I'm excited for this weekend because it seems to be shaping up to be so different from the last two. Not that those two weekends weren't splendid, just that they were so similar. Gus' Thursday, Seahorse Friday, party Saturday. Which Seahorse show was it that I was rude to the guy offering me a beer?

(Hey, I got you this beer.
Oh. I got a beer.
Oh.
Well, I mean, thanks, but you gotta be weary of taking things from strangers.
Yeah, cuz this is totally chock full of pills.
Well, it might be. I mean, it's a nice gesture, but I don't know you. You never know, right?
Uh...
Well, why'd you get me that beer?
Just because.
Uh, I don't know what else to say.
That's okay.)

And he puts the beer on the table and slinks away. Oh. It was the Oh God show. Because Emily told me it was kinda creepy. He could've got it at the bar, so I could see the bartender open it. Or, he could've got the waitperson to bring it over. It's common sense. Like crossing the street instead of having a girl think you're following her. I still felt bad for the guy. Jake, Tobias, and I shared the beer later.

It was the next week, at the Hold show, that we decided squeaky girls are the best.

The Gus' nights were good too. Attack Mode was wild, and I did an amazing job [not] taping them. I mean I really got some [would be] great shots. It's too bad some people got kicked out, but that seems to have simmered. The next week, I witnessed a Simmons Spectacle. It was great. I enjoyed the Round Robin set and probably never would've been exposed to Tyler Messick's band, whom I enjoyed.

I made it to Dale's party in time to see the last band. Shapes and Cymbals. It was my second time seeing them. I like them. But I was wondering were my boy was. I found him, we watched the rest of the set, and went to Dale's room. We listened to Sloan in there. I enjoyed it for the first time in a decade. It was the Peppermint EP.

The next Saturday, I arrived at that cafe in time for the end of Shapes and Cymbals' set. This night, I didn't miss How Memory Works. But, after about 6 shows in two weeks, I didn't want to be at another one. The band was good, but I read my new knitting magazines. We stopped by Rachael's place. We didn't have beer (why was it left home?), so we didn't stay long. I wasn't feeling very social and found myself staring at my feet a lot. So, we went home.

Sunday, I watched Meet the Fockers and Saw.

Why is it always about starting over with you? My life doesn't begin or end with settling down with a man. I know yours depends on it, and I know I've been with this guy for a long time. But my life is my life. I complain about things, but I'm not about to start over. I don't call you much anymore, because every time I do you mention starting over, and suggest moving to Arkansas (or wherever it is you're living at the time) and tell me you could've had a great job for me. Please don't put that snobby, American bullshit on me that you can't understand why I stay here. If you don't understand, then I can't explain it to you. It's all about loving it here. It's about loving people here. It's about bands, and liking my [non-successful] job. It's not about the money.

Ian Hart is in town.

This Day last year, I was supposed to be looking for a job.

I just want to shake my head at a few people right now. Some things are unbelievable.

This day last year, was a long post about many things that I finished with referring to porn and comedy as "wholesome." Then I posted some stuff I forgot.

I'm such a good influence on people. A trail of kids just walked down my street. I was sitting on the stoop, in striped pyjama pants and a plaid jacket with messy hair and smoking. I can barely keep my eyes open, and I won't be drinking coffee for a couple of hours yet. The kids didn't seem to notice anything. I wonder what their chaperone thought.

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A few weeks ago, on a Sunday, I was sitting here at my computer. My boyfriend was practicing with one of his bands. Attack Mode, I think. I was about to write something, when I heard my cat. Mrow. Me. Out of the two cats, she's the quiet one, and there was something odd in those meows. They sounded excited. They trailed off. She wasn't enunciating. I wondered what she was trying to tell me, and turned to greet her.

That's when I saw the toy in her mouth. It was the size of her toy mice, but it wasn't fluorescent in colour. She dropped it, presenting it to me as a gift. When she spit it out, it crawled a little and she scooped it back up into her mouth. That's when I heard it squeak in fear and pain. Oh shit. Since when do we have mice in the building? How long have I lived here without having to deal with this? At least now I know why the cats are so interested in a certain area in the kitchen.

I didn't know what to do. I wanted to save the mouse, but get it out of my place. I didn't want my cat to get some sort of disease, but I froze and couldn't stop her. I yelled "Lydia, Lydia, drop it! Drop it!" She looked at me sideways as if to say "fuck you, you're not getting my treasure" and she ran into the bedroom. KC was supposed to be home soon, so I went outside to wait. When he finally got home, we couldn't find the corpse anywhere, and the kitty had a satisfied look on her face. She was smiling. I think that was her first prey ever, and she's at least seven years old. I thought, as long as it's not in my bed, there's nothing we can do and we'll find it when our place starts to smell like the Seahorse did in February. I didn't look forward to that. A gross, stinking mouse crawling with bugs and bacteria.

I got mad at myself for letting it happen. If that had been my pet hamster (assuming I had one) in her mouth, I would've pried it out. But, being a strange and probably dirty mouse, I didn't. The poor thing.

A week later, there was what appeared to be a tail in the poo in the litter box. I still haven't smelled anything, and I think that big poo with a tail was the critter. She had swallowed it, apparently whole. I'm relieved she didn't choke. She doesn't seem sick, but I worry. She does seem like a changed woman, who is very proud of herself.

For awhile, until the surprise in the litter box, I was thinking I had hallucinated it. But, there is another dead mouse in the garbage room in the basement. The landlord took the garbage out, but left the dead thing there to rot, and attract more pests.

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Thanks to the people that have kind of "reached out" to me recently. I've noticed, and I appreciate it. The emotional stuff is subsiding, although I still haven't spoken to the person with whom I should. I don't know how to apologize, and some people have convinced me I don't need to. I like my friends.

I can't believe I'm going to see Motorhead in less than a week.

PS-IDN, you disgust me. I mean, I try not to be grossed out. At first, I thought it was great. A place for non-Dome/Palace people to go dance. I've even considered going myself. But, the idea of some gross, creepy, bearded guy unzipping his pants makes me lose my appetite. But, I guess some people would want to suck his dick in the bathroom. To me, it's just a place for you to go to pretend your not a Dome/Palace person. If you go, I wish you luck. I also hope you get some, cuz that's why you're there, right? If mono is the worst disease you get, you should count yourself lucky, and I'll be happy for you.

The Stage Nine patio has been open for a week or so now. You know what that means. The good time of year is coming. I want to karaoke again.

Some people need to get over themselves (myself included). It was a simple question.

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It's been such a tough week. But very good as well. Stress in my personal life and a new cash register at work. Too much to deal with all at once.

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"These people are annoying! With their messy hair and their dirty clothes--that they bought that way. They play retro board games and they drink wine FOR FUN!"

(I hadn't seen the O.C. in a long time. That's about the only scene that made sense to me, but I loved it.)

If you don’t know me by now
You will never never never know me

ps-Happy 4:20 day. If you're into that stupid stuff.

I've been spending a lot of time thinking about myself, and about pistolwhip. I've been thinking of how and why I use this, and past things I've said. I have no interest or time to go through my archives, and that means I don't even remember a lot of what I've said.

I'm emotional and apathetic. I lack passion, in most senses of the word. I don't even have something (like music for many of my friends) that I care about, want to improve at, and spend my free time doing. It's also why I don't have a career goal and dropped out of so many schools. I play music, I paint, I knit and sew, but I'm not creative. I don't write songs. I knit from a pattern. Everything is just a way for me to pass time, not a way for me to express myself. I don't have anyone to talk to anymore. All the people I used to be able to talk to have moved away, and I hate the telephone. I talk to my love, but there's only so many times I can say similar things to him, and only so many times he can hear it. That's why this is here. I say it, without having a stupid conversation with somebody. I say it, because it does bad things when kept in. Whoever reads this, understands me. But maybe they don't. Things look different in type, and you may interpret what I say in a different way than how I mean it. I'm okay with that. You know what's going on, I don't have to talk about it and you don't have to offer advice. A win-win situation, I'd say.

But, I don't write poetry or fiction, and am very bad at saying something without saying it. So, in an effort to get it out, I've said things I regret.

I feel the extremes, but not usually what's in between. When I'm happy, I'm ecstatic. When I'm sad, I'm depressed. When I'm angry, I'm in a fit of rage. I mean what I say, only for the second I say it. I feel what I say 110%, but once it's out, I feel better. Once the emotions subside, I can look back at it logically, and often regret what was said, or at least admit that it was exaggeration. I'm also very poor at expressing emotions. Except anger. Anger's about the only emotion I can express appropriately, but since it so often turns to rage, it becomes inappropriate. In fact, most negative emotions turn to anger for me. When I'm sad, nervous, tired, afraid, apprehensive, or many other valid feelings, they only come out as anger.

I don't know how to express love. I don't even know if I feel it the way other people do. I mean, I care about people, but...I don't know where I'm going, except that I'm still trying to find reasons to believe I'm not "normal." That's a different topic, though. I topic I remember trying to talk to you about, and you crushed me. Absolutely crushed me. My realization that they have a name for what I have was very different than being a hypochondriac and thinking I have mono because a friend of a friend of someone in the "scene" used the same mic as someone who does. It felt amazing to come to terms with it and to talk to someone I really thought would understand and listen. But no, you told me I was wrong, blah, blah, blah. And I haven't been able to talk to you since. It really hurt.

I feel awful that in trying to express that my feelings were hurt and that I get frustrated with things, it came across that I hate you. I don't. I thought I said that. I'm sorry that instead of saying "my feelings were hurt because" I said "fucking this, insult that." It means the same thing to me, and you were never meant to read it. I always knew it was possible for you to stumble here, but I didn't expect you to spend hours reading every word. I don't even remember what I wrote a few entries ago without going back and reading.

I'm considering taking some stuff out. But one reason I like this, and I'm sure I've said it before, is that I like having a record of things I did, emotions I've felt, yadda yadda yadda. I know it's not paper or private. It's the internet. But really, it's pretty private. I have a slew of regulars readers and that's it. Sometimes new people arrive, but not too many people go through my archives.

"I'd never say anything like that about your parents and put it on the internet."

OK. Maybe you wouldn't. But you're not me. You aren't crazy like me, and if my parents drive you nuts, you haven't told me. And, it's not like I'm on a very public site naming names and spilling details. Yes, when looking back on some old stuff, I didn't use as much discretion as I had thought. I thought it was okay because I didn't name names, but people do know who I am, and who my boyfriend is, and know who I meant. But I still thought I was expressing hurt feeling rather than committing slander. I just thought most of the things that upset me are "petty" and there was no need to actually discuss them. But, I wanted to get the nastiness out of me.

I can't believe some of the things I've seriously contemplated over the last year or so. But, I guess I shouldn't confess to them here. I'll just say, I don't want to break up with him because there are problems in our relationship or because I want to be single. I love him and can't imagine my life without him. But, I've been trying to imagine it. Just to get away.

I'm going nuts bottling things up right now. Not even important things; it just feels weird not "blogging." I could blame it on lack of time, but that would only be partially true. Really, I'm just uncomfortable with the snooping, and don't know what step to take next. I thought of taking my links down, but it's already too late. I guess I just have to accept that this is the internet and it was bound to happen. But that doesn't mean I have to like it.

Why's everyone gotta be dicks?

I got home from the bars last night, and watched/read/looked at some stuff:

Burdocks interview

I've known the Burdocks forever, it seems. One of the first times I remember meeting Nancy, was at Summersault. She came over with Sean and more, and had a smoke with us. Before that, I knew her as the girl in the Burdocks, who played shows with the Holiday Snaps. She used to cook us breakfast for work, and she hated microwaving our eggs. It's about time we're all in bands together. I love those guys.

Matt Mays video

I can't stop watching that video. I have the song in my head many times a day. I like for so many reasons. Knowing some of them to varying degrees adds something.

Photos by Ryan Whynott

This guy is good. I've seen him a lot this weekend. Sure, he's more interested in KC. That makes sense, I don't know what it's like to talk to someone I grew up with, and am still friends with. I've always felt good about Ryan, and he's good to work with.

This day last year, I felt something I feel often.

I wrote something when I got home last night. Blogger lost it, and I wrote this quickly. I don't like it as much as the other post, but it's the best I could remember.

I’ve never felt so much like a scenster
It was starting to make me sick
It’s a good thing I ate so much first
I plopped my bloated ass in the smoking room for the first few sets

It was nice when Stogie showed up
Helped me feel like a real person
Not someone in a costume, looking cool
Schmoozing at the Coast party

I yelled out "The Coast sucks!"
I meant it to be funny
I have a love/hate relationship with that paper
I should've cheered for the bar.

I was mad when I thought the Burdocks were opening
Then I was excited to go home early tonight
I found out they were playing last
But I still got home early

KC and I brought home the new white cook
From where we ate tonight
Anniversary dinner two days late
Waited for payday.

So, today's the anniversary of Kurt Cobain's death. I think. I always think it's on Lavender's birthday, but that's the day his body was found.

Today's is also the anniversary of Crystal and KC as an amalgamation. 7 years ago, I met his parents. That was a crazy day. I thought we were all going to have Easter dinner together. I didn't expect a freak-out. To be fair, I guess he had neglected to even tell his parents I'd be there. I wasn't prepared for what occurred. A woman flying around the apartment trying to steal her other adult son's laundry, while he was at work. A man sitting, watching TV, ignoring everything. A young man, he was soon to turn 20, chasing after the woman, trying to get her to stop, and calm down, and meet me. Then, they made KC and I eat together, while they watched TV. They hardly said a word to me. I was told later (months later) that the mother cried that night. She had wanted her son to get a nice, Christian girl, but instead, he found someone that was "even more lost than he was." I shouldn't tell you that, because you'll take it the wrong way. It was years ago and it's been talked about, understood, and forgiven. But it was a crazy day.

Love is such an amazing thing. I've spent months just knowing it as a word; an intellectual concept. So many years after the lust and infatuation stage, so many years after our relationship seemingly lost the ability to grow further, I just began to forget. And take things for granted. I'm very thankful I got the 7 Year Itch out of the way last year, without even acting on it.

I get overwhelmed when I'm reminded that love is a feeling, and not just a word. It hits me hard in the chest to remember that I love you in that special way, and not just because I care about you like a friend. I was beginning to think I was incapable of it. That what I thought was it in the past was just lust and infatuation. Then I get hit with it like last night, when you laid your head on my chest, close to my heart. Those are the times the tears swell. Not tears of sadness. Not tears of joy. But tears of being overwhelmed.

I love you.

But I'm so bad at showing it. I know you know. You know me better than I do.

She loves him more than he will ever know.
He loves her more than he will ever show.

Guess what I wrote about this day last year.

Dear Brian the Ling,

You emailed me. How nice of you. Do you want to know what I did? You're gonna laugh. Or, maybe you won't. I was very confused. I didn't understand what it was (actually, there were 2, but they looked the same). I mean, really, comments to and from each other are much more common than emails. I thought it was Blogger telling me you had commented. So, I emptied my junk folder (where your emails were), and came directly to pistolwhip to read your comments. There weren't any new ones. Then, I remembered what the emails looked like. They weren't Blogger telling me that "ling-ling san" had commented, but emails from "brian the ling" and they had (the same) subject lines. Oops, shit, I'm sorry.

So, if you email me again, I promise I'll expect it, and read it and reply to it, instead of deleting it. I hope you remember most of what you had to say.

Regretfully yours,

crystal

PS- this day last year, I wanted a shot.

Rest in Peace, Bob.

So, I've been home for awhile now, and said nothing. Well, you're not getting much now, either. I'm at work. I just wanted to say this:

I've been spending too much time thinking about things I said to my mom 10 to 15 years ago. I think, if I was right about 2 of the 3 main things that stand out in my memory (Charles marrying Camilla, "the other" George Bush being a "bad man"), maybe I'm right about the third. I hope not. (I wonder if she remembers what I said to her after that concert...).

This day last year, I borrowed someone's jacket and reminisced of my first time freaking out at a bar. All, the day after that JSB incident.