Chockful Of Awkweirdness

"To the Looking-Glass world it was Alice that said "I've a sceptre in hand, I've a crown on my head.Let the Looking-Glass creatures, whatever they beCome and dine with the Red Queen, the White Queen, and me!"'
"Then fill up the glasses with treacle and ink,Or anything else that is pleasant to drink: Mix sand with the cider, and wool with the wine--And welcome Queen Alice with ninety-times-nine!"

-Through The Looking Glass

"I am used to going out at 3 AM and doing something stupid"

- Watchmen Poster

"Journalist: So are you a mod or a rocker?

Ringo: I'm a Mocker."

- A Hard Day's Night

Yeah, Well I'm a Mocker too. I'm also highly adept at finding myself in the most idioic situations at the strangest hours of the night. I swear, I don't sleep (unless I'm at school, apparently), I'm like a vampire, or a martian (Will the real Martian please stand up?)...or something.

At the moment, I'm pretty Freaking bored out of my skull (candy). I SHOULD be asleep by now, being past 1 in the morning on a Friday (happy early TGIF, everyone! Champagne and party hats all around), but I'm stuck taking notes for my stupid ISU for English class, the one my english teacher (the artist formerly known as my grade nine french teacher) told us on Tuesday was due Friday, after previously letting us believe we had a long time before we even needed to start our books.

Mine, being Alice Munro's Lives of Girls and Women, making every other sentance I write sound all feminazi-ish, and making me cringe thousands of times at the way women in the early fifties had to live, and how rare it was that the protagonist was going to university, and escaped from her small town (Go Del!), Fast forward to 2009, and I'm rejoicing, even though I've been trying to get away since I could crawl (but then my grand escape plans included Disneyland and Mister Roger's Neighbourhood- like Stewie and Jolly Farm!) and It was pretty much asumbed I'd go to university. Sadly no one is surprised by my grand relvation of becoming a writer, and studying Journalism, a breakthough that felt so earth shattering to me, but was probably brought on by too much Rory Gilmore, Sabrina Spellman, And Becky Bloomwood as I was growing up. (sidenote: Del's mother, is pretty much a description of my own mother, the one who, upon hearing that the town Santa Claus parade had rejected my work's application to be in it, as too controversal, remarked; "You Really Are My Daughter!")

The deadline was a very rude wake up call (like my bitch of an alarm clock, only redeemed by the idea that, it's called a Dream Machine) literally as I was half asleep had had to be nudged awake by my friend sitting beside me (the girl who will save the world one day, I swear), and figurativly as I'm still all triumphant (or "riding on my laurels", as the teacher, who I refuse to call anything but Madame, phrased it) at being the only one in the class (including the genius kid everyone's intimidated by, the one who into full philosophical discussions on Proust when you're just trying to copy his classnotes) to get my topic proposal accepted on the first try.

Actually come to think of it, In that respect, the academic faction of my scatterbrain life, I've actually been pretty good this week. I got ninties on my medival history test (I would not be setting my sights on a writting career if I couldn't without fail, pull of the trip of writting a test essay that sounds intelligent and insightful, but is actually just me rehashing everything I can remember of the unit, even if it has no relation to the essay topic), and my several editted down analysis of the third canto of the Inferno, the one in which I said writing the Divine Comedy was cathartic and purging for Dante (ooh scandal)

And my Writer's Craft teacher, actually liked my weirdly off kilter Sci-fi-esque story about techno -saboutage, candy as a drug, time travel, and stolen identies, Infleunced by reading Rant, watching that episode of the Sid and Nancy episode of the Simpsons (on a side note, my parent's affectionate nicknames for each other are Sid {Vicious} and Laura {Petrie} of Dick Van Dyke which I will always remember for being censored in that episode of Family Guy, and being The beep Van beep show) where they used chocolate for heroin and called everything Bollocks.

Nevermind them.

I was so sure she'd look at it and say What The Hell? Which is what i would do if I was a teacher and the girl in the front row of my class, who makes makes worthless attempts at livening up her bland uniform with a new brightly coloured purse or necklace every single day, handed me a story with such a weird convoluted plot.

In the end she said it reminded her of Fahrenheit 451, to which I said Dystopia!

Hells yeah!

(because really Utopia is one of those things, that'd be more fun to live than write about. If we actually lived in a Utopia, we'd probavly stop writting as we'd one write about distanced conflicts in the past that had no effect on our new lives, and would just depress us all, or make us suspicious of some sort of canabalistic plot (To Serve Man....It's a cookbook!) or go extreme like that episode of Charmed where the world got to good and they started shooting people for trafic violations or cutting peoples tongues out for swearing.

Seriously how do I get away with this stuff?

I'm almost waiting for someone to call me out on it, or expose me as a fake. The brain police, they'd have some sort of chant, and spent their weekends playing dungeons and dragons and planning out Watchmen cosplay. Not that I actually condemn geekiness, because to be honest I think I'm just supressing my inner geek, and denying her an argygle sweater vest, and glen plaid Knee length shorts, to wear with her tight retro Batman shirt. One day, When I'm acceptably thin again (but not scarily thin and sick like last time), and have a boyfriend who will most likely be some sort of fanboy and who will have to get used to being made the counterpart in my escapades, I'll probably fit some excuse to be all Fangirl, and try to copy the outfit from BTAS: Harley's Holiday, which will clearly border on indeceny or will showcase my klutziness on rollerblades (because really I'm bad enough on flat surfaces), but really, the entire plot of the episode is about Harl's klutz tendencies, and childishness...so, no problems there.

(oh and I accidently stumbled upon this german video, with someone playing Hitler, subtitled so that he's complaining in this whole 4 minute rant about the Watchmen movie, and asking all non-fanboys to leave the room. Pretty hardcore! How do people come up with this stuff?)

Somehow, I got labelled as one of the smart kids, which is really strange as I'm actually quite stupid. Or maybe I'm smart, if you're spelling it SMRT or dancing while you burn your high school dipolma (that's a word I can't even spell).

Some of the reasons why they might get the (false) impression that I'm in any way intelligent:

a) I wear glasses, cool red plastic Miu Miu ones, I actually bought in England (funny store there... basically me breaking my old ones while I was shopping on Oxford street)

b)I have read a lot, which itself has three causes: 1. My parents have huge library and always encouraged me and my sister, (both named after Jane Austen heroines) to read (only I really got the message), and now as I'm in a habit of sneaking their worn classics or beat stuff to my room, and then absorbing it into my own collection, and often find the books full of underlines or margin notes (although ones that had to do with the book. If i was writing the margin notes, they'd be random pens). 2. I have a huge imagination, that had to be channeled somewhere before it drove everyone near me crazy ( Like in Through The Looking Glass, where Alice is playing with her sister and decides she will be the dog, her sister the bone, or her sister will be the knight, and she'll be everyone else, We actually have homemovies of me and my sister playing Cinderella, wherein I got to play everyone else, and she was the prince (because her Prince was boring! He's not Prince Eric or Philip, He's not the beast, he doesn't even have a name!), and 3. I was bullied alot in elementary school, and turned to books to fill my recesses (actually I should thank those jerks for getting me into my first choice school early decision-so last laugh=Mine!).

c) I know a lot of big words, although I usually use them improperly, or can't spell them, and usually decide to pronouce them however I feel they should sound. Because big words intimdate people. And people like to pretend they know what your talking about.

d) I have a habit of using oddly english/adult phrasing, probably because I credit myconcept of the english language to Shakespeare plays, so when we finally got to study them in high school, and everyone was complaining about what the hell it all meant, and grousing about all the doths and thous, it was like my second language. (I'm actually pretty good at reading the girl parts in the plays, particularily Desdemona, as I read the lines fast and without the awkward pauses or stumbling that everyone else seems to get. Reading from Oedipus Rex, is a different story, as i learned yesturday when Madame made me read Iokaste's (the Queen) lines, and my voice would only come out chirpy and ingenue-ish (like I was trying to imatate Judy Garland in the Wizard of Oz), when I'm supposed to be a scared old(ish), woman in a tradgedy).

e) And lastly, because I have a strange habit of writting a lot (which you've probably got by now, if you've stuck around, this long that is). But I can't help that! I love to write, it just comes so naturally, like a posession, that won't let me go until I've written whatever it is. It's like how in history class, we were talking about how Michelangelo was so obsessed with his work, that it because his life, that it became part of him, until whatever work was finished. The clear difference, being that Michelangelo actually finished his pieces, rather than letting scraps of sculptures (or in my case, poems and manuscripts) littered around his room, along with the empty diet coke cans, and the thousands of pairs of shoes he forgot he had (and also he made ART, and is remembered and respected for it. I doubt I'd ever get that).

Somehow, as I'm supposed to be the smart, thoughtful, social concious and religious girl (all of which are utter lies, except maybe thoughtful...but that's on a good day...maybe), they gave me all these awards at academic awards night, which is the humiliating night (on a thursday, as is every single event held at BR) where the call out award winners' names and put a spotlight on them as they awkwardly stumble up to the stage and trip over their own feet on the way down (...not that that happened to me of me, of couse), but at least they give you programs that say who gets what, at the beginning so you have time dread them calling your name. This year, they decided to be overly sadistic, and print huge posters of the major award winners, with their school photos the size of a page of notebook paper and put them on display in the trophy case.

My horrible picture which I planned never to show anyone, my dark roots on golden blond hair, my weirdly pale and plastic looking face and that lone strand of my one length hair in front of my eyes.

Eww.

You'll be happy to know, I've since dyed my hair a dark brown, cut it and got bangs, and am feeling much better, thank you.

Somehow I can never take a good school photo, no matter how much I try, or practise in front of my mirror, in between singing along to Spring Awakening in my hairbrush, it never seems to help at all. It's like some weird curse. I tremble to think what my grad photo must look like! Maybe I'll pull an Oedipus, and gouged out my eyes so I won't have to. Or I could be less horribly dramatic and Pretend, I've gone blind, and then everyone would be all sympathetic and tell me how pretty I was, even if I had my hair in a lackluster bun, or if I have a strange cut in the corner of my mouth that looks like the begining off a Chelsea grin, and hurts when I try to smile.

I cringe whenever I walk by that hall, with my picture, announcing in big letters that I'm smart, so people I've never even met, expect me to be all organized and on top of things, in other words, expecting me to do all the work on group projects (soooo not happening. I'm the slacker one, I called it first).

Which is sad, because that hall used to be fun as I could look at my name on all the plaques, and think, Suckers!

New Word/Portmaneau of The Day:

Awkweird

(clearly Awkward+Weird, or if you want a synoym,

Catcher Davis.

G'nite.

Don't do anything I would do.

Also I'm Extremely pleased to report that, as of today both my real name and This Pen name get several hits on Google !

Cool. I exist

I Don`t Suffer From Insanity....I Actually Enjoy It

You can't shut out the world with lidless eyes,
You can't pretend this isn't happening.
That this isn't your world
You can't live in a house of cards, that's set to fall
Send me a postcard for your future.
I'll be stuck here, still
My pen likens to my knife
Serrated in my piercing thoughts
I cut through my skins
Airing out oceans of blood
Oceans of secrets
Rosarching my page
a game
i always lose.

I've said this so many times, I wonder if it's finally true.. Today will be the last day I spend thinking of you.


"Nothing of me is original. I am the combined effort of everybody I've ever known."- Invisible Monsters.

"When there's nothing else to burn, you have to set yourself on fire."-Stars

Harry Edward London London Oranges (HELLO), everybody!

Well...

I've been a busy little bee, as of late

When I was little, even when I could read myself (I learned early), my parents used alternate nights tucking me in and then coming and reading me a chapter of the book we were working on, and then gently kiss me and leave in the semi darkness of my nightlight in my pink princess bedroom to dream the rest of the story as I fell asleep.

My mother and I worked through the Series of Unfortunate Events books, the exciting, contradictory, alliterative and cynical series about the adventures of three orphans on the run from an evil Count. We never did finish the series, as by the time the last three books came out we had lapsed in our routinue and I was thought to be too old.

I still regret this.

My Dad and I read a couple dectective series, and some juvenile horror books, like Goosebumps, but what i remember most was a random book we found at the library book sale, called Pizza Zombies (his favourite food), where kids turned into zombies with pizzas for heads. I don't remember much about the actual story, but I do remember how much my Dad got into sharing it with me.

One night, I took a candid picture of him while he was reading, with a disposable camera left over from a school trip, that had a couple pictures left on it.

His face was so full of excitment, happiness and pride, like he was a little kid full of awe at everything, at the same time as a father proud of who I was becoming, and of finding his footing in raising a child.

This is my favourite picture of him, captured in this moment, both of us children at once.

I never told him that. I should.

These are some of my most cherished memories. And I think my parents enjoyed travelling back into fantasy worlds of childhood, just as much as I did.

On Friday, my friend and I who are both seventeen, by the way, decided to go see the 18A rated remake of Friday the 13th (seeing horror movies has become our thing, we`re starting to dissect them now) in theatres (the movie is really not that great, it was pretty run-of-the-mill, but the experience of lying our way in was the experience). She`s got a fake id, that says she`s 21, and so when the guy at the counter asked our ages we both said we were twenty one, and he apologized for asking us and gave us our tickets. You probably haven`t seen me, but I look younger than my age, so I guess he was just bored, and frustrated that he had to work Friday night. The agism continued when we actually got into the theatre, and saw that the only other people there were a couple of giggling 15 or 16 year old girls, and a row of eight 14 year old boys, and us sitting in the back row laiden with popcorn and milk duds, and talking loudly about graduating high school, university acceptances (we both already got in! Yay!), and the counter guy accepting us as 21. So then an usher comes in and ask the boys to see their ids, and then a middle aged guy sitting on his own jumped up and said he was one of their dads and was there for all of them (awkward movie to watch with your dad! Sex scenes, topless scenes, and gore! Oh My!-but you have to put up with a certain amount of fanservice to guys in slasher pics. It`s all a part of the have sex, you die paradox). So the usher then looks over at me and my friend and the other girls, dismissively and leaves.

And he doesn`t come back and we get away with it! Commence me and my friend laughing hysterically (yes...we`re so twenty one) for ten minutes after he leaves.

We would have laughed harder, if we`d known about the late sequel, Jason Takes Manhattan. Seriously. That is the title of a horror movie. It sounds like a comedy or a parody, doesn`t it.

And strangely, the biggest criticism of the movie, according to wikipedia, was that Jason didn`t actually take Manhattan.

Odd

Another creepy story: So I`m walking home late yesturday after choir practice, and this random old guy in a bright red car (midlife crisis, much) drives up beside me and disapears down the road. A minute later, he`s back driving by me, but slower this time, he`s so busy watching me tha`t he`s not watching the road, and he drives into a pole.

I, however just keep walking. This is all too much like the first ten minutes of a horror or crime movie for me.

But my street`s creepy. Old guys do this kind of stuff a lot (not to the same degree tho), especially the construction guys who always seem to be on my street and wink or jeer at me when I`m walking and no one`s around.

And this is Milton! Its supposed to be safe!

And I have to think, that scars are a fundamental part of living, of growing into your body and marking it as your own (like children will grow up to do will tattoos and piercings). Scars mark us, (in movies with doppelgangers, magic scars always reveal the true identities), they mark us for having lived.

I've lived, and I have the scars and birth marks to prove it:

-the small dent above my left eyebrow-a paralyzed nerve from one time I feel off a chair onto the kitchen tile floor

-the reddish circle (faint now) on my right knee from a fall at the pool where i ripped through three layers of skin

-the scar tissue in both my earlobes from a pair of earings that the skin grew over and I had to have surgically removed (eww. I know)

-the lone, very small pit in my forehead from a scratched chicken pox

-the tiny chip, invisible chip in my right front tooth, that I can only feel with my tongue, from trying to be cool and turn my Ipod off with my teeth (yes. I can not remember how this was supposed to be cool

-the slit around my baby toe on my left foot that I woke up to find one morning, as if someone had tried to cut it off

-the small birthmark dots, a few on my arms and one by my collar bone, another right under my left eye

-the rorschach ink blot-ish sploch birthmark on my right forearm

-the Marilyn Monroe beauty mark just above my lips (I don't have to draw mine on!)

-and my favourite, a distinctively heartshaped birthmark about an inch long on the back of my right upper thigh

The scars, the marks are a more telling description of what I look like than any physical description I could give.

I have to wonder, what would it be like to kiss a mouthful of scars?

In history, today we were talking about Machiavelli`s idea that human beings are naturally inclined to selfiness, and that good deeds are actually selfish in nature, because they are done for the advancement, or for good feelings by the person who did them. Being me, this got me thinking of the episode of Friends where Phoebe struggles to find a selfless good deed, (she even lets a bee string her, `to look tough in front of all the other bees`, without realizes that that would cause him to die) and has a really hard time finding one.

Unfortunatedly....I can`t remember how it ended, or if Phoebe disproved Machiavelli and found a selfless good deed.

What with all the random facts and scraps of poetry up there, its a wonder I can even remember my own name.

But then again.... I keep switching what I want to be called, so that`s not really fair.

Saturday night (a shot rung out, add one to the body count), my dad, my sister and I watched The Beatles` A Hard Day`s Night (it`s been a hard day, no it`s night) on a sadly Elwy Yost-less Saturday night at the movies (the theme: Rock and Roll Revolutions). Such an awesome movie! The one liners are great (iconic!), the footage is crisp, and there`s an entire scene of them frolicking through a field and running around.

Footage like any kid would give you if you gave them a video camera and told them to film something.

It`s striking how young they were then, barely older than me, in their early twenties, and already done so much.

Seriously, if the Beatles didn`t make it as a band, they could have had a future as a Monty Python-esque comedy troop.

And Wilfrid Brambell`s really a clean old man. Creepy teeth though.

Later that night, my sister and I watched Be Kind Rewind, on my laptop as we made frozen Samosas. You know what I really wish they`d sweded...Breakfast at Tiffany`s!

Imagine that for a second. But Jack Black as Holly Golightly, not the girl in the movie. That would be entertaining.

Imagine him with an affected accent saying, ``It should take you exactly four seconds to cross from here to that door. I'll give you two``.

Thrilling ain`t it.

I had the stupid idea of letting it slip to another friend, at work Saturday that there`s a certain guy out there, that I wouldn`t mind being asked to Prom by (I am not in denial, I know no one will ask me). So she spends the rest of the meeting trying to guess, and I have a hard time telling people, even my friends the guys I like, because I`ve had crappy friends who`ve betrayed me before.

So anyway, a group of us are working in the library upstairs and she`s still trying to guess or make me try her, and a guy I`ve been trading sarcasm with over our new `technology agreements`, comes in with a laptop, and tells me that he`ll play me a song that will make me want to tell him anything (ummm....ok). And then he plays Tiny Dancer.

What the fuck is that supposed to do

But this is the same guy, who spent several of our last meeting alternatedly falling out of his chair, and eating Stride gum wrappers. And when we get back the room for end of the day wrap-up, he commanders the gold wrappers from my new pack of Lush, the new wrigley tropical flavoured gum (the best gum ever! Go try it!), and making his plastic spoon into a slingshot, shoots that all across the room at people who aren`t paying attention or are falling asleep and suddenly find themselves alert and wondering where the sudden air raid came from.

But I did spent most of the afternoon, carrying around my plastic fork from the February birthday cake we got over lunch, and pretending it was a sceptre, so who am I to judge

DC..... why must you be so contiuously awesome.

After being told for months that Watchmen was awesome and that I would love it, I finally caved and started on it. So far, SOOO good!

I actually want to see the movie now! Unfortunatedly, I don`t have anyone to go with.

sad.

But what else did I expect from DC, the Coke of comic books, sure, Like Coke has Pepsi, DC has Marvel, but ultimatedly Coke and DC come out vastly sucessful and superior. Not that half the guys I`ve dated, the band of Marvel freaks (two of which asked me too go see Spiderman, on the same weekend) would agree.

But I`m right.

You know, I am

Sorry to all you smooth romantic princes out thers, but sometimes the beast with his rough, protective nature is just hottter!

So I was just editing a poem I wrote a few years ago, and it got me to thinking about how important a single word can be, and exactly how much it can change what something says. Here's my examples: Is it the curse of human beings, as in a curse that the species has, or the curse of human being, as in a curse that comes with the action/philosophical act of being human, rather than the physical

Just a little lowercase s, changes everything. This I see, can be applied back to life. even the smallest thing, with the least amount of significance can change everything, make your life, your fate completely different

Actually this ties back perfectly to Writer's Craft today, we started a unit on cause and effect themes in writting, and read a narative essay where a man laments a decision he made, not to help a man he saw who was crying, in a dehumanized society, and compare it to Robert Frost's famous poem, beloved of graduation speakers everywhere, The Road Not Taken. So, of course it got me wondering, what will be my road not taken? Will I regret staying on a relatively safe path, afraid of what could happen if I stray into the unknown (Wolves will eat grandma?) or give myself over to adventures. My biggest fear at this moment in time is that at some point, a long time from now when my life has been settled and my decisions have been made, I will look back and regret the path I took. The path I've been on, so long I no longer remember where the road started. (this is actually a lie, come to think of it. My real worst fear is that no one will ever really love me. Because sure, I have family who love me, but this is an unconditional love because of who I am in their lives, not who I am as a person, on my own. Someone who has decided to love me, not done so automatically).

The idea of a fickle fate, and the impact of these small decisions, also chased me on to english class, where we finished our reading of Oedipus Rex (really fun to read things like this when you`ve actually been to the places in the story). As a kid, I'm sorry to say, there were three main things that I used to learn how to read: Shakespeare plays(intially through my beloved audio tapes of Shakespeare Without The Boring Bits), A book in the school library on the lives of saints or a comic strip volume of the old testament (both of which I read almost like historical fiction, full of betrayal, murder and affairs, not to be religious in the least. My favourite was Sampson and Deliah, or St. Lucy who gougued out her eyes and gave them to a man who said they were beautiful), and Greek myths (I could recite all of the gods and goddesses-Artemis was so clearly the best). For the Greek myth of King Midas (the golden touch guy), I first learned that the word ass could be used to als0 mean donkey (Midas had donkey ears, as a curse), cue a first grade me calling mean kids asses and then telling the teacher I just meant donkey. Yes. I was that girl, the same girl who came into class one morning in Junior Kindergarten, sat down at my desk and said fuck under my breath, because I thought it was something you said when you were frustrated.

My mom really shoulda been a sailor with that mouth

(By the way, for a more sophisticated word to use to make it sound like you're insulting someone is pulchritudinous, which actually means beautiful but sounds ever so fugly)

Anyway...That really got off topic! When I started on about faith, I meant to mention the idea, seen in both Perseus and Oedipus, that you can't avoid or go running from fate, because often, it is this very idea of trying to escape a certain fate that makes it happen in the first place.

I guess fate can be applied to almost anything out there.

I have to wonder though...what if my soul mate is siting right in front of me, I have never noticed, or have been too scared to say for fear of what would happen, what he'd do or say. I'm too say to say I just might love you, and miss out on what might have been.

It's like that movie Sliding Doors, where there a two alternate versions of Gweneth Paltrow's character's entire life depending on whether or not she missed her train, one of which got a really bad hair cut!

"I will put Chaos into fourteen lines

I will put Chaos into fourteen lines
And keep him there; and let him thence escape
If he be lucky; let him twist, and ape
Flood, fire, and demon --- his adroit designs
Will strain to nothing in the strict confines
Of this sweet order, where, in pious rape,
I hold his essence and amorphous shape,
Till he with Order mingles and combines.
Past are the hours, the years of our duress,
His arrogance, our awful servitude:
I have him. He is nothing more nor less
Than something simple not yet understood;
I shall not even force him to confess;
Or answer. I will only make him good."

-- Edna St. Vincent Millay

Did you ever see music, a sound that you could reach out and touch?

Write the songs that breathe.

That speak the air in a thousand dying breaths

and float far above the ground

Let the unsaid words between us inhabit the air.

See that's what's intriguing about something prim, constrained and proper...It always conceals something darker and unsettling.

As always,

Your Dream Catcher.

CRAZY BITING SHRIMP!

Because I Have No Life, Darlings

Here's Something Pretty........

They Don't Love You Like I Love You...

"We'll never be as young as we are tonight."

"My life may be little and boring, but at least its mine--not some assembly line, secondhanded,hand-me-down life".

"The future you have tomorrow won't be the future you had yesterday."

-RANT, Chuck Palahniuk

"I'll go where secrets are sold

Where roses unfold

I'll sleep as time goes by

So hurting here is where I belong

singing a song

Blood on my hands to stay strong

The flowers in the graveyard are all gone

I don't belong

There is no right to heal the wrong

Soup's on hot feelin' like a do or die

I can't throw up don't think i even want to try"

- Lemon, Katy Rose

"Who am I? Why am I here? What is it that I'm searching for in this strange place, day after day? "

- The Last Unicorn

"Sing me something soft,

Sad and delicate,

Or loud and out of key,

Sing me anything,

we're glad for what we've got,

Done with what we've lost

Our whole lives laid out right in front of us,

Sing like you think no one's listening"

-Existentialism On Prom Night, Straylight Run

"Applause is an addiction, like heroin or checking your e-mail." - Sideshow Mel, The Simpsons

"That looks like it's gotta hurt. Well, I say that like I'm speculating or something. I know it hurts." - Jason Todd, Batman: Under the Hood

"Beauty Walks A Razor's Edge, Someday I'll Make It Mine!"- Shelter From The Storm, Bob Dylan

Its just another day in a strange world, Darlings. Sorry for all the quotes, but I've got a lot of other people's words in my head, and shooting up my veins. But now, I'm buzzed on chocolate, thanks to a giant bag of mini eggs (anyone remember the episode of The Simpsons, where Lisa and Nelson were Sid and Nancy and they subbed in chocolate for heroin)

Pretty boring waste of a day today, My insomnia's been catching up with me lately (yesturday, I fell asleep in Writer's Craft), and today I accidently slept through school.

Yeah...I'm that screwed up.

My Dad's really getting frustrated with all my absenses, and I had a paper due that I was all set to hand-in and may have an issue with now, but whatever.

On the brightside, I got to miss my Last Ash Wednesday. (yesterday on Pancake Tuesday, the served us all pancakes in the Caf. Not bad.)

I'm really happy about this.

I've been going to catholic school all my life, writting essays I don't agree with in religion classes (which I finished forever last semester, yay!), and sitting through school masses, usually daydreaming movie plots, or lusting over my love of the week while I'm pretending to be listening or praying, and I'm so ready to be finished with it. And we don't even have kilts anymore!

My graduation in June, in my mind ends my associations with mass and religion. I really can't see myself going to church again.

And Ash Wednesday, is just so awkward! You have this stupid cross drawn on your forehead in ashes, and it looks and feels ridiculous, and you want to wipe it off right away, but if you do you look like a bad person (and some teachers have gotten the weird idea that I'm really religious. Seriously, I won an award for the entire school for emulating "catholic values") but if you don't you look like an idiot.

When I finally woke up things were better, I made a Pizza, and watched Hot Fuzz with my sister. Not a bad movie, Love how he rides into town with all these guns on a big white horse (Corky?). Also gave me a pretty good idea for a story based on a model of a town.

So pretty good.

Fuck the Skipatron.

But, I was reading Rant today and it got me thinking about the lies that we tell kids. I think another reason why I don't want to have kids is that I don't think I can lie to them, i don't think I could bear spreading all the lies that I grew up believing in, because they broke my heart. I couldn't tell them that the world is perfect and that they'll find their true love someday (sorry but the prince just isn't coming! He got distracted watching Sci-fi movies and writing angsty poems about never having anyone to love, and forgot I was waiting), or pretending that Santa Claus, The Easter Bunny and The Tooth Fairy are real. I'm not a deseiver, and I have too much respect for magic to let it glorify greed, and let every holiday or milestone become about first presents, then candy and then money. Its just too sad to see Kids get disillusioned, where they once opened their eyes and belived awe struck in magic, and that anything was possible, they hold money up on a pedastal as the solution to their problems, their new form of magic, their God.

Don't get me wrong! I love kids, but I don't have the patience to take care of them and my spirit is too full of wanderlust (got this itching in my feet since I was just a little kid) to stay in one stable place or settle into the suburbs, seriously I think Revolutionary Road might just be my horror movie! Any relationship that I'm in, I'll be the child in. I think that's enough. Besides, I'd probably raise them to be insane and morally bankrupt.

Because I do believe in magic. I'd be clapping my hands to save the fairyfolk.

If you think of it, really think of it, we're raised on fantasy movies and stories, which always have one character who everyone hates who refuses to believe in whatever is going on, or is too scientific to belive that magic could actually exist. I mean, we're raised to hate this guy!

Do we really want to grow up to become him/her? Who wants to be jaded and realistic?

Where's the fun in that?

And besides why is it so childish to believe in magic? It must have come from somewhere, and there too much beauty in the world.

Are we really so egotistical that we believe that theres' nothing beyond what we know, that we're the only intelligent species?

It could all be true, but who does if hurt if we let a little magic touch our lives?

My mind was also straying to thoughts of alias. Like Regina Flangey (Phobe Buffay) and Ken Adams (Joey Tribiani), I think everyone should always be really to spout out a fake name with pausing, so it seems natural. I've got mine, Jennie December and (as you all know) Catcher Davis. Also it can't hurt to have memorized and planned out the year your birthday would have to be so you were legal to drink in whatever country you are in, and be ready to recite if asked (stupid kids in Hot Fuzz said they were born in the sixties....right. They're not gawky teenage boys, they're clearly in their forties).

Also, in case you ever find yourself poor, or let yourself live the Bohemian life you've always dreamt of , its important to keep a hand in petty theft, It's always a good idea to follow advice from Holly Golightly! Packets of sugar, or utensils from resturants, cool glasses (next time I'm in A and W, somebody please remind me to remember to take one of their really cool mugs), or sneaking into a second movie on one ticket (my dad's little act of rebellion)

I'm wondering how easy it would be to walk out of the bowling alley with bowling shoes on?

Anyone know?

It keeps you real in a plastic world, steepted in a little excitment and danger.

I'm wondering about the Ugly Duckling....After being ugly, awkward and alone, no matter how beatiful you eventually become, I don't think you can ever really be happy.

I think the Duckling would still feel self conscious and wonder if everyone around them was secretly laughing at them. That' something that says with you, something you can never really get over, as much as you stare at your face or pose in the mirror in little outfits and heels and try to feel good.

I wonder if the Duckling ever got comfortable in their own skin?

Got to go. Just saw that there's new JxHQ fanfics up.

Wish me luck in getting up tommorrow!

- If she's called Catcher,

Will you please just come and catch her?

...Waiting

All That Glitters (Is Oscar Gold)

Some Oscar quotes:

"Two hours of sparkling entertainment spread over four hours".

-Johnny Carson

"By the way, be sure to stay tuned for the whole show because at the end of the night we're going to vote somebody out of show business".

- Steve Martin

"You like me! You really like me!"

-Sally Field upon winning

"The Academy Awards are obscene, dirty . . . no better than a beauty contest".

-Dustin Hoffman

"Thank you very much. That makes up for the strip-search".

-Woody Allen

"I would like to be Jupiter and kidnap everybody and take them to the firmament and make love to everybody".

-Roberto Benigni (Huh?)

Yay!

I feel good today(work was so boring yesturday, Public Policy training! What a cruel joke!), Me and my- sister-the-devil went to see Coraline in 3D last night, (So Cool! And I think too creepy for most kids, it's really a more grown up movie). I got to discover that I look good in plastic 3D glasses! Kind of Buddy Holly geek chic. Also another book store run: another Ugly Doll, pink 3-eyed Peaco, another Chuck Palahniuk, Rant, Gregory Maguire, Mirror Mirror, and Laura Weiss, Leftovers.

Finally,

Almost done Smoke and Mirrors, after stopping to read Marat/Sade (long Title: The Persecution and Assassination of Jean-Paul Marat as Performed by the Inmates of the Asylum of Charenton Under the Direction of the Marquis de Sade ) a few days ago (Asassin Charlotte Corday's Description: young, with wavy reddish brown hair parted to the side, a low cut white dress and knee high pink boots, sounds like me!) but it's so amazing! sex, macrabre and social criticisms in a single volume, that is the stuff of champions. Also you know you're cool when you go see a movie based on a Neil Gaiman book for kids you read at age nine (was it nine? and what's with all the books I read years ago being turned into movies now? Coraline, Inkheart, Shopaholic, Twilight-and some more I just can't remember) with a Neil Gaiman book for adults in your giant bright yellow purse.

Also, as its me, and I had to keep up my insanity, I picked up a box of whimsical band-aids, containing: heart shaped, Jolly Rogers, bull's eyes, camoflage, flame (so everyone will think you're going fast?) and zebra print. Awesometastic!so my next klutz-related injury will be fun, at least.

So a visit to Chapters, seriously made me revisit my childhood with a display of reissued picture books as soon as you walked in the door: If You Give A Mouse A Cookie, Go Dog Go, Jillian Jiggs, Madeline, Cordoroy, Harold The Dirty Dog, Paddington, Frog and Toad, Poky The Little Puppy, The Very Hungry Caterpiller, and Eloise ('cause she like owned The Plaza!)!

And my favourite, the reissued- on- recycled- paper edition of my old pal , The Lorax! For some reason I was inordinatedly obsessed with this book. A Doctor Seuss opus about a furry little creature preaching about saving the evironment, that i loved for some weird reason. I want a copy! (Funny that Theodore Geisel {AKA Doctor Seuss} actually lived next door to a real Doctor Seuss! Their mail always got mixed up)

So........................

I know they're stupid and pretentious, mostly awarding films no one has really seen about dramatic deaths, accents, serial killers, and depression, and snubs the most popular films for being low brow or for mass appealing (hello Dark Knight!).

But Seriously, I love the Oscars!

I've taken to watching them each year, snarking at the dresses and hoping for some kind of casulty, like someone Tracey Flick-ing it, expecting to recieve the award and finding out they lost to some underdog, tripping over on the way to the stage, or just giving a good old fashioned reaction shot. And I must confess I am overly obsessed with confrontation and reactions.

This all may stem from my childhood, when I dreamed of being an actress (which I still kind of do, but reality has come crashing down on me) and could so clearly imagine myself in a long slinky, silky dress (always red and dramatic- with those who know me, red's kind of become my signature colour, maturing out of a childhood of pink, I guess), admired, beloved and dripping in jewels. Going for journalism as a career now, I still wonder about life on the other side and have entertained the idea of going to auditions, or making my name in reporting from the red carpet and then as a 'somebody' making my debut. I've also started writing screenplays, writing myself in each lead character.

When I was that little girl, prancing around in plastic jewels, my mom's heels and a hot pink (of course) feather boa with red lipstick all over my cheeks and teeth (actually come to think of it, the long lipsticked smile idea, now reminds me of the Joker, so maybe I was just ahead of my time?) I was never allowed to stay up to see the big winners, I'm still techincally not, but now I have a TV in my room and have pretty much given up listening to my parents. They're trying to teach me new behaviours the year I move out? No Thanks! I think I'm pretty much too old a dog to be taught new tricks

And this year, everybody's watching for Best Supporting Actor. Thoughts? We all pretty much know that the Late Heath Ledger is getting a posthumous win, but a lot of people I've spoken to seem to think this is all because of his death, just like people said about Jonathan Larson's death and the success of Rent. I don't agree (not about Rent either), his perfomance was chilling, and he didn't just play the character, he became him! Each time I watch it I'm shocked again at how good he was, and I feel sorry for being doubtful when the casting was first announced. He totally has that whole unhinged, shaky spastic quality that I so loved in Christian Slater's Jason Dean (just accidently typed Death not Dean), if you haven't seen Heathers, shame on you! Go watch it NOW! Murder, One liners and strip croquet! Awesome!

As for Ledger, In my mind there is no doubt that he deserves to win, but i have to wonder, if he hadn't died, would he have even been nominated? He probably would have been snubbed, just like TDK was from the rest of the major award categories. The Academy seems to turn up their noses on musicals and comic book movies, as of late no matter how well acted.

And in spite of what I said about him becoming the role, I do not support the idea that's float around now, with groups petitioning to retire the role of the Joker, so no one else can grace our screens with the Clown Prince of Crime again. NOOOOO! Well, I do agree that no one should try to take over his role in Nolanverse, I think that a role should always be open to new interpretations! Other wise there's no hope of bringing the incompriable Harley Quinn to life in an acceptable way, all past attempts aside (Madonna in Batman Triumvant? So glad that fell through. Birds Of Prey? That was not my Harley). I'd play her in a heartbeat, I sometimes think we're too much alike for my own good.

(on a side note: Why is it that every boy I strike up a conversation with starts esposing Marvel! Sorry, But I'm born and raised a DC girl. You don't grow up with a Batfan for a Dad and learn nothing! Said Batfan, just poked his head into my room and asked if I wanted to go watch his DVD of The Batman cartoon with him. No way. Even if I wasn't hyped up on Oscar Buzz, I'm boycotting their "Monkey" Joker. No. Just No. He's supposed to be all creepily charming and debonair! That's the cartoon mad man we all feel for, the one with Mark Hamill's voice. Wow. long bracket!)

I bet I just shocked you all with how much I know and care about all this. Sorry, but sometimes my geekiness overcomes me, I'll try to rein it in, but no promises.

Oh! And Heath Leder just won! Yes!

I'm going to make a honest attempt at blogging and snarking about the award show later, but we'll see. If I seriously fail or forget, you have my permission as Queen of the Supreme Republic of Xylophone (no countries begin with X, so I made up my own. I'm just that cool) to laugh at me .

Gotta go!

Lights Camera Action!

Luvs Ya!

-Catcher-Kins

"Mmmm, I'm a star!

And the audience loves me!

And I love them

And they love me for loving them

And I love them for loving me

And we love each other

And that's because none of us

Got enough love in our childhoods

And that's showbiz

Kid!"

-Roxie, Chicago

Talk To The Hamster (AKA Loveless, A Poetry Interlude)

I'm bored, and I can't sleep.

What a commonly occuring circumstance for me (unfortunatedly not a Crazy Random Happinstance!) (someone I know seriously asked me if I was a Vampire once...but they were, how you say, 'special?'). Ironic considering, I'm the girl who got so freaked out by a combination of the Dracula audiobook playing in the car and the barrel ride at Center island (GASP! People with devil horns jump out at you....scary, but I was like three or five, who can keep track, and this traumatized me sooooo bad. I'm only now getting the courage to go back in haunted houses) that I need to sleep with a cross around my neck and a string of garlic bulbs over my double locked window. Now I'm not even scared in a horror movie (still scream bloody murder when the toast pops up in the toaster, or anyone enters a room without annoucing themselves, tho.)

I wrote this the other day, the direct result of diet coke overdose (Heroic Regina Morrow, pretty much scared me away from 'harder' stuff), listening to too much Veruca Salt and My Bloody Valentine, and trying to watch The Wizard of Oz which thanks to Gregory Maguire's mindraping of my childhood (and I do love Wicked, I pretty much fell for Fiyero) only makes me want to protest that the Witch was understood, and the Wizard is evil. This is pretty much the exact same thing I did when I was like eight and read Ella Enchanted (which was my favourite book for a long time), and proceeded to add in details when we watched Cinderella, and develop an unatural anger at the fairy godmother (by the way...when does mine come in the mail?)

Also, It got a bit of Invisible Monsters, too, what with the whole I love you, must destroy you, mah ha haa ha, thing.

There's lots of swearing and thinly veiled references to sex.

Enjoy????

(I have issues...Just so you know)

Please don't kill me!

Not sure what I think. I don't think anything that I could say at this moment could validate this poem (and I use the term loosely, it's really more of a muddled rant with imagery and allusions-the stuff I'm getting bored to tears with in English class), or my own thought.

I really sound like a frustrated, desperate person who needs to get some meds pronto, but how how can I help it! He's so close, yet so far.

I just wanna scream.

I actually would, but I'd wake everyone up, so lets just pretend.

Our little secret.

LOVELESS
I Settle Down In Bed,
In My Underwear And Ruby Slippers.
So Far From Home.
Off The Yellow Brick Road

I Read Linear Notes, Passed From Cherry Mouths That Kissed You
....Once.
That Drank Everything With Vigour And Vinegar, Devoured And Sucked.
That Blew Pink Bubbles All Down My Spine.
I Pity The Little Goldfish Girls Who Pray For Pills,
Who Don`t Yet Know What This Weak Prayer Means.
Who Stumble Streets In Boyfriend Shirts And Gamble Smack For Salt Bred Angels.
Too Busy Dreaming To Live
I Run Screaming For Joy, For Life.
I Run Barefoot, Falling Over My Heels.
Melting Passion In The Acid Rain.
It Pours, I Liquefy, My Pain Refreshed, My Nagging Thirst Quenched.
But Your Face Still Makes Me Clench,
Want To Throw Myself On The Railroad Tracks.
Take a Sad Train Home.
For The Last Time.
You Wake Me Up, When I Thought Impossible.
I Acid Trip To The Top Of The Ladder, Spear My Tongue Over Your Rainbow.
You Stab Me,
You Urge Me On.
Running With Cherry Stains.
You Break My Heart.
You Break Me.
I`m Just A Picture In Your Locket, A Tune In Your Music Box, A Notch In Your Bedpost
Conquest
I Am Just A Goldfish Girl,
I Threw My Wretched Life Away.
In A Fishbowl, I`m On Display.
Naked In A Window Pane For All To See
My Life Took Its Own Strange Path While I Slept,
While I Dealt For The Devil,
Watched For The Dogs.
I Threw Back My Wicked Laugh, Reserved For Your Sins,
My Fucking Habit.
My Fucking Drug,
My Addiction.
You Give The Worst, You Get The Worst.
And That`s Me.
My Blood Saga,
Blown-Out Brains,
Read Between The Lines,
Play The Lullaby Backwards,
Its All There.
I`m Etched In The Liner Notes,
I`m The Footnote There, The Bottom Page Casualty.
How Did You Ever Fall In Love With Me?
We Don`t Deserve To Live.
No One Left Here Does.
We`re All Of Us, Especially Me, Whores and Thieves.
Stripper Saints.
Angel Assassins.
When You Owned Me, We Thought The Future Was Our Gift,
We Would Inherit, A Promise Of Love Utopic Beauty.
Today I`m Falling Asleep
Rolling Into The Fireplace.
Scared, Scarred.
Burned By Acid Words.
The Future Is A Threat, It Promises To Kill Me.
I Wish It`d Come Faster.
I Come Fastest.
The Newspapers Scream The End Of The World.
Again. ...
When Haven`t We Dreamt Of Our Own Deaths.
Is It Really What We Want To Think Of As We Lay Here,
In Pools Of Our Own Blood.
I`ll Send You A Postcard From Space,
From Privilege, From Privacy.
I`ll Drop Myself And A Feather Out A Window And See How Fast We Fall.
Send Postcards From The Future To People I`ve Never Met,
And Pretend I Don`t Care That You Love Her, Not Me.
That You Tell Her What I Told You, That You Laugh At This Feigned Insanity.
Beauty Is A Razor`s Edge
I`m Only Puncturing My Veins.
Don`t Worry.
Just To See If I`m Still Human,
If I Still Bleed.
So I`ll Watch You.
Watch You Fall In Love With My Fake Friends,
Drug Your Sniped Drinks.
Begrudge You A Glance.
I Eat My Eyes, Write With My Nails, Bite My Own Baby Teeth.
Served On A Silver Platter,
Born With A Silver Spoon.
I Love You,
So Much It Kills Me.
I Fuck With The Rolling Stars.
Abuse Myself In Secret Rooms
With The Ghost Of You
I Love You So Much, I Need To Destroy You.
I`ll Never Be Loved Again.
They Don`t Fall For The Fucked Ones,
The Self-Styled Crazy Girls, Who Starve Themselves Thin,
Who Wish For Eyes To See Themselves.
Who Wish Somebody Did.
Who Feel Raw, Empty, Devoid Of Lust

Wait On The Staircase To Heaven And Pant Like Dogs.
I`m A Creative Killer, I Don`t Leave A Mark.
I Take Mind And Soul, And Leave The Body A Living Shell.
Guts And Blood.
Proving That You`re Human.
I`m A Monster.
Inject Myself, For A Final Rush.
Can We Do This Later?
Kill This Sweet, Sweet Lust.
Smack Me.
Bite Me.
Cut Me.
Do Whatever You Need.
Just Love Me.
Tolerate Me,
Let Me Be Yours.
That`s All I Want, All I Need.
A Cure.
We`re All Out On The Parched Roads,
With Thumbs And Tits And Dicks Whipped Out,
Looking For A Pick Up.
Someone To Take Us.
Love Us.
Be Whoever They Want.
Catch A Penny Falling From The Empire State Building, Splitting Your Skull
Catch An Eggplant From My Window, Painting The Roads In Plush
Catch A Star In Flight, A Reject Of Heaven`s Laws
Catch My Prone Body, Sleep Walking In Dreams Of Flight.
We`ll Be Horrified,
To Live Together.
But We`ll Both Live.
Live, To See What New Threat The Future Holds.
What We'll Worry About When This Worst Is Over.
Fear When We`ve Destroyed Ourselves
When We Kiss With The Lips We Don't Have, And Fuck With The Parts The Blast Blew Off.
Oh Baby, We've Really Screwed Up This Time.
Hardened Now, You`re Never Hard.
But I Lose The Game.
I`m Loveless Now, And There's No Going Back.
No Reset Button,
No Back To Start.
Fire In The Archives,
Burning The Part Of Me Which Still Knows How To Love.
I Still Love You.
But I`ve Destroyed You ,
And The Bloody Pieces Don`t Fit Back Together.
I`ll Leave Them For God To Find.
I`ll Worry About Judgement Day If It Ever Comes.
At Last.
For Now I`ll Follow Faust.
I`ll Be The New Fucking Deal!
Abort Another Mission,
A Might Have Been.
Another Murdered Child,
They Tell Us From Mystic Heights
Whatever.
The Kids Shouldn`t See This
This World
Humanity On The Evening News
Midday Scandal`s All We Live For
Headlines,
Not Love
Not Peace
Just News.
Cover Their Bleeding Eyes
We`re All Dying
I`m Faster
Colouring The Musical Air
Come On Over,
Break Me It Two
I Won`t Feel A Thing,
I`m Dead
My Face Is Gone.
My Lips Are Missing,
My Heart is Eaten,
And You`re Gone Forever.
But Still I Love.
I`m A Fucking Head case.
Please Love Me!
I`m Destroying Myself In Shotgun Blasts

Bing Bang Boom....

In my own defense, alot of this is metaphorical, I didn't mean to, but I ended up criticizing our (basically everyone, myself included-and held up as a postergirl of patheticness)'s despreate nature where we're all so desperate for love we're willing to change what makes us unique, the people that we are (and are happy to be), for someone's ideal, to be thier fantasy. We're willing to go through hell, go through any sort of pain for love, to finally find a person and place where we belong. (AKA Name Holly Golightly's Cat)

Make sense?

No?

Really? (I think you're swell Sally May! You're My Hero, Billy. Really and Truly?)

Ok...a little is better than nothing

The word you're looking for is.....anyway.

And a perfectly executed Zoe Trope quote:

"No one cares. Apathy is a disease and some days I long for it.”

-Please Don't Kill The Freshmen

I care too much. It's such a weakness to need to please.

But it's also a strength. (Ha. Just reading this it sounds like one of the scripted Pageant/Job interview [or at least Micheal Scott or Jake Morgandorffer said something close] answers:

-My biggest weakness is that I care too much and can get too invested in my work.

-And your strengths?

-My weakness is actually my strength.

Loves,

-Catch

A Falling Star.

Ships Ahoy: My Crush List

In No Particular Order:

1. The Joker

2. Trent Lane

3. Dean Winchester

4. Spike

5. Fiyero

6. Lir

7. Adam Rove

8. Agent Brody

9. Roger Davis

10. Buster "Rant" Casey

11. Sirius Black

12. Gregory House

13. Bruce Patman

14. Jason 'JD' Dean

15.Count Alexei Vronsky