "OH GOD PLEASE YES!" and then we go play arcade games and have random fun around the city in a colourful, sunny film montage of shots of us having fun with boardwalk games, eating all manner of chili dogs and ice cream novelties while "I'll Stop The World and Melt With You" by Modern English plays in the background as God and I buy some silly hats, He wins me a big purple stuffed dog and we head out across the lake on those foot-operated paddle boats.


Summation:
School's Out For The Summer.
School's Out For Ever.*



*Not for Jackie. Heh.


Nothing Is Gunned Down Because All Is Right With The World And Em's Gastrointestinal Fireworks Have Obviously Begun To Leach Dangerous Toxins, The Poisons Seeping Their Way Into Her Cerebellum...Quietly...Oh So Quietly Going Mad With Joy...

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Wednesday, June 01, 2005

You Been Sokyrka'd

So I know I'm supposed to be working on my Lit project, but whatev I already have most of it plagari--I mean written down and waiting in my e-mail inbox to be printed off (Arial, size 12 font) and glued to my gigantic piece of cardboard in time for my oral presentation tomorrow.
In the meantime, under the pretence of doing said "homework" I am messing with my sister's computer while on a guest account, and having noted her newest CD acquisition lying on her desktop, of course I'm going to listen to it.
Class, let us review the standard of practices in my relationship with my sister, who is a few years older than myself.

Her Barbies + Me Playing With Them = Sister Getting Pissed.
Her Clothing + Me Taking The Good Sweaters = Sister Getting Pissed.
Her Books + Me Reading Them and Forgetting to Put Them Back or Insisting They Belonged to Me All Along = Sister Getting Very Pissed.
Now I am faced with this equation:
Her New CD + Me Listening To Same CD = ?
Answer, anyone?
You guessed it.
Luckily, my sister is out of town for the next few days, so as long as I put the CD back, I can freely listen to its tuneful offerings.

So...this is Theresa Sokyrka's new album, These Old Charms.
The jacket art is colourful and quirky, the song titles are a neato mix of new alternative and old jazz standards. The album's title itself is intriguing and tinged with an aura of nostalgia which brings to mind a cozily dim living room with shelves crammed with tiny dark glass and stone sculptures and other such bric-a-brac, and there's one of those stained-glass lamps that were popular in the 70's hanging from a thick, dusty brass chain from the ceiling.

Some of the newer songs are all right, mostly because I've never heard anyone sing them before.
But the old songs "re-done" by this down-home Saskatoon girlie just grated on my lil' ol' love of the classics.
She did them well...indeed, I voted for her (several times in fact) during the course of Canadian Idol. Well, except that my first loves were Billy and Jacob in seasons 1 and 2, respectively. But after Jacob got voted off by some insensitive voters (boo! hiss!) it was all up to Kalan and Theresa. Now I liked Theresa at this point, but then again, there was Kalan Porter...the first honest-to-goodness Pretty Boy I have ever seen in the flesh. I mean, sure you HEAR about them, and you even call some people by that name. But Kalan was actually beautiful, gorgeous, pretty...and a boy. He had ridiculously long eyelashes and pouty lips that should have no place on a man's face. Add to that his flawless complexion, his wildly curly hair, and his way of glancing at the ground as if he would scuff his toe and say "aw shucks..." at any moment...
Damn.
Why did I vote for Theresa? She lost anyways. Then again, she's pretty too. Then again, I'm not a lesbian.

In any case...
She screwed with the classics. Either too slow or too fast or with too much scat. Call me a puritaniacal with no imagination, but I just liked the songs the way they were. I don't know what exactly was wrong with them, but they just didn't fly with me.

Note on the Scat:
Is the fact that scat is a colloquial term for poop (or can be used as a verb for running away) lost on everyone but me?

I'm trying to listen to God Bless the Child and all I can think is that when she scats she sounds like my Sims when they're arguing about their kids.

Final Note: The CD is okay to look at, but for God's sake don't put it into your CD player unless you're into scat. (Some of it was okay, but only for about 5 seconds at a time. Too much scat. Too much.)