Hey Bring me tea and something sweet while you're at the grocery store pretty please!

I've been reading about Lebanon tonight. It seemed like a good way to erase a headache that's been filling my head tonight. It's weird, lately it's been I've had a series of harder-then-normal, pounding headaches. And in result I've been thinking of Elizabeth's past encounters, where it was a series of intense headaches that lead to her getting drilled into her head. True Story(more or less).

Things to think about (in accordance with Lebanon):
Neopatrimonialism
Consociationalism

yes I did

When I used to come home from dances in high school my dad would always ask me if I "got up and danced." In a pained voice too. First he would ask if I had fun, and I would mumble something and he would say, no fail : "No, but did you get up and dance though?"

Shit of course I did Dad, whose daughter am I?

I turned my left foot, then my right foot.

This is Mina Milk, who does a lot of ink drawings like this one, and also a lot of lesbian love scenes in the same style.

Removed my space bar today,with a deft flick of the towel from my head.
I've had some pretty interesting encounters at bus stops these past few days. I tell you stories in form of lists so that you might digest them nicely.

1- Today I was the most hangry a person could be. Sitting at the bus stop, waiting to get home and devour every scrap that I could pile into my hand. Sitting at the bus stop next to this woman in blue tinted shades with a pink wig over her full head of (brown) hair. Anyway the whole time I am glaring at the passing cyclists and she is muttering to herself about how many fucking cars are going by. And then she says, more coherently "Seven pounds eleven ounces at 4:20 in the morning Dec. 23 1968 the first word I ever said was shut up" She says this methodically, like she is testing her own sanity. And then the bus pulls up and we travel  one stop before she gets off.

2-Few days ago, sitting at the stop with a giant Renoir book on my lap, and about 6 others in my backpack and this smiling old man comes and sits beside me and starts asking me questions. Tells me that Renoir, near to his death wrote a letter to a friend that mourned the fact that he had never noticed black until then. And I replied that all the letters I had seen that he wrote were bugging his friends to give him money. And he said, did I know, close to the end, Renoir painted with brushes strapped to his wrists because his arthritis was so bad. And the bus pulled up and the enchantment ended. Like I was just another early twenties school girl lugging her books to school and he was just another old guy that lived in Oak Bay.

3- Few weeks ago, the streets were wet from rain. I was leaning against a wall, casual like, and this older man comes up and starts talking about how much his pussy cat hates the rain. And how much his pussy cat hates being turned out of this man's bed when the cleaning lady is changing the sheets.  And all the while he is pacing and looking up the street. And eventually he asks me if I am in school and what I am studying. And I tell him, and he looks pleased. He tells me how when he was a kid he was committed to an asylum because he was epileptic and they didn't teach any of the kids there because it was assumed that they were idiots. So he says he taught himself to read using paintings in books. And here he starts talking really fast at a low rhythm and I lose his words. He finishes by saying he got his bachelors, I think he said Harvard.
And the bus comes right after this so I never found out, really, how one teaches oneself to read through art.

Why is the night so long?

The fact that I still haven't mailed your birthday card pretty much means that I can alter it to also be a valentine. Valentine.
Had a killer week in which my wrist was annihilated by frantic scribbling. Not being safe, Sarah C. And you can blame it on the grinning anarchist at the front of the room in the two tone purple shirt. With his suspicious drawings by small children and no answer as to where they came from. With the newspaper clipping of goats in trees in Morroco pinned to the door of his office.
So I was elated to get on the bus and come home before the sun came down today, to apply for this job in the Rockies that would help in my future ass-kicking career. But it is no longer posted, this job. Kat sang me a tune about not giving up until I get a firm reply on whether the position has been filled but mein gott. I hate being pushy.

Yesterday, V-Day, often synonymous with D-Day. Ate sushi, read dates off of a piece of paper, which my mind quickly forgot. Luckily dates only mean so much, as long as you've got your context nailed. And I mean, Franco-Prussian War ends 1871, same year of the Paris Commune, year after Bazille is killed. Poor guy never got to be an Impressionist.

This painting is 19th c. name dropping. For serious. Bazille would paint his studio every time he got a new one, and in this case he included a bunch of his friends in the picture. So he's like: Look! I'm best friends with  Manet! There he is checking out my painting! (in the hat; Bazille himself is the extremely tall man in the center; Zola is on the stairs, Renoir under them, Monet in the fancy pants and some critic is tinkling the keys in the corner). He also shows all his million dollar paintings stacked around like he's just hording them for the end of the world. 

Not sure where that info-vomit came from. You're welcome though.

I'm sorry in advance for not mailing any valentines

Hey girls,
I'm currently engulfed with an headache that just won't dissapear, the mountains are clearly visible  I've ate five pieces of bread, a steamed milk coffee and la. My birthday was filled with Ukrainian dolls, ice cream cake and half dozen ice cream cupcakes. I was craving birthday cake, but whatever. Next year!

Thursday tuned into friday, and I was called up for a girls night with Carmanagh,Natalie and Rebecca. It was hilarious, we built forts, played board games, and played this hilarious game where you take a huge gulp of a water, and everyone watches a hilarious video or listens to something funny and whoever just spits it out last, wins. In that process, I got spit on my head by two girls.

The night ended with a couple of us falling asleep in the fort, the rest found bed and that was it. Or so I thought!

Start around 3 in the morning, carmanagh was sick. It turned into eventually something serious and I later got shook awake from Natalie telling us we are going to the hospital. We rushed to the hospital, and we were there from 4-11 easily. While Carmanagh was getting checked up, we watched soccer and laughed our pants off waiting and waiting. It was Manchester united against some team that started with a "t". One of the players looked like a monkey and it wasn't the worst way to spent a morning. We got out to eat breakfast at a tim hortons and got to watch the sunrise downtown at the waterfront before Carmanagh needed to be back at the hospital for an ultra sound. This long story ended with Carmanagh being perfectly fine. Her and i then met up with her mother at the mall,still in our pjs and we watched the hobbit. There is a ton of fighting in the hobbit. But I guess little boys would go balls to the wall excited for it.

The book sounds interesting Emma. I'll try to look it up someplace. How did you guys spend "family day"? I painted faces up in Coombs then went for a little hike in little qualicum falls.

Hope you guys are happy healthy.

I'm craving cream cheese.

I want the fruit but I fear the tree

So nice to find dirt on a pair of pants that you haven't worn in 4 months.
So nice to be able to put these pants on without undoing the button.

So nice to be home after a two day vacation and feel pleased and relaxed in the same way one feels after two months abroad. You know? Even a small trip works to cool one's jets. Obviously not literally.

Been re-writing my resume for the co-op edition of my life. The recommendations for what to include are totally unrealistic. Unless the rest of the world has more downtime/ never does anything. Just seems like trying to include everything + sophisticated describing words makes one hell of a novel.

Listening to people I know on Bandcamp. I know all the famous kids, don't I just.

Sarah you need to read this book called It Chooses You by Miranda July, bought it recently on a sick day. It's about this time when she was writing a movie called The Future (available on netflix) and she was super blocked and spent a bunch of time reading the Penny Saver, which is this American classifieds paper thing. Anyway she gets it into her head to interview a bunch of the people in there and so the book is her running around Los Angeles interviewing the strangest types who are selling everything from leopard kittens to leather jackets. And I guess the point is that these people chose to sell their things through this paper, because most of them do not have computers although not all of them are old, you know? Like July talks about how she spends a stupid amount of time looking things up online, and these people are too busy/ just generally unconcerned with the advent of computers.

There is a balling ass magazine job posted on the co-op site that requires knowledge of Mandarin, Cantonese or Japanese. There is a totally smoking hot job at Open Space that calls a driver's license "essential." Is "bohemian" still a job? I could be that.