desperate housewives remix v.2.0

i feel like an undervalued housewife these days. i clean up and i make sure she’s where she’s suppose to be and in return i get yelled at and have to deal with the constant barrage of stupid shit flung at me in an attempt to start a fight.

obviously i’m not blameless in this situation-when someone, especially family, picks a fight with me i don’t back down. it’s against my nature. i know what buttons to push and i push them.

i just want a “thank you” and a “michelle, what’s going on in your life” and maybe a recognition that there are other people in the world and that those other people have their own shit to deal with too.

*

i need a vacation. i want a vacation. i miss the excitement of the airport and boarding a plane and the curiosity about the person sitting beside you and all the new adventures that await.

i doubt i’ll get out of edmonton before may but having a trip in mind gives me something to look forward to.

toronto isn’t spain but it’ll still be super fun and may isn’t that far off. time flies and i’m so excited to see sarah and meet her husband and drink and dance with eli.

and get on an airplane. i love airports. time stands still in a terminal building and i’m all for it. we all need a momentary break from time right?

*

a while ago i was at my friend andy’s place and another friend of mine told me that my sex life indicates that i have ‘intimacy issues’…intimacy issues? what are, pop psychologists? i know i am but i don’t sit around in someone else’s living room eating chicken wings and making pronouncements about other people’s issues. shit, lately i’ve been keeping my mouth shut about things even when asked cuz i know when it’s not my place to share my opinion.

at first this didn’t bother me and i dismissed and andy came to my rescue and reminded her that even friendship was intimate and obviously was capable of intimacy. hell, 45min later they both witnessed me be totally dismissed by some random dude and be a little bit upset by the whole thing. y’know…

but here’s the catch. that shit stuck and i’ve been thinking about it since that night. it kind of hurt my feelings because it’s untrue.

in the past two years i have had my heart broken twice and it took a while to recover from. pardon me if i’m not running to get into another relationship and possibily get hurt. to assume that i am this intimacy cripple is hurtful and untrue.

whine whine.

 oh yeah, and this girl thinks that sex releases hormones that make women attached to the men that they have sex with. can someone point me in the direction of some scholarly research to prove this. i’m gonna google that shit later.

*

i’ve been writing this post for like 100 days so i’m gonna end it.

it’s -32 celcius here with the windchill today. get some blankets and a movie and snuggle up. we’re in for a cold night…

merry christmas?

so? i was bored. i think it’s hilarious. i hope your christmas stocking does too.

xxx michelle.

this is me…

…procrastinating like crazy.

 i don’t have much to say except that the actual act of writing is hard for me. i find it so solitary and as a result i am very easily distracted. thank god i don’t have a television here otherwise i’d watch anything just to distract me.

i’ve been all about spazzy aggressive music lately…i wonder what the deal is with that.

i also wonder why i cared about a hockey shoot-out to such an extent that i was actually biting my nails. meh…hockey games are fun so who cares. i just hate the slogan ‘welcome to oil country’ cuz if the rest of the country didn’t think albertans were a bunch of silly hicks…

 and holy crap were there every an abundance of cowboy hats in attendance last night. weird.

 anyways, happy sunday friends. hope you’re all happy, healthy and enjoying life!

xo michelle.

it’s a play! it’s a goddamn play!

so yeah, i’m writing a play. or adapting a play but whatever.

i’ve got 26 pages and i’m just over half done my first draft and that’s already more than i’ve ever written ever.

i decided i’d post a little preview for y’all if you’re interested. read on and feel free to leave feedback and remember, it’s a first draft.

ubu roi by alfred jarry

adaptation by michelle kennedy

prologue:

mc:      tomorrow and tomorrow creeps in this petty pace to the last syllable of recorded time and all our yesterdays light the way to dusty death…or something. OUT Out damn spot light candle! life is but a walking shadow a poor player that struts and frets his hour and then is heard no more. it is a tale told by a complete douche bag full of sound and fucking fury signifying absolutely nothing.            

 or so the story goes. or so the story goes. it’s suppose to start with a loud reverberating SHIT but who’s offended by that anymore? maybe I should have just come out on stage and shown you all my cunt sparing all of us that little moment of literature a la Mr. Shakespeare and yours truly.

           

so I’m your MC for the evening (God, we’re full of “classic” theatre references already aren’t we…clever, clever, clever). I’m not going to take off my clothes but if you’re lucky a nipple might slip out or one of my labia might  sneak out of my tiny panties during an excessively upbeat dance routine but I am certainly not going to voluntarily flash my vag all over the place. I’m hardly being paid enough (if anything) and I’m sure a hot lady in her panties is more than most of you will be getting after the show. hell, if I can provide a little midnight masturbation mood music I’m happy to oblige.

           

Where was I? Jesus Christ! ok, so I’m your mc for the evening and I’m going to guide you all through this little adventure. here’s the plan: we’re going to tell you  a little story. The original “plot structure” came from that English dude you know the one…we talked about him before and I fucked once in 1616. heh… anyways, our little story was then “spoofed” (and perhaps bastardized depending on how hard the classics make you) by this nutty little French guy. not artaud, but can you imagine. HOLY SHIT! and then we took and reconfigured the whole thing one more goddamned time! and here we are, in our panties, for you!

            This is a story of sex, love, violence, death, political corruption, dance, sex and maybe, just maybe a little bit of rock and roll because shit, what’s life without a little bit of mood music. that’s the second time I said something about mood music. we’re gonna swear a lot, simulate some sex acts you’ve only seen on the internet and hopefully we’re going to leave you beaten, bloody, wet, hard and maybe, just maybe thinking up a storm. Or at least sufficiently pissed off to write a gnarly review on your silly little blogs.

there’s almost 3 full acts completed that follow this but i’m not gonna post it all. if you want to read the rest lemme know and i’ll email it to you.

xo michelle.

p.s. sorry the formatting is kinda fucked. i’m not good at that shit.

on tour!

apparently the blood brothers are on tour right now. can someone click that link and tell me if they’re coming to edmitten. thanks.

today the blood brothers seem like the perfect soundtrack to procrastination.

i was listening to stupid sonic this morning on my way here and they called three days grace a legendary band. i almost puked all over my steering wheel. apparently it takes nothing more than a couple of shitty release to elevate your status to that of legend.

christ. some people’s kids eh?

“legendary” is such a frightening/alienating label.

and the fact that ANYONE would call three days grace legendary is actually just INSANE.

 that’s all i have to say.

oh, that and i used to really like metric but then they released their shitty boring new album and i saw their shitty boring live show and now i hate them. hating them is bad because hating them paints all the old songs i used to like in that same vomit off-yellow colour. sad.

is this taking the high road.

i love the melodrama of rejection. it’s so hilarious.

i don’t know if i should be upset (and i was for about 2.4 seconds) but mostly i just find it funny. apparently the invitation of a drink is tantamount to me expressing a desire for eternal love or some such thing.

 holy overblown sense of how awesome you sure aren’t.

 apparently it’s pretty hard to just say, ‘thanks for the blowjob and the drunk fuck but i’m not down for a drink. take care and i’m sure i’ll see you around’…

i suppose now i’ll just wash my sheets and move on to the million other people who have no interest in having anything to do with me but are so totally desirable for that very reason.

ha ha. boys are so silly. silly drama queens.

xo michelle

it kinda makes sex sad.

james and i went to see “shortbus” the other night.

such a good movie.

as i was walking home i started thinking about my own sexual relationships and what those people have meant to me, if anything, and how i felt about it. i regret nothing i’ve done, however “irresponsible” but there was a part of me that wished some things, some experiences had been different.

 and i was feeling sad for reasons that had nothing to do with sex or shortbus or anything. just sad.

after you cross the railroad tracks on a tuesday night whyte ave is a depressing place. abandoned stores that just missed the cool part of the ave, lacking in appeal to drunk frat boys and the same people passed out on the same corner as they were when i walked past two hours earlier. do they not feel the cold?

 my feet were cold and i was crying as i walked home and i wanted a drink and a smoke. i stopped crying and popped into the liqour store on my way home. i figured it was important to stop crying because if i was the man behind the counter and i saw me, black eye make-up streaming down my face, skinny jeans and a bottle of red wine i’d figure i was contributing to some misguided suicide attempt.

 so i get a bottle of wine, leave the store, and cry. nick calls and i needed that and we talk for a bit and he makes me feel good like he always does and i realise again how lucky i am to have him in my life. i realise again how much i love him.

i get home and take off all my clothes save for a tank top and panties. i feel like i’m in a sad indie movie. there i am sitting on my couch in the dark in a black tank top and black bootie shorts weeping, drinking red wine, smoking and listening to bright eyes.

 yes, i was listening to bright eyes. perhaps it was some sort of misguided emotional suicide attempt. ha ha.

i think i just needed a good cry. the kind of cry that shakes your entire body and makes you ache. it’s a sadness i feel every once in a while and there is a part of me that relishes in those moments because they feel so ‘real’. god, that sounds so fucking cheesy i know but it does. i feel that shit completely.

i filed this under emo for a reason but sometimes we all need a good cry, no?

michelle.

inter-office dancyparty

so i changed the name. i made this one up all on my own. i stole the other from a review of some random HELLA single. i like the new one more.

the cynic

repost from october 30, 2006

adore me?

fuck you! you can’t adore me. you don’t even know me.

adoration is so silly anyways. love me or hate but don’t waste my time (or your own) adoring me.

what you feel for me is hardly adoration. you look down your nose at me like a silly child and i let you because i know what game you’re playing. you and i both get off on it darling so i’ll let it continue but don’t fool yourself into thinking that i don’t know how it really is.

you look so cute after you’ve lost it all over my face but it’s the meaness in you i like. it’s the meaness that keeps you in my life.

the way i figure it we’re both pretty stupid.

but you don’t adore me, so don’t be so fucking glib about it all.

a verbal slap across the face makes us both feel better.

with…adoration?
michelle.

scarification

repost from october 15, 2006

that’s the big news.

and the next step i suppose.

according to the bme encyclopedia:
Cutting is one of the two most common types of scarification (see also: Skin Removal). Cutting consists of drawing a predefined design on the skin via usage of a surgical blade or scalpel. Cutting for negative emotional reasons is considered self-harm.

let’s repeat that: cutting for negative emotional reasons is considered self-harm.

that’s not what we’re getting up to here. i’m getting cut for really positive reasons.

some back story:
i’ve got some tattoos and some piercings, i’m no longer scared off things based on pain alone.

ryan my fantastic piercer posted a bulletin on myspace that he was learning how to do scarification and wanted some living breathing people to cut open for a reasonable price (scarification is usually HELLA expensive) and i got curious. i didn’t decided right away that i was going to do it. i did a bunch of research and went in and talked to ryan, looked at the scapel, and finally decided i was down, or up, or whatever. the thing is, i really trust ryan. he’s had needles and hands on all the most intimate parts of my body and never once have i felt uncomfortable or have i been put in needless pain or felt pressured to do anything i didn’t want to do. i got my hood pierced cuz i wanted it and now i’m doing this cuz i want it.

and it is a postive thing. life leaves scars on our body so we may as well embrace them and make them our own and embrace life’s power to leave it’s mark. yes, i’m pushing it a step forward but it’s exciting.

i’m also super stoked on the artwork. i’m getting three sparrows (traditional american tattoo style) on my left thigh. in my research i came to discover that sparrows were awarded to sailors based on the distance they had travelled. each sparrow tattoo was equivalent to 5000 nautical miles travelled.

three sparrows=15 000 nautical miles.

no, i haven’t travelled 15 000 nautical miles in my 25 years on this planet but fuck, life’s a journey and triangles are a nice shape. : ) i may as well document the journey however long it’s going to end up being.

it’s an adventure.

got questions? ask me and don’t make assumptions about my emotional state or a love of pain…

i told a former sexual partner of mine about it and he told me he’d come and cut me up for free if i all wanted to get hurt. that’s bullshit. fucking pissed me off. this is going to be a really intense and positive experience for me and i just want people to understand that. i’m not asking you to do it to or even like that i’m doing it. keep your fucking judgements to yourself and if you’ve got questions, ask me. i’ll answer them as best i can.

much love on this fine evening.

michelle.