In this art space the corners are all filled with broken glass and bottle caps, and I wonder just what it is I’m supposed to be doing here.  All these dreams of lost time, and missed events in far away states and provinces, and the trips that have been booked are all racked up on my credit card.  The limit of this plastic money lender is not the least of my worries for we’ve got plenty of time to chip it away.

All these expenses, these timely new friends and foes that have filled my belly and helped my ears and eyes experience more, all these expenses, are now welcome and at the same time completely inevitable.

7 minutes and counting, and I’m just thinking about numbers.  The addition of the sequences of days and dates that somehow add up to mean something to the most observant and the very absent of us.

In essence this whole life of mine has been building figure on top of figure, adding up to 9 and then coming back down to 0 once again.

Most of you don’t think about these digets, these numbers are strains on our fingers and fuel for our calculators.

But it’s 2 more hours until we’re all the way in Burnaby

Well dare I say welcome to summer?

It seems as though we’d all completely forgotten how to leave the house during the day and wander with the tops of our feet exposed to the air.

Old habits are easily picked up once again.

It's super rad that I have the full Adobe suite on my computer and yet still utilize all the power of Window's Paint

And thus ends another season of the Real World on Mtv, and for all the glory of the show, I have to say I’m really disappointed this season. What I have come to rely on being a solid dose of drunken-debaucherous-sexy-rage-injected-good-time has successfully failed to produce.

The show that, last year produced the phrase “Let’s not get ghetto,” has failed miserably this season.

And you can’t blame the producers or Mtv, the blame goes directly to the bland cast members.  I had really high hopes this season too, there was a tranny, a gay guy, a Mormon moron, and an underwear model.  I thought at least there’d be the typical hookup or drunken foolery, but this group of do-gooders’ most exciting moments centered around the breaking of a coffee table, and putting a rat into one of the girl’s beds.

God, so lame.  For all 8 of them (god! there was even an extra one of you this year),  you’d think there’d at least be an alcoholic or sex addict amongst you.

What has the human race come to?  Where have all the racist drug addicts, and nympho homos gone to?

I love you Lohan, your bad-streak this decade has brought me so much tabloid joy, I really should be thanking you.  But Lohan, this piece of advertorial garbage, though it has brought me much joy, has brought it at your expense.

Pointy fingers, gun hands, skinny legs, sit down, stand up, look forward.

Kiss face, kiss noise, smack (did you seriously say smack?  Sweetie, no).  Fornarina.

The world might eat you alive for this one.

I can’t believe it took me so long to finally watch this.

I’m actually crying a little right now.

Karma really is a bitch.

After writing a little piece a couple of months ago about a fellow student in one of my classes reaking of mothballs, the gods have decided to impart their judgement and it isn’t kind.  In fact, it’s suffocating.

You see I live 2 floors above a rather “trashy” little family.

Stinky Stanky Mothball Me. I guess flies wouldn't be attracted to the smell of moth ball fumes, but it's more a demonstration of my artistic abilities. Stare in awe.

They leave their laundry in the machines for days, literally.  They litter the lawn with their children’s toys, claiming ownership over an apparently communal space.  And they yell and scream at their children and each other at all times of the day and night.  But this last action of theirs is beyond forgivable, and fucking ridiculous.

After seeing a cockroach in their apartment, they have decided to put mothballs into the heat vents.  The same vents that run through the entire house, and that all of us share.  Awesome.  So now, my little home at the top of the stairs reaks of mothballs, reaks.

The air is thick with the stuff, so much that it’s been giving Meghan and I headaches.  And now in math class, I’m no longer haunted by the smell of mothballs following me, I am the one bringing the haunt.

The front row of Math 1118 at Langara is now completely saturated by the odor of an impromptu mothball posse.

Now when I get out of the swimming pool my towel smells, my retardedly expensive jackets smells, and my bed smells: all of it moth balls.  I’ve even convinced myself twice now that people have moved seats on the bus because of the way I smell.

And to top it all off, apparently this little family two floors down is unreachable.  Great.

Up until now I’ve only used this blog as a forum for my uncensored thoughts and feelings, my bitchings and anguish, and my loathings and distaste, all for a world that I love and loathe.  I never thought about the possibility of providing free PR for products that weren’t directly related to my city, my neighborhood, or my friends and family.  Until now that is.  And it was this silly little product that spurned me to write beyond my sphere of influence.

Amusingly enough, it starts with this:  Canada Dry’s Green Tea Ginger Ale.

That’s right, I’m writing about Ginger Ale.

For all of you who know me well, you’ll know my love of all things bubbly and delicious.  It started early with my obsession with Coca-Cola, and when my tummy just couldn’t take the stuff any longer, I went through years and years avoiding everything with sugar and bubbles.  Until about a year ago, when I re-discovered the joys of Club Soda and Ginger Ale.  Perhaps it was my discovery of the lack of caffeine in these bubbles, or maybe it was just the simple delicious bit of refreshing delight in the middle of a shift at work, but I’ve come over the past year to be a solid backer of everything gingery and bubbly.

I first heard about Green Tea Ginger Ale from a friend of mine who had discovered it in the Langara College cafeteria, and needless to say, I have been selling them out of the stuff for weeks now.  A long-time lover of green tea, and a new found friend of the ale, I couldn’t find this shit more delicious.  Who ever thought that they could take ginger ale to another level?  But damn Canada Dry, you’ve done us all a gigantic favor.

Take a little ginger ale, add the antioxidant benefits of green tea, with a little kick of caffeine, and you’ve certainly made a friend of me.

While reading yesterday’s Metro at breakfast this morning, I not only realized that I am perpetually one step behind the times, but also a very interesting tidbits about my lesbian counterparts.  Apparently lesbians are more prone to cancer than heterosexuals, hmm.

At first glace, I took it to just be another meaningless piece of journalistic blubber, but then I got to thinking.

With all the articles written about the dangers of coffee , eggs, or red wine, that only switch to profess the very opposite news the next day, it’s becomes harder and harder to find the true meaning of things in the news.

The article states that lesbians are more likely to have a higher body mass index and are less likely to use the medical system, thus less likely to get a mammogram, or pap, or what have you.  I immediately thought to myself: “Where do you get these stats?  This is ridiculous.”

But then it occurred to me, and I couldn’t believe that I hadn’t thought of it previous:

Who hasn’t in their lifetime met an overweight man-hating lesbian who hates doctors?

And suddenly it all made sense.