Always look on the bright side of life…
On the way to my internship, the train is stalled at Christie station. A voice comes over the intercom, “Attention TTC customers. We are currently experiencing a delay on the Bloor-Danforth Line at Islington Station due to an injury at track level.” A woman behind me inhales sharply. There are a few other scattered gasps, one “Oh God”, and many whispers. In unison we all think the same thought. Someone jumped.
I wonder if he/she used their soon-to-expire June metro pass one last time? Or a soon to be discontinued adult ticket stub? Or did they have to dish out the $2.75? Is that the going rate of a final hurrah?
Life broken down into rates:
500 - The cost of rent.
250 - The rumoured number of TTC suicides per year (that’s just under 5 per week)
195 - Cost of a psychotherapist per hour
144 - Number of tissues per box.
109 - Cost of a TTC Metro Pass per month
69 - Number of calories per 1 oz. of Whiskey Fireball Shooter
50 - Dollars per trip to No Frills
28 - Cost of hydro per month
2 - Maximum number of Red Bulls recommended per day.
0 - How much I get paid to intern per hour.
0 - How much I get paid to intern with holiday time-and-a-half per hour.
Rate my sanity is leaving me? Astronomical.
Rate in which my interest towards ABSOLUTELY EVERYTHING AND EVERYONE is dissipating? Probably need a PHD and thermochromic liquid crystal to calculate.
And so, the month of July means another 109 dollars (that I do not have) must go to the TTC. The bright side? Somehow I am still the person on the train, and not the one in front of it.
Always look on the bright side of life…
Desiree Thrash.
If I were a rate I would be: One jar of nut butter per week.
Monday, June 30, 2008
Sunday, June 22, 2008
freezies
Between making movie-films, interning, and scanning key tags at ‘Big Ass Grin Fitness’ there is never enough time for… Anything, besides writer’s block, coffee runs, and shaking a martini shaker at ‘Way Too Much Pink Fitness’.
If I could freeze time, I swear… I would not…
Steal or loot a Blu-Ray player. I promise I would not look under people’s clothes. I wouldn’t kick anyone in the shin, or reposition their hands to touch themselves inappropriately. I doubt I would have the patience to save every kitten about to be hit by a car. Nor would I be forward-thinking enough to slip a cloth grocery bag into every shopping cart. I doubt I have the upper body strength to drag criminals into the backseats of police cars. And I promise I would not update my Facebook status.
I would however…
Write a television pilot. I would walk from here to Harrow on foot just to pet my dog. I would carry my coffee into a bookstore. I would storyboard. I would go into Hermes and only browse, without having to feel like a douche bag. I would watch the Lord of the Rings extended editions from beginning to end, draw a bath instead of a shower, and take a few steady breaths.
But would I…?
Take the time to use an ink and paper dictionary, over dictionary.com? Would I do forty minutes of cardio instead of twenty? Would I finish my laundry?
Would I hug him tight and whisper in his ear that he still does it for me?
Signed,
Desiree Thrash
If I were a feature screenplay, I would be: Page 24
If I could freeze time, I swear… I would not…
Steal or loot a Blu-Ray player. I promise I would not look under people’s clothes. I wouldn’t kick anyone in the shin, or reposition their hands to touch themselves inappropriately. I doubt I would have the patience to save every kitten about to be hit by a car. Nor would I be forward-thinking enough to slip a cloth grocery bag into every shopping cart. I doubt I have the upper body strength to drag criminals into the backseats of police cars. And I promise I would not update my Facebook status.
I would however…
Write a television pilot. I would walk from here to Harrow on foot just to pet my dog. I would carry my coffee into a bookstore. I would storyboard. I would go into Hermes and only browse, without having to feel like a douche bag. I would watch the Lord of the Rings extended editions from beginning to end, draw a bath instead of a shower, and take a few steady breaths.
But would I…?
Take the time to use an ink and paper dictionary, over dictionary.com? Would I do forty minutes of cardio instead of twenty? Would I finish my laundry?
Would I hug him tight and whisper in his ear that he still does it for me?
Signed,
Desiree Thrash
If I were a feature screenplay, I would be: Page 24
Friday, June 13, 2008
Writing Letters to the Dead.
Happy Friday the 13th Lo-vers!
My intention was not to check my horoscope this morning when I logged onto my rather slow connection to Modzilla Firefox, but rather to Google image mermaid pictures. Apparently I needed an Astology.com fix and when I clicked on “Libra” I was not only happily satiated but inspired!
Think what you may. I read my horoscope. I eat the cookie for the fortune and I believe in what the Psychic who lived above a Subway Restaurant said about my future…
That said; here she is:
Libra:
You have wonderful ideas inside of you, so go deep and grab one of them today! The more far-fetched, the better -- people have been waiting for you to bust out with something unexpected (like you used to do all the time!). Get back together with your old self and integrate them back into your present life more. Just because you grow past a certain phase of life doesn't mean you should leave everything about it behind you. Take the healthy, positive stuff and bring it back into who you are, now.
Sometime ago – circa 2005-ish – I stopped doing certain things I loved and which were very much a part of my identity. I lost interest in painting and drawing and writing poetry. These are loves I did quite frequently – and quite frequently I did them as little sentiments of my appreciation for other people. These were my own personal letters to friends and family.
Something inside me however died -- sending these passions of mine into a deep and heavy hibernation. During this hiatus I transformed this way and that way – in every direction – some wrong some right – most necessary – all mind blowing.
Last summer, these passions started to awaken… very slowly… and definitely surely. Lately (during my time off) I’ve indulged in these activities and interests in varying doses of satisfaction and it’s pumping the blood into my veins at a rate of an all-time-high.
I’m feeling very awake, regardless of my border-line-insomniac sleeping patterns. Suddenly I have the attention span to read a book in a sitting, watch many television episodes in a row and to just sit and enjoy listening to a radio program in its entirety → all things I used to be able to do so easily but then became hard after the dead of winter 2005.
(Side-note: If I’m being cryptic or losing myself in my thoughts I apologize.)
My point here -- is that my horoscope raises a very fantastic point. In our one lifetime – our identity transforms many times, such that in each phase of our life we can very much be a completely different person – we can LOOK like a completely different person and take on different personalities, invest our time in different mantras and execute ridiculous routines. We can also be attracted to very different people and mates. (This obviously affects what we do and how we act).
As a whole, this transformation can unfold over a period of many years, it can happen overnight, or it can be triggered by joys, heartaches or those fuckin devastations that rip the skin from our flesh and leave us to bleed out all of our blood. Personally, I can relate most with the latter - the skin-ripping one.
On that note, we experience a transfusion post-blood loss; thus new blood enters our body and we start the new of our identity – arguably neither for the better or for the worse – but for the different. With all these experiences I would think all the change is actually a benefit to one’s (my) maturity – and hence one’s (my) ever-expanding wisdom.
But wait. I’m not done explaining myself. Regardless of the transfusion, some of your original blood remains. So with your new blood and old blood – you are able to live newly – and hopefully post trauma – you are able to live more fully. I therefore take my passions and memories of the past and use them in what I do. Although this was a Libra horoscope I present it to all of you to think about and reflect on your very own phases of YOU that have transpired throughout the years.
Again:
Just because you grow past a certain phase of life doesn't mean you should leave everything about it behind you. Take the healthy, positive stuff and bring it back into who you are, now.
My only horoscope edit: Beware of this term “healthy” and this term “positive.” I may seem like a perky light-bulb of optimism – it doesn’t mean I can’t be morbid as hell. I think (sometimes,) bad is good… just be aware of this piece of gold.
Alas, this wasn’t a very “sexy” post – but that’s why we’re SEXLESS in the city ☺
Ok. I must return to my painting, my drawing - and thus all of my other letters to the dead.
Adios Muchachos,
Xoxo
LO.
Currently Obsessed with: Kite Flying
Spending much of my time: Writing children’s poetry.
Wanting to learn more on: The NRDC (its all about getting Green people).
Dreaming about and longing for: Someone I’ll never see again and Someone I’ve never met before.
If I were an object found in Mr. Dress Up’s treasure chest I would be:
A kite handmaid from China
… or some sort of mermaid costume.
My intention was not to check my horoscope this morning when I logged onto my rather slow connection to Modzilla Firefox, but rather to Google image mermaid pictures. Apparently I needed an Astology.com fix and when I clicked on “Libra” I was not only happily satiated but inspired!
Think what you may. I read my horoscope. I eat the cookie for the fortune and I believe in what the Psychic who lived above a Subway Restaurant said about my future…
That said; here she is:
Libra:
You have wonderful ideas inside of you, so go deep and grab one of them today! The more far-fetched, the better -- people have been waiting for you to bust out with something unexpected (like you used to do all the time!). Get back together with your old self and integrate them back into your present life more. Just because you grow past a certain phase of life doesn't mean you should leave everything about it behind you. Take the healthy, positive stuff and bring it back into who you are, now.
Sometime ago – circa 2005-ish – I stopped doing certain things I loved and which were very much a part of my identity. I lost interest in painting and drawing and writing poetry. These are loves I did quite frequently – and quite frequently I did them as little sentiments of my appreciation for other people. These were my own personal letters to friends and family.
Something inside me however died -- sending these passions of mine into a deep and heavy hibernation. During this hiatus I transformed this way and that way – in every direction – some wrong some right – most necessary – all mind blowing.
Last summer, these passions started to awaken… very slowly… and definitely surely. Lately (during my time off) I’ve indulged in these activities and interests in varying doses of satisfaction and it’s pumping the blood into my veins at a rate of an all-time-high.
I’m feeling very awake, regardless of my border-line-insomniac sleeping patterns. Suddenly I have the attention span to read a book in a sitting, watch many television episodes in a row and to just sit and enjoy listening to a radio program in its entirety → all things I used to be able to do so easily but then became hard after the dead of winter 2005.
(Side-note: If I’m being cryptic or losing myself in my thoughts I apologize.)
My point here -- is that my horoscope raises a very fantastic point. In our one lifetime – our identity transforms many times, such that in each phase of our life we can very much be a completely different person – we can LOOK like a completely different person and take on different personalities, invest our time in different mantras and execute ridiculous routines. We can also be attracted to very different people and mates. (This obviously affects what we do and how we act).
As a whole, this transformation can unfold over a period of many years, it can happen overnight, or it can be triggered by joys, heartaches or those fuckin devastations that rip the skin from our flesh and leave us to bleed out all of our blood. Personally, I can relate most with the latter - the skin-ripping one.
On that note, we experience a transfusion post-blood loss; thus new blood enters our body and we start the new of our identity – arguably neither for the better or for the worse – but for the different. With all these experiences I would think all the change is actually a benefit to one’s (my) maturity – and hence one’s (my) ever-expanding wisdom.
But wait. I’m not done explaining myself. Regardless of the transfusion, some of your original blood remains. So with your new blood and old blood – you are able to live newly – and hopefully post trauma – you are able to live more fully. I therefore take my passions and memories of the past and use them in what I do. Although this was a Libra horoscope I present it to all of you to think about and reflect on your very own phases of YOU that have transpired throughout the years.
Again:
Just because you grow past a certain phase of life doesn't mean you should leave everything about it behind you. Take the healthy, positive stuff and bring it back into who you are, now.
My only horoscope edit: Beware of this term “healthy” and this term “positive.” I may seem like a perky light-bulb of optimism – it doesn’t mean I can’t be morbid as hell. I think (sometimes,) bad is good… just be aware of this piece of gold.
Alas, this wasn’t a very “sexy” post – but that’s why we’re SEXLESS in the city ☺
Ok. I must return to my painting, my drawing - and thus all of my other letters to the dead.
Adios Muchachos,
Xoxo
LO.
Currently Obsessed with: Kite Flying
Spending much of my time: Writing children’s poetry.
Wanting to learn more on: The NRDC (its all about getting Green people).
Dreaming about and longing for: Someone I’ll never see again and Someone I’ve never met before.
If I were an object found in Mr. Dress Up’s treasure chest I would be:
A kite handmaid from China
… or some sort of mermaid costume.
Monday, June 2, 2008
If he was the King, then I’m Lisa-Marie.
aloha!
Before I woke up this morning I was praying in my head that I would open my eyes to paisley curtains, shag carpeting and perhaps even a lava lamp flowing ambiently next to some fiber-optic lights on the dresser with a record collection categorized alphabetically from Abba to Zappa. I reached for my glasses, popped out my retainers and looked around the room to unfortunately realize that I was in my bedroom in my hometown sans bean bag chair, sans beaded doorway, sans bong...
So it really is 2008 huh? Bummer.
Before returning to the Big City T.Dot for a much needed dose of Inari, Des and a little Marry\Boff\Kill session and Lost season 3 on DVD, I am embarking on an equally needed and greatly desired road-trip North to visit my older sister (who I openly admit is one huge fox\man-eater).
It’s an annual trip and this year I’m going with the Working Class Hero himself… no -not John Lennon… but my old Italian padre, who (when fairly inebriated) refers to himself as the King of the 60s and 70s social scene in small-city southern Ontario and even some areas of Buffalo and Queenston-Lewiston believe it or not. I look forward to boarding the greyhound and changing the scene up a bit - keeping things interesting and new. The times they are-a changing. Are they changing for the better? I’d only be so blessed to arrive in Ottawa tomorrow night to wildly discover that the Greyhound was actually a time-machine and instead of Paul Martin, Trudeau was Prime Minister and the FLQ was a rockin’ the front page of the Ottawa Citizen. I contradict myself such that I need to keep things new and interesting... and yet I long for yesterday... the past...
Perhaps my overwhelming nostalgia for the 60s\70s era (which happened decades before my birth) is genetic, just like my blue eyes and my beautiful shower singing skills. In fact, I am almost positive that it is genetic.
I am going to go ahead and state the obvious… so much is different now than it was then. The music, the movies… the BABES. O how I long for some babe from the past –Hoffman as Ben Braddock, Pacino circa Dog Day Afternoon. GEORGE HARRISON. There really is no correlation however, to the babes in which I am attracted. Think for a moment about the babes you are attracted to…
Any patterns? Similarities? One theory is that you are often attracted to babes that in some way embody the qualities or an image of your father… This is a theory almost Freudian in nature. “Freud On Babes” – I’d read that book. Would you read that book?
“Babe”: (n.) (adj.)
The term “Babe” I admit is very gray. What constitutes a “babe” you ask? I’ve tried to explain this a countless amount of times. To be honest, the definition of babe stems back to its origins in 2004’s much used term “foxy” also used to describe “babes” who have some sort of quality… magnetism… and yet are not your typical – run of the mill “popular” babe. Sorry Mr. Hollister I am referring to you when I say typical popular. But here is where the definition gets murky… because your personality may contradict or accent those hunky good looks of yours in a way that screams BABE with a polo stick.
You know what? I am not even going to try to define it much further. When you see a babe… and you think to yourself… “dude – what a babe” than that’s all there is to it.
Now only if I was a little less indecisive regarding which babes I actually like it would make life a lot simpler. BECAUSE Just because you think dude’s a babe… doesn’t mean you like them… right?
Anyways. I’m off to Ottawa… a city I must say is crawling with babes (or so I have had past experiences which have proven this statement to be true…)
Au revoir les poison jaune! See you when I get back…
Xoxo
Lo.
If I was the wife of any dead Rock-Star I’d be: June Carter Cash.
Before I woke up this morning I was praying in my head that I would open my eyes to paisley curtains, shag carpeting and perhaps even a lava lamp flowing ambiently next to some fiber-optic lights on the dresser with a record collection categorized alphabetically from Abba to Zappa. I reached for my glasses, popped out my retainers and looked around the room to unfortunately realize that I was in my bedroom in my hometown sans bean bag chair, sans beaded doorway, sans bong...
So it really is 2008 huh? Bummer.
Before returning to the Big City T.Dot for a much needed dose of Inari, Des and a little Marry\Boff\Kill session and Lost season 3 on DVD, I am embarking on an equally needed and greatly desired road-trip North to visit my older sister (who I openly admit is one huge fox\man-eater).
It’s an annual trip and this year I’m going with the Working Class Hero himself… no -not John Lennon… but my old Italian padre, who (when fairly inebriated) refers to himself as the King of the 60s and 70s social scene in small-city southern Ontario and even some areas of Buffalo and Queenston-Lewiston believe it or not. I look forward to boarding the greyhound and changing the scene up a bit - keeping things interesting and new. The times they are-a changing. Are they changing for the better? I’d only be so blessed to arrive in Ottawa tomorrow night to wildly discover that the Greyhound was actually a time-machine and instead of Paul Martin, Trudeau was Prime Minister and the FLQ was a rockin’ the front page of the Ottawa Citizen. I contradict myself such that I need to keep things new and interesting... and yet I long for yesterday... the past...
Perhaps my overwhelming nostalgia for the 60s\70s era (which happened decades before my birth) is genetic, just like my blue eyes and my beautiful shower singing skills. In fact, I am almost positive that it is genetic.
I am going to go ahead and state the obvious… so much is different now than it was then. The music, the movies… the BABES. O how I long for some babe from the past –Hoffman as Ben Braddock, Pacino circa Dog Day Afternoon. GEORGE HARRISON. There really is no correlation however, to the babes in which I am attracted. Think for a moment about the babes you are attracted to…
Any patterns? Similarities? One theory is that you are often attracted to babes that in some way embody the qualities or an image of your father… This is a theory almost Freudian in nature. “Freud On Babes” – I’d read that book. Would you read that book?
“Babe”: (n.) (adj.)
The term “Babe” I admit is very gray. What constitutes a “babe” you ask? I’ve tried to explain this a countless amount of times. To be honest, the definition of babe stems back to its origins in 2004’s much used term “foxy” also used to describe “babes” who have some sort of quality… magnetism… and yet are not your typical – run of the mill “popular” babe. Sorry Mr. Hollister I am referring to you when I say typical popular. But here is where the definition gets murky… because your personality may contradict or accent those hunky good looks of yours in a way that screams BABE with a polo stick.
You know what? I am not even going to try to define it much further. When you see a babe… and you think to yourself… “dude – what a babe” than that’s all there is to it.
Now only if I was a little less indecisive regarding which babes I actually like it would make life a lot simpler. BECAUSE Just because you think dude’s a babe… doesn’t mean you like them… right?
Anyways. I’m off to Ottawa… a city I must say is crawling with babes (or so I have had past experiences which have proven this statement to be true…)
Au revoir les poison jaune! See you when I get back…
Xoxo
Lo.
If I was the wife of any dead Rock-Star I’d be: June Carter Cash.
Sunday, June 1, 2008
give me a home where the buffalo roam
Home on the range. I just finished watching the latest trailer for The Dark Knight again. This time around I noticed the shot of Aaron Eckhart as Two-Face.
There are two Desiree Thrashes.
There is the Desiree Thrash who uses a metro pass to ride the subway for fun. A Desiree Thrash who is a “label whore”; who dreams of the day she will be able to afford to put a $500 charm on a $6000 piece of luggage. A Desiree who makes snarky comments about that addition to the ROM, and knows that it takes 55 minutes to get from Ossignton Station to York University. A Desiree who needs 4 strapless bras to get through the week, and has calluses where her pumps rub. This is the Desiree who worries that people judge her based on the state of her manicure, and buys 80 calorie skim milk over 90 calorie skim milk. She’s the Desiree who could watch the CN Tower from her patio for hours, and dreams of dating the guy in the band…
Then there is the Desiree Thrash who is sitting perched on a fence made from logs, watching her father mowing a field with his John Deer tractor. She wears her mother’s tube socks, and a pair of Daisy Duke’s. A Desiree that knows that $5 for a bale of hay is a lot, and recognizes a Fox snake when she sees one. This is the Desiree that had Olympic dreams, and a leopard-print saddle pad. She knows that getting hay in your bra is one of the most uncomfortable experiences in the world. She is the Desiree Thrash who used to ride her horse over jumps sitting backwards in the saddle. A Desiree who used to get right back up after she fell…
“I am at two with nature.” – Woody Allen
Signed,
Desiree Thrash x2
If I were a TTC subway stop I would be … Bay Station.
There are two Desiree Thrashes.
There is the Desiree Thrash who uses a metro pass to ride the subway for fun. A Desiree Thrash who is a “label whore”; who dreams of the day she will be able to afford to put a $500 charm on a $6000 piece of luggage. A Desiree who makes snarky comments about that addition to the ROM, and knows that it takes 55 minutes to get from Ossignton Station to York University. A Desiree who needs 4 strapless bras to get through the week, and has calluses where her pumps rub. This is the Desiree who worries that people judge her based on the state of her manicure, and buys 80 calorie skim milk over 90 calorie skim milk. She’s the Desiree who could watch the CN Tower from her patio for hours, and dreams of dating the guy in the band…
Then there is the Desiree Thrash who is sitting perched on a fence made from logs, watching her father mowing a field with his John Deer tractor. She wears her mother’s tube socks, and a pair of Daisy Duke’s. A Desiree that knows that $5 for a bale of hay is a lot, and recognizes a Fox snake when she sees one. This is the Desiree that had Olympic dreams, and a leopard-print saddle pad. She knows that getting hay in your bra is one of the most uncomfortable experiences in the world. She is the Desiree Thrash who used to ride her horse over jumps sitting backwards in the saddle. A Desiree who used to get right back up after she fell…
“I am at two with nature.” – Woody Allen
Signed,
Desiree Thrash x2
If I were a TTC subway stop I would be … Bay Station.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
