I feel a little ow-y today. It's nice when you've been trying to figure out who you want to see more in your life, and then a bunch of them end up at your house celebrating the anniversary of your husband's birth.

I like that I've been posting every day, but I don't want to sit here anymore. I need to shop for a wedding present for someone I haven't really known in years. It looks like people think we're going to the wedding, but I thought we weren't. So, we could at least send a present with someone who is going. But I'm so bad at presents. That's why I was so excited that KC liked what I got him so much.

In honour of today's birthday, I'm wearing a shirt with the face of the guy I drunkenly called at 1:00 in the morning. The battery on our phone died, so I brought out my American cellular to call for pizza. Someone mentioned that it was after midnight and we should call Andy. I knew it was the wrong thing to do, but I didn't hesitate. He found out about the existence of said shirts (five of have at least one each) when Seth wore one on the cover of the Coast. I don't know how he feels about it, and he seems a little apprehensive. Like we're making fun of him. I told him outside of the Attic that, yes, it is a bad photo with a bad Photoshop filter on it that was printed in newsprint and turned into a t-shirt, but we made them because we love him. Then he laughed a bit.

I'm glad I can give people something to laugh about. I aim to please.

He liked my present! I hope he's having a good day phoning people. I still don't know what we're doing tonight, but I'm supposed to go write us in at the jam spot (if there's free space) just in case. Last year we were working on Night Group. The birthday was spent partying even harder than usual until the wee hours of the morning in Common Ground, but instead of working on the album at hand, it was suggested we record a "birthday song" just for fun. That is where Bad Mom was born.

Got bad news: get rid of your child
She's been reading you all this time

Bad mom
On the run

Wait for your man and then he arrives
Take back some crack and be with your child

Bad mom
On the run

Think you failed?
(I do, I do)
I think you failed

That song is not about my mother. I didn't even write it. I'm not a song writer. I might be someday, but not yet. I'm fine with that. I come up with and improvise many (but certainly not all) of the things I play on any instrument I play, but this was my first time doing vocals and it was very spontaneous. I'm not very spontaneous. Late that night, a year ago, it looked like the party should slow down. Seth and Nancy went home (we had all worked that day, and had been working and staying late in the studio for months), but KC didn't want to stop. We had the music for the song, but no vocals. If he was going to record a birthday song, he wanted to finish the song then and there. So, drunk little me who's always wanted to shout in a mic but has always been too nervous speaks up and says "I'll do it! But, well, you have to give me words. I'm going to go have a smoke." I was even drunker by the time he had the words written (I changed "needing" to "reading" because I misread the handwriting and I liked the meaning more), and getting tired and apprehensive. But, I followed through anyway. Did what I said I would. The version we did that night is not the one that ended up on the Borden Sessions, because, well, Stan Borden wasn't involved.

Two years ago I posted a video a friend made for the Hold (it doesn't look like it works now...)

Moving on...

I like shoes. I've purchased so many this year. I always had a thing for footwear, but never indulged much, and certainly took a break in my early twenties. All of a sudden, in grade 12-ish, I wanted to feel girly. I had been girly as a young child, then went all tomboy. I guess it was when I shaved my head that I started wearing dresses and nice shoes again. I figured if I was going to run around with no hair and belch and spit like I did, drinking with guys and yelling stuff out of cars with them, often being the only female in the car, often feeling like they forgot I was a female as they checked out girls and expected me to comment on tits that I should at least look a little more feminine. It's probably then that I started wearing makeup sometimes, too.

I liked shoes for another reason. I hated being so short. I never wanted to be tall, but a few more inches would've been nice. So, I got shoes with big heels. It was the nineties, so they were clunky platform shoes. I even had a pair of those silly platform sneakers, but my pants were always too long, so it was difficult to even see them.

Now I have real heels. Woman shoes. And I love them. Not because I want my ass to stick out any more than it already does. In fact, I never thought/cared about the effect such shoes would have on my ass (but the vanity in me likes to look at my reflection in shop windows while I waste my days wandering downtown).

Shoes.

I also like Handsome J. And his basement. It was fun jamming in there. I'm so bad at "jamming." So many memories. The Briefs jam spot. The first Hold show. The night that I stained the carpets. Recording Noisebloodassault. Lying on the grass and hanging off the curb outside. Gummo. There are so many things at Lost and Found I want to buy, including two or three pairs of shoes. I wish I had money, but at least I've paid some bills.

It's KC's birthday tomorrow. Being the useless person I am, I don't have anything planned, and he doesn't seem to even know what he wants to do. But I really think he'll like what I got him. It may be my best present for him ever. Or not. I guess I'll find out.

Two years ago I was lonely and sarcastic.

Rain, rain, rain. So gloomy. So blah.

Strikes and gutters.

I saw the sun come up the other day. Yesterday. It's been so long since I've been up that late. We were up watching ourselves. I haven't seen much footage of me on keys. What a spazz. I like it, though. Those Attic tapes always sound pretty bad. The sound is right off the board, and you can't hear the audience, so it's weird.

I really like playing with the night mask on, even if I'm aping somebody. Everything's been done before. My photography while playing was aping someone too. The mask blocks out the lights and the crowd. I play with my eyes closed most of the time anyway. I guess I'm like an ostrich in this sense. I can't see you, so I'm comfortable being myself and having fun on the stage.

Anything I can do to hide.

I, I...

Three years ago, I started a band that never ended up existing.

I'm so greasy. I haven't washed my hair since I dyed it Wednesday or Thursday and that super moisturizing conditioner they give you with that stuff made it so my hair was greasy the next day. I didn't spend enough time at home yesterday to clean myself. Today, Meghan called looking for money I owed her, so I decided I'd go out in the heat and sweat a bit before going home and cleaning myself. It's so rewarding to clean something so filthy.

I dreamt about Daniel Johnston last night. I did end up watching the movie when I got home (to a friend's place) from the jam spot. I also dreamt about going crazier and ending up like him.

"There’s certainly a devil, and he knows my name."

A bunch of people have been saying "see you Saturday" to me. Thing is, I've been spending a couple of days thinking how good it is that the Attic has a band room. Most of these people are people I would like to see, it's just, well, I like hiding out in band rooms. I like having the choice to go out in the public area (or, only having to venture out to pee). But, it's sunny out, and I might feel social. We'll see how I feel tonight. That's the good thing about having the choice.

It's nice out. I smoked last night. Not because I drank (I drank Tuesday and didn't even want to give in), but because I decided I would if I went to Charlie's. Shared a few. The second one made me gag. I'm not craving them today, so that's good. I didn't have too much.

I had two bags of clothes to donate to charity, but they never came to get them. Fuckers. I'm working on organizing my room. It's a perpetual chore that I will never complete.

I think I'm going to go home and watch The Devil and Daniel Johnston. I love that guy. I wish I could've seen/heard more of his set in Ottawa. I was watching the merch table for a bit, and when he played his acoustic songs, I had a hard time hearing him over the mean girls behind me asking each other if he was retarded and if he was stuck as a 12-year old mentally and whatnot.

Sunshine!

Mean girls get pleasure
It's my greatest treasure

Isn't life a blast
It's just like living in the past
We go downtown to do our shopping
And we live in Suburbia
And I say

Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
Ho ho ho ho ho ho ho
Hee hee hee hee
Ha ha ha ha

What is there to do she said
He said come on baby
And I'll show you a good time
So they went on down
To one of those cheap motels
And they got all gushy and wet
And I say

Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
Ho ho ho ho ho ho ho
Hee hee hee hee
Ha ha ha ha

I have a cell phone. That is hilarious. I used to swear I'd never have one. Then, I said I might get one for emergencies or whatever, it'd be nice to have when you need it, but I wouldn't want people to be able to call me. I avoid my home phone, why would I want something on me at all times? I guess that's how things will work with this one, since I'm pretty sure it probably has some American phone number. I don't know for sure, since it's still in a box in a bag on my bedroom floor, where it's been for the whole week since I received it. See my mother was tired of never being able to get a hold of me. I don't blame her. I'm a bad person for that. The idea of me using a telephone for social purposes makes me laugh. Getting addicted to the internet was a natural progression for me, and using the phone has always been a problem. This way, I can interact with people without really interacting with them. I can remember sitting on the floor, brushing the hair of one of my My Little Ponies, wanting to go climb trees and throw rocks with my friends. My mother suggested I call Brian. I said I wouldn't, couldn't. He can call me. He didn't. I braided the pony's hair, and unbraided it, and turned on 'Tendo. In Jr. High and High School, when a typical girl is impossible to get off the phone, I would sometimes call my best friend, Sara.

"Hi."

"Hey."

"Um, so how are you?"

"Fine. How are things with you?"

"Ok."

"So, uh, why'd you call?"

"Oh, just to see how you were, I guess."

I can only really use phones for specific reasons. Like calling about practice, or shows, or work. That's something else I need to fix. I have at least two people waiting for me to call when I "get home from tour". An old friend who wants to go for coffee and see how life has been since we last hung out in Grade 10, and a new friend that I worked with for a few months doing that time verification stuff. Friends. Haven't I already explained I don't know how to do that?

Two years ago, I was quitting smoking. HAHA!

I'm enjoying all this time I have to myself these days. It makes me smile that I'm actually enjoying my own company. I'm used to being terrified of having to face myself, and lying around sleeping/dreaming/zoning out until someone rescues me. I don't start work until the beginning of next month. Financially speaking, I could've tried for a two week temp job, but I like the time and the space. I wander the streets, in and out of stores, just taking in the day. I usually end up downtown, and that usually takes me here, to waste sometime with a computer screen. My closest friend. The problem with the free time is that I'm not eating enough. I'm so used to being taken care of; not having to be responsible for myself (plus, I felt a little sick for awhile). I don't like to cook, or don't feel comfortable trying. I'm usually not aware of my hunger until it's too late to cook because I'm starving. But I asked for it. I need to learn. It's gross how dependent I am.

Whatever you think, you're wrong. It's all been about me.

I'm gullible, naive, susceptible, vulnerable. I'm sweet. I get hateful, but it's a temporary expression of emotionalism, not real hate. I'm moody. To counteract the emotions, I stifle them and attempt to seem as though I have none. I'm smarter than I seem sometimes, but sometimes I'm not as smart as I seem. I'm younger than my chronological age. I've been the butt of many jokes and expect to be the butt of many more. I'm awkward, shy, nervous, fidgety. I'm always afraid of doing the wrong thing. I don't want people to get angry. I don't like to upset people, but I often do. I'm unintentionally cold. I'm socially retarded. I'm sarcastic. I'm rude. I'm a bit of a whore. But not really. I do like to dress like one, but I'm intensely loyal. At least, until I feel betrayed. Then the bitter hateful side comes out for a visit. I'm one of those girls who gets along better with guys. I always have and I'm tired of feeling guilty about it. I'm insecure and paranoid.

I spent most of my life, as far back as I can remember, questioning my every move, action, thought; looking at every side of every behaviour. I learned before I could talk that my natural instincts and reactions were wrong. People get disturbed and/or angry when I am myself. I learned that the real me was appalling. Since I was a very young child, I learned that the right thing to do is to sit quietly, look pretty, and try not to bother anyone. That behaviour alternates with being angry, bitter, loud and just not giving a fuck what anybody thought. Making myself as unlikable as possible to fulfill the belief that nobody likes me and convincing myself I like it better that way.

Once drugs and alcohol entered the picture, it was so much easier to flip between hiding who I was and getting away with awful behaviour because I was wasted (and it was funny). And then people started to like me (or like laughing at me), so I got stuck in that rut for a long time. Rambling, laughing, yelling, lifting my skirt, kisses, being lewd and crude, belching, spitting, puking all over a bunch of King Konqueror fans, etc.

I usually don't embarrass easily and I don't have that many regrets. I'd rather just own up to my mistakes, learn from them, and move on. One of my biggest mistakes was this blog. It gives people fuel, often misinterpreted, and makes me an easier target. I wear my heart on my sleeve (sometimes) and nothing I say is anybody's business anyway. But, in ways, it feels like it's the only thing that's mine. I don't know why anyone reads it. Maybe you relate to some things I say. Maybe you are a friend who's really interested. Maybe you are a frenemy (I hate made up tabloid words) who needs material to passive-aggressively, sarcastically throw into conversation. Maybe you think I don't pick up on it since I'm trying to let on that it doesn't bother me.

Don't think I was ever looking for pity. I have this thing so I don't have to burden my friends with being a pity case.

But it is about me. And self-sabotage. I learned from my mother to run away and start over when things cease being perfect. It's a defense mechanism I haven't avoided for so long before. You know the cliche. Hurt them before they hurt you. Love is understanding and accepting the worse with the better. I'm so lucky.

Clearly this want to fix things in my life goes back at least a year.

It's nice to be out, but I'm not sure I should've left the house. The cravings aren't constant anymore. They come in waves. But there are so many people I could bum from. It's too tempting. As I drifted off to sleep last night, I had hot and cold flashes. My teeth have been clenching and I want to explode. Explode with joy, anger, tears, fear. Anything, really. Just something loud. I left the house to be a little responsible. Forgetting that it was a holiday, I went to a bank to make an overdue student loan payment. Then, I bumped into some people at the library. When I got too fidgety to stand it anymore, I went down to the Paper Chase. As soon as I leave here, I'm doing some birthday shopping, if I can. I'm shaking, so I might just curl up at home again. Yeah, shopping, then eating, then curling up. It's so funny being crazy. How boring is life for the sane?

These pimples are making me mad. Stupid pills making me be high school again. I actually had to buy zit remedy. High School again. HA! I wasn't there when I was there. One of the people I was talking to at the library went to one of the schools I went to at the same time as me. She said it was weird. I assumed she meant weird that she didn't remember me (I recognized her, but didn't know why). It's not weird. Back then, I sat near the things I wanted to do and read. After school, I went home and played video games. Occasionally I'd hang out and listen to music with the couple friends I did have. Or, go over to one of their houses and read. Right now I'm reading three books: Drinking: A Love Story, Even Cowgirls Get the Blues, and Please Kill Me.

LOOK!!! I'M CRAWLING UP THE WALL WITH A STRING IN MY ASS!!!

I'm delirious. And cranky. The sun is struggling to come out, but I'm so cranky even that makes me angry. I woke up pretty stabby today. It's made worse by failure. I smoked last night. But, it's easy to fail when you don't even try. I made it until about 20 after 8. When the decision was made to go to the jam spot, I decided I'd have a few. Public is hard. I know I'm making a bigger deal out of it than I have to, but I know myself (even if I convince myself I don't) and I don't want to yell at people I like. I've done that a bit today. So, I left the house. Yesterday, I watched all of the first season of Curb Your Enthusiasm, and the first two episodes of the Office (the original one). Soon, I'm going to pick up where I left off. Maybe I'll yell some more, but I'll try not to. Hysteria.

Tour highlights, and a few lowlights. In no particular order besides the order in which they popped into my head:

-Swans in Sackville and Burlington
-Tim's dad's house
-String in my ass
-Phil's party for many reasons including, but not limited to: girl covered in piss crawling into bed with Nancy and Seth, toad on KC's leg, starting the H/K set outside and the clouds opening up and puring on us while I beat on the floor tom, pump my love ditch/butter gutter, dancing with Nancy to A/V, fire, burgers, mushroom, onion, mustard and barbecue sauce sandwich, girls from Halifax
-Youtube (shoes, German kid spazzing, mechanical tiger)
-black metal breakfast with Susan and the Bayonettes
-partying with In-Flight Safety
-D-Jerome and Gab
-multiple Value Villages
-trampoline
-Wii
-Guitar Hero
-Daniel Johnston
-playing Unwanted Guests on the radio
-Orge Juice
-hardonitor/hardometer (a hardonitor monitors if it's hard, a hardometer measures it)
-Mark peeking his head out the bathroom door
-guy groans
-free food
-Paula and Rob
-crazy guy coming to Hamilton show and touching me inappropriately (lowlight)
-Beacon Hill--glistening hand print on the wall with hair stuck to it (lowlight)
-waterfowl park
-Lachie
-Spook
-laundry in sketch part of London (old cougar/drunk/prostitute puking an shitting at the same time in the bathroom)
-Tim
-Pete
-Lavender
-"This is Kim and I'm Matt and we're Matt and Kim!!"
-Face to Face and NOFX between bands in St. Catharine's (guy coming over to merch table and shouting NOFX lyrics at us, presumably because he saw me bobbing my head)
-new Dinosaur Jr. album
-Michael Catano's mustache
-Charlottetown in general
-Memories Attack
-Japanther
-Montreal (highlights: Briefs, I *heart* Huckabees, Robin and Denise. Lowlights: show cancel-ED)
-not wearing a jacket most of the time
-Robin's breakfast (I didn't actually have any)
-"I only have one thing to say: WHAT THE FUCK?!"
-bumping into Jef Simmons on the street
-shows in parties and bookstores
-Claude Francois
-near beer
-shows turning into dance parties (highlight at Phil's, lowlight at the Drake)
-aping
-not wearing earplugs after week #1 (lowlight: hearing loss)
-driving home with the smell of human piss
-Sheba and Riley
-Caton (sp?)
-$6 flat Pepsis (lowlight)
-Miami
-$65 at Zellers in Edmunston (lowlight: leaving all my socks and undies at home in the first place)
-Simultaneous Release on repeat (lowlight, but funny)
-Orange Monkey
-hippies
-Matt Charlton
-KC pacing in a parking lot with a cell phone
-expensive Mongolian food (lowlight: size and price; highlight: imagining punching the chef)
-Ocean of Love in your eyes, abbreviated to Ocean Eyes
-high heels
-smoking (mixed feelings)
-father and cousin in Toronto
-KC hiding under the bed
-poorhaus in PEI
-New Arcade Fire growing on me
-Dancing guy/Sleeping, Waiting video
-sausages
-Cheese Whiz omlettes
-"Brian" (lowlight, especially in my face)

Two years ago I was sick.

Put my finger on a seized trigger
And do nothing
About anything

I wanna believe I'm exactly who I am
Not a made up man
With no hope now

I gotta get this back in hand

I deserve everything I get. The healing power of punishment.

So, I guess I drink and smoke again. I'm pretty disappointed in myself, but that's life. Always keeping you guessing. Always letting you down. Or, at least, that's my life. The drinking is pretty controlled. For now. I'm only mentioning it so as to not be accused of being one of those people who claim to quit, and then drink when out of town as a secret relapse. Drinking in secret leads to more drinking in secret which leads to worse alcoholism. I don't like secrets.

I do like honesty and communication. Even when it sucks. And things do now. But that's temporary. Another fact of life. The only thing that is consistent is change.

The smoking really bothers me. It's gross and I felt so much healthier in those months as an ex-smoker. Quitting smoking was truly one of the most difficult things I've even done. I have a history of taking the easy road. Whenever I tried to quit, I'd go a little crazy and give in almost instantly. I'm not sure if I'm prepared to go through that again. But I have to. And it has to be soon. I don't even have any money for this disgusting habits. Habits are so hard to change. I guess I should just lock myself in my room for a few days and get it over with. Now's a good time since I'm not working yet and therefore won't yell at customers. Yes, I'll have customers again. It looks like I'm going back to my old job. The more things change, the more they stay the same.

I'm happy about a few things. For starters, I can actually laugh again. I don't know the last time I've felt genuine happiness.

Also, I feel alive again. I've never spent much time living my own life. I spent it all surviving. Trying my damnedest to keep everyone around me happy. I'm a very self-centred person. This is true. But at the same time, I put myself last. What do I want to do? What do I want to eat or listen to? It doesn't matter. It never mattered. Whatever my companion wants is god enough for me. But it's not. No. Sometimes a person has to think of themselves. It's too bad that in trying to do that I convinced myself to ruin the only thing I had. But, it just seemed like the right thing to do. I had been lying to myself and everyone else for so long. Those around me may have noticed that I haven't been much of a person at all. Just sitting around. Looking at magazines. Watching TV. Staring at the wall. I can't do that to myself anymore.

After a lifetime of hating myself, I finally have a real reason to. And, yet, when I walk home from downtown, I don't have the urge to jump in front of a bus. And that, my friends, fills me with a joy and amazement that I don't think I've ever felt.

Something was funny last year. Probably some drunken debauchery.

I'm home. And dazed. I don't know what's happening next. Well, besides calling my mom.

Last year, there was almost a breakup (of a band).

I fucked up. I don't know how to fix anything. So, I sit. Stuck. Frozen in space as time passes by.

Oh, Montreal, how do I love you?

We have the day off, so we came to this fucking fine city early. Last night we played a show that wasnèt originally in the plan. It was great because the Ottawa show on the way to Southern Ontario might as well have been non-existant. Last night we played the Daniel Johnston show. That guy was great.

He was smiling through his own personl Hell
Dropped his last dime in the wishing well
He was hoping too close and then he fell
Now he's Casper, the friendly ghost

He was always nice when he was alive
You can't buy no respect like the librarian said
Everybody respects the dead
They love the friendly ghost

This is going to be a little pricey. I should go find out how to get ahold of Janice.

I'm pretty comfortable with the level of honesty in my life. Except that at times there is too much.

Three years ago, I was days away from being hired at the Paper Chase.