Holy fuck it took me so long to get onto this Blog thing I almost gave up. SERIOUSLY.
K, but wait, imagine, like a really drunk woman with blue eye shadow saying "surusly, like, surusly".
Wait.
I don't have blue eye shadow on. Nor am I drunk. Wait, am I drunk? I don't think I'm drunk. No, I'm not drunk. But I am saying it in her voice.
Ok so THIS is when technology is failing me. When I have a stream of consciousness that I need to pound out in writing because I type faster than I write, and guuesssss whaaaaaaat, guess what!? I can't because of fucking computer slowness, or internet passwords, or technological what-the-fuck-everness is slowing me down and making the creative impulse avalanche that is happening in my brain have to sit still. That's like asking an ADHD child to just chill out.
Is that politically incorrect? Talking about an ADHD child? Is it? I don't want to offend anyone. But seriously (surously) I get such creative word vomit sometimes that asking my brain to just chill the fuck out is basically the most insane thing you could ask someone. "Hey oceanic wave, just hang 10 for 5."
Not happening. Ok. So why do I have to? And THEN, when the computer finally agrees that she's ready to let me start
writing, we start with THAT bullshit above because I need to get that
out, as it's been systematically piling up in my head on top of the
other stuff that's been sitting patiently, and which is ACTUALLY the reason I sat down to poetically vomit out. It's a lot of thoughts in here. I need to suss through them. Alright. I think that's the dirt... let's get to the mud.
Basically I started writing again, because I have been inundating Facebook with the world record long statusese. What is the plural of status. Statuses? Statusese? Hey look a penguin.
Ever since I arrived in this land of Brunswick to do this new play (a new show by Norm Foster "Hilda's Yard" at Theatre New Brunswick. Ya that's a publicity drop, to all four of you reading this). New Brunswick... because eventually there must have been a Brunswick... or a York, or a Hampshire.... all us North America losers get the "New" ones because we think momentarily that we'll be better... but when you keep looking to the older sibling to inform your relevance you realize you're, like, mediocre at best, and you definitely don't have any cool castles, or sheep.
ANYWAY, ever since I arrived in this awesome land of the Canadian East I have been subjecting my friends, for good or bad, to extremely long... oh holy shit, what's the word... stories, like, analogies, but more like Oh! Anecdotes. I have been subjecting my "friends" (and I say friends loosely mainly based on the label that Facebook so lovingly gives them... like you're my "friend", but are you actually? I subscribe to you... but like loosely as a human being, I'll allow you to look at my shit is what I'm saying... this is a photo of me trying to be as awesome/hot/stupid/pretty/adventurous/magnanimous/creative as possible, and you can "like" the fuck out of it. Ya bitch*, "Like" that shit. I'm awesome.) to wicked anecdotes, and as I write them I think "fuck, I should return to my blog, this is just pouring out of me" and then I don't, and instead eat up their feed with my stories. I'm not denying the awesomeness (ya that's a new word Shakespeare-Olthuis. We're married.) of the anecdotes, and people are seemingly genuinely enjoying them. But I AM saying that maybe I could expand on those thoughts, and the spacial brevity forces me to keep it short. I mean please within 5 paragraphs here I've already been able to use multiple parentheses and a goddamn footnote... brevity is not natural to me. Wit on the other hand...
So the blog. I have returned. For now. I realize how incongruous I have been over the years...
I'd like to share with you now some text. Mainly because I don't want to forget it, and partially because I think that someone, somewhere will be able to smile, and hopefully somewhat relate. For context most of these texts listed in this blogosphere will be between one of my best friends, and my commonplace positivity warrior Kristan. Also owner of blog, and general soul-healer. Spoken of in previous posts from my other life and generally, regardless of what I do (aside, I'm assuming from killing someone, but seriously, I actually think if I had to kill someone** that she would be the one who would be like "Perr, I don't agree with what you, but I love you. Where shall we dump the body") she's THAT friend, and she equally likes texting, which is awesome.
-- Side note: I just spent like 10 minutes looking at texts in my phone because in my mind we had a hilarious exchange. I didn't really find one that I thought anyone but us would care about, but I also found an exchange about waxing. I want to put it on here. But I need to get her permission first. So maybe in the next post. Also, like, waxing... so like, we all just want to pretend the hair-from-the-root yanking it didn't happen and reap the rewards instead, right? I'M NOT BEING MISOGYNISTIC I AM LEGITIMATELY FEELING LIKE NO ONE WANTS TO ACTUALLY READ ABOUT IT***
--Ok. So I found the exchange. It wasn't that funny. Apparently I was amazed about the idea that it was an hour later here in N.B. than it was in Toronto because of the time change, so basically I was in bed at 10pm here, and it was 9pm there, and that was AMAZING. It was dumb. Let's move on.
Ok so there's one text (edited a titch):
Me: Got a ride home and now want something sweet. I don't have anything here.
So, instead, here is a string of thoughts:
I love my cast
(Something omitted for personal and embarrassial (yes it's now a word) reasons)
I wish I had a cookie
(Something else omitted because I feel like it makes me look pathetic... I want to look awesome first... ya, I realize that it's probably too late... public stream of consciousness is always a good start...)
I love you!
I'm making tea
I'm going to read
God! I want something sweet.
Where is my billet?
I will eat her food.
Stop looking in her cabinets for food.
Drink tea.
I want a party
I need to run
It's been raining for two days
Kristan: Woooow.
Me: I don't buy bad food so that I don't eat it, and then when I do want a cookie or something I'm like "I WILL PILLAGE YOUR CABINETS MUTHERFUCKER" Also? PMS? What the fuck. Also, PMS makes you want to procreate I'm thinking of texting people I shouldn't (also people who are thousands of kilometres away) for the possibility of coitus. This is ridiculous.
... I need to write in my blog. Seriously. This place is like Draino for my writer's block.
Kristan: Uh. Yah seriously.
ALRIGHT, Kristan aka Mams ****, here's your blog post. Wowza. So I'm left thinking, as I continue to fantasize about the oatmeal cookies I saw in the fridge when I was trying to raid my lovely billet's fridge, but also restraining due to my own morals, are other people this insane in their heads?? Do we all have these half baked, but also very lucid strains of thought grappling around in our brain? Or is it just me, or shall I hope, the select few, who either are happy to share their thoughts with people who either enjoy the ramblings, and hopeful humour, in the prospect that we may connect, on some level with other humans. Or... the other, in that people enjoy smugly reading this thinking "well I may hate my job, my partner, and my kids, but at least I don't have THAT shiznit happening in my frontal lobe".
Either way. You're welcome.
En commence.
xo P
*Bitch is used loosely. Like, I'm not misogynistic, like, I could say "goof face" but mostly I just like saying bitch. It's to the point and people tend to laugh. Especially when you're a white chick and you say it in a ridiculous voice. Like a pimp voice. Pimps have ridiculous voices, and say things like "BOUNCE", instead of "Go". If you are currently scrunching your face, and feeling completely let down by my colloquial use of the derogatory feminine pronoun, and are about to change your browser to "NEVER READ THIS PAGE AGAIN. WOMEN HAVE WORKED TO HAVE THEIR POWER" then maybe this isn't the blog for you. I tend to cross boundaries. But mostly I'm hilarious, and only half serious. Like pimps aren't actually awesome. Except for the awesome ones. Also, you'll feel better about how generally, and comparatively sane you are. You're welcome.
**This is not an actual possibility. Please do not flag this page. I ramble. Publicly. I could keep defending my position, but frankly, I'll just keep digging a ditch... no pun intended... not that I'm making a joke. Fuck. Let's just move on.
***We're totally going to talk about that shit.
