11.30.2003
So. I went over to Dash’s place. Crashed his future date. Got him to massage me. Bought wine and food. We drank the wine and then Stacey came over. I sent her to the store for mix and cigarettes and I got a quart of gin.
We called people in Dash’s little black book. We were definitely selective. We listened to oddly matched music. People came over. They brought more gin. I drank. More people came. I drank. And then all of a sudden. And this rarely happens. I mean rarely. It has happened. Come on. All of a sudden I was seeing double.
“I think I need to lay down.” Dash offered me his bed. I was about to sleep and then my friends came in and started asking questions about how I felt. They brought me water. Which is really nice. Since water is so good. Up and down up and down.
“Ummmm. Stacy. Could you bring me something to puke in please?”
She brought me a wooden bowl.
“That’s not going to happen,” I said. “Could you bring a bucket?”
“Clo--debt.” And out the door “SHE WANTS A BUCKET!”
She brought me a garbage can. I threw up.
“I’m going to bed now, could you bring me something to put my contacts in?”
“SHE WANTS SOMETHING TO PUT HER CONTACTS IN!”
I put my contacts in two plastic cups.
“Could you please clean out this puke and bring back the bucket except this time could you line it with a Sobey’s bag?”
I laid down. The party raged. Everyone went to Bella Muse. The party raged.
I woke up. And flopped around for my contacts. I knocked one of the plastic cups over. Which always happens. I once drank my contact lense because it was in a glass and I was thirsty and there was the sink. So. I knocked one of the plastic cups over. It went under the bed. I looked around for the plastic cup. There was nothing in it. Should I bother looking for the contact. Yes, I should. I groped around for the contact and found it. I have super duper feeling in my fingers. I brought it out and squinted. My hand had 5 long Swedishy blond hairs in it. Hi Dash.
I went to the bathroom and put in my contacts. I talked to myself. Since no one else was there. I said stuff like “You are stone cold sober.” And then I would chuckle.
I looked at the clock. 5:12 am. “Lame” I said. That’s my new word. So is “horrid little bitch” which is reserved for people I really hate and people I really love.
I went to Bella Muse. Apparently there were a lot of people there at one point and it was a lot of fun. I drank about 5 glasses of water and went home.
On my street a drunk guy looked at me and said “Whoa, them some crazy socks. Yup. Crazy.”
They are knee socks and they are black. There is nothing crazy about them.
6:25 AM
11.27.2003
I fell off the bed.
I stole a tampon from the staff washroom at the bank.
I jumped up and down with dogs.
1:29 PM
11.23.2003
I’m in one of “those moods.” Which means I can’t talk. And I feel so awkward around people I call friends. Today my parents came over with my sister to pick up a printer. I haven’t seen my sister in two months. I am afraid they’ll see something that will explain me. So I answer their questions with half smiles. To get them out quickly. After they left I went to my room and sat on the floor and cried.
My mother called later. She said my sister was excited to see me. She wanted to tell me all about school. But I was so mean, she wanted to leave.
I called my sister. I asked her if she wanted to hang out this weekend. She said she was busy. I said maybe a movie. Yeah I could do that, maybe a movie. Her voice told me I’ve done this too much.
10:34 PM
11.21.2003
Alyssa and Roach.
Backstage burlesque
moi
We are going to fix this purple sepia. You just wait. This is Sara, from Tits Ahoy!<
Alyssa
Fishnets over top of legs. Common.
Noni
AJ and Erin
ahhhhh
Tobin. At the Burlesque after dance. Possibly drunk.
Nat. On her bike after the first show on our way to a dumb party, where high pitched girls kept asking. "Do you go to Nascad?" "NO. Do YOU go to Nascad?"
Me again.
Philip, the night after the Hurricaine, setting up before he jungled down the street. Five minutes after I took this photo, a woman leaned out of her window and screamed "Would you shut that thing off!"
Ahhhh. Finn. We miss Finn. A lot.
Nancy!
6:50 PM
11.20.2003
No really, I'm alright.
2:49 AM
11.19.2003
Breakin’ in the Boots
The heels of both my feet are peeled clean. I’ve been walking like Robert Man to avoid any more scrapping, keeping my knees stiff. Ouuuhhh, uphill was so hard. When I took off my boots, the heels had new pink skin underneath and leftovers around the edge. I walked through the office in my sock feet and grabbed four Elastoplast sterile strip bandages, sterility guaranteed gauze pads, and surgical tape from the First Aid Kit.
My office mate squealed.
“Oh! Here! We have some Hydrogen Peroxide, use that.”
“I do not need hydrogen peroxide. I am not diseased nor infected.”
“Ohhhh, but I want to see it fizz, it’ll be fun.”
I packed on the bandages.
“Why don’t you use bubble wrap?” she said.
“Bubble wrap, eh.”
I cut out two large squares and surgical taped them to my heels.
Now I am walking around with bubble wrapped feet. Nice. I hope they pop.
3:28 PM
11.18.2003
I will be jobless and homeless February 1. Winter is a great time to do some reflecting. But I prefer to be on the beaches of Thailand or dodging the Vietnamese Secret Police, who will surely be following due to the “Foreign Journalist” stamp I’ll be sporting. I have $900. That will get me to somewhere over the Indian Ocean and then they’ll have to dump me due to “lack of funds.”
I am deathly afraid of not going. “They,” “It” “Advice Proverbs” say you should always do what you’re afraid of. But that makes no sense. Stay in Halifax? That’s what I’m fucking afraid of. This place is like a mechanic spitball. Suck you in, spit you out. I need to save my money. I’m desperate now. Here’s how.
1. Internet Porn. I don’t mind faking buckets of come by pouring milk down my chin.
2. Sell my washing machine. My parents bought me a washing machine 3 years ago. Weird. I know. It’s now sitting in their garage. That’s an easy $100.
3. Follow my friend Shawn around town until he pays me the $400 he owes me from 19 months ago. Hello? Friend? That’s a month of opium sniffing and Pad Thai.
4. Stop eating. When a bowl of rice costs 50 cents. Believe it. I can catch up.
5. Dump my friends. They’re expensive.
6. Stop smoking. Fuck.
7. Stop drinking. Fuck.
8. Sell my beautiful early 80s tight green ski jacket, the one my parents hate so so much and once told me they'd thrown out, while they stood real close to me and grinned like drunk crazies. Yeah sell it on e-bay. Or better yet, sell it to my parents under the guise that they can throw it out, and then beg for it back.
9. Except if I stop smoking, I’ll have to take up crack to ease the edge. Ditch 6.
10. Steal a boa constrictor, blackmail the owner (snake people get real close to their snakes). Steal those pit bull puppies on Agricola St and sell them.
11. Find a boyfriend who will let me live at his house for free (or practically cheap), starting tomorrow so I can save on rent.
12. If I don’t get to go to Asia in February, I’m breaking up with the world. Any suggestions?
2:31 PM
11.10.2003
Last night we made pasties for the burlesque show. Pasties are not the gross stuff in your mouth after drug doing. They are the things you glue to your nipples.
(Pasty Party: Definition: Hot women lifting their shirts and saying "How does that look?" Lots of ohhing and ahhing and "They make you want to take your clothes off.")
I walked in and someone said "Let's listen to burlesque music." "No," I said, "Let's not listen to burlesque music."
We made them out of plastic yogurt tops. I had to be there at 4:00pm. So I set my alarm for 3:55. I looked in the fridge and grabbed the top of the coconut yogurt container and the top of the margarine container. There was margarine all over my container. I didn't have time to clean it off. I decided to make the easiest pasties possible (READ: FIVE EMPTY BOTTLES OF WINE. CRAFTS: NOT MY THING). Except glue guns are fun. Anyway. I was rolling black sequins around this pointy plastic thing I'd cut out to fit over my nipples (I'm still not sure how I feel about that). It wasn't going well. There was strings of glue everywhere, the sequins are all mashed up.
"My pasties look like shit," I said.
"You're not the only one," said the girl next to me. "Fucking ghetto pasties."
I laughed forever.
2:06 PM
He also noticed something no one ever notices. Earlier in the night, he stayed by my side, and although he doesn’t smile often, I made him smile. Often. He saw me float away, away. Until I was just blank.
Sometimes it is hard to keep my body and my mind in the same place. They like to sep-ar-ate. He came and sat beside me. He said. “I know, I know. The world sucks.” A little, but a lot.
But lately sex leaves me feeling cold. I have an incapacity.
I remain as distant as possible.
The scent of someone can stay on your skin, even after two showers. We had sex three times. At one point he used his hand as a blindfold. That’s how you get a groan out of me.
He said, “Balance lust with love.”
Sure, I'll try, but that's not really my style.
1:24 PM
11.09.2003
Let me clear some things up. Tobin has a lawyer now.
Tobin paid his rent. It's for water and electric bills. I assume there's no heat bill SINCE THE LANDLORD DIDN'T PROVIDE HEAT LAST WINTER ALTHOUGH HE KEPT SAYING HE WOULD.
They were in the process of discussing a trade-off, CONSIDERING TOBIN HAS DONE A YEAR'S WORTH OF RENOVATIONS, WORTH THOUSANDS OF DOLLARS TO TURN A SHITHOLE OF A WAREHOUSE INTO A REALLY NICE ART SPACE. Wow, lucky landlord.
But anyway, the Bella Muse is probably not going to open again. Because even if Tobin comes up with the money or somehow is able to get his lawyer to fight it that only means he'll be able to get back all of his stuff; tools (worth thousands of dollars and part of his livlihood) his bed, bathtub, fridges, toilets, and eveything else. But it doesn't matter if he gets the money because...
THE LANDLORD WANTS THE SPACE FOR HIMSELF
7:55 PM
11.07.2003
I just bit into a rotten carrot. I had cold peas for supper.
I exist on hard-boiled eggs.
The landlord just shut down Bella Muse. He ripped out the phone and he's tearing it up. They've been having 'disputes.' And Tobin is in Ontario. Sneaky shit.
6:31 PM
“You’re fucking cranky today, Clodette.”
“Yes, I am. Funny, isn’t it.”
“Ha! What’s funny is you making out with _______.”
“Yeah, you’re right, that is funny.”
“Just be careful, don’t have sex with him.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s evil. You know how some people are bad and they try to be good. He tries to be evil.”
“I don’t care, that’s his business.”
“Clodette, you don’t understand. He tries to fuck with people. He fucks with their minds. He’s fucked with some of the girls he’s been with.”
“So do I. Who cares?"
“Yeah, and he knows that so it’s a challenge.”
“I’m not naïve.”
“He’s a manipulator.”
“I’ve had lots of experience with manipulators.”
“I’m just saying, Clodette. Jeez, you ARE cranky.”
1:24 PM
A little while ago a man pissed on the toilet. When I came back from the bathroom, he was sitting in my seat. I asked him to get up and I told him to stop pissing on the toilet.
I wish everyone would stop pissing on the fucking toilet.
11:52 AM
11.06.2003
I haven’t talked to T in over a year. I miss him. But I deserve it. We went out for a few months almost 3 years ago. Except I had a boyfriend living in Ottawa, that I’d been with for 2 years. So, for about 11 months I went back and forth between Alex and T. I couldn’t choose. It was fucking terrible. I was fucking terrible.
All of it I created for myself. Remembrance Week 1999 to be specific. Holy fuck. Alex came to visit. I was sooooo nervous. I’d been cheating, cheating, cheating. We went to visit his friends in New Brunswick. We were on mushrooms and I sat on his lap on the floor in the bathroom. “Have you had sex with anyone else?” I asked. We looked at one another for a moment. “Yes, Claudette, I have.”
“Yeah. Well,” I said, “I’ve been fucking someone for the last 3 months.”
And here come the next two years of my life, crusted to those words.
Alex and I had a very, ummmmm, sexually jealous relationship. I was able to get over it, or at least deal with it. He was not.
He said he didn’t care if I fucked other people, but he cared if I cared about them. And I cared about T. And I kept him hanging on even though I was with Alex.
So back and forth. Even from Ottawa, I would secretly email T and tell him I was coming home, which I thought I was. But I wasn’t. T said “That guy has a hold over you and I don’t know what it is.” T had to move to Vancouver. Alex and I broke up 6 months later. T and I kept in touch. We had plans. I was going to move to Vancouver and we were going to have sex everyday and go to film school. But I kept putting it off. And I kept getting boyfriends. And T would hear about them through our friends because I still couldn’t tell the truth. And I took him for granted. A year and a half ago he told me he didn’t trust me anymore and he was with someone else.
I hurt two people very much. And now one of them is dead and the other never wants to speak to me again. It sounds weird, but that’s kind of how I thought it would end out. Not a conscience thought, more like a nagging dread I tried to ignore. For a time after Alex died I really wanted to talk to T. I wanted to say, “DO YOU UNDERSTAND NOW!? DO YOU BELIEVE ME NOW?!”
11:58 AM
11.05.2003
Open Relationships
I know a guy in an open relationship. He’s been my friend for about 3 years. He’s been incredibly kind with me and I adore him. He gives me really tight long hugs.
We were at a cottage party this summer in Blandford right beside the ocean. A lot of us were on mushrooms. We played in the woods and the fire. I went off by myself, slipping down the rocks, high as hell, on wet bubble seaweed because I wanted to sit in a whirl pool spot for a while. I remember feeling afraid of breaking my ankle and considered turning around. But I really, really wanted to feel the water. And I did.
On mushrooms there comes a time when you really really need a joint. I didn’t have any pot. My friend always has pot. He said he wanted to smoke a joint with me. So we sat on the porch and talked. He told me he loved me. That I was beautiful. His eyes were big and happy. He told me that he wanted to spend more time with me. That I was one of the best people in this city and that he felt close to me. He said I was like a cross between a sister and a lover.
He talked about his relationship with his girlfriend. He said his girlfriend was upset because he wants to sleep with other women. I said if you want to sleep with other women, then maybe you should break up with her. He said he would but she wants to stay. They kind of go back and forth. She doesn’t want to leave and she’s trying to accept his decision. He says he loves many women. I understand this. I know lots of people who are in love with many people. Which makes perfect sense to me. I think declaring you love one person (for 3 months or 6 years or whatever) is retarded and restrictive. I’m not saying you shouldn’t be in a monogamous relationship, I just think that thinking that this is “it” lacks insight. Because if you’re actually in a healthy relationship (which is really fucking rare) then you probably have a life outside of your lover, which means you’re independent and responsive to others, which means you’re bound to fall in love with other people (not to say you’ll stop loving the person you’re with).
So anyway, conversation ended. More people started to sit around us. His girlfriend, whom I know and like a lot came over. But here’s what gets me. Women know. We’re not naïve. We can tell when. And she knew her boyfriend was attracted to me. But she probably likes me too. And she agreed to be there, with him, with his decision, right? Right. But she looked so sad, like this was hard. And it probably is. I talked to her for a bit, but she seemed closed. Not angry or jealous, just tired. And it broke my heart. I wanted to hug her and say, “don’t worry please.”
My friend and I are attracted to one another. A gentle attraction. I've known something would happen for a while, I just didn't know when. Well, it happened. We kissed and made out, the way you do when you've been waiting for a long time. But I think about his girlfriend. And I feel a little strange about it. Because I have my own feelings and desires, but it's very easy for me to feel what someone else feels. And to feel conflicted.
Basically the only way “open” relationships work, is if both people want it to be open.
11:57 AM
11.04.2003
What kind of woman doesn’t have pink stockings?
I need red and pink lacey things for the Burlesque.* So I went to Value Village with Alyssa. Nothing. I wish someone would open a red store, where you can find everything red or reddish; red pillows, pink crinolen, red velvet, pink satin, red feathers, pink leather. I started thinking about my crappy lingerie. And how it was all over the floor. And it’s mostly just black. And not very soft. Cause soft costs money. I need to pay more attention to that kind of stuff. I should have started collecting vintage underpants and silky gloves back in 1989. I should own a pair of pink thigh high stockings. I really should.
*yes, there will be 28 sets of naked tits dancing, Nov. 14, 15 at the Vimy Legion.
12:56 PM
11.03.2003
On Saturday Night a couple of ya-hoos were hitting on us. They were drunk. One of them looked at me and said “Oh look, pretty curly hair, we can’t talk to her cause her hair is curly.” That makes no fucking sense. My hair is not even curly. Moron. Then one of them was pushing against my friend and telling her she was beautiful over and over again and she was kind of shielding herself. And they wouldn’t leave her alone. And I was like, “Ummm, could you guys like go back to your hotel or something?….that’s right….go. Go on.”
My friend told me I’m “ruthless.” And then these other guys in the parking lot bought 5 cigarettes for 5 bucks. Don’t you think that’s the most stupid thing? Why the hell would you do that? I told him he was stupid.
_______________________________________________
The bathroom turned out to be the best part about Hallowe’en. He followed me in twice. The first time he just pushed his way in. Pushing and aggression work really well with me. I like men who take control. So he pushed me rough against the sink and ran his hands gently over my breast, bit my neck. He has big brown eyes. We made out for a while then I had to pee.
“I have to pee,” I said. So I lifted my skirt. I was finding it really hard to pee.
“I’m having a really hard time peeing,” I said.
“What should I do?”
“Maybe you should turn around.”
He turned around.
“That’s just not working. I think you should sing me a song.”
And he did. He sang a song with lyrics and everything.
The second time we met in the bathroom, we were there for quite a bit. And we went way further.
______________________________________________
Stacey and I are making a zine. It’s called “Your boyfriend likes me.”
2:08 PM
11.01.2003
Hallowe'en 2003. I am a very dirty girl.
9:27 PM
So. I went over to Dash’s place. Crashed his future date. Got him to massage me. Bought wine and food. We drank the wine and then Stacey came over. I sent her to the store for mix and cigarettes and I got a quart of gin.
We called people in Dash’s little black book. We were definitely selective. We listened to oddly matched music. People came over. They brought more gin. I drank. More people came. I drank. And then all of a sudden. And this rarely happens. I mean rarely. It has happened. Come on. All of a sudden I was seeing double.
“I think I need to lay down.” Dash offered me his bed. I was about to sleep and then my friends came in and started asking questions about how I felt. They brought me water. Which is really nice. Since water is so good. Up and down up and down.
“Ummmm. Stacy. Could you bring me something to puke in please?”
She brought me a wooden bowl.
“That’s not going to happen,” I said. “Could you bring a bucket?”
“Clo--debt.” And out the door “SHE WANTS A BUCKET!”
She brought me a garbage can. I threw up.
“I’m going to bed now, could you bring me something to put my contacts in?”
“SHE WANTS SOMETHING TO PUT HER CONTACTS IN!”
I put my contacts in two plastic cups.
“Could you please clean out this puke and bring back the bucket except this time could you line it with a Sobey’s bag?”
I laid down. The party raged. Everyone went to Bella Muse. The party raged.
I woke up. And flopped around for my contacts. I knocked one of the plastic cups over. Which always happens. I once drank my contact lense because it was in a glass and I was thirsty and there was the sink. So. I knocked one of the plastic cups over. It went under the bed. I looked around for the plastic cup. There was nothing in it. Should I bother looking for the contact. Yes, I should. I groped around for the contact and found it. I have super duper feeling in my fingers. I brought it out and squinted. My hand had 5 long Swedishy blond hairs in it. Hi Dash.
I went to the bathroom and put in my contacts. I talked to myself. Since no one else was there. I said stuff like “You are stone cold sober.” And then I would chuckle.
I looked at the clock. 5:12 am. “Lame” I said. That’s my new word. So is “horrid little bitch” which is reserved for people I really hate and people I really love.
I went to Bella Muse. Apparently there were a lot of people there at one point and it was a lot of fun. I drank about 5 glasses of water and went home.
On my street a drunk guy looked at me and said “Whoa, them some crazy socks. Yup. Crazy.”
They are knee socks and they are black. There is nothing crazy about them.
6:25 AM
11.27.2003
I fell off the bed.
I stole a tampon from the staff washroom at the bank.
I jumped up and down with dogs.
1:29 PM
11.23.2003
I’m in one of “those moods.” Which means I can’t talk. And I feel so awkward around people I call friends. Today my parents came over with my sister to pick up a printer. I haven’t seen my sister in two months. I am afraid they’ll see something that will explain me. So I answer their questions with half smiles. To get them out quickly. After they left I went to my room and sat on the floor and cried.
My mother called later. She said my sister was excited to see me. She wanted to tell me all about school. But I was so mean, she wanted to leave.
I called my sister. I asked her if she wanted to hang out this weekend. She said she was busy. I said maybe a movie. Yeah I could do that, maybe a movie. Her voice told me I’ve done this too much.
10:34 PM
11.21.2003
Alyssa and Roach.
Backstage burlesque
moi
We are going to fix this purple sepia. You just wait. This is Sara, from Tits Ahoy!<
Alyssa
Fishnets over top of legs. Common.
Noni
AJ and Erin
ahhhhh
Tobin. At the Burlesque after dance. Possibly drunk.
Nat. On her bike after the first show on our way to a dumb party, where high pitched girls kept asking. "Do you go to Nascad?" "NO. Do YOU go to Nascad?"
Me again.
Philip, the night after the Hurricaine, setting up before he jungled down the street. Five minutes after I took this photo, a woman leaned out of her window and screamed "Would you shut that thing off!"
Ahhhh. Finn. We miss Finn. A lot.
Nancy!
6:50 PM
11.20.2003
No really, I'm alright.
2:49 AM
11.19.2003
Breakin’ in the Boots
The heels of both my feet are peeled clean. I’ve been walking like Robert Man to avoid any more scrapping, keeping my knees stiff. Ouuuhhh, uphill was so hard. When I took off my boots, the heels had new pink skin underneath and leftovers around the edge. I walked through the office in my sock feet and grabbed four Elastoplast sterile strip bandages, sterility guaranteed gauze pads, and surgical tape from the First Aid Kit.
My office mate squealed.
“Oh! Here! We have some Hydrogen Peroxide, use that.”
“I do not need hydrogen peroxide. I am not diseased nor infected.”
“Ohhhh, but I want to see it fizz, it’ll be fun.”
I packed on the bandages.
“Why don’t you use bubble wrap?” she said.
“Bubble wrap, eh.”
I cut out two large squares and surgical taped them to my heels.
Now I am walking around with bubble wrapped feet. Nice. I hope they pop.
3:28 PM
11.18.2003
I will be jobless and homeless February 1. Winter is a great time to do some reflecting. But I prefer to be on the beaches of Thailand or dodging the Vietnamese Secret Police, who will surely be following due to the “Foreign Journalist” stamp I’ll be sporting. I have $900. That will get me to somewhere over the Indian Ocean and then they’ll have to dump me due to “lack of funds.”
I am deathly afraid of not going. “They,” “It” “Advice Proverbs” say you should always do what you’re afraid of. But that makes no sense. Stay in Halifax? That’s what I’m fucking afraid of. This place is like a mechanic spitball. Suck you in, spit you out. I need to save my money. I’m desperate now. Here’s how.
1. Internet Porn. I don’t mind faking buckets of come by pouring milk down my chin.
2. Sell my washing machine. My parents bought me a washing machine 3 years ago. Weird. I know. It’s now sitting in their garage. That’s an easy $100.
3. Follow my friend Shawn around town until he pays me the $400 he owes me from 19 months ago. Hello? Friend? That’s a month of opium sniffing and Pad Thai.
4. Stop eating. When a bowl of rice costs 50 cents. Believe it. I can catch up.
5. Dump my friends. They’re expensive.
6. Stop smoking. Fuck.
7. Stop drinking. Fuck.
8. Sell my beautiful early 80s tight green ski jacket, the one my parents hate so so much and once told me they'd thrown out, while they stood real close to me and grinned like drunk crazies. Yeah sell it on e-bay. Or better yet, sell it to my parents under the guise that they can throw it out, and then beg for it back.
9. Except if I stop smoking, I’ll have to take up crack to ease the edge. Ditch 6.
10. Steal a boa constrictor, blackmail the owner (snake people get real close to their snakes). Steal those pit bull puppies on Agricola St and sell them.
11. Find a boyfriend who will let me live at his house for free (or practically cheap), starting tomorrow so I can save on rent.
12. If I don’t get to go to Asia in February, I’m breaking up with the world. Any suggestions?
2:31 PM
11.10.2003
Last night we made pasties for the burlesque show. Pasties are not the gross stuff in your mouth after drug doing. They are the things you glue to your nipples.
(Pasty Party: Definition: Hot women lifting their shirts and saying "How does that look?" Lots of ohhing and ahhing and "They make you want to take your clothes off.")
I walked in and someone said "Let's listen to burlesque music." "No," I said, "Let's not listen to burlesque music."
We made them out of plastic yogurt tops. I had to be there at 4:00pm. So I set my alarm for 3:55. I looked in the fridge and grabbed the top of the coconut yogurt container and the top of the margarine container. There was margarine all over my container. I didn't have time to clean it off. I decided to make the easiest pasties possible (READ: FIVE EMPTY BOTTLES OF WINE. CRAFTS: NOT MY THING). Except glue guns are fun. Anyway. I was rolling black sequins around this pointy plastic thing I'd cut out to fit over my nipples (I'm still not sure how I feel about that). It wasn't going well. There was strings of glue everywhere, the sequins are all mashed up.
"My pasties look like shit," I said.
"You're not the only one," said the girl next to me. "Fucking ghetto pasties."
I laughed forever.
2:06 PM
He also noticed something no one ever notices. Earlier in the night, he stayed by my side, and although he doesn’t smile often, I made him smile. Often. He saw me float away, away. Until I was just blank.
Sometimes it is hard to keep my body and my mind in the same place. They like to sep-ar-ate. He came and sat beside me. He said. “I know, I know. The world sucks.” A little, but a lot.
But lately sex leaves me feeling cold. I have an incapacity.
I remain as distant as possible.
The scent of someone can stay on your skin, even after two showers. We had sex three times. At one point he used his hand as a blindfold. That’s how you get a groan out of me.
He said, “Balance lust with love.”
Sure, I'll try, but that's not really my style.
1:24 PM
11.09.2003
Let me clear some things up. Tobin has a lawyer now.
Tobin paid his rent. It's for water and electric bills. I assume there's no heat bill SINCE THE LANDLORD DIDN'T PROVIDE HEAT LAST WINTER ALTHOUGH HE KEPT SAYING HE WOULD.
They were in the process of discussing a trade-off, CONSIDERING TOBIN HAS DONE A YEAR'S WORTH OF RENOVATIONS, WORTH THOUSANDS OF DOLLARS TO TURN A SHITHOLE OF A WAREHOUSE INTO A REALLY NICE ART SPACE. Wow, lucky landlord.
But anyway, the Bella Muse is probably not going to open again. Because even if Tobin comes up with the money or somehow is able to get his lawyer to fight it that only means he'll be able to get back all of his stuff; tools (worth thousands of dollars and part of his livlihood) his bed, bathtub, fridges, toilets, and eveything else. But it doesn't matter if he gets the money because...
THE LANDLORD WANTS THE SPACE FOR HIMSELF
7:55 PM
11.07.2003
I just bit into a rotten carrot. I had cold peas for supper.
I exist on hard-boiled eggs.
The landlord just shut down Bella Muse. He ripped out the phone and he's tearing it up. They've been having 'disputes.' And Tobin is in Ontario. Sneaky shit.
6:31 PM
“You’re fucking cranky today, Clodette.”
“Yes, I am. Funny, isn’t it.”
“Ha! What’s funny is you making out with _______.”
“Yeah, you’re right, that is funny.”
“Just be careful, don’t have sex with him.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s evil. You know how some people are bad and they try to be good. He tries to be evil.”
“I don’t care, that’s his business.”
“Clodette, you don’t understand. He tries to fuck with people. He fucks with their minds. He’s fucked with some of the girls he’s been with.”
“So do I. Who cares?"
“Yeah, and he knows that so it’s a challenge.”
“I’m not naïve.”
“He’s a manipulator.”
“I’ve had lots of experience with manipulators.”
“I’m just saying, Clodette. Jeez, you ARE cranky.”
1:24 PM
A little while ago a man pissed on the toilet. When I came back from the bathroom, he was sitting in my seat. I asked him to get up and I told him to stop pissing on the toilet.
I wish everyone would stop pissing on the fucking toilet.
11:52 AM
11.06.2003
I haven’t talked to T in over a year. I miss him. But I deserve it. We went out for a few months almost 3 years ago. Except I had a boyfriend living in Ottawa, that I’d been with for 2 years. So, for about 11 months I went back and forth between Alex and T. I couldn’t choose. It was fucking terrible. I was fucking terrible.
All of it I created for myself. Remembrance Week 1999 to be specific. Holy fuck. Alex came to visit. I was sooooo nervous. I’d been cheating, cheating, cheating. We went to visit his friends in New Brunswick. We were on mushrooms and I sat on his lap on the floor in the bathroom. “Have you had sex with anyone else?” I asked. We looked at one another for a moment. “Yes, Claudette, I have.”
“Yeah. Well,” I said, “I’ve been fucking someone for the last 3 months.”
And here come the next two years of my life, crusted to those words.
Alex and I had a very, ummmmm, sexually jealous relationship. I was able to get over it, or at least deal with it. He was not.
He said he didn’t care if I fucked other people, but he cared if I cared about them. And I cared about T. And I kept him hanging on even though I was with Alex.
So back and forth. Even from Ottawa, I would secretly email T and tell him I was coming home, which I thought I was. But I wasn’t. T said “That guy has a hold over you and I don’t know what it is.” T had to move to Vancouver. Alex and I broke up 6 months later. T and I kept in touch. We had plans. I was going to move to Vancouver and we were going to have sex everyday and go to film school. But I kept putting it off. And I kept getting boyfriends. And T would hear about them through our friends because I still couldn’t tell the truth. And I took him for granted. A year and a half ago he told me he didn’t trust me anymore and he was with someone else.
I hurt two people very much. And now one of them is dead and the other never wants to speak to me again. It sounds weird, but that’s kind of how I thought it would end out. Not a conscience thought, more like a nagging dread I tried to ignore. For a time after Alex died I really wanted to talk to T. I wanted to say, “DO YOU UNDERSTAND NOW!? DO YOU BELIEVE ME NOW?!”
11:58 AM
11.05.2003
Open Relationships
I know a guy in an open relationship. He’s been my friend for about 3 years. He’s been incredibly kind with me and I adore him. He gives me really tight long hugs.
We were at a cottage party this summer in Blandford right beside the ocean. A lot of us were on mushrooms. We played in the woods and the fire. I went off by myself, slipping down the rocks, high as hell, on wet bubble seaweed because I wanted to sit in a whirl pool spot for a while. I remember feeling afraid of breaking my ankle and considered turning around. But I really, really wanted to feel the water. And I did.
On mushrooms there comes a time when you really really need a joint. I didn’t have any pot. My friend always has pot. He said he wanted to smoke a joint with me. So we sat on the porch and talked. He told me he loved me. That I was beautiful. His eyes were big and happy. He told me that he wanted to spend more time with me. That I was one of the best people in this city and that he felt close to me. He said I was like a cross between a sister and a lover.
He talked about his relationship with his girlfriend. He said his girlfriend was upset because he wants to sleep with other women. I said if you want to sleep with other women, then maybe you should break up with her. He said he would but she wants to stay. They kind of go back and forth. She doesn’t want to leave and she’s trying to accept his decision. He says he loves many women. I understand this. I know lots of people who are in love with many people. Which makes perfect sense to me. I think declaring you love one person (for 3 months or 6 years or whatever) is retarded and restrictive. I’m not saying you shouldn’t be in a monogamous relationship, I just think that thinking that this is “it” lacks insight. Because if you’re actually in a healthy relationship (which is really fucking rare) then you probably have a life outside of your lover, which means you’re independent and responsive to others, which means you’re bound to fall in love with other people (not to say you’ll stop loving the person you’re with).
So anyway, conversation ended. More people started to sit around us. His girlfriend, whom I know and like a lot came over. But here’s what gets me. Women know. We’re not naïve. We can tell when. And she knew her boyfriend was attracted to me. But she probably likes me too. And she agreed to be there, with him, with his decision, right? Right. But she looked so sad, like this was hard. And it probably is. I talked to her for a bit, but she seemed closed. Not angry or jealous, just tired. And it broke my heart. I wanted to hug her and say, “don’t worry please.”
My friend and I are attracted to one another. A gentle attraction. I've known something would happen for a while, I just didn't know when. Well, it happened. We kissed and made out, the way you do when you've been waiting for a long time. But I think about his girlfriend. And I feel a little strange about it. Because I have my own feelings and desires, but it's very easy for me to feel what someone else feels. And to feel conflicted.
Basically the only way “open” relationships work, is if both people want it to be open.
11:57 AM
11.04.2003
What kind of woman doesn’t have pink stockings?
I need red and pink lacey things for the Burlesque.* So I went to Value Village with Alyssa. Nothing. I wish someone would open a red store, where you can find everything red or reddish; red pillows, pink crinolen, red velvet, pink satin, red feathers, pink leather. I started thinking about my crappy lingerie. And how it was all over the floor. And it’s mostly just black. And not very soft. Cause soft costs money. I need to pay more attention to that kind of stuff. I should have started collecting vintage underpants and silky gloves back in 1989. I should own a pair of pink thigh high stockings. I really should.
*yes, there will be 28 sets of naked tits dancing, Nov. 14, 15 at the Vimy Legion.
12:56 PM
11.03.2003
On Saturday Night a couple of ya-hoos were hitting on us. They were drunk. One of them looked at me and said “Oh look, pretty curly hair, we can’t talk to her cause her hair is curly.” That makes no fucking sense. My hair is not even curly. Moron. Then one of them was pushing against my friend and telling her she was beautiful over and over again and she was kind of shielding herself. And they wouldn’t leave her alone. And I was like, “Ummm, could you guys like go back to your hotel or something?….that’s right….go. Go on.”
My friend told me I’m “ruthless.” And then these other guys in the parking lot bought 5 cigarettes for 5 bucks. Don’t you think that’s the most stupid thing? Why the hell would you do that? I told him he was stupid.
_______________________________________________
The bathroom turned out to be the best part about Hallowe’en. He followed me in twice. The first time he just pushed his way in. Pushing and aggression work really well with me. I like men who take control. So he pushed me rough against the sink and ran his hands gently over my breast, bit my neck. He has big brown eyes. We made out for a while then I had to pee.
“I have to pee,” I said. So I lifted my skirt. I was finding it really hard to pee.
“I’m having a really hard time peeing,” I said.
“What should I do?”
“Maybe you should turn around.”
He turned around.
“That’s just not working. I think you should sing me a song.”
And he did. He sang a song with lyrics and everything.
The second time we met in the bathroom, we were there for quite a bit. And we went way further.
______________________________________________
Stacey and I are making a zine. It’s called “Your boyfriend likes me.”
2:08 PM
11.01.2003
Hallowe'en 2003. I am a very dirty girl.
9:27 PM
