This evening brought to you in part by Vicks Vap-O-Rub in association with Tylenol Cold and Flu with support by the friendly folks at Kleenex.


I'm sick.
Come sit with me.
Tell me a story.
Could you pass me that glass of water?
I love you.


(excerpt from my night off from work)

I can't muster up the energy to draw myself a bath.
This in itself is laughable, because come on. It's a freaking bath. The act of drawing a bath is one of the simplest things I can do in the bathroom.

Step One: Plug Hole.
Step Two: Fill with Water.
Step Three. Immerse.
Step For. Stop water.

Done! There you have it. I'd go from clothed and dry to naked and soaking in a little under....7 minutes. And I can sit down! There's no adjusting of nozzles, no finding of shampoos and/or conditioners. No shower curtains to fight with. Just a simple four step process that will render me far more comfortable than I am now. And yet, the mere thought of the hole-plugging seems too daunting to take on.

Why is it called 'drawing' a bath. To actually draw a bath using crayons would be harder than what I'm about to do, and yet, I'm going to drudge through the whole thing.

Some people call it complaining. I call it EXplaining.

All this is to say I've been working too damn much. I've never in my life had more money in my bank account. And it's all going to leave me shortly to settle plane tickets and car rentals.

10 days from now I'll be in a car with my brother and another guy going to Regina.
Every time I tell anyone that for my two weeks off I'm going to Regina, they always ask me why. Yet, if I were to say Toronto, Montreal, Halifax, or Vancouver, I wouldn't have to explain myself. It must suck to live in a city that constantly needs to be justified to strangers.

Or maybe not.

...you keep your distance, I can't deny you, I've got the feeling, I can't satisfy you
I've got your picture on the wall, I got the picture long ago,
you keep your wishes, I'll keep my feelings, there goes another one that kept me breathing,
I'm waiting for you, I know your leaving, I still adore you, you never need me...

When we walked into the restaurant, the uber-pleasant hostess asked us if we wanted to sit inside or outside on the patio. I passed the decision to you because I knew that despite your best efforts to conceal it, you were aching for a smoke. What I assumed to be a simple decision left you stunned though. You looked at me with the sort of blank face associated with forest dwelling creatures caught between the highbeams of a Volvo. Finally, after a pause that made the perky hostess repeat the question, I chose for us. Patio it is.

Later on, as we sat basking in the warm and sipped our respective frozen drinks, I'd remind you how I don't mind you smoking around me, and how you really didn't have to be so stressed about it.

"That wasn't the problem"
"Oh really? Then what made the inside/outside decision so tough? It's a beautiful sunny day and you can smoke out here."
"Yeah, but if we sit outside in the sun, you'll keep your sunglasses on and I won't be able to see your eyes smile."
"Oh."

So I took them off and smiled.

After our food came, I asked you if you thought they'd have this in Belgium.

"What? Ricotta cheese? I'm pretty sure they will. I hear they're big on cheese there."
"I think you mean Switzerland, but that's not what I meant. I meant this. Familiarity, comfort, humourous laid back conversation with someone I genuinely care about. Will they have this there?"
"Of course they will, with one significant difference."
"Yeah?"
"You'll never meet someone who cares about you more there than we do here. And it will all take place in french."

I don't doubt it.
I miss everyone already.

This is a cop-out

I have stuff to talk about, but it's one of those 'but where to begin?' situations, so instead I'm going to post this survey I stole off of someone else's page. But just so as to ensure you folks that I'm living and happy, I'll give you this tidbit:
I fell asleep in someone's arms last night, and there was nothing romantic about it (on my side anyway) and it was beautiful.

Okay, so here we go.
1. Who was the last person you yelled at? I'm not a yeller, so I can't remember, but I do recall a specific moment in grade 10 driving home from McDonalds and getting in a screaming match with Stacey over who the lead singer of BoyZone was.
2. Who was the last person you kissed? I kissed Bruce on the cheek last night. That's all you'll get out of me.
3. What was the last memorable book you read? Choke by Chuck Palahniuk
4. When did you last dance? like a spaz? last night- I dance all the time, today at work I spent an entire conversation doing the Achy-Breaky. Some might consider that spazzy.
5. What's the last thing you want to hear from your parents? What's this behind the fridge? (answer:muffin mix)
6. When did you last go for a walk in the park? Last Friday, instead of going out we played on the swings for an hour.
7. When did you last do your ironing? Mmmm, Maria ironed a pair of pants for me once while we were in Mexico. She's crazy about ironing.
8. When was the last time you smiled all day? All day is a lot harder than it sounds, but after I finally bought my train ticket to go to Nova Scotia I smiled the entire busride home, which probably creeped out a lot of people.
9. What color of socks do you normally wear? whiteish grey.
10. Did you ever attend a private school? Nopers! People got STABBED at my highschool. You better rec'on'ize. (to be said outloud, thuggishly)
11. Do you like stuffed animals? Somehow over the past year I've become resentful of having stuffed animals in my room, so now they all chill in a basket instead of on my shelf, so they don't bother me.
12. Have you ever smashed pumpkins? I want to say no but I have a feeling I might have.
14. Can you quote shakespeare? Yes, a few sonnets, some Romeo and Juliet and all the first Witch's lines from MacBeth.
15. Do you like playing baseball? Yes, as long as I'm catching or playing first, and Stacey's pitching.
16. Are you a neat freak? So totally not, it's not even funny.
17. What is the worst injury you have ever given someone? I broke Steph's elbow. Kind of. That's right...don't mess.
18. Do you ever eat lemons plain? No thank you.
19. Have you ever fired a gun? That'd be a 'Hell's no'. I'm Canadian. I don't think I'd even saw a gun close up before I went to Mexico.
20. Do you own any knee-high boots? One pair of brown 'hoe-boots' which haven't been worn more than once a year since they were purchased. They make me 9 feet tall.
21. Are you attached to extreme people? Robert Allan Justus, founder of Flaming Football and future mayor of Blizzam Saskatchewan. And I'd like to think I'm extreme too, you should see me parallel park. Hard core.
22. Do you like swimming in lakes? Of course, other than mild seaweed molestations I have nothing but love for natural bodies of water.
23. Have you ever streaked at a football game or any other public event? Naked is a very personal thing for me. You've got to earn it, I'm not giving it away for free.
24. What is you favorite gemstone? Can't say I'm big into gemstones. I like wood.
25. Have you gone on many blind dates? No. None.....well....maybe kind of. Actually yes. But we talked before we met. So maybe that negates the 'blindness'....okay, so no.
26. Has someone done something extra nice for you? People are always doing extra nice things for me, but that might be because my definition of extra nice is pretty broad. Someone changed the subject for me last night, I thought that was super nice. I got the comfy pillow in the tent, also super nice. My parents are helping me pay for Belgium, wicked nice...Stacey picked me up from work today....my life is littered with people being nice to me.
27. Did you have a crush on any of your teachers? No, but I adore a few.
28. Have you ever been lost in a bad part of a city? Lost in Mexico City once. I laughed about it the whole time, partly to use insanity to scare of potential no-goodniks and partly because, shit man...I was lost in Mexico City. I don't speak Spanish. My flight left the next day. I was going to die.
29. Would you rather have a mint or fruit flavored gum? Mint please. I find it lasts longer than those fruity kinds.
30. Do you have road rage? Well, I'll talk at other drivers about they're techniques, but I won't honk. I'll actually just say the word 'honk' in my car. I find it's more cathartic and less harassing to others. Other than those in the car with me.
32. Do you ever eat food right out of cans or jars? I feel I should be saying yes, but I think the answer is no.
33. Has your mind ever gone blank? A lot, at work, I'll just forget what I'm doing, usually because I'm on autopilot.
34. Have you ever met anyone interesting at the laundry mat? I've only been to one laundry mat and I brought my own interesting person.
36. Are you kind? To those who deserve kindness I'm all sweetness and light. To the stupid and rude, I'm more dutiful than kind.
37. Would you give a needy person the shirt off your back? Done it before and I'll do it again. (Drunk)
38. Do you have any beanie babies? I have a siamese cat and a leopard. They sit on the top of my bookshelf waiting to pounce.
39. Would you rather be hot or cold? Is it hot and humid? Cause I hate that...usually cold cause its the perfect excuse to snuggle or stick your nose in someone's neck.
40. Is the glass half full, or empty? Full I'm a afraid. I'm an optimist. I know, how annoying.
41. Do you exercise or work out regularly? Bah. I spend my days clomping around a resaurant in workboots and my nights running around or dancing. Gyms are for the unimaginative.
42. Could you kill if your life was threatened? What kind of 'threatened' are we talking about here? In all honesty, if my life was threatened I don't think I'd be very reliable, but if the life of someone dear to me was, game on. You're toast.

Much more revealing than I thought it would be.
Nap time.

Just once, if I had the chance....the things I would do to you...

I've become very predatorial as July comes to an end. Lately it seems like I'm eyeing everything like a hungry cat, licking my chops and wondering what it would taste like. Something about the desparation of my last full month is making my desire to experience everthing that the people and places of Ottawa have to offer insatiable, throbbing, everpresent.

I can't promise I won't bite, and if you run I'll chase you.
I just devoured an entire bag of cherries.
I'm not taking any prisoners.
So run. I dare you.

I just got home from a club. Everything sounds like I'm listening to it through a long papertowel tube.
They say it takes 7 years before serious hearing damage is detectable. I figure this is fair enough, as by the time I'm 25 - 27, I probably won't want to hear what people are telling me anyway.

This weekend has been an experiment of sorts. You see, four people who mean a significant deal to me, are missing this weekend. They can not be reached. I don't know what they're up to, and I'm certain they are having a great time. I have taken this opportunity to see how I deal without these people for three days, as a kind of sample of how I'm going to deal without them, and EVERYONE ELSE for 10 months. So far, I'm not doing so good.

Atleast twice each day they've been gone, I've thought about calling each of them to ask them something, tell them something, or just sing the first few lines a Limp Bizkit song to them. I needed advice and they weren't there to council me. I went and played at the park in the middle of the night and they weren't there to join me. I went to get fast food even later that night and they weren't there to tease/eat with me. And the fact that they are somewhere else has made me agonizingly curious as to what they've been up to. I've been skittish and uneasy. This is only a weekend without four people, one of whom I don't see very much when she is here. But yet, crazy missing them.

Verdict: I'm not going to do so well when it's ME leaving THEM for a long time. Something tells me my fear of going will quickly become a reoccuring theme on this thing. Which is lame, so I'll try to splice it with stories of hedge mazes and tag in cornfield and Flashdance and whatnot.

Stupid Cape Cod, Saskatoon, Halifax and Matt's Cottage for stealing them from me. I'm lonely.

One of those nights when it seems like everyone all around me is either falling in love or has fallen and all I can do is listen to the same damn song over and over and talk myself out of a breakdown.

I've talked myself out of three breakdowns so far and I haven't even left yet.

It makes me wonder if I'll ever be able to listen to a Counting Crows song and not think of a specific boy in a specific time and place. Any Counting Crows song. Seriously, I can rattle off a list of wonderful boys who are all slaves to Adam Duritz. I have mix tapes, cd's dedicated exclusively to the works of 'the crows'. What is it about them that makes my kind of boy so addicted?

I need to start falling for boys who listen to death metal or something. Maybe I'll find more success.

Spellchecker: 1, Desiree: 0.

So, I usually have the spellchecker dealy turned off on my computer, because I hate seeing my own named underlined in nasty red squiggle because it's not recognized as a word, and also I've heard some horror stories about words being switch unwittingly, much to the chagrin of essay and resumé writers. This is no such story.

Inappropriate. Inappropirate.

If you can't see a difference in these two words, thank you...cause neither did I.

And then I sent out forty copies of the ethics agreement for camp.

FORTY COPIES OUT TO FORTY IMPROVISATION TRAINERS.

"Inappropirate conduct? What's that? Behavior unbefitting some kind of swashbuckling seaman? Well, I can't say that I won't partake in some pillaging and...grog...guzzling. So I guess I can't sign this."
This, times 38 is what I've recieved in response to the statements. The two people who haven't sent responses are Alistair, the national director who CALLED ME to laugh at my typo, and myself, because I sent myself a copy of the statement and it was only then that I realized the fucking R was in the wrong place.

Getting laughed at? I'm good at that. Paperwork? Not so much.

I can't remember the last time someone held my hand and really meant it.

Right, okay. So ghost.

First off, here's what it was for: Creepy Canada. Hopefully the amateurish website won't throw you off too bad. In a nutshell, it's a show that chronicles the ghost stories of Canada by going coast to coast and stopping in each city to do profiles on haunted stuff.

For the past four or five days, the crew was here in Ottawa shooting stuff for their new season. The regional casting director happens to be a friend of the family, so he called me up to see if I could go in for a day of exciting television filming*. I said sure. He asked me for my dress size. I laughed. I don't know those kinds of things. He asked me my shoe size. I laughed. I wear a size 34 Birk. That didn't help him. Regardless, we guessed our way through my sizes and then a few days later, I was off to a fairly credible shoot.

The place itself is an older, I'd say....colonial (if I knew anything about architecture) house that's all stonework and wood. Really beautiful and remodelled to be a fancy restaurant which has hosted such political higher-ups as that guy who took away our extra P.D. Days and some important Czechoslovakian guy. I made the appropriate 'oooooooh, impressive' noises when told these things. But really, couldn't care less.

Turns out I got to be the ghost of the Heritage Inn. She's a 'young woman in flowing gown' who does a lot of walking, staring, turning and walking some more. I walked through 2 doors, made some lights flicker, mysteriously opened a door and flipped over a bunch of glasses....wooooooooooo. Spooky.

Of course this was nothing as I'd imagined it. In my minds eye, this was going to be a gauzy, lighteningy scenario, replete with dry ice or fog machine-made smoke, eerie music and Robert Stack standing around narrating things. No such luck. No music whatsoever actually, except for me humming Chantilly Lace to myself all goddamn afternoon. The stuff that gets stuck in my head could be it's own Discovery Channel special. Don't get me started on the Pliosaurus.

So yeah, I wore something resembling what your grandmother wears to bed and tried not to trip walking up the stairs. I was on site for 9 hours. I did about 2 hours of 'work'. However, dinner itself was reward enough for all that wasted time. Hurray for haunted 5 star restaurants. The freshest goat cheese I've ever had...which isn't saying much as I'm not a connoiseur of goat cheese, but whatever. It was good. No hint of goat at all.

And that's about it. If you see it let me know how it goes. I'm told that the ghosts on the show are pretty cool...translucent and floaty. I think it'd be cool to see what I'd look like as a ghost. But one thing's for sure. If I'm going to haunt, it'd be in pants. More practical.






read: a ton of sitting around playing with the dog and making paper airplanes

This is what Canada means to me.


The hot guy is Jon. His sexy sunglasses are MY NEW AVIATORS THAT LOOK BETTER ON HIM. Bastard.

This is what Jon is to me, pajama pants, beer, and losing at Dr Mario to me. A girl. The shame.

This is Joel. Joel is sort of new to me, as I've only started really hanging out with him this summer. He's pretty cool and has these crazy calves. Other than all the noxious gasses he emits, I have no problem with him. Here he's in the partyboat/cage where he was sketching/mutating...I suppose.


And for those of you who've stuck it out waiting for pictures of me dressed as a prostitute at Rob's party, here's the only picture of it that I'm posting, as any thing else would ruin my chances at a Ms Universe title, or say...the presidency.

Absent from picture: The wicked amount of cleavage I had going on, my brother's red spanky pants, and the hooker shoes I was sporting. Can't say I don't whore it up with the best of them.

...and I wonder what you look like, under your t-shirt,
I wonder what you sound like when you're not wearing words,
I wonder what we have when we're not pretending,
It's never ending, haven't you heard...

And I don't need to tell you what it's all about,
just start on the inside and work your way out...


I was a ghost all day yesterday.
I'll let you think on that for a while.

Just how completely inept am I when it comes to computers?
This much:

I wanted to post a picture that I'd played with in photoshop. I posted it yesterday.
However, the picture itself can be found under May 4th, 2003. How did I manage that? I'm not sure.

I'm leaps and bounds more useless than I thought I was.

...in a haze of extreme exhaustion and menstrual cramps, she rolls out of bed seeking something to dull the pain so she can finally slip into a few hours of precious, much needed sleep. As she pads into the bathroom, she leaves the light off, knowing full well the blast of white light will knock her to the ground. She digs under the sink, finally locating the plastic bag filled with pharmaceulticals she packed when she went to Toronto. Looking at the variety of pills, she speaks each name outloud. "Gravol, Actifed, Immodium.' until she finds the pretty blue pills she knows well. Midol.

She takes two, dry, swallowing hard and grimacing at the feeling of the pills working their way down her throat, then stumbles back to bed to stare at the ceiling and wait for the painkillers to take hold.

An hour later, still bent at the waist from cramps, she closes her eyes at the realization. Blue pills.


Extra Strength Tylenol Cold and Sinus. Non drowsy formula.

Wide awake, still in pain, but breathing better than she had in days.

scrolling through the stored phone numbers in my cell I came across your number. I didn't delete it, although I should. You're probably not even at that number anymore. But the fact that your name is there makes me happy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Take your left hand place it on your tummy, fingers pointing to the right.
Now, place your index finger so that the pad, the top section after the last joint, is resting over your navel, not in your navel, but covering it.
Stretch out all your fingers as wide and you can.
Move your pinky finger up and down along your stomach where it lies
Keep going, a little faster this time...more pressure too....
Now allow yourself to turn this into a full fledged scratch, don't hold back...just scratch away.
Get your whole arm into it, and when your hand gets tired, alternate with your right hand.

Once you're satisfied, check out how red and scratched up that patch of skin now is.
That's what I've been doing ALL DAY. Blasted mosquito bites and pants.

"you know what you're like? you're like that girl, who's dating your best friend, but who's AWESOME. You know? The one who you want to be with, cause she's fun and hilarious and crazy and hot, but it's like --damn, he found her first-- and so you just sit back and wish you had her, but instead just become really close friends cause you need to know this girl. you're like that. except you're no one's girlfriend. you're everyone's girlfriend. You know?.....Des, I'm so drunk right now. I love you."

Thanks Kevin. I love you too.

Also from the same night.

"I feel I can be honest with you. The bad kind of honest. The honest that says all the bad shit I've done to people, to girls and stuff, and you won't hate me for it. Not that you don't care, but you just know me better than all that shit I've done. And it's funny, cause I could sleep with you...(I raise my eyebrows) I mean, you're sleep-with-able. But I'm not going to. Cause this (motion with hands that means 'you and I') is way cooler than just...fucking."

It's official, I'm not longer the 'I love you man' guy, I'm the man that that guy loves. And I'm okay with that. Hurray for staff parties where I drive. So much drunk love.

I'll post a select few cottage pictures later.
"Pimps 'n What?" Pictures can be found here. I'm the...whorish one...wearing red spanky pants...and 'making out' with Steve. Check out the huge mosquito bites on my back. Stupid allergy to...whatever they excrete....

There are so many stories to go with all these pictures. Most of which are best kept to myself.
Look at me, keeping secrets. When will I learn?

Does doing bad things make you a bad person?

I need to figure out how much I believe in karma and then act accordingly.

Lately, men have been nothing other than fantastic and surprising in my life. This, despite it's appearance, is counterproductive.

I want to run away sometimes, and start over in a new place with a new name and a defined set of morals. Being impulsive without clearly delineated boundaries is not good. I'm likely to do anything without first considering the consequences. I need big bright orange road blocks in my life in order to channel the decision making process. I need to establish absolutes. I need permanent rules of thumb. I need to wash my feet. I need to find my watch. I need to start saying no.


I need sleep.