my secretive vagina

i just googled someone i used live near enough to conveniently fuck (and did whenever possible). and while he was neither nice nor particularly lovely as a person and certainly lacking in both good sense and discretion, he has requested the following from potential lovers:

secretive vaginas.

in order to fuck this dude one must have a secretive vagina. what on earth is a secretive vagina? i know i can trust my vagina to keep my secrets but i am not sure it’s willing to keep yours as well. what if you tell my vagina you killed someone…? it has an obligation to share that information with the appropriate authorities.

it’s so like him to be all reductive like that. women ARE their vaginas. i know i was nothing more than that to him. not that i’m complaining-he was nothing more than his sex organ to me either…

the point of all this: secretive vagina=hilarious!

*i googled him because he is an excellent photographer and was curious what he was up to and if he was still taking photos.

tonight on the vinyl cafe…

are you sick of me yet? sick of me raving about how happy i feel being in edmonton?

fuck you. i’m not sick of feeling happy to be in edmonton yet so i am going to continue to rave about it.

i have a story i long to tell but i can’t. i won’t. someday i will. someday i will tell it in a novel or a play or on a radio program. yes, someday i will tell that story on a radio program. it will go down in the annuls of my personal history. it will form the mythology of what makes me me. well, no, that’s a stretch but, it will always be funny and completely embarrassing and often a little bit sweet depending on how i tell it. i suspect it will endear me to an entire radio-listening populace. very “vinyl cafe”.

in the meantime i am fully obsessed with this song. it’s called “ahead of the curve” by monsters of folk. here are the lyrics.

Another perfect day
They keep pilin’ up
I got happiness that I can maintain
So beginner’s luck

I had shoes to fill
Walkin’ barefoot now
Can’t tell north from south
But no split hair’s gonna get me down

Stayin’ above the flat line
I’m ahead of the curve
Take a piece of the sunshine with me
On a redeye flight to another world

It isn’t any trouble
If you wanna come with me
I know it’s out of the question, honey
But I sure could use the company
And a place to be

Now the sky is pink
Rooftop swimmin’ pool
I’m not carefree, no
I’m free to care
I just never do

All the bags are checked
And the reasons why
Yesterday lingers on
That’s the piece you keep when you say goodbye

You can get what you want now
Knock it out of the park
Bury it by the river, easy
There’s a search party but it’s getting dark

I won’t hold you to nothin’
I wanna make that plane
Probably end up a stranger and crazy
But I’m still hopin’ there’s another way
And a place to stay

What the scene has got too sentimental
When the night comes
When the night comes loose
All the things you put upon the mantle
What a shame
What a shame
It’s old news

I’m stayin’ above the flatline
I’m ahead of the curve
Take a piece of the sunshine with me
On an all-night drive to another world

You can get what you want now
Knock it out of the park
Probably end up a drifter and lonely
But I’m still hoping for a change of heart
And a place
A place
A place
To start

this song was written by conor oberst, jim james, m. ward and mike mogis. it’s fantastic!

redemption song

i want to go on a rant. a tirade. a screaming fit that leaves me shaking on the floor, sweating and gasping for those final sweet breaths of oxygen. i want to write and write and write and write about why my work feels so utterly meaningless in the face of a world of professional mediocrity.

i want to weep for the loss of story telling, for the loss of simplicity and truthfulness, for the loss of passion and rigor.

i want to smoke a million cigarettes and wear flouncy impractical scarves and vegan leather pants. give in to pretentiousness and licentiousness and give up on hard work and instead suck a million cocks to reach the top. i want to become and functional but embarrassing addict of some sort. i want to have to go to rehab so someone will throw a silly booze soaked fundraiser for me because what the fuck else is the point?

but i can’t. i cannot write editorials and stand on chairs at either of those sweaty dank theatre bars and yell the truth at the top of my lungs. i care too much about working tomorrow. and i feel like an asshole for being such a raging hypocrite, for lying on a near-daily basis, for secretly blogging about this instead.

instead i yell in my car, i yell over the last gasp banjo of a sad sad song, i yell to my cat about how i have seen only four shows this year that moved me to feel anything beyond mildly entertained-and that’s when things are good. i yell at the open air and smoke the first cigarette i’ve had in a week. i yell to my mom. i yell and scream about simplicity and politics like i know better. i yell at no one because even if i yelled no one would listen. not listening is such an easy thing to do.

i understand why people would rather go to a movie and that rips my heart to shreds. it sounds melodramatic but it’s true and it’s hard not to melodramatic when honesty is so irreversibly lost.

warning: sexual content

you know something friends, there is nothing i love more than hearing from a friend that they are having the best sex of their life.

kudos to all the people having the best sex of their lives. live, friends! fuck! go wild! be spontaneous! love the pleasure you, another, a few others can give. we are biological. sex is instinct. your brain will kill it!

this is my tirade. send me emails, texts, fb messages, put it on twitter: i want to know that YOU are having the best sex you can be having in any given moment-even if it’s with yourself!

MWAH!

mk

apocolypse

a moment ago i found myself reminicsing about my first love-the first love of a 13-year-old future homewrecking romantic.

i wondered if he thought we might get married too. afterall don’t kids always imagine marrying their best opposite gender friend simply because they aren’t cousins.

cute right? too bad he turned into a slimey douche who at 30 is dating a 19 yr old… way to live the dream!

first loves are a funny thing.

p.s. i’m not 30.

right again!

I’ve been confused lately. I’m sure you have too, it seems to be the way of things. Such is life, right? Right.

But here I am sitting in the Calgary airport feeling sort of uncool to this punk kid until I realise he’s actually just a douche in a gold belt and something becomes insanely clear…

Now, it wasn’t the solid gold douche punk or the airport or the lack of sleep or the triple espresso…

Pause: I am thoroughly fascinated by the two couples sitting beside me to the point of distraction…

Anyway, what was a talking about? Oh yeah, confusion… So I’m here in the airport waiting to head to Toronto and have a mini break from heartbreak and annoyance and I’m being all silly and pretentious and hip circa 2001 reading chuck klosterman and it all becomes exceptionally clear:

I keep the confusion because it feels good. The uncertainty while feeling psychologically shitty leaves me feeling full of adreneline and delicious endorphines.

As per usual chuck’s got it right!

…maybe?

It was fisting afterall

i am beginning to understand why so few people finish “infinite jest”: it is impossibly miraculous but “clusterfucking” dense.

i suspect I was overly ambitious when stating I would have it finished by Christmas.

“clusterfucking” is now my favourite adjective. Thank you David Foster Wallace.

no sluts in november

it’s late and my brain is buzzing. i got an email from an old friend saying how glad she was that i would be spending a month back home and how she was so excited to hang out. we’ve known each other for 13 years and have been through a lot together. we’ve laughed and cried and seen each other grow up into incredibly awesome adults and yet given her highly judgemental nature and my past and utterly sentimental and masochistic personality all i wanted to yell was:

i am not a slut.

our friendship has changed a lot since those early days. the lives we lead could not be more opposite. history keeps us in touch and whenever she asks me if i am going to buy a house or get married i flash back to a time a couple of years ago when all i heard from her was slut. it was a hard time for me (for reasons i’d rather not go into) and i was having a lot of fun and we never saw eye to eye… i was devouring my life whole and she was taking small calculated bites. it was hard-in the time when i needed my best friend the most all i felt was a storm of judgement and scorn.

things are better now, but odd. strained. we’ve accepted that no matter where our lives lead us we will not see eye to eye. she is working on her second slice of pie still taking small bites and pacing herself for the long haul of kids and dogs and houses. i have gone through pies too numerous to count. i travel and i drink and i still have sex with people who aren’t going to end up as my boyfriend and i don’t know about kids and husbands and all that…

so i write this, knowing that in a very short amount of time we will meet over tea and i will coo for her new baby and we will talk about all the ways my life is so bizarre and she’ll ask me who i’m dating and my answer will be the same and the click of her tongue will say it all… and i will leave reminding myself that i love my life and i don’t want hers.

and this isn’t a judgement of her. i admire her resolve and in many ways i admire the stability (both emotionally and financially) that her life provides. and i know she has complications and stresses that i don’t understand and i respect her and every choice she has made with her life.

our history goes too deep to walk away from all that.

so i am making a plea… please ladies-and i include myself in this-let’s eradicate that nasty (slut) word from our vocabularies. it is cruel and misogynistic and horrifying.

we are lucky to have free will and while i am not advocating shooting heroin or killing people-i am saying that if you meet someone and want to have sex with them and you accept every possible consequence of that action then fucking go for it. (pun intended).

and not to get all heavy here but we as women need to stick together. sexual liberation’s still a pretty new concept in the grand scheme of things and if we’re kicking each other before we’ve even had a chance to stand proudly on our own two feet then we’ll never get anywhere. calling each other “slut” is a swift kick to the shins in a pair of platform stilettos.

and i am as guilty as the next person of tossing that awful word around and i am going to make a CONCERTED effort to stop using that word. whore too.

i love my life. i love my friends and i love our history. i am not walking away from anything i’m just dreading (just a little) what’s to come.

and suddenly it’s 3:30am. shit.

fuck yes

Anything you can do I can do better!

eeech.

i want to run naked through a graveyard.

want to?