we walkedaround in the sun to the library and i read two books to them and i talked to a little dog and i told them more things i will put into the drunk piece i will inevitably write from my deathbed, a how-to guide for serious alholism. one line was something like - all of a sudden i am hung over and you are talking and now i am leaving. we ate fancy sammiches and they played chess and i watched a little girl eat an ice cream cone and her gramma was knitting and i didn't spill any of my sammich on the floor or the perrier. we watched the dave chappelle dvds. i laughed a lot.

i read The English Roses yesterday and i found that i identified with the one character Binah. she is all made fun of by the popular girls 'cos they are jealous of her and then they have this gay dream where they go to her house and see her cleaning up after her blue-collar dad and making dinner and the popular girls realise they are worthless cunts and then they start doing binah's chores for her. i suggest you go to a bookstore and read it for free like i did. madonna wrote it, she didn't draw it. well maybe she did. anyway. binah is all lonely and wears knee socks and she is smart and i am kinda like that and as a defense-mechanism i make fun of myself and have a "sense of humor" about not having girlfriends to rely on and do my chores for me so i hang out with boys and get them to do my chores instead and talk to my mum while i roll my eyes and flip out about them talking because i am watching survivor and no my dad isn't blue-collar like binah's though if he were i would be fine by it. he works really hard at what he does and i do absolutely nothing whatsoever.

imagine if i were your daughter all of a sudden one day like if they made a reality show of me living with you for a week and you weren't allowed to hit me when i pissed you off so you had to try and "fix" and "enlighten" and "mentor" me and make me into a "proper lady" - how long you imagine before you drowned yourself in a lake?

i want to go look at amish people today.

TOP TEN UNSAFE TOYS FOR CHRISTMAS

10. Junior Electrician Outlet Patrol

9. Hasbro's Slippery Steps

8. Black & Decker Silly Driller

7. Roof Hanger Paratrooper Outfit

6. Remco's Pocket Hive

5. Traffic Tag

4. Will It Burn? From Parker Brothers

3. Chimney Explorer

2. My First Ferret Farm

1. Ooh-You're Blue!, the Hold-Your-Breath Game



TOP TEN NUMBERS BETWEEN ONE AND TEN

10. Seven

9. Four

8. Ten

7. Three

6. Eight and a half

5. Nine

4. Two

3. One

2. Eight

1. Five and Six (tie)



TOM BROKAW'S TOP TEN TURN-ONS

10. Long walks on the beach

9. A perfumed bath on a rainy afternoon

8. Raisa Gorbachev in a waitress uniform

7. Doing the news with no pants on

6. When they sneak some swear words into a PG movie

5. Connie Chung's discarded makeup sponges

4. Slow dancing in the White House briefing room

3. Body Glitter

2. Hang-gliding nude over state prisons

1. Fat checkout girls who wear a ton of makeup


lists obviously stolen from Letterman's book of top ten lists circa 1990.

watched fight club last nite, 2/3 of it, no, 3/4.

yes i have seen it before.

the way it was written is very douglas coupland, the script, very, i-hate-my-culture. it made me want to be cynical, more than i already am and walk around in a messed-up work shirt with blood on my lips.

feh.

something is wrong with my audioblogger thing-a-ling. there are ludes and ludes of mentalpatientraymi recordings out there that i am waiting on.



before fight club, mark and i were dancing around to tarantino songs and i started smoking a cig in a slow-motion cool way when the zed's dead song came on and i brought up the you notice when a song is on everything gets cooler in the room discussion and we got to talking about it for awhile until some ole lady banged on his door for us having beastie boys videos blaring simultaneously with tarantino movie songs and he was like, i am going to be evicted and i said was that your first noise complaint ever? how old was she? was she mad? what was the expression on her face?

mark goes well, i cut her off before she could even tell me to turn down the music, i said, MUSIC TOO LOUD?

mark also said something wrong to an old guy in the elevator about how yeh he is new to the apartment and yes he is young and then we started laughing uncomfortably and exited the elevator and i said um did you really just tell that guy you were young where the fuck did that come from? mark says yeh i know, "Yes i am new to the planet and i am young!"

it's 'cos every tenant in the place is a hundred years old and their cars in the underground garage have thick dirty dust on 'em and flat tires. the landlord is eighty and very nice and thinks i am a silly prostitute because i wear ridiculous furry winter hats and flamboyant jackets and i am always smiling awkward polite prostitute smiles at him because that is what julia roberts did in pretty woman 'cos she knows she is not suppose to be in that fancy hotel.

me on the other hand, i know that everyone in mark's apartment is old and i am not so old and that i have every right to be there and it is just a mistake that i am of the female-persuasion and i usually have a six-pack hidden under my jacket anyway so i figure if i smile and not say much, that makes me invisible?

ok i already forgot where i was going with this so, good morning, expect more posts all day long in-between me knitting the whole town fancy sweaters because that is what i do.

when you are a dirtbag, you do all of your laundry at the same time or you don't do it at all. there is no such thing as separate wash loads for different-colored articles of clothing and fabric-materials and delicates. though, sometimes dirtbags are forced to do multiple loads simply because one cannot possibly fit everything into the washer all at once because the machine starts slam-dancing against the wall and screams up the stairs that it is going to make itself fall apart if you don't turn it off and divy up your stank-ass loser clothes, post-effin'-haste.



when you are a dirtbag you have to sometimes make like you are not a dirtbag and you make everyone else feel awkward and uncomfortable because they make a point to shower everyday and make an effort not to have greasy hair and wear clean underwear but there you are walking around flaunting your i-don't-give-a-crapness in their face and they are all, i hate him.

and there is this oh shit they know that i know that they know that i am a dirtbag orange-glow that floats all around you at your table and so you have to be loud and boisterous and make your i-don't-give-a-crapness presence better known like excuse me everyone not sitting at my table, you should all be paying attention to over here RIGHT NOW because OVER HERE there is a lot of nihilistic-coolness happening.

shit.

dirtbag and hipster are two very, very close things, pretty much the same thing, almost, sort of.



equally annoying is what i mean. but what isn't these days?

golf shirts, for example.

annoying.

though i wear them from time to time.

also.

people who hold doors open for other people just to make everyone in a coffeeshop feel bad for not holding the door, and basically making us all look like the assholes that we are, that, is considered annoying.

though when it is a friend of yours who does it, you are not allowed to be annoyed.

but, you are allowed to tell off your friend when they get back to your table and express that you are thoroughly-dissapointed in them for making everybody feel bad and that you think the only way in which to rectify the situation is to individually apologize to every person in the coffeeshop for being so damn selfish and to especially apologize to the person the door was held-open for in the first place because it is wrong to make one think they are allowed to gloat all day long about a random act of kindness that happened to them by way of fluke.



make sure you get this point across to your friend and that they fully understand that holding doors open for strangers is misleading, and very, very mean, cruel, and dangerous and you should chastise your friend about this for the rest of the day and make up elaborate stories about people getting hurt real bad and being forced to starve themselves and stand naked in the snow until your friend tells you to fuck off altogether.

and that's when you say, "I'm bored. Quit boring me."

haha.



ok back to dirtbags.

this was suppose to be a guide to dirtbags but i am annoyed thinking about the subject right now and i am sure you all know how to be a dirtbag anyway though a funny little guide i could put together easily enough for you but you would go, unnngh, that is SO annoying of her to tell ME how to be what i already am.

now i just want to write about things that i am annoyed by and say "pfft" after every sentence.

maybe i'll do that later.

i am hanging out with eryn tonite. his ex-gf is a dumb tit and i will inevitably write all about this scandalous gossip because i am a busy-body and i feed off other people's pain and anger and i get angry when they get angry because i come from the nation of RageAngeria.



now mark just called and was all should i go to this gramma's house or that gramma's house or should i stay in and read about dungeons&dragons and i said let's all hang out together even though eryn doesn't know it yet and you guys have never met and i am always the girl hanging out with the boys and making them be friends because that is just the way it is and if you ever see me out in public with a girl she is either my mum, related to me, or i just met her and we will prolly never hang out again unless pre-arranged by mutual friends and she never calls me and i think about her a lot.

i wrote there today, earlier, and this is a picture of a picture of me awhile ago. i am thinking about doing something spectacular with my hair soon. i'm growing bored of myself again. i am thinking of going to school. gasp. learning how to talk to people without nervously fiddling with a hair-elastic and staring at the floor school. learning how to be confident again, without alcohol. learning how to cope. learning how to be happy and how to appreciate what i've got and counting my blessings.

nah.

marketing/advertising is what i think i'll do and i will still be shy and weird in the back and not talk to anyone.

yum.




fancybar, koolhaus.





me again.

dear raymi

i knowww.
the passport thing just freaked me a little...
but of course its just words.
and i was mostly just joking. but not only.

i just hate microsoft too much.
sorry.
i'm old school that way...
thing is, i even used to have a hotmail email account
and then they just closed it some time ago ... ???
wtf?

but hey.



i actually live in switzerland. i even grew up here
most of the time. i do have an american passport.
but i am not proud of it these days...
i might burn it in january when bush gets re-instated.
or howeverthefuck thats called.

but hey.

so if your ever in europe make sure to look me up.

but hey.

i hope weaning off the booze works out for you. i
guess it does for some people... and i am sure you are
one of them.

but hey.



robotish! wooo. nice word. i am a web-content person
almost flat out of work since the internetbubble
burst.
i started to blog pretty much 2 years ago to the day.
wow.

how time flies.

i had wanted to start a blog much earlier, but was
always too busy back then. then i heard joi ito speak
about blogging at a conference and i knew i just had
to do it... so i guess i came in more from the nerdy
end of things.

but as i said before, the type of blogging you do
really inspires me. total freestyle. cathartic. up
bustle and out. in the zone. in the flow. spitting out
words. jumpy yet honest. sexy yet real. emotional yet
contained.



raymi. lets face it. you're teh bestest! and you
deserve a million dollar contract.

if i had it i would give it to you. believe!

but hey.

i dont even have a real job right now. nobody sees my
genius either... *sniffie* so i am a professional
blogger and ex-dj. sound spiffy?

but hey.

kisseshugsandallthatcrap pieceoplastic aka jan aka CEO
pieceoplastic.com

ps: much is going on, once we switch to the right
channel...

ok so my hair use to look like a pagoda and i weighed more.

i drank a lot and often and i figured if i had pagoda-dido hair people wouldn't notice my fatass face. but then i went to maine for a few months and sat around drinking and eating in the winter until i turned 19 and was like fuck maine, i'm out. no offense, little-town maine, you're very pretty, however, i was too young to be a depressed and bored canadian little housewife with pagoda hair all the time in your state. i even wrote a letter to oprah about our ridiculous fonebill and asked her to give us money. she didn't respond. heh.



and this is me a few months after back in canada. i figured if i angled my face differently the fatness of it wouldn't show. also, pharmaceutical narcotics suppress the appetite. this is one of the shots i used in my slew of ME pictures for the muchmusic vj try-out thing. tyranny was with me that day i tried out and we were doing percs in line and it was like duh, raymi is so not getting this part.

i have never bragged so friggin' much about being rejected before.

i even have the email they sent and i post it from time-to-time on le blog.

i remember this one lady trying out and she was, older, and i was thinking, she is not going to get this and neither am i so we may as well just go across the street and get shitty right now.

i even took the day off work for it and had to beg to get the day off and my boss was all, you are not going to get this part, why bother trying? and i said screw you i don't want to work in a hardware store for the rest of my life i am going to be a star! urrrrrrrrg.



i want the demo-reel back because it would be hilarious to watch. it was just an hour of random karaoke bits of me in pubs and then me sitting across the table talking to ward making fun of him.

and by the time i went in for the audition it was hours and hours and hours later and i was zonked and the lady is all so you wanna be a vj? why? why should we pick you?

and i said, uhhhhhh, 'cos i speak well and i am funny and you can change my look....

something sparky like that.

anj took this and she is awesome because she plays bass and she has a daughter who is going to be all cooler than the entire universe when she is older because her mom is.



fil said we should have anj play bass for us but then he said, nah, she is probably too good to be in our band and i agreed.

i smacked my head on a doorframe under the stairs of alex/kane/sherri's new place today. i was in this fun little storage space, crawling around with the dogs, and then it was all THUDSMACK and then UNNNNNNNNNNNgh. i had nothing to do and i was done making lame comments about butternut squash and karate poses and everything was unpacked for the time being and they were too polite to let me dust/clean/move furniture so i just had to entertain myself by playing dungeons&dragons with the dogs.

no one laughed aloud when the THUDSMACKBANGMORON noise happened 'cos it sounded pretty painful but it wasn't really, just sounded that way and i wasn't bleeding though should have been kuz i had hit the frame pretty hard, boggin' my noggin' at quite a sharp angle.

i was more concerned with my recovery line which was, "i'm ok it was just wood."

i also hugged and kissed the dogs a lot and let them eat my hair because i am part autistic and i only leaned against the freshly painted walls once and messed up the paint, ok well, i leaned the bedframe against it as well, so i guess that counts as twice.

and i also will be tending bar/waitressing/mouthing off at some someplace somewhere somehow soon.

moonlighting is my favorite.



get one of neil's shirts because then people at bar's go bwahaa and then you wear one under your work shirt and when no one is looking you take off the fancy shirt and then you are wearing a barfing guy shirt or one of the other designs and your coworker says you are a flake and you go, yup.

ps fil and i spent a good ten minutes whipping my tube sox at each other's faces instead of going for a walk at one point today.

that's me on the right with the short-dyke hair trying to be as far away as possible from the frat-like shenanigans because i felt uncomfortable with the whole fitting-in thing. for the most part everyone was friends before our exchange program to england began and had formed cliques, you know, that schoolish crap that's exhausting and a total waste of time when you're [me] trying to get shitty and be above it all and have one-nite-stands and have totally awesome stories to tell at breakfast the next morning while jilly and sally are talking about dad's credit cards and the ugly purse they got from harrod's which cost 90 quid.


gay dogs, not lying.

this one guy got his face totally messed up by these punks in oxford and he was rushed to hospital. they smashed his face with a brick 'cos he was a mouthy stupid rich kid in their part of town, and was "marketably attractive" before this whole brick incident occurred.

the moral of the story is - don't mess with british punks when you are a white canadian boy who looks like eminem.



this post is crap.