In the Pursuit of Potassium

Last night we watched Pirates XXX as a house activity. It's strange how in the span of two hours you can forget that you're watching real people getting it on while being videotaped with your roommates. It was an all right time.

I think I am becoming depressed again. Probably the worst thing ever to possibly happen.
Today felt like the worst day I've had in a long time. I feel distant and unable to connect with anyone. And I feel like the people I'm surrounded with are friends with me more on a superficial level than anything. And they don't actually care one way or the other that I exist. Or that I'm happy.

I applied for assistance today. I had to go to the Arc. Which I didn't like. Everyone there is fake. And it scares me.

I've been thinking on a fucked level. About people and their motives, and why anyone does anything. And that's also scary too. Especially having realizations about that sort of thing.

Shay wants their computer back.

Tour of Doody

I think that title takes the cakes as the corniest pun I've ever come up with.

It's about Beast. And how she has a penchant for shitting a lot.

It has become a losing battle against maintaining a level of stasis in my room, where it doesn't reek of stewed death. I have inherited the sickness of Shay, and it has made it so I can no longer smell anything. So it's all right for me, but not so all right for everyone else at Skeletech...

It seems that my daily to-do list (like I actually make a list...) has been reduced to either a) clean cat box, b) buy cat litter or c) find some way to make money to buy cat litter.

BUT! By miracle of the ....magnets... Shay has just accosted me to cut their hair today. So that puts one more thing on my list. Which means it might actually qualify as a list. Which, in turn, means that I'm a real person after all.

Praise the lawd.

CAT LITTER, HO!

We're Out of Margarine....

the Honeymoon is over.

Haha. Yep. I'm sitting at the house, wasting away.

We were supposed to go to PEI today, but the weather is expected to be shitty, so the plan was scrapped in favour of sitting around more.

And by sitting around, I mean, that I'm blogging for the next ten minutes, and then I'm going to leave this place. And never come back.

Or just go visit the G for the first time in like, 23 hours and see if I can't find my cat under the wood pile. And have coffee with Dave.

Apparently the G is going under a lot of stress these days, probably due to the fact that they have no events coordinator. Which is me. And the passive-agressive ruling class (Dave) is now left to fumble at odds with the nature of the house. Which is messy, and lawless. And he has no buffer for directing the populace. (I am also head of Artists and Repertoire and Public Relations.) I think I should go and consult him, and from there, we should schedule a) a press conference and b) additional signage for the bathroom and kitchen. Perhaps a new campaign concerning the CatRev. Haha....

I got a sweet elbow tattoo. I'm quite pleased with it. THX2MAWGLI.

Taylor is a rock n' roll cobra, and he had a sweet pearl earring. So I said so, and he let me have the other one. So now I look like Pete Burns.

Also, this is my horoscope for today:

"buying your clothes a few sizes too small isn't the answer -- what kind of incentive is that? You'll just have a bunch of outfits that don't fit, you fat ass. If you really want to make a dent in that blubber, move more and eat less. It's that simple."

HAHAHAHAHA. Who writes these things? Certainly they are on the payroll of the Patriarchy. Jesus H. Christ....

People of the world. Don't make dents in your blubber, unless you're creating a pocket to store something that makes you happy.

Hangover Day

hangover day is sliced at irregular intervals with butt smokes, coffee or tea, snail party, feather and thinking about my lost cat.

which makes it just like every other day, save the lost cat and the fact that it's all punctuated by curiously feeling like shit, despite taking all actions to prevent said feeling.

the house has been named. skeletech. like skeletons who run a call center. we all need to get id badges. on lanyards. and peel all the meat off our stupid bones and be skeletons. it'd be easier. and vegan.

yesterday i found a green one that someone threw out with the garbage. i was delighted. after conference with mogli, it was decided that money found in a most punk way must be spent as such. with no regard for personal integrity or financial obligations.

REAL SMOKES! and four Faxe10. and the satisfaction of finding a green one permeating the entire experience. i think i laughed too hard and for too long, and that's why i felt this morning that i had been stricken with a case of dysentery. or something equally unpleasant...

however, the facts still stand:

i woke up sleeping on two cushions from the couch on my floor with three loaves of french bread and some bagels. one half of a cure poster, a pocket full of butts and a zine about someone's trip to moncton and a booklet on sexuality intended for male-bodied persons. and a jar of peanut butter that was inscribed with a fountain pen in typeface not unlike the one featured in "Shakespeare in Love" which read:

Dear The Flood House,

I Stole your mo' fuckin' Peanut Butter.

For this I am Sorry.

-Rachelle

P.S. I am keeping this.

in other words, GREAT SUCCESS!