Wednesday, January 26, 2011

Divorced Men

A poem I wrote last night.

Divorced Men:

I miss you
You always smelled like flowers
Like a woman
I wanted that scent
so I could breathe it in every day and feel you
picture you
put in on and become you
I still want to become you
You're perfect
Your dirty blond hair
Your moon-shaped glasses
Your shoulder bag
Your salads
Your smile
Your quick wit
Those rebellious ears that stick out
Just like you do
In a crowd
The freckles and tiny hairs on your arms
Your slim fingers
So perfect
So immaculate
So precise
Your forest green cardigans and white dress shirts
Your tweed jacket and pants
Your ancient blackberry
Your voice
Smooth as milk and honey
Your exercises
Your books
Your mind
Your ring
Which you no longer wear
What do divorced men do with their rings?
Do they make love to them?

Monday, January 24, 2011

Culinary criticism... and praise

I went to Williams for breakfast at 11 am today and ordered a Strawberry Caramel Waffle.  I knew I would enjoy it, but I didn't expect it to be heaven on a plate!

It was perfect.  I don't think I could offer any criticism except more strawberries.

The ingredients?  Freshly made waffle, strawberry syrup, strawberries, caramel, two scoops of vanilla ice cream, whipping cream and icing sugar.

In a word: amazing.  Five stars!

Probably not at all healthy, but it was fucking delicious and it made my day!

And I wasn't too bloated when I was finished either, but that might have been because of how much my stomach stretched last night...

Last night I went to an Indian restaurant in Brampton called "Tandoori Flame."  It was an all-you-can-eat buffet with 150 items!  Basically Mandarin only with Indian food.  And since Indian food is pretty much my favourite type of cuisine, I was in paradise!

They had all my favourites, like chana masala, basmati rice, gulab jamun, garlic naan, cute mini samosas, etc, but they also had unique things I'd never tried before, like this really tasty black lentil dish and some kind of curried potato and cauliflower dish.  I was going to do four trips, two for main course, one for soup (dal) and the last one for dessert, but by my second trip (where I had taken a large helping of chana masala, my all time favourite) I was ready to surrender.

But I had to have my gulab jamun!  That's my other all-time favourite!  So I drank a LOT of water, and went to the bathroom and ate watermelon and sat for a long time, but I was so full it was painful!  It hurt to stand up!  Indian food is so filling!  So I had one gulab jamun, which tasted amazing, and gave the other to my brother.  Everything was cooked so well.  Very warm and spicy and full of flavour.

There were two things I didn't see: Mulligatwony (sp?) soup and Pakora.  But pakora isn't really one of my favourites, although Mulliagatwony is.  Definitely on my top 5 restaurants list, which has just formed in my brain now.  Five stars!  It was great.  I just have to know my limits next time.  Small servings, don't be a hero...

This talk of food is making me hungry.  Time for lunch!

Wednesday, January 19, 2011

Quickie Post

Hi peoples,

I'm a bit busy with school now, so I will make this short, but I just realized I left the blog on a sad note - that my first day back was bad, but the rest of the week actually went quite well.  Thursday and Friday I was in an extremely good mood.  And the weeks after that have been nice, too.  I've kind of realized that everything I am afraid of is completely harmless.  I'm afraid of learning to act, afraid of getting vocal techniques wrong, afraid of embarrassing myself in front of people, afraid of being criticized, afraid of not being at the same level as other people in my year, afraid that my repertoire isn't right for me, afraid of things that are out of my comfort zone, but all of that is just learning, and lately, the scariest things have been the most enjoyable things.  So I've decided to not give a fuck and just enjoy myself.  Does any of this really truly matter in the grand scheme of things?  Definitely not.  So I'm just going to try to enjoy myself, no matter what I'm doing, and try my best.

Speaking of enjoying myself, I am still right into fanfiction.net.  I check it every day.  Sometimes more than every day.  Although, I haven't posted on there too recently.  People have been eating up my stories!  Ok, not a lot, but I've actually been getting reviews and people subscribing to my stories.  It's so awesome!  And on the stats page it tells you how many people looked at your stories each day, and you can see all the different countries of the people reading your stories.  My readers are mostly American and British, but I've got readers from Chile, Belgium, Mexico, Germany, France, etc...  I love that site!

Now off to do my homework for Acting for Singers... practicing my monologue, and critically watching "Pride and Prejudice."  Yes, I am serious. I shall enjoy this assignment immensely.

Until I post again,

Psychicbyinternet

P.S. I have no idea why this post has taken the form of a letter.

Tuesday, January 4, 2011

Back to School Depression

Today was my first day back and it depressed me and made me tired.  What a wonderful start to the new year...  University is simply a different world from home.  I have so much less time and everyone around me seems so much, well, more impressive.  You'd think I was in first year, double-taking at each person that walks by.  I feel so impressive back in my hometown, but when I go back to university, I'm left wondering what it is that I have to offer?

One course that I'm in is really intimidating.  Acting for Singers.  A friend of mine said it was mostly yoga, but we have readings, discussion of readings, we have to prepare a monologue, a scene with two other people and an aria.  Writing it down now, it doesn't seem so bad, but it feels like I have to have all this stuff ready for the teacher so soon...  It's kind of scary.  I miss chilling out with my family and writing fanfics, isolated in my tidy house. I was fantasizing about those things all day.  I already want to go home and I have three days left before I go home for the weekend.  I'm such a baby when it comes to homesickness...

No offense to my university apartment, but it's really not half as nice as home.  And I'm constantly hand-washing my dishes...  This morning, we hardly had any water and when I went to wash my dishes, hardly any water came out - not enough to wash anything, of course.  It's back now, but student housing frustrates me.  The landlord knows we don't know our rights, so he'll do a shoddy job with the hydro, the heating, the lighting, the fire alarm...  Why can't landlords just do a good job, whether you're a student or not?  Anyway, I have a feeling that I'm just depressed because it's my time of the month.  But, all in all, not the greatest first day back after winter break.  I really hope tomorrow is better.  Time to go get some delicious corn chips!

Monday, January 3, 2011

Riddles

These are some old riddles I made.  The answers are at the bottom of the post.  Don't peak!

1. This world has many disguises and accessories.  It may have bumps one day, dots another, often many trenches, and very rarely some mountains and hills.  It all depends where you travel.  It can take on a variety of colours; Red, Blue, Yellow, White, Purple and Black.  A chameleon of conditions, ever vulnerable.  What is it?

2. It bars the way but pulls lies out of our mouths.  It puts the forks in the roads and makes mud surround our feet while with it we swoon for money.  It stings you while you work, blocks the way to your big leap, separates you from other people...  This deadly sin causes most worldly problems.  What is it?

3. Made up of firsts and seconds, this toolbox has many materials; silver, wood, brass, strings, steel and even plastic.  It comes with instructions on paper, but they are strange alien symbols.  Luckily you are supplied with a magic wand.  Combine that and your logic and ears and you will have a work of art, prone to pretentiosity.  What is it?

4. Swallows your pride, never on your side, encourages lying, yawning, ambition, stealing and tea.  You share with them one of your greatest secrets so that they can harness it.  Your best friend and your worst enemy.  What is it?

5. Your body's boss, your brain's power-hungry advisor.  What is it?

6. Never warm until it's gone, always beautiful, can be deadly, made of fragile crystals, born of the never-ending blue.  What is it?

7. Acts as if you are a stranger, insults you, twists your arm and knows nearly everything about you.  He would bite the bullet for you in any danger.  What is it?

8. It's descendants stand on top of it's trunk.  Below, it soaks it's toes in hell.  Without it, these words wouldn't be written in my notebook.  What is it?

9. The noise and culture of a subway station, squeezed into a giant Crayola box with wheels.  What is it?

10. It is as intricate and detailed as mathematics.  Every spasm-causing agent has several formulas.  Each culture has it's own stationary set.  It belongs to everyone and can never be taken away!  It was once free until the men in white wigs put it in a cage made of paper and threw in a few nasty creatures called critics.  It is still capable of unleashing emotions but most of it's catches are lumpy, salty and runny.  What is it?

11. A miniature planet earth built from convulsions and think-on-your-feet arithmetic.  This robotic fortune teller is often associated with Romans.  What is it?

*
*
*
*
*

Answers:

1. Skin




2. Pride




3. A Band or Orchestra




4. A singing teacher




5. Pain




6. Snow




7. A brother




8. A tree




9. A school bus




10. Music or music today




11. A clock



Hope you liked my riddles.  Use them as quiz questions when people want stuff from you.

Example:

My brother: Can you buy me some ice cream?
Me: Okay but you have to answer this riddle first.
My brother: Okay I'll do it.
Me: (insert one of my riddles) What is it?  You get three guesses.
My brother: Um, a house?
Me: Nope.
My brother: Um, a book?
Me: Nope.
My brother: Um, the ocean?
Me: *shakes head*  Sorry, no ice cream for you.

And if you're really mean...

My brother: What was it then?
Me: Not telling.  You'll have to keep guessing the next time you want something.
My brother: I hate you.
Me: I hate you too.

This happens to be a really great money and resource-saving strategy!!

Okay, bye for now!  Happy New Year's!

Sunday, January 2, 2011

Happy New Year/2011! (Snowballs)

Hi again,

So I lied.  I thought I'd only be back a few days after my post, but I was partially extremely busy with holiday and family stuff, traveling, etc and partially obsessed with a site I just discovered called fanfiction.net.  It is simply awesome!  Half the time I'm reading stories and the rest of the time I'm writing and posting them!  Quizilla does this stuff too but I find that the grammar is not very good and it's more of a quiz site anyway.  I've already written three stories and a person even reviewed one of my stories!  If you want to see what I've written you can look at my profile at....  http://www.fanfiction.net/u/2669529/Psychicbyinternet

I'm getting kind of frustrated with this website.  I keep trying to change my background and template but the template wizard won't load and I keep trying to get AdSense to work but apparently "awaiting approval."  It's been like that for at least a month no matter what I do.  Maybe I should ask about this on Yahoo Answers.  I wish they would make this site easier to use, for those who are technologically illiterate... :(

So without further ado, I present you with some of my lovely snowballs, as a sequel to my reindeer droppings, although there is very little snow in my area of Canada right now...  How un-festive!

These are two unusual professor encounters, or should I say confrontations?


Tweed Coat:

The teacher laughed.  A fish-faced grin on his face.  He giggled.  He cackled.  Nothing was funny.
We were alone in a room, learning.  No punch line had been spoken.  He began a snarky, maniacal laugh and returned to his deep, throaty chuckle.  If anything had ever been funny it would have been how utterly terrified I looked.  That - or my pathetic attempts at laughter.  It seemed as if we were in a movie where the evil boss laughs at a baby crying or a man being kicked in the face and his employees must awkwardly conform to keep their jobs.  He got serious.

"Why aren't you laughing?"

More laughing.  "It's lonely laughing alone.  It makes me feel like crying."

A contorted face, imitating my inner emotions.

"It's even lonelier to frown alone," I responded, not even attempting a laugh, "I don't suppose you would ever understand."

His giggling died down.  "No - I suppose not."

"Why does this all have to be so awkward? Why did your laughter seem so horrible?"

The student seemed troubled.

"I just wanted to learn from you," she continued.

"I understand - it's hard to laugh when nothing is funny."

The teacher bowed his head, putting one hand in his left pocket.

"Exactly!  It's so nice for you to understand.  I was worried that you might not," the girl turned to the enormous window covering the wall.  Crows were scattered among the top floors of academic buildings, shrieking for attention.

"I'd still be worrying if I were you," the teacher said.

"Why's that?  Is there a test?" the girl turned white.

The man shook his head. "I lied," he smiled, "I'll never understand."

And with that he shot her.

And then himself.  He stained his tweed coat.


Tweed Coat (Immature Brother Remix):

**My brother took my notebook and revised this story.  No matter how many times I read it it still makes me laugh.


The teacher laughed.  A fish-faced grin on his face.  He giggled.  He cackled.  Nothing was funny.
We were alone in a room, learning.  No punch line had been spoken.  He began a snarky, maniacal laugh and returned to his deep, throaty chuckle.  If anything had ever been funny it would have been how utterly terrified I looked.  That - or my pathetic attempts at laughter.  It seemed as if we were in a movie where the evil boss laughs at a baby crying or a man being kicked in the face and his employees must awkwardly conform to keep their jobs.  He got serious.


"Why aren't you laughing?"

"Evil Boss man, Go Fuck Yourself."


More laughing.  "It's lonely laughing alone.  It makes me feel like crying."


A contorted face, imitating my inner emotions.

"Waaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhh!" he cried.


"It's even lonelier to frown alone," I responded, not even attempting a laugh, "I don't suppose you would ever understand."


His giggling died down.  "No - I suppose not."


"Why does this all have to be so awkward? Why did your laughter seem so horrible?"

The student seemed troubled.


"I just wanted to learn from you," she continued.


"I understand - it's hard to laugh when nothing is funny."


The teacher bowed his head, putting one hand in his left crotch.


"Exactly!  It's so nice for you to understand.  I was worried that you might not," the girl turned to the enormous window covering the wall.  Rows were scattered among the top floors of academic buildings, shrieking for attention.


"I'd still be worrying if I were you," the teacher said.


"Why's that?  Is there a test?" the girl turned white.


The man shook his head. "I lied," he smiled, "I'll never understand."


And with that he shot her.


And then himself.  He stained his tweed coat.


Whiteboard Chat:

The professor scrubbed the whiteboard with a black eraser and the students crowded out the door.
She stood behind him, facing his back, waiting patiently.

He whirled around with a concerned look, "Yes?"

"Why?"

"The last mark you got?"

"No. Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why don't you care?" my eyes swelled up.

He frowned.

"Don't insult me.  I've worked here nearly six years and I have helped every student who asked for it.  Were you here for my first class?  I told everyone that I care."

"You're a good politician."

"You're good at stagnating.  Too bad it isn't a life skill."

He turned around and continued erasing.

She stood her ground, "You still didn't answer me."

"I did.  I care - about every student.  I'd invite you to office hours, but you're being a smart ass."

"You just did it!"

"What?"

"That not caring thing that you do.  Why do you do that?  And how?  I couldn't do it.  Is it in the cereal you eat every morning?"

"No!  I don't even know what you're talking about anymore," the prof scrubbed the last few symbols off the board.

"Does your wife beat you?  Do you eat unhealthily?  Are you lacking friends?  Have you been missing out on showers?  Do you have... insomnia?"

"No, no, no, no, no!  Leave me alone!  I don't care about you!" the man covered his mouth instantly.

"Now that you've admitted your problem, which is half the battle, we can start solving it."

She put her wire-rimmed glasses on and grabbed his briefcase.

"Hey!  That's mine!"

"Is it that you care only about yourself and your belonging or are you otherwise inclined?"

She searched his briefcase.  Lecture notes.  Pens.  Highlighters.  Rubber bands.

"A condom?"

"That's preposterous.  I'd never bring something that inappropriate to school!"

"And cocaine, heroin - crystalmeth?!"

"You put those in yourself!"

She shook her head, "this whole time I thought there was method to your madness."


Viva Las Vegas: a Music Faculty Formal (January 15, 2010):

As seventh chords and lustful dance tunes loiter in my head I remember a night that should have been longer, but yet was exhausting.  I feel like an intense cocktail of hyper and coma.  Meanwhile my cramps are still going strong, picking the perfect night to be at their worst.  Dancing is a magical, fantastic thing.  Total strangers, snobs, "celebrity" classmates mingle with the losers.  Everyone accepts the man wearing the dress or the girl who looks androgenous.  Inches away from legends.

My fear melts away more and more as the songs continue to play.  Accepting, yet so self-absorbed.  Unless the dance needs a partner, they look away, no matter how insanely you dance.  Sometimes people looked at me strangely when I made up movements and I felt so embarrassed.  Copying people, recycling, bringing some back from the past.  I wanted to use disco moves for every song, but I guess that would have been "uncool."

Dance circles forming.  I'd love to get in the middle of the circle with a guy and just do something scandalous... even something like grinding...

I wanted attention so badly.

He came.  With a girlfriend.  But he came.  That was amazing enough.  She seemed quite out of place, being from a different school.  Beautiful in her turquoise dress, but out of place all the same.  He barely knew anyone there as friends.  She knew no one.  He liked dancing.  She seemed to not like large doses of it.  Two lovely misfits.

He danced with me.  It happened so suddenly, and half the time I was certain that I was either dreaming or drunk.  Amidst the crowd I spun away from him, pretending not to notice him coming toward me.  I was so sure that he was trying to find someone behind me but he said "hi" and started dancing with me.  Off to the side.  "Billie Jean" was the song, and I later realized how appropriate it was.  I couldn't help grinning.  It was a dream.  He was a charming dancer.

"Do you know the moonwalk?!" I yelled in his ear.

He smiled. "No, well, sort of..."

We tried doing it at the same time, unsucessfully.  Fast spins, corny hand gestures, the can-can, I tried different things hoping he wouldn't lose interest.  I loved it when he pulled his hat over his eyes like Michael Jackson.  Yet it was scary.  He has a girlfriend.  What if she looks and gets mad?  Then again - we weren't slow dancing.  But we danced for almost an entire song.

But why would he leave her?  Should I really associate with someone that cruel?  Why did he?  I'd hardly talked to him recently.  Why was I suddenly appealing to him?  Or maybe I was just a friend?

When the song ended, it mixed into a slow dance.  He left, knowing to report back to the girlfriend.  I slowly left the dance floor in disbelief.  It doesn't seem like much, I guess, but these are the sorts of things that really brighten my life and keep me alive.  I've never danced with a guy that I had a serious crush on before.  And I'd been infatuated with him since at least the first week of university.  I felt so brave.

He didn't dance with me again after that, but that little taste kept me hoping.  I looked around so often, I think people were catching onto my crush.  But it was so much just to dance with him once.

I kept coming up with theories as to why.  Maybe he just wanted some variety and danced with me as a friend.  Maybe he was role-playing with his girlfriend and I was the bitchy part of the love triangle.  Maybe, being a music nerd, he wanted to play out the situation of the song ("Billie Jean").  Most exciting theory: maybe he hates his girlfriend and he loves me.  Maybe we'll start going out tomorrow.  Extremely wishful thinking.  I wonder what our classes together will be like now.  No, I don't think anything exciting will happen in all honesty.  Writing out all this just makes me even less attractive than my previous low.  And yet...

I could have danced all night! (If it were with him)

---------------------------------

P.S. Turns out after that weekend, when I saw him in class Monday morning, he acted as if nothing happened.  He said "hi," but he didn't even talk about the Music Formal at all.  Oh well.  It was nice while it lasted.


Man Is:

By nature a snarling violent beast
How did I come to know you?
They focus on violence and sex
One at a time
They think in straight lines
Tunnel vision
Did you know that men think about sex ninety percent of the time?
How did I come to love you?
Do they think about weapons the other ten percent?

Man is means woman and man is
Because woman cancels out
It's simple math
Don't worry your pretty little head about it
Men know women are objects
Women are objects
Irrelevant in the grand equation

Makes me so mad
To see the smirk on your face
As you get ahead
Ninety nine percent of men are pigs
At least forty nine percent of the world are pigs
And that percentage rules the world

Those dogs
Fixated on their pistols and guns
Are any of them my friend?
Can I be safe with someone that different?
Are they really all the same?
But they've been leaving us with them for years


He is coming:

A hat from the 'twenties
a slender form
a dark blur approaches
mumbled instructions
to himself

A pale face
and round glasses
a smooth, lazy voice
declarations of the mundane
walking down the hall...

A strong dose of TMI
with a hint of philosophy,
genius?

A cordial nod
My heart attempts to
strangle me
I want to leave...

That is how I know he is coming.