this time i kno its 4 real

the most pansy ass wastoids always sit beside me on the bus. this one girl talked about all the awesome drinking and blazing she and her housemates did all the way to kingston (and let me tell u, it was A LOT lol). she’s my shero, for sure. then this other *aulder womyn* had an epic cell phone conversation at 3am when we were almost there. i moaned real loud to signal my displeasure at being awoken from the most uncomfortable sleep of my life (well, not quite…), but she either didn’t get it or is way too huge a bitch to think of anyone other than herself and her stupid only friend who called her. what a huge coincidence that above-average annoying people always end up proximal to me especially given my almost superhuman tolerance for people’s foibles. maybe i’m projecting the hate.

NAH!

since then i didn’t do much. highlights of the week include: being sat next to by Why You Dress So Sexy Honey while she ate her toast super-daintily (one of my favourite ladies – always keeping it classy. some of us just can’t hold a candle), hearing New Yorker Girl’s [the magazine] voice, and brushing past The Bookish Friend on the street so we wouldn’t fall in a snow pile. i want to write some DIY porn plots about them soon. i also sang karaoke again i think i have chemical dependence.

yesterday i finishied recovering from a short’n’sweet 36 hour illness. no serious damage. i think i finally lost the brain cells that inform patterns of social interactions, though. it was like being in hell with tila tequila, only with no dykonic moments, less tickling and force-feedings of cake, and more pain around the temple. i keep imagining myself as a contestant on a dating show – it’s really upsetting because that means i’m a narcissistic psychopath who no one will ever love. i also worried about whether i would ever be capable of loving someone on a deeper level than really wanting to win some one-on-one time with them in a contest.

i realized that the only things in life i’ve enjoyed lately are completely incompatible with (restful) bed rest. see for yourself:

1) loud music

2) dance

3) smoking

4) drinking

5) Bisexual Bachelorettes

i’m relieved to return to my top 5. missed you! the only thing is, now i can’t use “food poisoning” as an excuse not to do anything or to garner sympathy. it was nice while it lasted. tha*k g*d th*t’s ov*r! f*ckin n*zi g*rms.

i’m trying to pinpoint at what point of the human life cycle birthdays become more work than they’re worth. maybe when you have to plan them yourself instead of your mom just hiring a magician (rabbit included!). now birthdays make me so anxious i get scared an ulcer will eat its way through my entire body and i’ll be one big colostomy bag. yesterday i didn’t attend 3 birthdays that i was maybe attending. but my mom made me return their presents to Toys R Us, so it all evened out. I know I’m breathing a sigh of relief, karma wise.

last night i dreamed i was in prospect park catching the subway but zoe got separated from me and on the other side of the platform she turned into a siege machine from Age of Empires but with the head of the triceratops from Barney. needless to say, it was quite the adventure getting back to manhattan. i either woke up or started dreaming about something else before the crisis had to actually get resolved. sorry Gregor! ur gross!

i hate hearing about other people’s dreams, though, so that was probably wasn’t very good for you. if not, i don’t know what to say. isn’t it kind of sad that you give a shit about other people’s dreams if you weren’t even in them?

in september 2007, donna summer was nominated for induction into the Rock ‘n’ Roll Hall of Fame, but she didn’t make it. No More Tears, baby! you’re good enough for my Saturday morning 104.5 CHUM FM/’97 Bonnie N Clyde revival playlist.

p.s. i’m a window shopper. i’m just taking my time choosin between fiddy and lily is all.

p.p.p.p.p.p.p.p.p.p.p.p.p.s. joan of arc is a GENDER WARRIOR. you go, “girl”!

sat in yr lap

i can’t stop:

- WISHING STEVIE WONDER SANG ‘ISN’T SHE LOVELY’ AT MY BAT MITZVAH

- wakin up the neighbours by screaming “Oh! Oh! Oh!” in between biggie’s synth pulses

- hypothesizing about Selena 4 Prez ~ 2008 (if she weren’t dead)

- quoting Showdogs Moms & Dads even though people have no idea what the fuck I’m talking about, but they should because “WHAT IF IT WAS ONE OF THESE?????” kills me every time. they also don’t get why i keep saying “in my vagina 2 times he bite me”

- worrying that all my clients are sending me dirty text messages and marianna is reading them and blushing because i left my phone in her private room

- laughing at misdemeanour’s track called “Don’t Be Commin’ (In My Face)” – why the hate?

-reading user comments on youtube vidz. way too good.

i don’t know what this means, but it sounds like fun:

“Britney ! quero que voce saibaaa que eu te amo muito ! e amo Bomt tbm ! adoro seus trabalhos com Max Martin ! Amo seus cds ! e todos os fãs estao ansiciosos e aguardando suas surpresas e os proximos singles !
Te amooooo !”

ditto:

“BRITTTTT
MUIEH ARRETADAA
T AMUU úu
xD
2008 ARRAze úu
I lovee yoouu xD
NHA FALO EM PORTUGUES MESMO ÚU
heuheuuehu xD
*-*
EU AMO vc *-*

;*** “

ALL I KNOW IS THAT IT IS A CRIME THAT SHE HAS NOT BEEN HIRED AS A PORTE-PAROLE/SPOKES”MODEL” FOR STARBUCKS AND/OR RITE AID or EX-LAX ALREADY! SHEESH x 1,000,000!!!

F THAT

p.s. proof i still got it (a.k.a. sometimes i listen to legitimately good music for kicks):

tomorrow i’m filing mah taxes n trying to figure out how to make myself sleep on the night bus w/o pot or melatonin. see y’all at 4am.

baby, you grew up hard

yesterday i drank 2 bottles of wine, chilled in a loading dock, and had 4 deceptively potent shots of what will be called “Lemon Drink”. i also sang an Eternal Flame duet, which was #1 in Britain on the day I was born, and barfed all the way from Thornhill to Aurora. i’m pretty sure me and michelle were in a bathroom stall together at one point (drinking more? W-H-Y), but no nose powdering went down. the moral of the story is that contrary to popular belief, it IS possible to be too inebriated for karaoke.

some life lessons are just so hard to learn. like not mixing tequila and beer, thinking i can decide on a “getting dressed” playlist in under 5 minutes, staying away from vermouth, curing myself of the ridiculous notion that it is possible to have a good hair day without product…

while lying on the kitchen floor for a while convincing my family without too much trouble that i have substance abuse problems, i realized i had made it home without a coat or cellular phone. i also didn’t pay for the bus. impressive.

2day i went cross country skiing, ate the nastiest hamburger i have ever seen, and observed the spatial re-orientation of the Nottawasaga/Dufferin region towards a recreation economy. at Tim Horton’s – Caledon (Canada’s Safest Community!), my dad informed me that I still smelled like booze. in Creemore, which I’m pretty sure is where the real Lorelei Gilmore lives and does quaint $hit, he made the faux-pas of admitting out loud that it was a “touristy” town. sooooo embarassing!! we were totally blending in with “the locals” before you blew our cover as city slickers just passing through. thanks a lot, dad! now we have to skedaddle and won’t even have time to check out that antique shop called “Victorian Values” (seriously). oh well, we had Neil Diamond’s Greatest Hits (1966-1992) to console us.

later i had a very hot bath (luckily, my genitals did not get burnt – i recommend swaddling them in a facecloth, if anyone’s taking notes) and listened to glamorous songs from my “It’s so exciting being a lesbian!” playlist. i was too concerned with my alcohol acne & windburn to feel truly divine, however.

at easter dinner, my grandma noticed my nose stud for the first time, even though she’s seen it many times before. to be fair, she has a detached retina and is a malpractice victim. we talked about playmobil & beanie babies and good times. i have done no work this weekend, only answered polite questions about myself and recieved a wholesome hair cut. ~__^

p.s. “Last Christmas” is a good song at any time of the year.

p.p.s. Mommy, why did Biggie have to die?

She Got The Way To Move Me, Cherry

i took a break before posting because only losers spend more than 5 hours a day on the internet, so i had to play it cool. (haha, actually i just edited the time stamp)

today’s topic is Labels: are they really necessary?

HAHAHA JUST KIDDING.

the real topic is: why the hell should you feel guilty for stepping on bugs, throwing rocks at seagulls and driving Range Rovers? also: please stop being jealous of Al Gore’s house. Maybe Tipper didn’t want to downsize yet, okay? And on that note – LEAVE JANE FONDA ALONE!!

 also: lolcats are just not that good.

HAHA STILL KIDDING
BUT ACTUALLY, THEY ARE OVER.

YOU KNEW THAT, RIGHT?

Girrrl, You’ll Be A Woman Soon

this blog doohickey is very addictin’ (not to mention dramatic)! i’ve even had to underline it!

lately i ‘ve been thinking about hipsters and why people are so mean to them. especially those meanies who are, let’s face it, fucking losers. just because making fun of the differently-abled (“r3tards”) is easy doesn’t mean it’s okay, and it definitely don’t impress me OR shania much. the only person who i would ever maybe allow to make fun of hipsters is wanda sykes, but unless you are the author of “Yeah, I Said It” and/or “an Emmy-winning American stand-up comedian and actress well known for her blunt observations on current events, the differences between the sexes and races, and life in general” [Citation needed], please stick to what you’re good at, which is making hipsters’ jobs (being cooler than others) SO DAMN EASY. pretending some weird form of superiority premised on the assumption that your conformity is more self-aware than someone else’s is not okay. at least, that’s what i hope it is, because the alternative rationales are so so much more embarassing for everyone involved.

anyHOO, as part of my ongoing quest to make illogical comparisons between all sets of multiple objects/concepts in my life, I am going to tell you why Toronto is like a hipster. think of it as a cryptic crossword for the Myspace generation.
1) If U ain’t hated, U ain’t famous
2) class wars
3) valued diversity
4) bad PR (they showed a promotional vid for Tdot on the bus and it was even more awkward than everyone I know thinks they are, which is to say a lot)
5) people won’t admit their sublimated desires for both, but the pressure’s building! as richard hell & the voidoids would say, love comes in spurts. doncha know (that was the Mom from Bobby’s World)

yesterday i learned some interesting facts. i should probably write a Bathroom Reader.

• “baby when you’re gone” by bryan adams featuring mel c was only a hit in Canada, not in the US
• the people who sing “123 Train With Me” are Italian! and probably androids, too!
• why dome is called dome (the definitive answer)
• Nellie McKay is even gayer than i thought…
• maclean’s is starting to make me embarassed of being canadian on a “cancel that shit asap” level, although it was a little bit of relief to learn that the “Deer Gone Wrong” headline was actually about wildlife in Germany, not Muskoka
• it’s no longer interesting that my dad is from new zealand. or that my cousin has an intercom in her house.
• someone needs to do some academic inquiry into The People’s Court

all i want to do is listen to the slow jams on Rhythm Nation 1814 while luxuriating in a bathtub and thinking about how there’s so many kids livin in a world they didn’t make.

don’t stop believing – if the welfare state can’t help, jesus probably will

Who’s Gonna Drive U Home?

This is dedicated to the one I HOV: high-occupancy vehicle lanes between Don Mills and the 407! Taking you further than you ever wanted to go since 2006!
I would like to take this opportunity to share a very special piece of music by Mr. Andrew Gold. it always lifts my spirits when i’m feeling blue!

Although, deanejacob makes a good point: “So I just wanted Pinky and the Brain and this is what I get. The song is gay and should never be combined with this show I hate you. “

speaking of friends, if anyone was thinking of how they wanted to spend their money and then I popped into your head, here is what I would like for Secretaries’ Day:

1. gawdy cross bling (I already have a Jesus fish ring and I am workin it)
2. enough cheap sunglasses so that i can break one pair per week and still be sorted at the end of summer
3. graphic novels
4. dance mix 94 & 96 (i know they’re probably far inferior, but tell me baby girl cause i NEED TO KNOW)
5. soup from a restaurant called Pho Real.
6. fake pearls
7. geraniums
8. a bitch stick
9. wellbutrin SR for my recreational use

i was going to ask for some weapon with which i could hurt slow-walking sidewalk obstructions, but i remembered I already have a monogrammed stamp that can easily put to work in street branding, to ensure that those who block my path are marked (with shame) for 1-3 washes by the knowledge that they delayed my arrival to ~*~somewhere important~*~ by 5 seconds, or 65 if they made me miss a yellow light.

i’m a big fan of adding street in front of other words. try it! street nurse, street meat, street loon…
ciao bellas

F.E.E.L.I.N.G.C.A.L.L.E.D.D.O.M.E.

Well, hello. and welcome to my blog!

in celebration of the advent of T. Heise’s final unit, poetically entitled “Postmodernisms II: Uncontainable Texts, Uncontainable Bodies” and an epic Holy Thursday/Good Friday no-sleep marathon, I have decided that the world of sporadic Facebook notemaking/stultifying Livejournal posts is no longer enough for me. My body is an uncontrollable text, SO READ IT, BITCH. I have a fire within, and it compels me to share my innermost thoughts and selected funny music videos with the world. Which is my oyster. arianna huffington is probably going to ask me about syndication any day now.

the name Peristalsis Hilton is in honour of Mr. Ingle’s grade 11 biology class, which taught me that there are a lot more sphincters in your body than you might think. It’s also an homage to people who i think embody what america is all about. hell yeah!

more about them later. right now I want to talk about hypothetical photo albums I would have created last night if my camera had batteries in it.

Me straddling a chair with a Paint-ed in speech bubble saying “Te amo” would definitely have been involved. Scarves, too. The captions would be super hilarious – alternating between pithy one-liners, fake brenda dickson quotes and funny film titles. for example, one of me in tormented modernist lesbian fiction angst poses in an off-white rooms entitled “If These Walls Could Talk 2″ and “Things U Can Tell Just By Looking At Her”. or just working it in my maternity clothing and occasionally laughing uncomfortably when the haze lifted. LOLOLOL

here are some “Well done, kudos me” quotes of last night/this morning (I have not really slept yet – although I did black out between Dorval and eastern Eastern Ontario and remember nothing except for the way too amazing lesbian continuumy conversation going on behind me as I type) that made me a laugh a lot:
“the collective vagina is angry/dewy/sandy etc.”

- use this one whenever you need mad self-expression and got it badd, but only in the most passive-aggressive way. it’s sort of like this

&

“minnie riperton has made me feel impure for the rest of my life.”

let’s face it, regarding the innocent nature of her devotion: damn right it’s better than yours. luuuuuuuuuuh-vin you-u is easy cuz you’re beautiful.

another funny thing that happened was that a joint got stuck to my lips and i had to blow it off into the garbage can. no forest fires thus far.
but what’s most importantly is that the beat went on and i Warm Leatheretted it around the room bending and snapping before collapsing on my bed where I was no longer of capable of any activity other than Peter Frampton/Hall & Oates appreciation, and accidentally recieved a juice box facial. someone needs to gimme one reason why 1978 isn’t better than 2008 so that i can hurry up and move with on my life.

the biggest shock of all comes next: i arrived at the bus station glazed-over, wearing a tank top and carrying a bag of 9 apples, oranges and pears, expecting to hop on a near-empty bus and watch porn at the back. no can do! apparently some people actually wake up at 5am so that they can make the 7:30, rather than choosing the far more sensible option of a departure time greater than or equal to 13h. so instead i leaned back, relaxed, and reflected on my mastery of missy elliott raps but complete inability to remember the part of “fuck the pain away” that comes after “sucking on my titties” (i.e. the whole song). on the other hand, it was a pretty gigantic novelty to be the only McGill student on an entire vehicle moving between Montreal and Toronto. *c^r*a^z*y^

i think i’m going to cut this short before i ruin a fresh, new (succinct) voice on the scene. the story ends with the bus being faster than the train (“I just looove how it keeps going and going and going!”), me pretending to be a skateboarding prodigy hitch-hiking across Canada and presiding over parking lots in Kingston, Ontario.

shout-outs going to: babyface, gloria vanderbilt, matthew coon come & the munchkins who organized my assortment of complimentary prophylactics by colour, flava and style!

love,
jarvis cock, err