Pathetic Livejournal Equivalent.

Why is it that even when you end something as simple as a casual relationship, you always feel like shit? Passive agressive bullshit and moping blah blah blah, everything I say taken the wrong way, bitch, moan, complain. Things looked into more than they should be, taking what I say and disregarding it. Saying what I feel up front, or having to dance aroudn the issue and say it diplomatically. I'm so mad. I don't mean half of this. I'm so damned mad. I'm so fucking frustrated.

This is more than what I usually reveal in here regarding my life. Fuck it, here it comes.

Whatever. I'm sick and tired of making EVERYONE ELSE happy. I'm so FUCKING SICK OF IT. Y'ALL CAN GO FUCK YOURSELVES if you expect me to care about what you think about me. Oh Yeah? Fuck you if you think I'm being selfish. I'm damned well ALLOWED to be selfish, once in a while. I'm tired of pussyfooting around and making EVERYONE else happy and I'm MISERABLE inside.

I'm working, I'm going to work five days a week and get my shit in gear, and make eight dollars an hour, and fuck whoever doesn't like that shit. I don't fucking well care about what you think anymore. I need to figure out who I am, I need my life in order because it's all fucked up.

I'm tired of the drama, I'm tired of being expected to be someone, or spend time with someone when I just need to figure out who the fuck *I* am. I'm so tired of being a failure, I'm not in school anymore I fucked that up, and my parents are so dissapointed in me though they pretend they're not. My dad talks to me like he's walking on eggshells, at least my mom has the decency to not talk to me like I deserve respect when I've fucked up so badly and say it like it is, to my face, because I FUCKED UP., and I fucked up BAD. That I'm not in school anymroe and I feel so ashamed, I feel like an enormous failure, and I needed to admit it. I've never felt so ALONE in my entire life when I'm surrounded by people that care about me, and it's nothing you can do. There's nothing you can do to make it better, because I fucked up, okay? I made the mistake, it's my mistake to fix. But the thing is I don't know if I can fix it. I don't know if I know how, and I don't want to ask for help because I should be able to do this on my own, right?

No of course I'm not going to do anything stupid, okay? I'm too scared of dying. I lie. I tell people I'm not afraid of death, but when it comes down to it and all it would take is swallowing that bottle of pills with vodka, or taking a long hot bath with the razor blades or the toaster, or all that stupid shit, I'm not going to do it, because I'm too afraid. It doesn't mean I haven't thought about it, though. Hey, at least I'm honest.

This has been building and building, and buried inside of me festering like some sort of infection, and I can't say anything and I can't admit anything because it's a weakness and I can't be weak, not again, I fuck everything up. everything I touch, every relationship I've had every
I miss Erik. I miss Devin. Erik moved away and Devin basically took my feelings and emotions and fucked the dog behind the shed regarding them. Goddamnit. I'm so mad. I'm in tears in the goddamned mall. I'm so fucking pathetic. I'm so fucking stupid. I could have done this right and I didn't. I could have done a lot of things right and I fucked up all over the goddamned place.

No, don't call, okay? At least not until after eight pm. It costs too much in the day time.

Caution: Writer at work.

I've got the first portion (which admittedly is probably somewhere in the middle, rather than the beginning) of my first novel underway. What genre? Hell, I donno. it could be romance, it could be mystery, it could be suspense, it could be hardcore pornographic, for chrissakes.

Here's an excerpt, which at the moment, seems more like a romance, but knowing me, I'll be changing that up half a dozen times until it doesn't even resemble anything close to it. It's looking rather "Romance Novel-ly" at the moment. Most likely, that will change.

It has no title, and I'm pro anyone handing me suggestions, however, if I veto it, just take it in stride, eh?

This excerpt has been removed. Apologies. -- Linds aka. Editor.

Drag.

K.D. Lang is one of the most talented female vocalists out there.

Of course, this is just my opinion, but hell, she's the female equivalent of Mel Torme with her velvet lined voice.

This album is great, and I've given you guys a taste of the magic of Mizz Lang's cunning linguistic and vocal talent.

The song is "Don't Smoke in Bed" and amusingly enough, the entire album is smoking related. with songs ranging from "The Air that I Breathe", "My Old Addiction", "Love Is Like A Ciggarette", "Your Smoke Screen" and "Smoke Rings", and a pack er, I mean, Heck of a lot more.

Sorry, I couldn't help myself. Now if you excuse me, I'm going to step outside, and have a ciggy.

Linds.

Tired Feet

Tired Feet
Originally uploaded by Duchessdocktrash.

I promised tired feet, and I darned well delivered. I told you those were my real shoes. My really crippling shoes. taken by the lovely Melissa, from my Stars In The Sky.

Just Call Me...

Radioshack.

I'm employed now. Hooray. My feet hurt. Like hell. Didn't I just bitch about that a few posts ago? I'm getting stale here.

At any rate I'm blogging from work, probably not a wise idea. I just wanted an update up here, seeing as I don't think I'll have a day off until New Years Day. Yikes.

Muchas love, kisses, 'n all that stuff.

linds

It's About Bloody Time!

I've gotten around to recording another lurvely podcast. I know, it's been eons, but the unknowing staff and store of Blenz coffee has graciously allowed me to upload my podcast and xml feed as well as supplying me with endless free java.

Okay, not endless... And not free, either... But you get the gist.

This is prerecorded for Friday, the 25th of November, and is a jumble of ambient, trance, dance, Groove Armada, Enigma, Avatars of Dub, Conjure One, some Nelly Furtado, Good Ol' Blue Eyes, some Old school Arrested Development, the uber politico Dead Prez, and a bit of other stuffs just for good measure.

Miss Nancy Sinatra with her walking boots, my typical intro, has stepped down this week, as I had some fun with one of my music programmes and created a new intro sampling some stuffs.

At any rate you can subscribe via iTunes, or any podcasting subscription software by copying and pasting this here link into your entry field, or download the 55- some odd meg file here. (apologies. I'm still trying to figure out how to shrink the size of the file, for you guys. I know it's enormous.)

Questions and answers.

From Sarathena's blog:

A is for Age: 25.
B is for Build: Is clumsy a build? Tall, proportionate... Yet overly so, in some areas.
C is for Career: Graphic designer.
D is for Dad's name: Larry.
E is for Essential items to bring to a party: A good wine for the hostess/host.
F is for Favorite article of clothing: Yoga Hooded sweater. Thin, black, comfy.
G is for Goof off thing I do: Chat online.
H is for Hometown: Burnaby, British Columbia, Canada.
I is for Instrument you play: Guitar. Badly.
J is for Jam or Jelly you like: Apricot, or Marmalade.
K is for Kids: None. That I know of, anyways.
L is for Living arrangement: I Rent one bedroom in the ultimate bachelor pad in Surrey. Pool table, Swimming pool, and two person jacuzzi tub, Suck that, bitches.
M is for Music I like: Everything, excepting Death Metal. I can't understand what those bastards are saying.
N is for Name of your first pet: Ginger.
O is for overnight hospital stays: a big fat zero. Thank Gawd.
P is for Phobias: large crowds, places I can't escape, relationships.
Q is for Quote you like: "One must still have chaos in oneself to give birth to a dancing star." Friedrich Nietzche
R is for Reason for blogging: I never used to write. I found that I learned a lot about myself from blogging.
S is for Siblings: None. I was born a twin, but my sister died before we hatched. I mean... Were born... That whole birthing thing... No thanks.
T is for Texas, ever been: Yes. 4 days that I wish I had spent with Jerilyn, instead of Devin. I would have had more fun.
U is for Unique trait: I can talk to almost anyone (including complete strangers) and have a good conversation.
W is for Worst traits: I smoke, have bitten my nails since I was six years old, and I am very self indulgent when the mood strikes me.
X is for X-Rays you've had: I've had about five or six X ray sessions, and two Ultrasounds.
Y is for Yummy food you make: AAA grade Steak, Wild rice with garlic butter sauteed diced onion, shitake mushrooms, garlic butter prawns and wild greens salad with a greek vinagrette.
Z is for Zodiac sign: Taurus. If you go with that sort of thing. I suggest visiting Sargon the Magnificent for a great horoscope.

But better to ask:

A is for Anal Sex: A resounding NO.
B is for Boxing: Stupid or entertaining? Would you do it for money? If so, how much? Stupid to watch, but sure I'd beat the hell out of someone.
C is for Compulsions: What are yours? Shopping.
D is for Deviant Behaviors: What is one of yours? One Night Stands. Or it used to be. No, I'm not quoting any numbers, gaddamnit.
E is for Ego: What is your biggest insecurity? My self-image.
F is for Favorite thing about yourself: My mind, my mouth.
G is for Gluttony: What do you find irresistible, or binge on? You guys know this. Do I even need to say it? Chocolate.
H is for Homosexual Acts: Ever experienced? Um. Yes.
I is for I.Q.: What is yours? I forget. Jesus that sounds stupid. I think last time I tested I was a 156 at about four am in the morning.
J is for Jesus: What is the first word that occurs when you think of him? Silly, as in "I've found Jesus! He was behind the couch the entire time! Silly Jesus."
K is for Killing: What's the last life you knowingly ended? I killed a man in Reno, just to watch him die.
L is for Lungs: Do you smoke? If so, what? Yes. Cigarettes, and occasionally the green. Hey, I live in BC fer chrissakes.
M is for Middle name: What is yours? I have two. Jacqueline Marie.
N is for Name of your first celebrity crush: Gawd. Ok. Jonathan Brandis. But he killed himself in 2003, by trying to hang himself... So I can't marry him anymore.
O is for Orgasm: When was your last one? Uh... A while ago.
P is for Pockets or Purse: What's in yours? smokes, cell phone, wallet, lip gloss, gum, Advil, receipts, bus pass, lighter, keys, the gun I used to kill that man in Reno; just to watch him die...
Q is for Question: What's one you hate being asked, or hate to ask? "Do you love me?" You know if I do. I'll say it. If I don't, you can bet I tried to.
R is for Right handed or left handed? Lefty loosey, Righty tighty. I'm a pretty loose woman.
S is for Swear words: Which ones do you most frequently use? Fuck, Shit, Goddamnit.
T is for Theft: What's the last thing you stole? That was so long ago I don't remember.
U is for Unusual pleasure you enjoy:
W is for Weirdest item you've purchased: squeak toy buddhas online. Yes, I did. *hangs head*
X is for eX: Is there one you think of? Yes, far too often, lately; and I wish he would leave my head alone.
Y is for Youth: When you were 9, what did you want to be when you grew up? An archeologist. Damn that Indiana Jones.
Z is for Zoo: What exotic animal would you like to have as a pet? A Tiger.

Ow.

I was going to write something meaningful in here, for the lot of you rowdies... But then I nailed my knee on the desk, and all I see is a haze of red.

No. I'm kidding. Okay ya, I wailed my knee on the desk, but such is life. Suck it up, princess.

My cell phone squeaky Buddhas are on the way via airmail. Whoopee! I am very excited about that.

I'm glad to see you guys miss me, (because I don't miss you guys, at all. I lie. I do.) and don't think it didn't escape my attention that I get more comments on my posts when I'm not around to do any witty repartée. I think you guys plan it that way.

At any rate, I was out last night with the lovely Melissa, from My Stars in the Sky, the Jewish Princess herself, and "Myluc", who is actually Melissa's Luc. We were attending a fundraiser for Mizz Melissawho is collecting fundage for the Leukemia and Lymphoma society of Canada. I donated 6 hours worth of design as a prize, and a lovely lady who had just bought a house, won the draw for that particular prize. She's thrilled that she gets a unique piece of original art for her house, and I'm thrilled that someone is actually INTERESTED in having me design something for them. I went in the shoes you see in the header, and Melissa, I have searched and searched the quotes on google to no avail, seeking the quote on "beauty is pain". If anyone remembers this quote (TJP, Melissa and myself were trying to figure it out on the skytrain on the way home) we'd be much obliged. You might even get a wubby or two. (That's a titty face rub, in case you were wondering.)

At any rate, this event was held at the Roxy, aka, Meat Market extraordinare, and other than flirting with the bass player for Dr. Strangelove, (Andre), Who gives a hella good massage; I danced until I couldn't feel my feet anymore. Or at least couldnt feel them last night... I sure could this morning/afternoon, whatever. Gin and sprite, NOT a good combination. You think I'd have learned that from Hallowe'en. Apparently not.

Chris Strange my darling, as far as I know, the lovely Melissa will have pictures of my poor exhausted feet, strapped on but not actually ON my feet on My Stars In the Sky. Go ahead, I know you wanna.

As for the rest of this week, I've been looking for employment, and the odds are looking fairly good, at least for temporary full-time employment, though I may become a full-time permanant employee for either Staples, or "The Source", (aka. Radioshack... Get your nerd glasses out, boys and girls.)

I'm tired of typing. Damien is waiting for cuddles, so I'm going to bid you adeiu, until next week, chilluns.

Muchas love, kisses and all that rot.

I am not dead...

Nor am I in jail. I am living in my new home, with all the other granny refugees in Surrey.

Okay, maybe just with a houseful of older guys, in a room of a gorgeous five bedroom house.

I should have the internet within the next week, but with looking for work, and getting a few design jobs completed, I'm running around the equivalent of a chicken with it's head cut off.

The ever so gracious Damien is letting me use his hifaluten PC with it's plenitude of browsers (hweck) right now, and I'm not used to this massive keyboard, comparing it to my wee little flat laptop keyboard.

I miss y'all. I'll be back soon, I hope. Lots to tell, and not all of it the best parts of my life. I'm pretty pissed off at myself right now, and i don't have the time to tell it all at this point.

It sure is nice not living under Granny anymore though. Boy howdy.

OH! and the blasphemous church sign contest continues. I won't wrap it up until the week after I get the 'net at my house. My beloved Dean, The neurotic monkey, has sent in a whopping NINE more pics. That's it for you though mister. If I knew you wanted to see my tits so bad I'd just send you a picture. Lordy. (A picture? Make that a couple MORE pictures. Jeezuz. Greedy man.)

Luvs!

Linds.

Sign contest, part trois.

Mr! Erik's contribution to the cause.

"So, I'll Have My Buddha Call Your Buddha, and We'll Do Lunch Sometime."

What a charming little babyfaced guy. Too cute.

I think I like buddha the best out of all the religious icons. Why? Because he's always smiling. All the rest are so morose and looking so down. I also think he's the most human, out of the lot. Even with that finding spiritual Nirvana, and whatnot.

That is all.

Oh, and I'm moving tomorrow. Expect delays.

Until then, *kisses!*

L.

Contest: continued.

Damien's contribution to the cause.

Undercover creative.

Undercover creative.
Originally uploaded by Duchessdocktrash.

Found in odd places, these graphic designers. This is my travelling office. A somewhat candid (by that I mean completely posed, but of the lot that were possibly going to be "cartoonized" this was my favourite.) The photo was taken by "Nick the Nineteen" for our gradshow. And I'm underground, in the skytrain. I think I'm at Burrard station.

Oh yeah, you can find the link to the grad show temp website here.

As you can see, I'm week three. (I'm also in charge of emailing heaps of people, and have been spamming them for the last three weeks for our advertising campaign.)

If you check back every week, around Friday or so, there will be a new illustration up.

And the contest, She Continues.

For the funniest blasphemous church sign, that is.

Dr Ryan Maynard, from Newsblog 5ooo sent in these three:







Dean from The Neurotic Monkey sent in SEVEN pics, but more for the fact that he enjoyed doing them. He's still in the running, however.

















The contest is still running, however, until the end of next week (Sunday, November 13th) So email me your entries. I'm wholly open to hearing your guys' comments on these, and if you want to make your own, and email them to me, the url is right here.

Say What?

This is a screen capture of my site tracker, that thing that tells me all the shit I never needed to know about what sort of traffic comes to my website, because I'm a nerd, and can't leave well enough alone.

At any rate, I'd like to point out the few oddities on the list, in the past 20 referrers on search engines. In particular, the line "MSN Search: The photograph of the panties with the dying", and "MSN Search: Chocolate spider waxing." The other two aren't quite so odd, but what the hell is on the mind of the people looking up two I mentioned?

And is MSN mish mashing my words up and just pulling up random shit for people's search results? Bizarre.

Uhm, What?

If you stare at this picture long enough...

you should be able to see a giraffe. This is weird. Give it a try.