There's a variety of things I do online that all require a username and password: the computer itself, blogger, hotmail, picturedot, online porn accounts, MSN, etcetera...and these usernames are all very different because all the good names are always taken. My password however, is always the same. Always. Since time began. So every now and then when sitting in front of the screen I'll go to type in my username and I'll get it wrong up to 6 times before I get it right. Usually I'll get it around the third shot. However, for some reason lately everytime I go to type in a username I'll type in my password instead. It always shocks me, because usually I never actually see that word in type, as for security purposes it takes the form of *******. So when I see it, I get surprised and embarassed, almost like reading a naughty word, no one should see me type this word. This word is top secret. Only I am supposed to know it and I am very proud of it as I'm sure no one would ever figure it out. Yet the past few weeks, I keep typing it for the world to see beside 'username'. It's a sheepish and vulnerable feeling.

....and that's why I'd make a crappy secret agent.

I am Jack's complete lack of surprise.

Ever have a feeling you're getting played with? That someone has been jerking at your strings for a while, and only now have you become aware of it? The realization isn't a pleasant one. All I feel is dumb. I feel dumb and sad, but not shocked. I should have seen this coming. Usually my bullshit detector is really accurate, but for some reason this time my back was turned to the oncoming train and the sound seemed to be coming from all around me...grrrrrrr.

I've been far too sympathetic...
It's about time that changed.

I was taking inventory of my scars last night.
Other than the 'lobotomy scar' that's finally fading away, I don't have anything recent.
I'm not living.

Anyone feel like playing capture the flag?

I hate decisions like this...do I go with what I want RIGHT NOW or decide that inaction will get me closer to the person I want to be?
The person I am and the person I wish I was are at a crossroads.
Someone needs to take me out to lunch and talk some sense into me.

A Beef.

Okay, so long before I started half-assing my way through a blog, Jon had a page where he displayed his art and words and mindbubbles from time to time. The latest project in a long line of artwork that Jon's been toying with is the Alphabet project. This is a game he's devised where the followers of his page get a chance to try and guess what the word featured in the next picture will be. Each word begins with the corresponding letter of the alphabet, from A to Z. Simple. So, about 5 of us loyal viewers partook in the game, which finally came to it's rousing conclusion the other day. Of the five people playing, I came in SECOND TO LAST. Stupid Ben Jensen (that's right, all the syllables of his name RHYME) came in first with the proposterously high score of 12.

My ranking is not what I'm upset about. On Jon's page, after stating the order he posted our 'comments' on the whole Alphabet game phenomenon and the outcome. The quote he used for me comes from a conversation we had months ago about how I felt that I deserved some kind of allowance. "Des: Don't I get any extra points for having breasts??? This game SUCKS." It sounds as though I'm trying to trade on my feminine wiles. This is not true.

The context is as follows; The four other players are all male....well, Cory's a little debatable (I once heard something about a crotchless crotch, but I digress) and I'm sure the female readers will back me up on this...Men think differently from women. (some say wrong, I say different) My plea wasn't for any special treatment because I'm a chick, so much as an acknowledgement to the fact that the playing field isn't even for someone without testicles, as I don't share the same mental 'capacity' as my testosteronely charged counterparts. To put it simply, remember when you'd play 21 on your driveway with your older brother, and since he was taller and more experienced than you, he'd spot you a few points, or would make his distance further? That's all I was asking for. I don't think like a boy. Jon thinks like a boy. This gives me a kind of handicap when it comes to guessing what's inside his head. All I wanted was some kind of allowance in order to make the game fair. But noooooo, that's not how Jon plays. This game was rigged for boys to win.

That is all I have to say.

Oh, except for the picture used for Ben makes him look like an intense emo singer/model.
And the headshot used for me is cropped from a larger picture of Jon paying me for being his grad date.
And Simpson, don't be a douche...that crab paste was an AWESOME present. The marbles pushed it over the edge into superawesome. Stop hating.

End Beef

How come the ones you want to call don't call, but the ones you are indifferent towards are incredibly reliable callers?

I don't know this guy. At least, I don't know him well. All I know is what he's allowed me to know, his pleasant passtimes and cute quirks that I'm sure win girls over all the time. His volunteer work, his penchance for the outdoors, how he dislikes coffee and cigarettes...that's not knowledge. That's a relationship resumé. These are the qualities he wants a potential suitor (suitorette?) to know he has so that he gets through the interview stage. Then, once she's duped and he's passed the required probationary period (usually three months, although can be lengthened or shortened due to performance) he will slide into the comfort zone where he will begin to show his true boyfriend colours. Then and only then will he be truly known. He probably snores, isn't nice to service staff, whistles along to songs on the radio in the car, really enjoys fart humor or even worse...is a CAT person. But this information won't rear it's ugly head for weeks. Right now he's just being Mr. Date-Me-Cause-I'm-As-Close-To-Flawless-As-You'll-Ever-Come-Across.

I leave in four months. I don't have that kind of time. I never have that kind of time in all honesty...which is probably why I don't do relationships all that well...whatever. I'm too busy living my life. Watching crappy movies with the girls and driving for hours to steal shit with the guys. Working and loving my family and examining my house on all fours in order to get the cat's perspective (I'd be grouchy too if all I saw was baseboards and ankles). These things take time. It's just not organizationally sound for me to date someone.

Once upon a time someone made me promise that I would never settle. It was an easy promise to make at the time, but now I fear that if I keep living my life the way I do, with complete disregard to any new people wanting to get close to me, I'll never get a CHANCE to settle.

It's not a big fear though, just a little one...like that fear you get when you open a can of Sprite...that maybe it'll explode all over you.
That kind of fear.

Of all the different types of pizza-based products that sustain me, I must say the pizza pops are by far my least favorite. I've already changed my shirt TWICE due to ooze. Stupid seam keeps leaking.

So I finally (and by 'I' I mean my dad) mailed my application off to Leuven. Since I'm pre-approved all I have to do is wait for a response so I can get my visa in order and then skidaddle across the ocean. Now I'm just afraid the necessary papers weren't properly filled out, or will get lost and I'll end up staying here next year. Not that that's a bad thing, it's just...well...in my head I'm going. In my head I've already lived there for four months and things are going quite well. In my head I've already found a favorite spot to sit and read...and I'd hate to deny myself the pleasure of being let down or satisfied.

Fly application, to the wind!
Oh yeah. and there was a heist last night that I masterminded.
If I told you, I'd have to kill you.

I don't know what I should be more afraid of, the angry gremlin noises coming out of my computer, of the eerie silence that follows it...

It's going to explode one day, and I will no doubt be beheaded by shrapnel...divy up my stuff amongst yourself. My cd player is defective though, unless you really like counting crows.

Things I am thankful for:

-Opposable thumbs. In all seriousness, try eating a cob of corn without them. Hurray for evolution!
-fruit salad. (eating grapes with a fork is one of those things that I'll always enjoy doing)
-palpable sexual tension
-a sense of humour that allows for me to get away with pretty well anything. You try accidentally cursing at a group of retired women and walking away employed.
-getting caught in the rain
-finding little post-it note messages in between pages of old books left to remind me to do things. These things are never important, they're more like little tips to myself on how to live a full life. One note simply says "Boyfriends are for chumps". 16 year old Desiree was a smart girl. "You hate yoghurt" was found in Sophie's World. It's true. I hate yoghurt, but every now and then I try it. I stopped leaving myself notes a few years ago. I've got to start again.
-going to the Bulk Barn and making fun of candy names. Onomatopoeia candies are the best. Zany Zings? What the hell is a zing?
-Being able to watch a french movie without the subtitles and understanding all of it, even the musical bits that are hard to hear.
-Being able to talk about Halifax with a certain degree of knowledge.
-puddle jumping
-having a stranger tell me that I 'walk with a kind of confident grace'. I always thought I lumbered.
-hearing that a girl who I always thought was the epitome of beauty and also a huge bitch, has gotten fat. Really really fat.
-being able to cheer or boo in a room filled with like-minded people during game 7 of the Sens-Devils series.
-making concrete travel plans to such exotic locals as Sars-ridden Toronto and Regina. I've never been to Regina before, but I've heard good things about Reginians. Reginites? the Reginese?
-on Saturday I get to dress up like a business woman and pretend to be a suspect in murder.
-Overheard while downtown: "YOU try explaining to your girlfriend why you recoiled in fear when you saw her face in the light. That's just not who I thought I was making out with." --I'm thankful I'm not that girl.

...so I drove to a Tim Hortons in the middle of the night to meet him because he wanted to 'talk'. Anytime anyone tells me they want to talk to me I get nauseous. Nothing good comes from sayings like that. This was one of those cases. He didn't want to talk, he wanted to make me cry. I knew this as I drove, but it didn't stop me.

When I walked in I heard someone say my name. It wasn't him, it was Ben. The first boy I ever kissed and consequently the first boy I ever broke up with, in the same coffee shop with the last boy I ever kissed and the last boy I ever broke up with. Difference was, Ben was laughing and smiling and gave me a hug. Trev was sitting in a corner, looking intense. When Ben saw the look in my eyes he stopped, asked if I was okay and squeezed my hand. He tried to comfort me, although he didn't know why.

I wasn't comforted as I was too busy being nauseous to understand, but now I do. After enough time elapses, the boys you have broken up with will become boys who smile at you in coffee shops.

After the 'talk' between Trev and I, I sat behind my steering wheel crying and feeling the way someone who's just put their dog down feels...and Ben tapped on my window. I told him what had happened, and his brown eyed wisdom cleared my head.

"Some people just aren't meant to be ex-boyfriends or ex-girlfriends. Some people are always going to break your heart. These people are wonderful and fantastic and beautiful. You just have to realize it and accept it."

I don't know who he was talking about, me, him, Trev...ghosts of relationships past...but it made so much sense to me then.
I live in world of first names, not subheadings. Although I'm now someone's ex-girlfriend, I am no less myself. Nor is he less himself because we're no longer together.
Categories are what people who fear losing control use to gain a semblence of order.
From that point on I vowed not categorize people. They are who they are. Past, present, future.

But it makes me sad to think to him, I'll always be that ex-girlfriend.

cue apocalypse......now!

So, there I was, just sitting on the couch, eating an orange, minding my own damn business when I decided to watch some tv. TV watching has become that to me now. A decision.Not something automatic, which is good because for the first say, two decades of my life it was an automatic thing that just sort of happened when I sat on the couch. Anyhow, I decided to watch some tv. The last time I made that decision was a while ago, because the first thing I saw was a guy who was inflating a hot water bottle manually to the point where it exploded. (Manually. That's not the word I'm looking for. Manual means by hand. He was inflating it with his mouth and lungs. What's the word for that? The only other thing I can think of is 'naturally' as in 'not aided by artifice'...but there's nothing natural in blowing up a hot water bottle til it explodes. So terribly stupid.) So then I stopped watching tv and went and watched the hedge. Much more exciting.

Right, watching tv. I cruised until I found Pat Mastrioni. Also know as....oh god...this is embarassing...that GUY. That guy from Degrassi High who was the lead singer in that band with Snake. Frig. Zit Remedy or something. Joey Jeremiah!!! There you go. Anyhow, I feel it is my duty as a Canadian to support the fledling careers of the former teen stars that entertained me in days of yore. So when I saw Joey on tv I stopped. He still, after all these years and an entire head of hair, hosts MusicWorks, a CBC show that showcases Canadian musical talent. Today's special guests were the pop-'punk' band Simple Plan.

I patronized them from afar and decided to sit and watch a few songs. I was impressed by their well choreographed 'jumping' and also that the entire band spoke to the audience in both official languages. Turns out they're from Montreal. Good for them. The announced their next song was going to be 'I'm Just a Kid'. This is a song that was WAY overplayed a year or so ago, their first big song (to my limited knowledge that is) and consequently the song that turned me off of them. It was whiny, stupid and sans-message other than 'oh, how anxst ridden my feeble teenaged existence is'. I didn't like it then. I used to like myself then too. So many things change.

I sat through the whole song. Beginning to end. I listened to the lyrics. And you know what? It freaking SPOKE to me. For some reason, this song made a whole lot of sense. Now, not that my life is sad or lonely or anything, but I know exactly what that song is talking about. I think we all do. Everyone's had that feeling of 'I consider myself a person with lots of friends, but how come I'm sitting here alone, with nothing to do but count walls? Why? It would seem that everyone else is having fun, why can't I?'

I know. I EMPATHIZED with a 'punk' song. What is this world coming to? I can't say I'm very fond of myself right now.
I'm just waiting for the four horsemen to burst through my door...

I miss getting love letters, I miss writing them more though.
I wonder why that is?

The first night you and I were supposed to hang out, the first time our friendship was going to become extra-curricular, you broke your ankle. I remember feeling really angry the next morning, because I had patiently waited by the phone for an hour, than impatiently for three more hours, before heaving a mighty sigh and making a promise with myself to be cool, yet get the point across...I do not take lightly to being stood up.

Note: Every single time I've ever been stood up, there's been a good reason, except once. And when I say 'good reason' I mean deaths in the family or the snapping of bones.

When you hobbled into Finite the next morning my face reddened. I felt like a horrible person for thinking you a horrible person a mere twelve hours prior. You broke it in two places at a volleyball game. First game of the season of your last year. You almost cried when they told you you'd be out all season. You told me this much later though, after we'd gotten to the 'honesty' stage of our relationship. At the time all I was trying to think of was something witty to write on your cast. The best I could do was come up with a wrestling nickname and write it in big awkward print near your ankle. 'Volcanic Ash'. That's all I could come up with, you have a great last name.

A week later I'd show up at your house with a movie and small Shoppers DrugMart bag. I've forgotten which movie we watched, because I spent most of my time struggling to paint your toes. You had fantastic mobility considering your right leg was encased in plaster up to your hip. I still managed to do a good job. You finally submitted and allowed me to get your left toes too. We laughed. When you found that the nailpolish I'd bought had come with a matching body paint, your laugh turned sinister.

I was wearing a tanktop, so you had fairly complete coverage of my neck and shoulders, writing 'key words' and designs which all smudged together into blobby purple splotches after the squirming finally ceased. Later that evening, when I came home and changed, my body looked like it was covered in deep purple bruises. All over. Like I'd been strapped. In the shower, as I watched a line of purple paint run down the drain I remember thinking 'can't say he hasn't left his mark on me'....

I don't think I realized how right I was. Three years after the paint came off, you're still a bruise on my skin. It almost heals, and then you bump into me, or if I'm really feeling down, I'll push on it myself until it hurts. But it's always there, and I like it that way.

There's no doubt in my mind that if I meet an octopus and it's not a goofy, bubble-headed multitasker like the picture I have filed under 'octopus' in my head, I'll be mighty disappointed.

Sweet merciful crap.

This is the fourth post I've written today. The first THREE have dematerialized. I don't know where they are or what happened.
I hate, nay, loathe this stupid thing. It's my brother's computer. Mine is too slow and renders me frustrated. This one is much quicker, although it doesn't have any of the fun MP3's which I've stolen from Ben or Ned on it...but still, silent but quick takes precedence over slow and musical.

-his morning marks the first time in a week that I've woken up well rested. I've been sleeping everywhere but my own bed since the auns showed up. My face looks way less mean now.
-mosquito bites are easily the most irritating thing in my day to day life. I currently have one in the exact middle of my back, between my shoulderblades. Crafty bastards.
-I spent monday at the beach. It was wonderful. Maria is the best person for me to spend days off with. I end up feeling recharged and invincible.
-my aunts are gone. insert series of coven jokes here
-paperwork keeps piling up for belgium. as far as I understand it, all these dead trees are merely typed out approval. Basically, if I took a polaroid of a police officer, a doctor and the administration of my school giving me the thumbs up, it would mean the same thing. When I rule the world, changes will be made.
-the last word I looked up in the dictionary is 'pudding'. Think about it.
-my understanding of how drug dogs work, is that they become addicted to whatever substance they are to sniff out, and then find it because they are hyper sensitized to it. If this same theory holds for human, I'm a wonderful person addict. I find them everywhere.
-when I send packages, I feel like I've accomplished something great. So I can then write off the rest of the day to lying around and eating macaroons.
-the picture up under the staff section of the improv camp webpage is horrible. Of both me and Kathy. A huge misrepresentation of us. The rest of the staff seems incredibly attractive though. I'm stoked. And a little frightened.

This was roughly the contents of those three other posts. They were much more fleshed out and humorous...but I just needed to clear this out of my head. There. I feel lighter.

I'm doing contract work for the Virtual Museum of Canada. Translating poorly written french text into fancy english so it can be translated back into fancy french. This is work that I do inbetween shifts at the restaurant. I'm getting paid a lot. I'm currently working very hard in order to develop a level of trust so that maybe, just maybe, I can start slipping in little brainwashing bits of propaganda.
I'm not sure how to do this, but I desparately want to. Oooooh how I want to.

The other day I sat and watched someone. She was completely beautiful. Probably not in the typical rubrick of beautiful, but to me, she was. And all I wanted to do was tell her that, because the truly beautiful people are never told enough, and they are the ones who won't actually believe it, as that's part of what makes them so beautiful. I just wanted to part my lips and let those words slide out, but I knew that I would just make her uncomfortable, then me in turn. She'd mutter something, comment on me in a favorable manner or shy away frightened, as that's how we've been raised...society has made it so that I can't tell this girl I think she's beautiful without a carload of ramifications and implications. So I didn't. I couldn't really, it would be unfair to her...it would creep her out. Or she'd think I was just being mean. That's how I feel sometimes when people talk about my physical attributes...anyhow, I felt impotent and was frustrated.

So I took out a receipt from my bag, and wrote 'you are beautiful' on the back of it. And then I left it, face up where I was sitting. I hope someone finds it, someone who'll understand why it was written down. Someone who'll smile at the thought of someone finding someone else beautiful for no motives other than the appreciation of beauty, plain and simple.

Odds are it was tossed out. But I felt purged nonetheless.

I'd rather have a bottle in front of me...

Today, despite the continued crappiness of the weather, has been a great day.
First off, I woke up feeling rested which rarely happens...and then had to come up with some kind of bio for myself and Katherine Young to put up on the Canadian Improv Games Improv Camp page. This means that it's real. I will be workshopping with kids for a week in Regina. I am stoked. Very very stoked. Also, upon the list of staff being posted three whole kids who were down for the nationals commented on how they were excited that I was going to be there. Other people are excited that I'm going to be working with them. When did this happen? I love it. Love love love.

Then I went out resume dropping with JenBrown. It was fun despite the fact I had to force her into doing it. She's shy. Anyhow, whilst driving about trying to locate places worthy of her employment, Peaches by The Presidents of The United States of America came on. What a great song. I'm listening to that album right now. So great.

I wear a baseball hat at work. It's part of my work's 'style' I supposed. Big clunky work boots, jeans and a hat. I've been working a lot more than usual lately, and this has taken its toll on my physical self. My shoulders hurt, my calves are freaking tight and I have this reddish raw line running across my forehead due to the hat. It looks like a scar. People ask about it.

Yes, it's a reaction.
It has something to do with the temperature.
The skin graft doesn't take well to the sudden highs and lows in air pressure.
The humidity affects the donor skin cells.
You thought this was my REAL hair? They did a good job didn't they?

Ahhh, it's been a while since I've lied to people...other than last wednesday when I told a girl I was Belgian, but that hardly counts.

Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrarg.

I have a day off today. And the weather looks like the inside of a rotten avocado Fan-tastic.
Last night at work I became so cranky that I barely recognized myself. After working about 5 hours at this brunchy thing we do for mother's day, I took off. Just got in the car and drove, for no reason other than to get out of the restaurant. It's all-wood interior makes me batty sometimes...Lucky for me, I work about 5 minutes away from the first house I ever lived in. From 0-6 I lived in a teeny little house in a teeny little community. I don't visit that area nearly enough, considering it was the environment in which I spent my formative years, and I have constant access to it. So yesterday I decide to do 30 km/h down memory lane.

Aside from a few small modifications, such as my formerly red and white house now being a horrid canary yellow, it's all the same. Not the same people, as they've all grown up and moved out. I actually don't think a single family that I know still lives in that neighbourhood, but it's all the same. Kids of the same age as I once was running around, learning how to bike. The same kind of dogs tied to stakes in front of the same houses. It was a very touristy feeling. A tourist in my own past. Time has that ability.

The other day I was rollerblading about, killing time in between here's and there's, when I noticed something sad. Since we've moved here ten years ago this couple has always walked their dogs. They have twin giant terriers that are this nice reddy blondish colour, and at least three times a week I'd see them out walking. Man and wife with dogs. They started out as puppies, and I watched them grow so gradually that I'd never noticed they'd even changed. When I was out I sped past them and noticed something that almost toppled me right over. They're walking one dog now. This morning I saw them again, the couple with only one dog.

It had never occured to me how sad mother's day must be for some people, but in my travels yesterday I drove past a cemetery.
They were selling flowers right outside of it. A good business move I suppose.

My aunt's family on my father's side is half gone. My aunt died of brain cancer several years back, her twin daughters died ten years apart, one in a car crash, the other of pneumonia. In the crash that killed Heather, her two children were in the car. Half that family died prematurely, leaving behind my uncle, my cousins Rob and Shelly, and their kids. My grandmother has had to bury a lot of people. They are all in the same cemetery in Nova Scotia, which she dutifully visits to leave flowers and maintain. The last time I was down visiting, which was too long ago, I went with her.

Two plots down and one two the left of where they are is the grave of a boy who died at 8 years old. I noticed because he was born in 1982, like me. My grandmother's been visiting that cemetery since her husband died in 1979, and she's never once seen anyone near that stone, never seen anyone leave flowers on it or even look at it. This boy was someone's son, probably someone's nephew, maybe even brother. And I pitied him. What right do I have to pity a complete stranger who did the most natural thing we can all do?

Time has that ability.
Rainy days make me think like this. I'm sorry.

I just wrote a whole freaking long post about a whole bunch of stuff. And then my computer swallowed it.

I look at people who get married the same way I look at people who jog.
"Good for them! I didn't know people still did that...it's not for me though"

That's all you get for now.
Blasted technology.
The rest was about formula and me being stupid, maybe I'll write it later.

...and maybe you should sleep
and maybe you just need a friend
as clumsy as you've been, there's no one laughing...
you will be safe in here...

Highlights of the past few days include.

-going kinda blondish
-lying about being Beligian to an enthusiastic tour person
-Frisbee in front of the Parliament buildings
-winning five bucks for having faith in Jon finding us in less than two hours
-watching JenBrown try to crack her hip by doing some kind of mesmerizing hula-type dance
-watching 'Secretary'...damn good movie
-hearing someone say the following things
"Milo sounds cat"
"...I took this fat girl to prom" (referring to me)
"my pirate name is Mad Tom Kidd...(later on we decided that although it is a lame pirate name, it's still better than Mac 'One-Eye' Sweeney)
"The problem with lice, is that once their gone, their legend lives on"
"your head looks more...futuristic now"
"you think I'm going to ask a girl who just tried to pass 'funtastic' off as a real word for spelling advice?"
"I'm sorry, you're going to have to speak up, you're not wearing any pants."
"It must be nice to walk around naked all day" (referring to Mystique of X2)

And it's been sunny AND I bought a Booster Juice yesterday.
My life is awesome.

I can't fall asleep because it feels like a flock of tiny hamsters are trying to claw their way out of my stomach. Why?
This is what I ate/drank today.

A bowl of multigrain Cheerios.
A fifth of a can of diet Pepsi
Half a chocolate bunny
A handful of nacho chips.
Fried fish with an obnoxious amount of tartar sauce.
A blue kool-aid slushie.
Half a bag of peanut M&M's
7 fuzzy peaches.

It's funny how since I 'start my day off right' I figure I can consume whatever I want and get off scot free. Much like how if I'm really nice to someone or do them a big favour, I feel as if I'm allowed to be a jackass for the rest of the week. I deal in quotas for everything.

"Hey Des, wanna hang out this afternoon?"
"Sorry Dude, I spent all wednesday with you. I'm done til next week."
"But you're not doing anything right now..."
"Well, alright, but after this I don't have to see you til June..."

Computers make me feel retarded.

Okay, so I can't access the entire month of April on this thing. There's a link to it, but it's 'not found'. Grrrr.

Usually I'd run crying to Ned on this as he is my co-administrator, but he's out planting trees (capitalist bastard that he is) so I have no one to fix it for me. Unless, of course...you, my precious lovely reader, know how to fix it. This is aimed more at those of you who use blogspot yourselves and are smarter than me.

So if anyone knows what's wrong and how to remedy my problem, I'm reachable at dcflame@hotmail.com and will reward you handsomely. I'll even let you into my page so you can tinker around with stuff if you feel you can fix it. I've tried a few times and nothing has work (read:turning it off and reloading frequently) so I'm really stuck. I know the posts aren't lost, they're just...hiding.

So yeah, and yeah. Who wants to be the handsome prince on the magnificent white steed to come to my rescue? There are some muffins in it for you.

Before

I'm getting my hair cut tomorrow. Expect radical change.


After

Cats dislike getting shaved. They dislike the people who do the shaving. They demonstrate this dislike by removing large chunks of flesh from the shaver's hands and wrists. I've got scars to prove it. Nothing like a veterinary co-op to prove to you how much you like animal sciences. I'm a philosophy major.

I don't know what I'm going to like more, the plastic cone or the cool steel examination table.

For the past three days I've been accused of lying to a good friend about being at a party.
She doesn't know who threw the party, when it was, or who was there.
She did see a picture of me at it though, and was furious that I wouldn't fess up to going to this 'hockey party'.
For the life of my I couldn't remember going to anything that even remotely resembled a hockey party.
I wracked my brain, I thought and thought and thought.
Finally I asked to see the picture to help jog my memory.



Memory jogged. This isn't me.
But man, does she ever do a good 'me' impression. Right down to the obstruction of a clear picture of my face.

Tell tale signs the girl in your picture isn't Desiree:
1- She's wearing rings. Desiree doesn't wear rings
2- She's at a hockey party. Desiree doesn't fraternize with hockey types. Not as a rule, so much as a pleasent coincidence.

These are my eyes.
If I was some weirdly pixelated cartoon.

Word.

Roughly two dozen ultimatums later, my room is clean.
Super clean, disinfected and shiny...and I don't like it.
I don't like it because I know that it's unnatural for me to be in a super-clean environment, and my room wasn't all the messy in the first place, no where near messy enough to require the massive overhaul that my mother demanded...unfortunately it would seem that my threshold for squalor is far higher than hers.

I enjoyed the process though, for the most part...finding stuff especially. I reread every yearbook send-off greeting that has ever been written to me, reread journal entries from grade 10, reread love letters and found school notes that I thought had long since evaporated with time and misuse. I found whole heaps of notes that at the time I recieved them I discarded because I hadn't time or interest enough to fully read them. Now, sifting through last year's religion notes I found a page quatrians of Suni poetry that I've just kept going over. It's incredibly touching and means so much more to me now than it did then. This is how you know you've been learning. To know that these words are religious almost rob them of their power for me...but I'm gonna share them anyway.

If you can't smell the fragrance
Don't come into the garden of Love.
If you're unwilling to undress
Don't enter the stream of Truth
Stay where you are.
Don't come our way.
<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<
You know what love is?
It is all kindness, generosity.
Disharmony prevails when
You confuse lust with love, while
The distance between the two
Is endless.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
I lay in the dust at your feet,
My heart entangled
in the curls of Your hair.
I've had enough.
Bring closer Your lips
And let Your kiss
Release my soul.
<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<
On my quest
I feel so confused and restless
Set on fire, my heart explodes
With the pain of separation.
In this struggle, I am caught forever
Unless I go beyond this
You and I
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
I am happy tonight
United with the Friend.
Free from the pain of separation,
I whirl and dance with the Beloved.
I tell my hear, "Do not worry,
The key to the morning
I've thrown away.
<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<
If you have illusions about heaven
Lose them.
The soul heard of one attribute of Love
And came to earth.
A hundred attributes of heaven
Could never charm her back.
It is here the soul discovers
The reality of Love.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Islamic Mysticism rocks my socks.

The tostitos I'm eating currently taste like thinly sliced and then baked pieces of packing styrofoam, lightly salted and cut into triangles...but will I keep eating? Of course.

I re-read the Portrait Of Dorian Grey the other day. It's an awesome book that I had to read for an awful class. People who think that their morals are in a steep decline shouldn't read this book. I shouldn't have read this book.

When I was much younger I was incredibly sensitive and empathetic. I'd cry really easily and if someone related an even remotely sad story I'd shed tears for their suffering. I was always conscious of how others felt and how I'd hurt them, regardless of how infinitesimal that hurt may have been. I spent a lot of time apologizing. I lived my life to the pleasure of others. I realize that's no way to live, but it kept me busy and satisfied.

Now I'm not. I don't care. For the most part I try my best to stay uninvolved in the comings and goings of others. I listen to their woes and make the appropriate noises, and in certain situations I'll feel for them, but for the most part I really couldn't care less. The problem is that this aloofness is even happening in regards to my own situation. I don't care what I do. I have no static personality to gauge my actions by, so some days I'll do one thing, and the next I'll consider my actions unacceptable. There's no constant and it doesn't bother me. So picking up the Portrait of Dorian Grey was a bad idea, because now all I'm doing is trying to envisage my own decrepit, gnarled portrait. And I'm still young. Is it possible to undo all this apathy and jadedness that I've acquired over years of being a sympathetic ear?

And then I watch 11 minutes of an old episode of Dawson's Creek and weep like someone just killed my kitten. Emotions are a tricky thing. Sometimes I feel hardened and sometimes I feel so frail that a brisk wind will shatter me. Shatter me like so much crappy dry tostitos on my desk.

history of medieval philosophy
history of modern philosophy
20th Century Continental philosophy
logic
philosophy of being
introduction to ethics
aesthetics
historical introduction to philosophy
ethics seminar
philosophical anthropology seminar
ancient philosophical texts seminar.

This is what I'll be studying in Leuven. I'm feeling very lukewarm about these classes. 7 out of 12 of the classes have the word philosophy in their titles. All 12 are considered philosophy classes. I'm afraid that at the end of these 10 months of study I'll have dissolved into a big gelatinous mass of pontification and whining. So to ensure that I remain an active person who still does stupid random things without reason, I've already laid out several ground rules to my behaviour.

On the first of every month, I must dance in or near a fountain to celebrate the fact that I'm IN EUROPE LIVING AND LEARNING and also to remind myself that time is still elapsing around me. I forget that sometimes.

I must write letters to my loved ones the old fashioned way. And send them. With little trinkets of my life pressed in between their pages...a clover from ireland, crumbs from a danish danish, a picture of a scowling french man...

I must get caught in the rain. And puddle jump profusely.

I must hug a new person every week. This is important because I require a ridiculous amount of hugs in order to stay sane. I'll be in Belgium with 7 people I know, however I only feel comfortable hugging 3 of them. I need to develop a wide foundation of huggers, hence this mission.

That's all I've got so far. Suggestions are welcome. We've also already established a hitch-hiking race to Spain. Overall I'm sure that I'll come out crazier than when I went in, which is all I could hope for.

Over the course of this post I sneezed 7 times.

I am posting now so that when I wake up tomorrow morning and check my page I have something new to read...yes...It HAS come to this. Posting so incredibly tired/drunk that I can surprise myself....sad sad state of affairs.

My toothbrush is in my parents bathroom...the only portal to that bathroom is through their room in which they are currently slumbering fitfully. A mighty 'fuck!' to that. This means that all I can do is floss dryly in my room, as my bathroom is toxic and painty...flossing is no where near as rewarding as brushing is...which is probably why I refrain from doing it so much...nah, scratch that...laziness is undoubtedly why I don't floss, coupled with a heaping doss of 'don't really care'.

This post is pessimistic. Maybe that's the kind of girl I really am...

Nothing like not really ending sentences to express the state of mind I'm in...a sleepy, woozy state of mind. I spent the whole bloody day at work to not make nearly enough money to justify spending the whole day at work, so I"m bitter. To punish myself for not making money I sat through the entire Sens game. They lost. Do I care? Nope, not really.

The problem with knowing people really well is that you can sometimes read their minds. I can do this with a few close friends and co-workers...not out of any real desire to be able to do this, but just out of a level of proximity and understanding that results in me having the capacity to know what they're thinking. This is often more bad than it is good. Today I spent the whole day knowing exactly what Chad was thinking. To the point where I thought it was so palpable that every other person in the restaurant must have felt it too... It drove me nuts all day, so to clear the air I actually exploded at him with the cryptic wording of: "Why can't you just keep your damned thoughts to yourself?!?" A whole host of people looked at me strange...in a way I haven't been looked at in a while...it's nice to shock your aquaintances with your eccentricities every now and then...I was behaving far too normally anyhow, it's cleansing to shake shit up.

This summer has potential to be both very very good and very very bad for me. Unfortunately I'm afraid that by living in that balance, they will cancel each other out and I'll be living in this muted, bland, beige kind of place, so it looks like it has to be some degree of either bad or good...And good is overrated. I think my good stores are almost depleted...I definately have some bad coming my way...

I'm almost excited about it...the difference between being bad and having bad stuff happen to you is something that I'm willing to explore. I'm good with projects...we'll see how this goes.