That dog is great though.

This building alone is neat concept. But in everyday life, how useful really is that plastic bit over the top? Over here, I think it would be completely useless. Unless you gathered land that had no trees bigger then the building it self, and in an area that no bird would ever poop on it - then it would be cool. Except we don't live there. So what's my solution to this conundrum? Thanks for asking babe. Take that plastic off, be smart with how you manage the spacial quality of the roof top and be creative. Too bad there isn't a whiteboard application on this blog so I can show you quickly this super plan for a blueprint of the roof. I'm too lazy to go to paint. Anyways...

Got rich today busking. Apparently someone painted a picture of the band in the old school house. apparently it's tiny too. I wanted to go check it out, but I got a free ride home.  A man also gave us free cinnamon buns at the market. It was melty gooey, and I had to pass it on as quickly as I got it. One bit, thats all.

Is it hot down in victoria? Here it is. I've been living of chocolate milk and tomato sandwiches.

This is what I want right now. Nightlife, silly girls around me and male-friends, dressed too hip for the town, running around, trying to catch the last subway run of the night. It's a good way to block out the world si?

And then I want to wake up to this. BAM!  Isn't that beautiful? Wouldn't it be great, if the door on the left lead to something like a slightly furnished trail, aged with a billion years? And then that trail lead to a waterfall..

like this?! with snow?! True story though. I went hiking with Carmanagh and Elizabeth there and had a picture just feet from the falls.We had bread and cheese and grapes and lemonaid. It was cute. We then drove downtown, I bought some architectural books (that book store with the basement was having a 25% off sale!yes!) and took the bus home. It was a sunny day, and it lacked a dog.

We're playing at the qualicum beach farmers market this saturday morning and the night prior apparently we have a marimba sleepover.

Shits going down with cyrus right now, it's like this whole relationship is a joke.

We Stand For the Neighbourhood.

News of the day in order of occurance:
1) T-boned a car on my bike while riding to work. Not entirely anyones fault here. I was in his blindspot, he didn't signal in time, I should have stopped faster. Still though. He didn't stop to see if I was dead the big jerk
2)Worked my last real summer shift. My boss admitted that she hired me because I was studying art history, not for any other real reason.
3) Went to school with the "couple" from down the road. We saw the largest wave of people I have ever seen walking in one direction. It made me uncomfortable to say the least.
Not really anything else going on. My boss bought us tickets for this ska show tomorrow night as an end of season bonus.
This summer I have had more champagne and group hugs then any other.
I need to prepare myself for the school year. One of my profs asked us to bring rulers pencils erasers and scissors to class. This sounds like crafts to me.

Water and Wine and a Boy Who Won't Text Back

I am sorry to hear about Gilbert. Seagulls seem to have a predisposition towards dying in unfortunate ways, probably because there are so many of them living in such close proximity to humans. I had a seagull named Napoleon a long time ago; I have a vague memory of my mom wearing hideous aquamarine shorts and jumping into the lake in order to save him from a bald eagle. He ate a lot of mayflies.

It's too bloody dark in this apartment, but today was lovely and sunny. I bought CLOTHES, including a DRESS, and will wear it TOMORROW.

Listen to this:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?NR=1&v=sbgliL3eceE
They are coming to Sugar sometime soon, and it would be nice to see them, but every time I make music plans life seems to get in the way.

That was the night that Robin broke into someone's house

So Gilbert is dead. The authorities think that he was electrocuted, possibly on a power line. Seeing as how he was malnourished and agressive they put him out of his misery. He was 9 years old. Last time I saw him he was cornered against a wall with a bleeding foot and absolute fear in his eye. We put him in a cardboard box and he dissapeared.
Read a blurb in the Globe and Mail today about a 22 year old woman who punched a bear in the face to protect her daschund (being carried off like a salmon). She said she didn't stop to think, she just lashed out and the bear wandered off, dazed.

Got invited to an artist's opening for next friday. He said "now you guys get to party on MY time" as if all we do all day is party on our own time. Or maybe he said turf.
Kat's birthday party is going to be "grade six" themed.
The baby upstairs is wailing.

This One is Mine

Hi all. You'll be happy to know that the saga of Gilbert the Seagull has grown by one more chapter. Here's what happened:
1) Arrived at work, drank Earl Grey and pitted cherries
2) Served breakfast to the masses- Gilbert arrives late with a freshly bloody elbow (?) pursued by "his baby"- this grey one of almost equal girth. ("He's an asshole," remarked Marketa)
3) Served the artist his coffee outside. Artist cracks jokes like "nothing like a wounded seagull first thing in the morning"
4) ANCIENT mother/daughter duo from Portland arrive for their breakfast. They see the bloody seagull and start blabbing about autobahn societies, or something.
5) We witness the asshole-baby pecking the flesh from the Gilly's wound- everyone is shocked and dismayed. Arden swears like a sailor and threatens the younger with her fist. Typical (artist continues to crack ironic jokes)
6) Marketa makes up her mind, calls the SPCA like 8 times at which point it is established that we had to somehow wrassle the gull into a cardboard box and drive it down there. May I remind you that this seagull was not only enormous but also spouting blood everywhere. 
7) After about 30 minutes of  dicking around with the audience of one artist, one smoking redhead, one Tchek and this other redhead named M Gill stranded himself on the deck floor curled up against the wall (artist jokes about soaking food in whiskey to make him sleepy)
8) With a surprising and sudden spell of pure determination, artist corners bird with the cardboard box, I somewhat lamely guide it forward with a towel, artist pounces, Tchek folds the cardboard over the bird.
9) seagulls are surprisingly light.
So anyway that is probably the most exciting thing to happen to me this week. Considering last night I listened to the same song 24 times straight before waking up at 2 am to turn it off. 
http://www.artspace-arc.org/content/wood-push-wood This is the artist. 

Got 99 Problems but a Bitch Ain't One

Got home at 2:00ish. PURGED my room of all the useless accumulated fliers from over the years. I literally have a Paris subway map left from my highschool trip. Because that will often come in handy. 

Victoria is same old. Got stared down by a guy on a bike with a fancy hairdo and rolled up jeans. Got a funny earache from swimming in the sea (?) Got a lecture (number 23) from my mother about getting my teeth cleaned. Got a minor thrill when I discovered this morning that my childhood self had horded away Out of Africa for the reading pleasure of my present day self. Got a chocolate craving that will only be satisfied by something hard and black. 

Watched Jane Eyre last night with my parents. Had difficulty keeping my eyes open, especially when my dad gave up and began to snore desperately. I missed the whole middle section, but I did have a short interlude dream about sherbet. (The American way of saying sorbet- I learned this from a snooty guy on a plan headed to NY) Also yesterday- had weird daydreams while swimming in the ocean where the rich people live in QB. I was imagining that the water was actually those pieces of flowy blue fabric they use in theater to simulate water, and that I was flying between them. I think I might have been a sea otter in a previous life. Not only am I drop dead Cute, I can't seem to do much besides roll around in the waves, floating on my back.
Thinking of hitting up the Fringe play God is a Scottish Drag Queen, although it is at 9 and my eyes are already wandering in the general direction of my pillow.
For those concerned, Glibert was doing better last I saw him. he can put weight on his leg even if it is still bent out. 
Boz Scaggs remains my dirty pleasure.
Seeking out a location for a secret morning meeting. Preferably with coffee.

bapples.

That's sad about the seagull and the blood. Today, I was harvesting. Harvesting apples all day. Peeling them, covering them in lemon juice, decided whether to jam, sauce or dehydrate. I love dried apples. I'm pretty sure that's one of my top snacks as a young kid. And it makes excellent instant oatmeal when added.

I tried making this sour cream apple pie too. I first had it while in new york, and the night that Sarah, Jean and I all got take out Indian and take out pie slices and jean rented that stupid movie on tv. I remember good things about the pie. But today it was a complete disaster. Truthfully, I think it's the apples that caused the downfall. I think they carry too much liquid for a pie fruit. But whatever. Still tasted fine.

I also got a retarded response from something I said on the vegan forums on craigslist. I've lost hope in it. That relationship lasted less then 24 hours.

In the Morning, Waking Up To Terrible Sunlight

Continuing to read the Corrections. Allow me to quote a particularly potent little bit here:
 It seemed as if, in every motel that he stayed in, he had neighbours who fornicated like no tomorrow- men of ill breeding and poor discipline, women who chuckled and screamed. At 1 am in Erie, Pennsylvania, a girl in the next room ranted and panted like a strumpet. Some slick, worthless fellow having his way with her. Alfred blamed this girl for taking it easy. (Franzen, 2008. p.335)
It's mostly that the wording makes me chuckle as well. Like a strumpet.
Anyway this morning, you will be impressed to know, I cooked breakfast for 18 people. And then I went and battered them all with the coffee pot until they gave me acceptable acknowledgement. I think the best I got was a "fantastic."
They call me the "egg-slinger."

The b'andb's regular seagull, Gilbert, has been turning up in the morning with a bloody stumpy leg instead of his usual, perky, left foot. We think it is broken and he has been bleeding all over the bannisters at the back deck, about a metre away from the dining guests. This is not only a safety hazard but also rather worrisome. Gilbert's mate Sally (Sullivan until Marketa caught them "doing it") has been screaming non stop from the roof-tops, although she stops if you tell her to shut up. Seagulls are clever, that's all. Gilbert will stare down at his injured leg then right into your eyes. "Help me, goddamn it" He's been getting breakfast for 9 years.
Home day after tomorrow

hum hum hum

I'm not gross enough to post a picture of it, but I totally crushed my finger last night while playing marimba, and now I'm left for a sausage of a droit. It's dark, and blue, and sausage like. If there was ever a blue dark, skin colored sausage, it would be my finger. Do you get what I'm saying?!

Back to other news, nothing else has happened. I invited Elizabeth last night to be my date to Carmanagh's 21st birthday bash next month. We're both wearing dresses, shes bringing me flowers and I'm bringing her a loaf of freshly baked bread. It sounds hilarious and it really is. We are also bringing a "couple" gift for the birthday lady itself. You should try and make it up for the party.