All the broken dreams and low self esteem

I went to talk to a glorified guidance councilor at OCAD today who made me cry a little. He's basically convinced me that I'm not passionate enough to go to grad school at Ryerson for the program I'm interested in. I'm not going back to talk to him anytime soon, he did have an awesome handlebar mustachio though.

The Cobra

Before I begin let's get something right. I hate cats. I'm going to blame this on the cat my parents had when I was two who ate both my fish Goldilocks and Michael Jackson. The first victim was Goldilocks who was missing out of her fishbowl after my parents and I came home from Christmas at my aunt's house. After replacing Goldilocks with Michael Jackson the cat (who's name was Rascal) not only devoured poor Michael but smashed my fishbowl in the process. Alas, Rascal got his comeuppance when I put a barrette on his tail while he was eating and it took my Dad 3 hours to get him out from under the bed to remove the barrette.

This is becoming more long-winded than I had hoped.

My boyfriend and I adopted a cat last year who has several monikers. Her name at the pound was Emma which we promptly changed to Garry. Then we decided we liked the name Nuit (she's a black cat) but we always referred to her as "the cobra", which has since become her only name. If we ever have children they will no doubt suffer multiple identity crisis's or just end up with really, really bad names.

So the cobra has had a cold the last few days and what I wanted to say originally is, have you ever heard a cat sneeze? Keep in mind I hate most cats but when they sneeze it's really funny.

That's it.

art school ruined my life

I'm looking to apply to grad school this fall and I'm starting to understand the relevance of the term "starving artist". Since graduating OCAD with a major in photography I've been working on a body of artwork that is very time consuming and I'm starting to feel like I'm falling out of practice. Aside from that, grad school is confusing and there's not much you can do with a BFA. My ideal situation is to be accepted to Ryerson for there Photo Preservation MA program and get a wicked job upon graduation but I'm also trying to be reasonable here. I'm looking to apply to York for a curatorial Masters of Arts but after those two schools I'm at a complete loss for programs I'm interested in. I have no idea what I want to do with my life (at 23 this is kind of scary) and I feel no urge to pursue a MFA because I figure it's just a glorified BFA and when I graduate after 2 or 3 years in a Fine Arts master's program I'm just going to be more disappointed when I realize there really are no jobs out there for me.

I need a hard drink, a slice of apple pie and a shoulder to cry on.

the crow/squirrel

My Father is well known in my family for disappearing on a Sunday afternoon and returning hours later with tons of stuff he's purchased at Canadian Tire. We eventually decided that dear ol' Dad is attracted to shiny things which is why he's a frequent shopper at Canadian Tire where he usually purchases things he doesn't really need. This in turn lead to him being nicknamed "the crow" due to his behaviour of leaving unexpectedly and rounding up as many shiny objects he can find to bring back to pad his nest with.

He's also known as "the squirrel" for his behaviour in doctor's offices where he finds cabinets and drawers impossible to resist. As a child it was always fun to have to go to the doctor's office with Dad when I had strep throat or chicken pox because he dug around the doctor's cabinets and played with everything that wasn't nailed down.

After spending the day with my family at the hospital last week we've come to the conclusion that if reincarnated my father would return as a crow stapled (or perhaps glued or tied) to a squirrel.

That's right...

"For my homies"

The other day I was working at the coffee shop when a man asked me to make him a tasty, tasty latte. I've been perfecting my "latte art" technique and I wanted to present him with the loveliest little latte and in order to do so I had to pour some extra steamed milk down the drain. When he saw me do this he asked "Is that for your homies?"...t'was the happiest day of my life.

thanks dad

My Dad is a quiet French-Canadian man who seldom speaks when my friends are around but swears like a truck driver, sings french lullabies when he cooks and cracks the worst/best jokes you'll ever hear. When he was in his early twenties he grew his hair long and went out to "find himself" by hitchhiking his way to the east coast of Canada. If you ask how that experience was he'll tell you that he doesn't remember because he was high for the majority of the trip. Some of the best advice he ever gave me as a sixteen year old growing up in suburbia was "Never drop acid, I've seen too many crazy things while high on acid. Smoke dope all you want and if you put mushrooms in hot water that shit will fuck you up".

I should mention that my father has long ago abandoned his hippie lifestyle and very rarely acknowledges his experiences with hallucinogenics which is why his "advice" still sticks in my brain. I should also say that I have never dropped acid, taken mushrooms or snorted cocaine (I once faked taking ecstasy but more on that later).

I owe all my healthy brain cells to my father, now if only I could put them to good use.

To the person who plays their clarinet in their attic on sorauren, thank you for opening your windows.

Pee Wee's Demolition

When I was a kid I had this horrible recurring nightmare that my family was evicted from our house and forced to live in the caboose of a train in the middle of the cul-de-sac that we lived in (like circus folk). The man who kicked us out of our house was none other than Pee Wee Herman and he was a tyrant. He ordered our house to be demolished while we watched and laughed maniacally as he sat at the controls of a huge wrecking ball that quickly reduced our home to rubble. What an asshole.

finally

I need this so bad it hurts. It's a two finger custom name ring, how badass is that? It's almost like having your name as brass knuckles. They're $95 American and I think I would be too embarrassed to ask for this thing for my birthday...I deserve a gift to myself.

livejournal throw back

3 years ago I kept a Livejournal which is pretty funny to look back on nowadays. I just wanted to post up some of the titles of my entries because they are pretty entertaining. I would have been friends with myself 3 years ago.

"win, lose and adult situations "
"wedding mice? "
"making like a baby"
"basically a robot "
"Jesus' middle name is Christopher" (ummm, his last name is Christ)
"ladies love cool james "
"fatman boss? "

One good quote: "I hate French people, they are assholes...actually that is a lie; I just hate people that are assholes and then have stupid accents on top of that."

Please make that my epitaph