First Installment of 'Shit Written On Walls'

Found in St. John's, Newfoundland.


I took this just round the corner from the 'financial district,' which is more or less a block in the city that has all the banks on it. It reads "MAKE YOUR SELF SCARCE" which just goes towards promoting the stereotype that everyone there is nice. Even their graffiti is more polite. Anywhere else you'd find the standard "FUCK OFF" written unimaginatively next to a giant penis with eyebrows or something.

to be 30.

Well, it's a pretty sorry time in the life of a writer when the writer hasn't written for seven days.

But I haven't anything to say.

Life is boring. I'm pretty sure I've successfully hermitized myself. One of the only things I've been successful at in a long time. Sadly.

I'm going to end up a 30 year old who feels the need to get shitwrecked at parties and say really obnoxious things really loudly and dye her hair platinum blonde and in general be a plastic whorish type lady because of my wasted youth.

Which reminds me, I did go out the other day when aunt brought me to a 30 year old version of a house party. It was, at moments, fun, and had delicious jello shooters. There were two types of people there: the chill ones getting a bit tipsy and having a bang-up time, and the ones who despite being 10+ years older than me were acting about three years younger than me. The latter group included at least one plastic whorish type woman (PWTW). I think she even took a shot of amaretto from between her ginormous fake boobs. Pure class. She was the first person we ran into coming in the door. I briefly tossed around the idea of leaving.

At one point the host of the party couldn't be found (we found out later that he was pissed that people were hiding bottles and caps around his house and went outside to cool off. Apparently alcohol makes him a real pain in the ass Type A.) and PWTW, no doubt believing she is being incredibly helpful pipes up with "O my god, he's MIA. O. My. God. He's. M. I. A. He's MIA! OMG. O my fucking god, he's MIA. He's MIA. O my goddddd!"

No word of a lie, that is exactly what she said.

I wanted to punch her right in the silicon boob.

Instead, I stood behind her and imitated her, silently mouthing her words, much to my own amusement.


Ps, I changed the song of the week. Give it a listen, Regina Spektor is amazing.

Happy Moon landing Day

Yay for space.

For you skeptics, here.

Post that should be about Newfoundland but isn't because I don't feel like it. It was wonderful but I'll write about it later.

Well, I'm home now. And I fully plan on writing a Newfoundland overview at some point....later. But these days I haven't felt much like writing, which is an odd way for me to feel. It is also very bad because I've come to the conclusion that the only way for me to become famous is to write a book or something, as I have neither the talent nor the skill to do anything else. I probably don't have enough writing gusto and je ne sais quoi to be an author anyways, but at this point it is the only way I see to potential fame. FAME.

Buuuut... I haven't written a journal or a blogge or lyrics to songs I never finish in a while. It's been a lazy little while, mentally speaking. This lethargy is just another reason why I'm a failure at life in general.

I ALSO fail because I completely forgot about Song of the Week. So I am going to change it right now.... Ain't she gorgy?

I don't know why exactly I want to be famous. It's insane really. I'm crazy and stupid enough as it is, I'm sure I'd end up as one of those coked out, drunken famous people whose name rings vague bells in people's minds but they can't quite remember why. Still. Despite seeing the private lives of the rich and famous splashed across the tabloids and told in daily 30 second clips on TV, every mundane thing they do twisted into a 'top story', I'm intensely jealous of them. Secretly. So don't tell anyone.

To want fame is probably one of the most masochistic desires there is.

This is like when I was little and all I wanted out of life was the ability to do magic. When I was eleven I cried all night once because my letter to Hogwarts never came..... I'm still convinced the owl carrying it just died along the way and they never realized.

Well, now I'm older and my dreams are more realistic, yes, but just as unlikely to ever come true.




So remember kids, if you shoot for the stars, you will probably land among asteroids. So wear a helmet and elbow pads.

And even if you do make it, you will probably be incinerated by the stars' heat. Or die from lack of oxygen, because, DUH you're in space dumbass.


God I hate those stupid metaphors.
That is why I choose to butcher them.

Newfoundland and more to come.

I have a load and a half to write about Newfoundland.... but there isn't internet access in the cabins we're staying at. Right now I'm sitting in the lobby area/general store/library/icecream shop of the cabin place, the only spot nearby with internet. But I have to go to bed. I'm so tired, plus the store is closing any minute.

So I'll maybe put some pics.... if I can manage to sort through the 56 788 933 ones I've taken so far.

O btw, its been sunny and warm the whole time so far. What? Madness.

I have even tanned.



EDIT: I have even burnt.

An Airport with free internet access?

NO WAY. this must be a dream. But no, it's true. I'm currently in the Halifax airport and I am using the internet without paying for it with my soul. Or money. It's amazing. Whoever thought of the novel idea of free internet is a winner. A true hero.

The East coast really is full of the bestest people.

Even the girl in the store where I picked up a magazine (Rolling Stone....it has the icky Jonas Hoes on the front, but we are all told as children not to judge a book by its cover, ya?) was genuinely nice. She actually seemed to be asking questions about where I'm from and where I'm going because she wanted to know (not in a creepy way) and not just because her employer was there checking to see if she was exuding the right amount of fake friendliness.

Anyways, know what I just realized? Well....since Newfoundland is super special and gets its own time zone that's an hour and a half ahead of Ontario, instead of having to wake up at 8:30 am to make my schedueled time ticket to pick my classes, I get to sleep in and do it at 10:00 am. Beauty, ainit?


Well, that's mostly all I can think of right now. Flights aren't exactly the most riveting things to talk about, unless you've survived its crashing or you joined the Mile High Club (ya it's got a website), neither of which I'm planning on doing, because to be a survivor the plane has to crash first, which would suck, and also, have you ever seen Snakes On a Plane? Well I have and let's just say that two members of that club came to a painfully awkward end upon receiving several venomous bites in places that should never be bitten. Or could be, I guess.... if you're into that.

So ya, that was scaring. And all I would be able to think about would be snakes slithering out of the toilet.

Gotta go. We is bording. Peace.
And remember kids, the only place better than where you are is anywhere else.

New Weekly feature perhaps?

I think I may add a new weekly feature to this here blogge.

It shall be called "Shit Written on Walls" and it shall be of the interesting graffiti I see. It won;t necessarily need to be written on walls, but I like that title, so that is how it shall stay.

Trouble is, most of the interesting graffiti in the world resides in washrooms and it is just a tad unsettling to hear a camera go off in the stall next to you whilst you're on the toilet. I would like to do this in a way that doesn't make me look like a total creepo.