angry white boy polka

I need to cleanse my body. Too much sugar and not enough sleep makes me crazy...crazier.

I don't think I'm going to do a Beyonce master cleanse or a raw food cleanse so I've come up with my own:

No soda pop (which will be horribly difficult because I am addicted.)
No sugar (refined)
No white bread/pasta/rice
Keep booze to a minimum (let's be serious, I plan to drink in the next ten days. I have a concert to go to for gosh-darn-sakes.)

I think my parents are going batty in their old age. As we sat at the dinner table Franklin, the cat, kept on pawing at my dad, begging for food. My dad looked down at him and said, "No Frank...Frank. FRANK. no." He proceeded to take a bit of his food then said again, "Go away Franklin. I don't have time for this." We have three cats, Franklin, Sydney and Pepper, but my dad refers to all the cats as "Frank". When he doesn't know the name of the television show I'm watching he asks, "What is this mickey mouse t.v.?"

Now, my mother. Don't get me started on that lovely lady. We were sitting at the kitchen table (once again) and the cat was eating a potato chip. She wanted to film it. A cat. Eating a chip. Why? She also takes pictures of flowers and films the bunny rabbits that sometimes hang out in our backyard. She constantly knits and her hearing is going. Let me give you an example:
Stephan- Richard wants to see Shutter Island
Mom- What movie? Cheddar Isle?
Stephan- Cheddar?
Mom- Did you say cheddar or chowder?
Me- Yes, stephan is going to see a movie about cheese and soup.

really, c'mon mom.

I have also gone a little loopy because of my essays. Writing my essay usually means reading a sentence 2-3 times then playing a couple games of spider solitaire while listening to weird al on repeat. I'm cool....really I am (in my head).

This is the plot twist in the Sixth Sense!

I never understood the saying “fuck my life” until this morning when I woke up with the worst hangover known to man. Despite my attempts at sober living I went out yesterday and drank a bottle of wine, which is one wine bottle too many. I attempted to cure the hangover, but failed miserably. I ate some bread (didn’t work) had a shower and a bath (fail and fail) slept (nope) and took some vitamins and aspirin (no luck). I am ok now, but it’s also almost 11pm. I have been hungover all day in a zombie-like (minus the brain eating) state. I did not finish my art project like I had planned so tomorrow will be filled with drawing and reading.

Speaking of reading I have to pick up a play by Shakespeare….I better check my class syllabus.

Note to self: avoid people and any fun for the next couple of weeks or at least keep the fun to a minimum. I need to focus!

Pump your fist!

It’s just over 2 weeks since the New Year. I made a New Year resolution to keep all my bad habits (So far so good). I’m still eating chocolate daily and not exercising at all. I’m on my way to weighing 300 pounds and having my own hour special on TLC: 300 pounds and growing.
Seriously, I did make some resolutions…well, a bucket list (I just realized a week ago why it is called a “bucket list”. To “kick the bucket” is to die. I have never witnessed someone kicking a bucket before they die. I don’t get the correlation, but that’s just me).

While in Starbucks (raise your coffee cups up) I composed a well thought out list of things I’d like to do:

1. Listen to “And She Was” by the Talking Heads and “Stand and Deliver” by Adam Ant 5 days a week.

2. Wear sweatpants out in public (I have never done this. Although I have worn socks and sandals together and that is an even bigger fashion crime in my opinion).

3. Lie to someone about who I am. This will likely happen in a bar when someone asks me my name. I will need to come up with an elaborate story about who I am.
a. Wealthy philanthropist
b. Pregnant
c. Former child pageant winner

4. Donate (a liver? Mine is shot. Blood? This is the best option. Clothes? No one wants my rags)

5. Develop an insecurity

6. Get over that insecurity

7. Get on Jersey Shore

Hopefully I’ll be able to complete a couple of those.

What’s new in the land of Lindsay? (That’s a bit pretentious…referring to myself as a land). I have come to accept that I don’t know how to blog. I barely know how to function. I remind myself daily to breathe (ok, not really, but I barely get by). Blogs are places to air opinions. What do I have an opinion on? I could talk about Haiti, but I’ll leave that to the news. I’m not the news. I’m no Walter Cronkite. I don’t have anything to bitch and moan about. I’m not “hating” on anything in particular. I should add that to my list: form a deep hatred. (The reason I put “hating” in quotations is because it’s not a word that is part of my vernacular. I would feel physically uncomfortable using the word “hating” unless I were to use it in the context of hating a certain movie, things, place or person. I don’t like using it in the sense of “hating on” like being a “hater” or a “playa-hater”… I don’t know or like where this is heading…I digress…I should add that to the list: stop digressing…but that’s another digression. Shoot.)

THUMBS UP!

I am loving Muse right now.

Now for something completely different:

Yesterday after a ridiculously long day I met up with two of my good friends, Claire and Alice, at Claire’s apartment. We talked about the same old stuff: school, classmates, squirrels etc. We debated where to go and headed to the Wreck Room because none of us had been there and on Thursday they have $3 drinks. When we got there it looked kind of sketch and there didn’t seem to be any lights on. The three of us stood on the street corner looking like confused Swedish tourists. It didn’t help that it was only 9:30pm and no one goes to the bar that early. We decided to search for a small pub.

Of course we ended up at the James Joyce. It’s this small bar on Bloor that I have been to way too many times. The bouncer knows me and I don’t get asked for my ID. I never intended to be a “regular” at any bar. I especially didn’t want to be a regular at the Joyce because there other regulars are 50 year old men. Not really my demographic. Oh, and everything on their appetizer menu had potato in it. The irish eat more than potatoes...ok, not really.

Well, that is beside the point. The point is Claire and I had a brief but enlightened conversation about drinking. Yes drinking can be enlightening. Claire and I agreed that we have reached the age where we like to have a drink to calm our nerves and relax. We’re not talking drinking until we feel no pain emotional or physical, but just a nice drink after a long day. It can be nice to have a glass of wine, a simple gin and tonic or a beer on a hot day.

I turn 22 in a week.

Jeff Spicoli: All I need are some tasty waves, a cool buzz, and I'm fine.

My life is in shambles. Shambles I say!

I’m trying to plan my future, which could either consist of grad school or teachers college. I have no clue. I could also end up homeless or spending the next year overseas teaching people English as a second language. At this very moment I am completely uncertain.

To be honest I never pictured myself over the age of 25. I was always sure I’d live past 25 but could never picture what life would look like. Would I be pretty? Would I be rich? Here’s what she said to me: NOTHING!

I just spent $11 dollars on a Wii game called redneck jamboree and the controls are as stupid as the game sounds. I got frustrated playing it. I rented it for the laughs and hoped some of the mini games would be amusing. The game was neither funny or fun. It didn’t provide the laughs.

Other than my video-game purchase slip-up I am trying to get my life in gear. Looking at schools, applications and exercising (for the first time since high school). I want to run a half-marathon. Nothing epic; I’m not an iron man. I just want to accomplish something and I figure a marathon has a start and an end-point and that is some structure I can get behind. I’ll never have the body of a pro-swimmer I just don’t want to look like a bean-bag chair stuffed into a spandex suit. Just picture it and sit with the image a bit.

Moving on… I’ve saved up enough to go to England this winter. I haven’t told many people about this prospective trip but it has been in the works for a couple months now. I will talk about it more once I have actually purchased the plane ticket.

This is the end of summer and by the looks of it many summers to come. For the first time in my life I feel like I’m an adult and that I have life decisions to make. Wouldn’t it be nice to just wake up with a Pulitzer and a million dollars in your bank account?

Blood and Malls

The mall: That big white box that usually has no architectural value and sticks out like an eyesore. I love it more than most people, but less than I love watching Jeopardy. I never fully understood the appeal the mall had for me. Yes, it’s filled with stores, has clothes, sales, perfumes, shoes and things I need and want but that’s not why I like it.

There are a couple reasons why I like the mall. I like the mall because it’s like a casino for younger folk. No clocks, always the same temperature, you could spend hours in it and they always place the food court and washrooms in hard to locate areas. If the mall served alcohol I could only imagine how crowded it would be. When I go to the mall I usually don’t buy anything at all; partially because I’m indecisive and partially because I spend the majority of the time people-watching. I once saw a lady in the mall wearing head-to-toe denim. She was so proud of her jean ensemble. Just beaming! I laughed a bit on the inside when I saw her but mostly felt jealous of her commitment to one type of fabric.

Living in a suburban area there wasn’t much to do. There was one mall, one library that had stacks of large-print Daniel Steel books and retirement homes as far as the eye could see. My idea of fun was going to the mall food court and eating crepes after school. I was a wild-child. I guess that’s another reason why I have such an affinity for the mall. All the memories I have of it. I remember when I was 12 I would go into Music World and think the people that worked there were too-cool-for-school. They all had shaggy hair and band t-shirts. They acted indifferent and slouched. I later realized they were your typical teenagers, but to a 12 year old suburban nerd they were top-drawer (people still say top-drawer? This is 1930?).

I went to the mall today. I didn’t buy anything. I walked around and talked to my younger brother. It was amazing.

You know what else I like: giving blood. I just like watching it shoot out. It’s amazing. I don’t like watching other people give blood but I like seeing my own blood.

Welcome to the O.C. Bitch

Pretty jazzed about the video game Animal Crossing: City Folks. I understand that it is directed at kids ages 8-12 but I delight in catching fish and collecting fruits. My house (in the video game) is empty and my avatar has no friends. I’m positive I’m not playing the game the way it is intended to be played but I’ve never been one to follow video game directions. To illustrate my point I’ll talk about my experience with the game The Sims. One is supposed to create a character (or a few) and find them a job so they can make money and improve their house. Your Sim can develop skills. They can become good cooks, play music and work out to become more athletic. You need to make other Sim friends, go to work every day, pay the bills and feed your Sims. Well, let’s just say I took the directions on how to play The Sims as a suggestion rather than must-follow rules.

The way I played the Sims involved a lot of cheating and a lot of decorating. In the Sims expansion pack you can type in ‘rosebud’ and instantly make your Sim 1,000 simolians (dollars). So, I did this until my Sim was a millionaire in order to build a wicked house with amazing furniture. I’d spend hours coordinating wallpaper and carpet. I’d arrange furniture and make guest bedrooms Oprah would want to stay in. After designing the perfect home I would usually kill my Sim. No Joke. My Sim would sometimes drown but most of the time the Sim would burn in the kitchen. I would try to cook in the kitchen but because I didn’t develop cooking skills or install a fire alarm the stove would go up in flames and my Sim with it. My Sim would then become a ghost and haunt anyone who came to visit. After about 30 seconds (give or take) of this I’d demolish my house and start over again. Sounds boring? It wasn’t. It was awesome.