Saturday, September 13, 2008

I thought my own dreams were disturbing...

My friend and co-worker Aimee apparently had a dream that I was a heroin addict, and was chasing her around trying to jab her with giant syringes as she pleaded for me to give up the junk, for the sake of my children.

It kind of makes me wonder if other people dream about me, and what about.

I've lately been trying to start keeping a dream journal, but between a tendency to sleep in, and sheer laziness, it's been slow going. I did get one down though. The other night I dreamt that I had bought a big fuck-off black pick up truck, that got stolen when I decided to leave the keys in it while I slept on the big grassy hill in Rotary Park (I think that's the one... the big huge one on Bayshore drive). I woke up to one of the guys that used to work at the Tat Shack telling me my truck had been stolen.

So I went to a sporting good store and asked my sister if she had seen my truck. She said no, and asked me what the make and model was. I stood there, perplexed, because all I could answer was "Um... it's shiny, black and really big". Nicky berates me for buying a truck and not even knowing what kind I bought.

So I decide to go to the cop shop, where one of the ladies from the co-op board takes my report. The cop shop is apparently now located in the lounge above the YMCA pool. She also gives me a hard time about not knowing what kind of truck I drive, as well as for leaving it unlocked with the keys in it. I tell her that I didn't want to leave it LOCKED with the keys in it.

Sunday, September 7, 2008

I’ve misplaced my editor.

A friend of mine greeted me tonight on MSN with the question "We're old, aren't we?" to which I replied, "Yes, probably."

Every so often it occurs to me with all the subtlety of a mac truck that 30 is a mere two years away. It seems bizarre to me, first of all because I generally still feel like a 12-year-old (cue up Kim Stockwood) who has somehow stumbled into a life with children, responsibilities, and an intricate social tapestry of adulthood that seems totally foreign too me. Think Tom Hanks in "Big" if he had possessed a particularly fertile womb.

But in addition to that, it has occurred to me that most of my childhood or adolescent heroes were dead by this age. That's something that can fuck with your head pretty good if you think about it long enough.

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I saw a Rita Rudner special on PBS tonight. Rita Rudner is all sorts of awesome. Pledge Drives, on the other hand, suck hard.

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Started another picture last night, and so far I'm really excited about how it's turning out. The idea was one that's been rolling around in my head for quite a while, but it's kind of ambitious, so I've been really nervous about starting it. But so far I'm liking what I've done with it.

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Going to Toronto tomorrow to wish my aunt a happy birthday, and let her see the girls, then probably hanging out with Krystle. good times.

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Rye Cafe is having open mic nights on wednesdays. Need to find a babysitter, and an 'open mic' buddy. Safety in numbers you know. Going to one of those things by yourself - you know, with intentions of performing - without moral support is harrowing enough to at best cause one to start smoking again, or at worse, bring on a full-on cardiac episode.

So if anyone is free wednesday nights, lemme know.

Every Parent Remembers...

.. their child's first mondegreen.

Apparently Tierney has been living under the impression that Aimee Mann was saying "Was it scary?" rather than 'Voices carry'

Thursday, September 4, 2008

Gross.

One of the ads I saw today while at work was for the following:

YSI Logo
Reusable Esophogeal / Rectal Temperature Probe

I'm not sure what is more vomit inducing - that it doubles as both a rectal AND an esophogeal (read: down the throat) probe, or that it's REUSABLE.

I think Dante and Randal would have something to say about this - Would that fall under the category of 'ass-to-mouth'?

*pukes*

Wednesday, September 3, 2008

Irony has a crunchy coating.

So the dentist's office has been calling me lately to remind me that it's time for the girl's check up.  I'm excited about this, because I'm finally covered for dental.  But of course, with work being nuts, I've consistently forgotten to call.

Today on my lunch hour, I sat, thoughtfully chewing on a chicken sandwich, thinking to myself "That's right, I should call the dentist today" and...

CRACK!
Friggin tooth is now a jagged shard.  From a SANDWICH of all things.

Where was I... ?  Oh right.. call dentist.

(did they plan this?) 

Tuesday, September 2, 2008

Nickels for your nightmares, dimes for your dying dreams.

Wow.  Some people amaze me, acting like high schoolers, while nearing 30.  He said, She said.  It's all I can do to keep from laughing hysterically.  All I can say is glad I backed off when I did.  Go with your gut, yesirree.  Sometimes soul-destroying heartache can be a good thing, when it keeps you out of other potentially drama-filled, just ridiculous situations. 

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I found a place downtown that rents out a wall to display art work for 20 bucks a month.  i'm looking into it.  They're booked up until January at this point, but that  might give me time to come up with stuff I might actually want to display and/or sell.  So far, I'm pretty hit and miss.  The stuff I think is good enough to display, I'm not sure if I would want to part with, and the stuff I'd be willing to part with, I don't know if I'd feel right asking for money for, or even having my name associated with.  I wish I had more confidence in my ability.  I dont' know if I'm being too self-critical, or if I really am just as mediocre in my pursuits as I think I am

*fishes for compliments*

Seriously though, I've said before, for once, I'd like to be prodigious at something, instead of half-decent at many things.  I'm an okay singer, an okay guitarist, okay artist, okay writer, etc etc.  I'd like to be super-awesome at something.

Like what you see?