ishyface: (i shall never grow old)
- The reintroduction of Wellbutrin to my life. That is going pretty well, although I was a deeply paranoid mess for the first two weeks and spent a lot of time listening to Kid A and thinking a lizard-man was going to drown me in the bath. I also thought I was Patton Oswalt for like ten seconds, but that may be unrelated.

- An epic going-away party in which I had many drunk feelings and yelled about them. I hugged a lot of people and didn't cry that much. As parties go, it was a good one.

- A move from St. John's to Halifax. I haven't lived full-time in N.S. since 2006, and it's a major adjustment. No one here eats salt meat and they look at me funny when I say "yis." (Then again, Newfoundlanders also look at me funny when I say "yis." My Newfoundland accent leaves something to be desired. Like, for example, any resemblance to an actual Newfoundland accent.) I keep seeing people I think I recognize from high school and staring at them intently. Beginning to wonder if am giving impression of being axe-murderer.

- The end of a job I really, really liked. Working in a bank was not exciting, but it was secure and enjoyable and the people that I worked with were, by and large, very nice. (And they gave me a handbag with zombies on it on my last day, because I was apparently their pet alternabrat. So cute.) Since getting to Halifax I've applied for roughly forty jobs, got interviews for four, and was accepted for one... at Subway. "Displeased" does not quite cover my feelings on this situation, but I am still busily applying for other things, and in the meantime, it's a way to pay the bills.

Also, I get tips, which are pretty rad.

- Dal registration. I have my schedule for my first semester of library school, and I am unbearably excited even though my first class is unbearably early.

- The acquisition of a wee apartment building (with a deck!), nicknamed "The Bro's Nest."

- The acquisition of a mature white lady-cat, name of Violet. She is very affectionate in that anxious, if-I-don't-follow-you-to-the-bathroom-you-will-surely-disappear way that is so particular to shelter cats. The other pusses have adjusted, with the exception of Roman, who seems to be certain that we brought her here specifically to ruin his life. Then again, that is his response to pretty much everything.

- The acquisition of an Amy, who could not initially move down with me because our lease was not up. BUT NOW I HAVE MY CLAWS IN HER AND SHE CANNOT ESCAPE. She finds Halifax bizarre, partly because someone cat-called her the other day by yelling "you're beautiful!" And because people get shot here a lot. She is going to apply to the Funeral Direction program at NSCC, so she can learn how to chill with dead people and their friends.

- The acquisition of NOT A SINGLE FRIEND. I'm okay with it as of right now, because no one has friends when they first move, and the few people I knew in high school who I'd want to be friends with now seem to have vanished. However, if I do not have friends by the end of September I shall be quite put out.


- The new season of Arrested Development, which: eh.
ishyface: (when silly thoughts go through my head)
Me: Wow. They're really not trying at all anymore, are they?
Amy: I'm hoping that soon they'll do a wacky episode about a Martian.
Me: And they'll have to operate on him to take the gleeborp out of his klipnards.
Amy: And then it'll turn out to be lupus.
ishyface: (*beam*)
I have a history of hating the bejesus out of Valentine's Day, because it is commercial and lacks meaning and alllllso because I am sometimes a very cynical person.

Since this year I am going to be single for V-Day, I have decided to actively fight that cynicism by posting some of my favourite love songs. (I figure since it's free it also counts as actively fighting commercialism, so everybody wins!)

I have a lot of favourites, as it turns out. )
ishyface: (*beam*)
House of Leaves, by Mark Z. Danielewski. I've been meaning to read this ever since I got into Poe. The singer, that is, not the writer. So... about five years? Yeah, that sounds right.

Totally Joe, by James Howe. By the guy who wrote Bunnicula! Except this book has no vampire bunnies, just a gay twelve-year-old boy named Joe who overidentifies with E.T. It's still fun times.

BITCHfest, by various angry ladies. This is another one I've been meaning to get for a while. I haven't been able to find Bitch in Newfoundland so far and even though I'm not as into that magazine as I used to be, I still need a shot of snarky feminist pop culture analysis every now and then.

The Essential Calvin and Hobbes, by Bill Watterson. I blame Kidston for that one. Working at Jesus camp taught me that Christian kids love three things: Coldplay, Calvin and Hobbes, and violent contact sports.

I'd like to think that if I ever met myself buying books I'd think I was a pretty cool person. I feel like I kind of am sometimes. I mean, not cool cool because I spend way too much time on the Internet for that, but I am often pretty pleased by the fact that I am myself. I like myself. It's kind of awesome.

Also awesome: Katie Kay (just in general) and this Against Me!/Tegan Quinn video.

That's my favourite song for the next five minutes.

Today is my nine-month antiversary. I feel like I should celebrate it somehow, but I'm not sure how one celebrates an antiversary- maybe with a pint of ice cream, a Lifetime movie-of-the-week, and a good cry. I don't really feel like crying, though.

As a matter of fact, I feel pretty good right now. Happy to be on my own and waiting for surprises.

Still, here's a song. )
ishyface: (oh my god!)
Hello, LiveJournal! Today I am going to talk about two of my favourite people (who just so happen to be married to each other), because they make me really happy and I'm feeling a little bummed.


The two people in question? Jimmy Urine and Chantal Claret.

In which we fly into squeebit. )
ishyface: (feeling beautiful)
This is a word we use to plug
holes with. It's the right size for those warm
blanks in speech, for those red heart-
shaped vacancies on the page that look nothing
like real hearts. Add lace
and you can sell
it. We insert it also in the one empty
space on the printed form
that comes with no instructions. There are whole
magazines with not much in them
but the word love, you can
rub it all over your body and you
can cook with it too. How do we know
it isn't what goes on at the cool
debaucheries of slugs under damp
pieces of cardboard? As for the weed-
seedlings nosing their tough snouts up
among the lettuces, they shout it.
Love! Love! sing the soldiers, raising
their glittering knives in salute.

Then there's the two
of us. This word
is far too short for us, it has only
four letters, too sparse
to fill those deep bare
vacuums between the stars
that press on us with their deafness.
It's not love we don't wish
to fall into, but that fear.
this word is not enough but it will
have to do. It's a single
vowel in this metallic
silence, a mouth that says
O again and again in wonder
and pain, a breath, a finger
grip on a cliffside. You can
hold on or let go.

- "Variations on the Word Love", by Margaret Atwood
ishyface: (Default)
"I am not handsome, I am not interesting, I am not talented. I am not even rich. But, Lise, I offer you everything I have, to the last blood corpuscle, to the last tear, everything. And, believe me, this is more than any genius can offer you because a genius needs to keep so much in store, and thus cannot offer you the whole of himself as I do. I may not achieve happiness, but I know I shall do everything to make you happy."
- Pnin, by Vladimir Nabokov
ishyface: (feeling soft)
When I look at you, my voice fails me;
My tongue is broken. Through my body
A fire runs, burning, tingling.
My eyes cannot see, my ears hear a roaring noise,
Sweat pours down me, I shiver and shake.
I am paler than grass in autumn.
I feel as if death is close upon me.
I am lost in love.

Stereotype or no, I fucking love Sappho.

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