FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU IN THE ASS
SHIT
MY TITS
I PISSED

I cried a little at work yesterday. That's probably the first time, except maybe when that guy stole those smokes

Me, reading a Daily News at 8:00 at night. I had just finished doing up three returns and making a new storage box for the old magazines. Just so you know, I usually do one or two returns a day. I'm trying to get everything done before I leave with the band tomorrow. My coworker was upstairs in the bathroom. Two women come in. One goes to the corner to look at cards. The other makes mention that she's going to look around, and heads for the magazines in the back.

She stops.

"This thing is going to fall."

I look up, and she means the Where Are They Now mags in the display in front of the cash.

"Yeah, they'll do that." I reply, because everything that is ever put there slowly bends at the corner and falls down. Then, I turn to put the paper on the counter behind me and pay attention to the customers I now have. She tries to fix the magazines and continues to the back of the store. I jump down off the ledge and "really" fix them. By that I mean, she had them standing, but I could see they would fall again. Since I've worked there for more than 10 months, I have a little practice at standing stuff up in there.

"Do you have BARK?"

For some reason, my first thought was about Barq's root beer. But, figuring she meant a magazine (and still thinking it might be spelled with a 'q'; there was something about the way she articulated it) I say "Uh, no. What type of magazine is it?"

Now we get to the part of the story where I wish I could convey facial expressions and tone of voice in type. She scrunches her face up like she's shocked, and maybe even angry, that I don't know what the mag is. To explain myself to you, I thought it was possibly a kids magazine, like Owl or Chickadee, or maybe a political or literary type magazine, like Porch (you know, to bark as in to speak out). I even thought it could be a fashion/lifestyle or artsy type magazine. I mean, sure dogs bark, but a magazine with that title could be anything; something about bars...

So yeah, she scrunches up her face and goes "BARKK?!....It's a magazine about d-DOGSSS!"

When she treated me like a moron, I was suddenly back in Ms. Fournier's grade 7 English class (a class I got kicked out of almost daily for disrespecting the teacher).

"Well, Jeez. Sorry I didn't know. I mean, it could..." I just let myself trail off, realizing I was making it worse, and she didn't care to hear me try to explain myself. I grab the paper again, to distract myself as I could now feel the adrenaline surging. I wanted to just walk away from the problem and hide in the back room. But, I was by myself. The guy was in the bathroom still.

She shops a bit and finally comes up to the counter with a magazine. As she plops it on the counter, she goes so far as to say "Are you having a bad day or something?" I almost laughed at her. In fact, I hadn't had a day as good as yesterday for ages. Good, until she walked in. I could've said "No, are you?", I could've stammered "No, uh, I'm sorry."

But instead, my inability to think on my feet and my tendency to be directly honest, I said "No. You're just not being very nice."

"OH! I wasn't aware that I wasn't being nice." She was literally doing that dance back and forth with her shoulders and her hands up in the air. Dragging out the words in that snotty, bratty or sarcastic voice. Keep in mind, she had to have been in her forties.

"Look at you. Listen to that tone of voice. You're acting like an 8 year old." I say, bluntly and fairly calmly. I pick up my coffee, but spill it on my new shirt due to shaking so much.

"YOU'RE A TIT. When I came in and pointed out that those magazines were going to fall, you just walked away like a tit." Or something like that. I really wasn't listening to that. I was ready to snap. But really, what the fuck? I said "yeah, they'll do that" and but my newspaper aside. Okay. I'm a tit.

I ring in the magazine. "That's $5.74, please."

She takes out her wallet, pulls out a five. She slowly acts like she's going to hand it to me. I don't fall for it and therefore don't reach for it. She throws it (as much as you can throw paper) onto the counter. I just look down at it and hold onto the magazine. Five dollars wasn't enough, and I wasn't about to let her leave. I just patiently wait. She checks, has no change, and drops another fiver. I open the till and count out $4.26 to return to her. She puts out her hand, I drop the money in in much the same fashion as her first five dollar bill.

I put the magazine in the bag and step back. As she turns, she says "It's too bad I've spent money here in the past, 'cause I'm not coming back."

Weird. I've never seen her before in over 10 months. She must spend a lot of money there.

"Well, you could come back and talk to my boss."

"I will. 'Cause you a tit."

Then, she decides to come back in after leaving, realizing she's thought of the perfect insult--remind me my job is shit. "Oh, and you get paid five dollars an hour for being a tit."

"NO I DON'T." I didn't really scream that, but she was on her way out, and I don't fucking get paid 5 dollars an hour. I get paid more than I ever have in my life.

Now that she's gone, the tears start to fall. But there's still some people in the back, and you-know-who still in the bathroom. Finally, he comes back down. "I'm gonna have a smoke" I say, trying to hold in the tears. "Are you okay?"

Being asked that broke me."I, well, I just have a problem letting bad customers roll off my back."

It took me forever to fall asleep last night. I actually hate that woman now. Because I couldn't sleep. Treat me like shit at work. But it sucks that I'm so sensitive I let it ruin things, like a good night's sleep.

When I go over it again in my thoughts, I think maybe, just maybe, she was trying (and succeeding) to distract me so her friend could steal cards.

Hey. I think I want you all to see this. Now, I'm not about to chastise someone for posting their own thoughts on their own livejournal (or whatever), and (sadly) being a female musician, I think it was bound to happen. But myself and a friend or two are on that, so I feel I can share it with you.

My own feelings aside, some people I consider myself close to are bothered by it, so I decided to post the link so you can enjoy, and form your own opinions.

Oh, and here's a little more for you. It's pictures from a Great Plains show, but scroll to the bottom to see what he has to say about Nanker.

This day last year, was the science project party. I also went to a protest with Lav and Leslie after breakfast, and it was a little over a year ago that I threw an ashtray at people at a bar.

I want to go back in time, but I can't think of a time (in my life) I would rather go back to. I guess it's not so much that I want to go back in time, then it is that I want to go back into my bubble. I grew up in a bubble. I hated it then, and wanted out. Now that I'm out, and in a world where I'm surrounded by neurotypicals, I yearn for the safety I had then. I thought this would get easier as I got older, but I find it's quite the opposite. It's normal to be a bit of a weird kid. I'm devastated that I keep doing the wrongs things in social situations; I wish I didn't have social situations. Why do I stare at people's mouths instead of making eye contact? I know why, but you don't. People think I'm a normal, albeit slightly moody, person. I know otherwise.

Drama. Nevermind it all. I put up pictures of people sleeping.

This day last year, I did one of those survey things.

"I would do anything for love, fuck off."

So, expressing myself is getting me into trouble. "You can't say that, blah, blah, blah." Well, I am sorry. But really, it's Halifax. Isn't everyone a good friend of someone who's a friend of someone who knows me? Does that mean I can never say I don't like so and so because they're my friend's friend? Obviously, I was speaking musically. Most people are good people, and I especially think he's probably a decent person if he's friends with my friend. But, I don't know him as a person and didn't enjoy the show. Isn't that allowed?

I didn't start this thing to say nice or mean things about people. I started it to express myself (and, even though I expected and wanted some people to read it, I never planned for hundreds of readers a day). Some, would have me turn back to the paper journal, which will only get written in for a week. Then, I'll get bored, and start building things up inside. Would you prefer that? And I do feel bad after saying something hurtful.

It's hard to explain myself. I mean what I say, but only the second I say it. I'm judgmental, closed-minded, afraid of what I don't understand, and hateful. But, I'm also forgiving, regretful, open-minded, and loving.

I understand that I can't talk about --- ------------ because ---- --------. I can respect that and wouldn't want to say much anyway. Sometimes it's hard to differentiate between --- ------------ and my life, as it's such a big part of my life. So, things get mentioned. But not much, and not in great detail. I know I can't talk about -----, in case ---- ------ ----- --. I hate that, but have been respecting it. But now I can't express my thoughts on ----- - ------? What would you have me say? "Today was good, yesterday sucked, see you at the College tonight?" That would make for a pretty boring blog, no?

I'm feeling repressed.

I also want to apologise.

Anyway, a few things I forgot the other day:

Killissa had the idea that the puke smell was always a part of the Seahorse, permeating up from the wooden floors. It was masked by smoke odour before, but with the smoking room, the air is clear, so we can smell it. It makes me nostalgic thinking that part of that smell was likely caused by me.

Also, I did go to a clinic. Before the Whyte house party. Not for my sore throat, but for the mysterious wounds on my hands that seemingly appeared from nowhere. KC asked me why I didn't kill two birds with one stone and get the doctor to check my throat. See, when the doctor explained what was wrong with my hand, I realized what was wrong with my throat. He told me I had eczema.

"Under strengths, you've just put accounts."
"Uh-huh."
"But that's your job. We were looking for something more specific... Okay... And under weaknesses, you've put eczema!"

He told me not to be afraid of the word; that it's just medical talk for extremely dry skin. I already knew that. He said he sees it often this time of year, when the humidity in the air can drop down to 5%. He told me some people wake up in the winter with nosebleeds because of the dryness. I remembered that I always have a sore throat in the winter for that exact reason. He prescribed me cream with steroids in it. As it turns out, the wounds seem to be caused by punching my bass while I play.

My coffee maker is clogged with rice. It somehow got inside when KC and Ben cooked for everyone.

Man, it's been a weird week. Fucking Ides of March. I'm going to a NSCAD dance tonight. I hope it's even half as fun as one's I've been to in the past, but not like "that" night.

This day last year, I related to a Cat Power song and got frustrated with my last group project.

There's nothing like coming home to an apartment full of 18 year old boys. And, they're cooking me dinner. It makes me feel old to talk to them about being engaged, and realize that I was their age when I met the man I've been with for almost 7 years. But even that was a few days ago. I'm behind.

So, to start where I left off with the last long entry. I blame my outburst mentioned then on dying my hair red.

February 20th, KC repeatedly called me "Piss Ass." I think there's something wrong with him, if that's what urine smells like to him. We also set a date that night. But, I'm not going to announce it until I see some actual progress in the planning. The hardest part right now is finding a venue. Where do people get married when they don't want a church and it's the time of year that it can't really be done outside? This may disappoint some of you, but we've decided against Liverpool. We don't want a Lane's or White Point wedding like everyone else (not that yours wasn't fun or beautiful). Besides, if my family has to travel from Ontario, Alberta, and Arkansas, his can travel from the South Shore.

Then came Monday, and another work week. Thursday, was another Oh God show. At the Attic with the Stolen Minks. I had said I wasn't going to go (the people at the jam spot will remember why), got in trouble for being rude, and then ended up being talked into going. I was craving some time to myself. Like KC said to me a week prior, I'm not in Oh God and don't have to go to their shows. But, I'm glad I did. I had a good time. I had deja vu at the Apple Barrel. The kind that hasn't happened in awhile. I actually found myself remembering a conversation the guy and I had a year ago about a dream. He told me, then, that it was funny that I dreamt he, Gerry, the This Message guys, and the Joey Ramone guy were all in a band together. But, I certainly dreamt of Ger's chicken strips having AIDS.

During their set, I found myself wondering where my rage was. It came out the week before at a man trying to do his job at a bar that I love (that now smells like puke), but couldn't even muster a "HEY!!" this night. At one point, I looked down, and Gerry's head was at my feet, the bouncer was on top of him, squishing him, and his face was bright red. Emily yelled something, and soon, he was back on stage for their last song. All in all, I'm glad I didn't create more of a scene. I managed to move on from the 'Horse incident. A task that would be much more difficult at the Attic. I was angry, though. How could the bouncer not see the bully pull the leg? How could he not realize that people react without thinking when their nuts get smashed? Do his nuts not feel anything anymore because of 'roids? I don't know.

The next night, Friday, was Gilbert Switzer at the Whyte house. I've been getting sick of parties lately, but this was one I wanted to attend. Fuck, that was a good time.

Nothing much for the following week sticks out in my mind. Oh, was that the Sunday we had the meeting? It was. The Hold and Gilbert Switzer are doing a split 7". We will also be covering one of each other's songs for it. We set up a meeting for Robie Food. I was excited because I've actually never been there. We got there at 4:00. Doors were locked. We hung out in the cold, drove around the city, and sat in a car in the parking lot until a little after 4:30. Still locked. We went to the Ardmore instead. So, my first time at Robie Food is just like my first time at the Palace--still hasn't happened.

More work and shit and then GS with Gary Flanagan at Gus's. Maybe I shouldn't have said that. He might read it. That Dog Day band is playing with him soon. It was my first time at Gus's since that trivia night when I lost the vibrator. It was a good time, but Christ, I know the TINY drafts were only a dollar something, but they were gross and tiny. The BOTTLES are still only $3.50. I mean, sure, sometimes a person is broke, and having hit H&R Block, I wasn't, but... It was so great to see GS play there and trash the drums. I couldn't care less for Gary (why is the phrase could care less? If you could care less, then you actually care. I couldn't care less). I mean, I didn't expect to enjoy it anyway, and I could see how the novelty of laughing at him could be fun in the right time, but if I want to watch karaoke, I'd rather see different people and have my own chance to make a fool out of myself. Well, I guess it was a little more than karaoke if he programmed those songs into the keyboard himself. I guess in the end, it's just "not my thing."

We ended up at a friend's place after Gus's, as it was 3 seconds away. We got home and rubbed each other's genitals, half asleep through the whole thing.

The Hold played the Seahorse the next night. Did you notice who wasn't there? I guess I ended up keeping my drunken ranting word: "I'm not coming back until..." But really, I know it wasn't me. A place that's having trouble convincing its owner to keep it open, doesn't need the kind of publicity it got in last week's Coast.*

I thought the show was good, for the most part. Saturday, some boys came from Truro. KC and Darcy recorded them, and they crashed at my house. Which is funny, cuz there's nowhere to have guests sleep at my house. Especially 4 of them.

Uh, yeah, it's that chores before work time.

*Love the Way We Bitch:

Rough times
To the rule-happy bouncer at the the Mantra show on Saturday: It's
unfortunate you have to enforce a new bullshit no-moshing policy that was
supposedly adopted for patron safety, and I could rant about how impractical it
is to implement a moshing ban at a fucking punk/metal bar, but what really
sticks in my craw is you were the most dangerous motherfucker in the mosh pit
the last show I saw. Actually, come to think of it you weren't even in the pit,
you were standing at its perimeter shoving people when they got too close to
your authority loving gelatinous body. Twice I saw you forcibly shove someone to
the ground. Fuck you. --One P.O.'d Patron

And, well, I thought there was a SNARK as well. Can't find it on the website, but I will edit this later when I get my hands on a paper copy.

edit to add the SNARK:

February 27, 1:10 am (male voice): Hey man, I was at a fucking metal show at the Seahorse and there was some steriod freak pussy bitch who was a bouncer and was like, "no moshing." It's like, what the fuck is that shit, man? You can't fucking ban moshing with bands like Huge and Mantra playing, and Band from Television? What the fuck is that shit? This is the only venue left and he's banning moshing? My fucking ass!

This day last year, school was getting rough, and Homer expressed his love for me (probably Sunday night).

--Why do I keep saying things I shouldn't say here? Oh. Because I'm expressing my true thoughts; an action that is looked down upon in Halifax. Please note, I shouldn't have said anything about that old band a few posts ago. Although it excited me, it wasn't my news to spread, and it probably won't happen.

It's too bad about the Khyber. What I heard recently, I mean. I've only been there a few times since it changed hands, and I try to enjoy even half as much as I used to. Now, I understand that the people that work there are *just* bartenders. But you can't go around with an attitude of "well, I support art, as long as I don't find the artist's personality annoying." They're a good band. You suck.

Oh boy. Where to start? I guess, where I left off is always a good place. February may be the shortest month, but it was busy enough for the longest month. KC played at least one show with one of the many bands he's currently in every week that month. (Well, he's playing with the Hold this Friday which, although March, is the last week of February). I went to the ones for the band I'm not also in. Then, there were a bunch of shows to see, many of which I missed. And, don't forget about all those birthdays I ignored. I probably would've dropped like Lindsay Lohan had I attended everything I wanted/meant to.

Kelly: Wouldn't you say she looks like Lindsay Lohan (referring to her neighbour)?
Alden: I wouldn't know. I've never looked at Lindsay Lohan's face.

My last "real" entry was 2 weeks ago. It feels closer to 2 months.

The Dog Day show was good. Thank you if you came (or, if you expressed wanting to, but couldn't due to geography or some other acceptable reason).

The following Friday was the release of the new Oh God. Yes, they played once before, but that doesn't count. If you don't know, Gerry's the only remaining original member. They're a lot better now. I don't mean that as an insult (I was always a fan), just and honest (biased) opinion. The previous band was a bunch of strangers to me. The new band is friends of mine, and has my Hasselhof on drums.

I had been very excited for the show, but it turned into one of those days where the anger kept building inside me. A 2 hour late phone call, and forgetting dinner added to it. I ate a slice on my way to Emily and Holly's, where I drank too much whiskey too fast and watched Sex in the City (I think for the first time). Needless to say this all became a recipe for disaster when a bouncer tried to do his job and get us to leave the smoking room, and eventually the bar.

"alcohol and anger. a winning combination."--some guy on the punk site.

I have such a problem with misplaced anger. Letting it explode at the wrong people at the wrong time when I'm really upset about something entirely different.

Of course I'm still playing the show Friday. A part of me doesn't want to, but for altogether different reasons that go into my recent personal blight.

The next morning, KC and I had quite the conversation, and I spilled some tears. But, it wasn't because he was angry with me. "We all make mistakes" he says to comfort me. It's just that I'm tired of making mistakes, and mine are always so big. "But that's not common for you anymore. I don't know where it came from, but last night was like a step back into the past for you." Later, I made a tough phone call. It really is better to do the right thing, even though it's usually harder. I feel good that we talked it over. I won't feel ashamed to see you Friday, but I'll feel pretty awkward around the employee. I made a last minute decision to skip Africa's birthday party. I just didn't want to be out of my house.

I came home from work to hear KC talking to someone. When I opened the door, I saw none other than Andy Patil. We've been seeing him a lot more often lately. I like that. He recently convinced someone to give him the lost Holiday Snaps tapes. To let the cat out, Careers just might end up being released and there is also talk about a best of and/or previously unreleased compilation. This news is titillating.

This news catches me up to around the 20th of February. I've got things to do.

This day last year, I told you of a friend that crossed the line.

What's the fucking point in even trying? Ever since I got my job, I've been paying Visa MORE than my minimum payment almost every month. I mean, I try to keep up, but time goes by so fast when so little of it is free. They revoked my credit privileges WITHOUT even telling me. I thought you were at least supposed to TELL me they were doing it. So, I figured it was because I didn't reactivate my new card when the old one expired. Nope. After being told numerous bullshit, and calling 4 different numbers, I've been told that my payments weren't good enough because they were late. I don't know when I paid or when the payments were due, all I know is I get paid twice a month. One paycheque for rent, one for bills. So I paid you on the 10th instead of the 5th. Oops. Sorry. Fuck you. It's too bad. I was going to put some money on our ever growing phone/internet bill. I've been under my limit for the longest time ever. You could've at least told me.