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Here are some photos that I'm uploading for my Nana.

Click on the little picture to get the larger one in a new window. Here is the url for this page:

Have a nice day!
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I start work this weekend. How awful/great. I'm happy that I've got a job that pays well, is perfectly located and has a nice boss, but I feel some what reserved about working again. I've had nothing but bad experiences in professional environments. Oh well, it's just cashiering. Scan. Take moolah. Give change. DING. Scan. Take moolah. Give change. DING. Oooh. I should also add that I'm most likely going to pick up 8 hour shifts, not 6 hours, which sucks because then my early morning/free afternoon idea is down the drain.

Well, I'm off to do stuff.
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Am I just an object?
What am I to you? An object?

Well, I'm downright fed up with most of the male half of our species (except those which are, for the most part, my intellectual equals or superiors). I know that sounds a little pretentious, but only because for the past year or so, most guys around here seem to think that breasts and blonde hair make you an easy target, and I'm fed up with it! I'm a person too! People with breasts are PEOPLE! Every single guy I've started to be friends with hits this point in our "relationship", no matter how platonic it is, where he wants in my pants. I understand that every guy has wants, needs, urges even, but really! They turn into such dicks! A few of my guy friends recently have been major assholes and it just makes me ANGRY! (*like the hulk!) There only three men in this world that I 100% trust with my heart... Those men are: my daddy, Leonard Cohen, and Robert Rodriguez (recently divorced!) Sometimes I'm thinking about going full blown lesbo just to get rid of complications, but then I think to myself... If I want to become a lesbian just to DEAL with my problems, maybe I should actually just face them. I'm going to have to interact with the nasty version of men eventually, so I might as well get used to it, even though I know that they will never truly respect me, care about me, or even want to know what my favourite colour is. It's frustrating to think that any man will ever TRULY respect me. How can they respect someone they believe is not as smart or as strong as them? How can they respect someone that they see as an object- a toy, good for nothing but sex or being arm candy or a beer deliverer? They probably won't! That's the answer.

Now, I'm not saying all men are like this, but I'm starting to think that because abuot 95% of the men I know are like that!

Sigh> I need sleep.
my thighs are so bruised and purple i'm tempted to post a picture.

Amanda's bits are best described as her "sheltered cathedral".

What's yours? Enter your name:
Privates Eye

Last night I went to a friend's place for some beer and hockey. Very Canadian. Goodtimes. I came home this morning smelling like beer and cigarettes. It was disgusting. oh! I know that this might be tmi, but I got a bikini wax this morning, and now I'm all purple and bruised down there. It ached like hell, way more than normal! I think perhaps it was all in my head because my teeth were aching (they ache when it rains) and I had a wee hangover. Then again, maybe it was because it was a different girl than my normal waxer. She took her sweet ass time. With my normal girls, it's in and out in 2 minutes. Hardly any pain and suffering.

I had a soak in the bath for a good hour today, I had to refill with more hot water twice. It was so nice, I added salts and oils and the air and steam were so strong smelling that it hurt my head, but my skin is softer than ever now. I had to have a good soak to get the beer/cigarette smell off of me. It made the bruised region feel a bit better too, but it's still purple and sooore. Maybe I'll put some ice on it. Won't that be attractive- Sitting on the couch, legs spread with ice on my crotchal region?
( so damn cute )

So, my plans for the summer were originally to stay with Nana in town so I could work, but then my mum and I got to talking, and we came to the sick realization that Nana still thinks I'm 13, so there would be no beer and hockey with friends. Nana's place will be a last resort, but maybe I can stay with some friends or something in town.

Oh! Marie comes home tomorrow night! I'm making her a huge ass card! It's going to be so cute. Man, I miss her so much. Can't wait for her to be back in town. I'm sad that things didn't work out for her in Calgary though. I was really hoping she'd find a niche there. I'm proud of her for getting out there and trying it though. I hope she doesn't feel defeated in any way. I'm going to see her tomorrow night probably. She said she'd probably get in around 6 or 7, which is perfect because Annie has soccer from 6:30 to 8pm. She doesn't know who her coach is yet, but 2 fer' 2 told me that he was coaching her age group. God, wouldn't that be akward. I'm praying that doesn't happen.

Well, I'm going to make Marie's card! Maybe I also need an ibprofen or something for my aching head and teeth.

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Here are some posts that for some reason (ahem, laziness) didn't get updated on blogger, just livejournal. Sorrry!

Friday, April 21st 2006]
What does pure of heart mean?

Thursday, April 20th 2006]
I hate Jaques Cartier! He is a bastard! I wish I could bring him back to life just to berate him!

"Cartier then captured Donnacona, his two sons, three other leaders, and four children who had been living with the French for some time. With ten captives, Cartier left for France, despite the pleading of grieving relatives who followed in canoes, clutching beaver pelts that they offered as ransom for the hostages. None of the captured St. Lawrence Iroquois people ever saw Canada again; they all perished in France."
(Defining Canada- Nick Brune, pg 80-81)

My heart has just been broken! That is so upsetting and angering!

"The Man. Oh, you don't know The Man? The Man's everywhere: in the White House, down the hall, Miss Mullins; she's The Man! And The Man ruined the ozone, and he's burning down the Amazon and he kidnapped Shamu and put her in a chlorine tank! Okay! And there used to be a way to stick it to The Man, it was called rock 'n roll. But guess what? Oh no! The Man had to ruin that too with a little thing called MTV! So don't waste your time trying to make anything cool or pure or awesome 'cause The Man's just gonna call you a fat washed up loser and crush your soul. So do yourself a favor and just give up!"

marry me jack black

Just now, on The Ellen Degeneres show in a segment called "Best Photos Ever", a picture of Kate Vader and her giant bunny was featured. And Ellen Degeneres said "Picton, Ontario"... I guess we know what the headline will be.

Oh goD! The phone just rang!

Wednesday, April 19th 2006]
Okay, seriously! How does Google know what's going on in my life! I'm very frightened! Even if I've never mentioned it on the computer, in an email, search, lj, chat, ANYTHING, Google knows and will advertise to me! How strange and wacko! I can't handle it! GOOGLE IS BIG BROTHA!!!! OH GOD!@!!!!

Maybe I shouldn't have had celery and canned pineapple for dinner. I need sleep, and sex, and fun... So badly.



Sex is a very important part of tribal lifestyle in West Africa. This picture shows a tribal dance depicting various aspects of their sexual lifestyle, ranging from the erotic to the medical. (They formally advocate the use of condoms, although in actual practice, it's unclear how much people actually do use them.) The penis shown here is not real; it's a wooden replica used for demonstration purposes only. Click here for more information on West African culture. []

Wednesday, April 19th 2006]
You scored as Old School Punk. Old School Punk as a genre formed simultaneously on both sides of the pond with Detroit and New York giving birth to bands like The Stooges, Ramones, and the MC5 while, on the British side punk bands popped up with such regularity and mayfly-esque lifespans that there doesn't exist a definitive audio record of most of them. Although some, such as the Sex Pistols, have made such an impression on popular culture that there have been movies about them.

Old School Punk


Synthpop DevoteƩ




Bondage Freak




Neo Goth


Mope Rocker


New School Punk


Elder Goth


Emo Kid


Which musical counterculture do you fit in with?
created with

How did they know about the bondage?

[Wednesday, April 19th 2006]
I feel like dancing! Gonna dance the night away!

Today's walk made up for yesterday's walk. It was sunny, and birds were chirping (except the dead one on the side of the road), and Sandy didn't drag me around. He's snoring on the floor right now. His cheek flaps remind me of cartoons when someone is snoring in a tent. I met a neighbour. I thought she was a man at first, and I feel really bad about that. No worries though, she had a really girly name when I met her, so yeah...

Well, my fingers are numb and I need some tea desperately. Lot's of bikers around today. So strange. Need to take some pictures. Tra lalala.

[Tuesday, April 18th 2006]
I almost killed my dog today. We just went for our evening walk, which we have done practically everyday for a month now, and every step was a fight. He almost dragged me the whole way. We had to turn back early because my hands were almost raw from the lead. (He hasn't done this once in a month.) He barked at other dogs, and normally they bark at him but he ignores them. He tried to chase every car that passed us, pouring every ounce of muscle into his harness. (He has a harness, not a collar, because he'd strangle himself with anything else.) To add insult to injury, the air was thick with these little black bugs and I could barely take in a breath without spitting out those damn bugs. They tried to get in my nose, my ears, my eyes.. It was disgusting. In addition to Sandy being completely psycho and bugs trying to infiltrate my body, a small robin's egg that I had found in perfect condition on the side of the road coming back broke open in my pocket when Sandy tried to haul me into the path of a moving vehicle, (he attempted several times). The yoke went everywhere. It was disgusting. Luckily, I was pretty close to home, but did that ever make me mad, (more mad I guess). As I stooped to pick up the egg through the cloud of black flies and Sandy making my hands bleed, I thought, aw, this egg makes the nasty trip worthwhile. Little did I know, it was just another ploy to ruin my walk. GAH!

I'm glad I could have that little rant. I'm going to scream now.

P.S. I think I'm going through menopause.
P.S.S. Have you ever noticed that you forget about all the great things in your life when the only thing lacking is the only thing you have ever wanted? Does that makes sense? No probably not. Let's just say, I can get anything besides the one thing I want, and it sucks. If I had it right now, I probably wouldn't want it as much, but even with that realization, I can't let go of the wanting. POO ON YOU heart. poo on you...
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This morning I woke up and heard on the radio that there was going to be a thunderstorm around noon. I was angry because that meant I wouldn't be able to go for a walk in the afternoon. So I just woke up and went in the morning. I had a baaad headache, but the walk seemed to have gotten rid of it. Coincidentally, it didn't rain until darkness fell. Just another reason to not trust a meteorologist. Then I started packing for Nana's and eventually Ottawa. I'm gutting my room essentially. Taking everything off the walls, putting all my stuff in boxes. Only my clothes and furniture is staying in there. I have a box marked "Creepy sculptures". I'm very excited to decorate my dorm room. I have some really great pieces that will add a sense of, hm, me to the place. I should go on Antique's Roadshow with some of the suff. I'm sure it's worth thousands! Speaking of which, my family is having a big yardsale and we each get our own table/section deal. All the money I get from selling my stuff I'm keeping for school, so I'll probably sell a lot of stuff I don't need. If you have items you wish to donate to the "feed Amanda" association, they can go to the yardsale. WOo. Or, just send me money. Or a none perishable food item. Or buy something from the yardsale and then give it back to me to resell. Ha. I think I'm going to have a sign that says: "Sorry if you gave this to me as a gift." That would be no good at all. Anyways, so after I spent most of the day packing, Annie and I decorated eggs. A few of them cracked, but it just added a cool grunge-egg effect. Here are some of our eggy creations:

Poor unsuspecting eggies. All white, boring, and hard-boiled.

There are the eggies in their colourful little pods. Reminds me of The Matrix. Just remember, that's what we truly look like right now.

Look at all the little bubbles coming off this egg. It looks a bit like cellulite, but have no fear. We have very fit eggs.

Annie's creepy egg person.

"Is this the train to Spadina?" "No, Finch. Can't you see we're all coloured." (Don't get mad. It's funny.)

Egg orgies- no legislation against them can stand!

Take that Martha Stewart. I got her mag today, learned a lot of neat stuff about bulbs.

Anyways, that's all the pictures I have for now, egg-wise.

We also used crayons to add some design factor and those eggs turned out nicely, but I wish we could have decorated more eggs. I love decorating them. I do run out of ideas after a while though. We used margarita glasses because the bottom area of the glasses were perfect for holding an egg. Also, while cleaning out her own room, Annie found a ton of my clothes. I was ecstatic! I have a lot of laundry to do tomorrow. Oh! And today, while cleaning out my desk, I found some papers from grade nine and before. Written diaries about boys and popularity and being fat. It was interesting to read how I tricked myself into thinking things by putting them in my diary. ("Oo, I think I may be falling for him." Come on girl, you're obsessed.) I just want to tell the girl writing the diaries that she's being silly and to just leave those boys alone. Especially one's who deal coke. I was so dumb, but I'm sure that in five years, I'll read back in my lj (should they still exist) and bitch about how dumb I was. Hell, I can look back only a few entires ago and think about how stupid I was/is/will be. I also found these little stories that I would start, and then never finish. I really wanted to grow up to be a writer. That never happened I guess. They were so stupid, but the writing was okay. I guess I had the technical writing ability, but not the time to think out a plot and organization, etc. I'm going to put them away in storage so I can look back on them in a few decades and have a good laugh with my partner (should I have one) who is old, and we will both laugh so hard we fart, but won't know it. (Old people do that constantly, or at least in my experience.)

Gah, I have a long weekend ahead of me. Packing, cleaning, doing laundry, wall-patching, Easter dinner at Nana's (have to face unfathomable amounts of chocolate that I can't eat). I'll just bring a book or some celery. "Take that Annie! I have celery!" Annie hates celery because of the noise it makes. She cringes because she associates the crunch with braces pain. Too bad for her, celery has lately become my snack of choice. Sometimes with peanut butter if I'm really craving extra protein. I better get to sleep. I had no idea what time it was. I feel a bit ashamed because I've been trying to keep to a decent sleep schedule. I guess that's not happening tonight/this morning, which is poopy. Oh well, it's not the end of the world.
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Alright, so I wrote my history test today. It wasn't as bad as I thought. I was freaking out a little beforehand, but now I see that I was just being over critical of my intelligence. (I spent my third period spare watching Flying Circus w. a cute guy btw.) Anyway, I stayed a few minutes late to finish up the test and missed my bus, so I got my Nana to pick me up. Then I napped at her house. I'm kind of angry because I've just gone on a super strict diet that doesn't include ice cream or Girl Guide Cookies.

I've been so good, not eating any of it. I want to soo bad, it's like heroin, (chocolate). Oh! My dad and I went grocery shopping, and he buys all this really awesome stuff, that is ridiculously bad for me, like TWO TUBS of ice cream! My favourite kinds too. But I looked at the nutritional label, and it said if I have 125ml, it's only 150 calories. Which is a lot, but I can cut something else out if I'm desperate. And it doesn't have much fat either, like, 5g I think. Anyways, so I carefully measure it and it this tiny little bit of ice cream and savour every bloody drop. I guess it makes up for my three missed yogurts today (which add up to that tiny bit of icecream). I was still within my calorie limit too. I can't believe that I've become a calorie counter, but I just imagine what it'll be like to walk into a store and be able to try on whatever I want and not worry about sizing.

I went for a walk with Sandy today. We jogged a bit, but I'm so out of shape, that speed walking was my best bet. Whenever I feel a bit of pain or discomfort, I know that I'm getting healthier. Weird, but true I think. I know that I seem like I'm a bit obsessed about this whole exercise/eat healthy thing, but it's the only way that I can be healthy.
Gah, so I came in and had a shower and made a mental note to wear bug spray next time. And I always forget the sports bra, so I'm speedwalking along, bouncing at the speed of breast, and I curse the day my breasts grew. (I made an lj entry about it. Had pictures.)

Also, I'm packing this weekend. Sorting through my immeasurable amount of crap. What goes with me? What goes to storage? What goes to Annie? What do I still need to buy? What goes in the trash? I'm so confused by it all, looking at the next little while on my calendar, trying to fit stuff in. I'm afriad of stuff going sour, but I guess that's life man. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. When I saw I'm afraid of stuff going sour, I guess I just mean, I'm afraid of everything going sour- life in general. I see my life as a chain reaction, events caused by events, caused by events, caused by events (determinism if you will). So sometimes in my mind, I get a thought process like this:

Don't study enough -> Fail test -> Low average -> university acceptance retracted -> don't go to uni -> trapped in the County ->become bum -> waste life -> die a nothing

I can't help it, that's just the way I think. So that's why I study hardy. lol. Well, I'm sleepy and Marie just said she was moving back to the County at the end of April and I'm ecstatic because she is a wonderful gal whom I adddorrre!
Wow, my school thinks I'm some kind of sexpert (I guess I am tho), but still. Weird. Also, why is it that I, let's just say, "warm up" to people just as soon as it becomes impossible for a true relationship to blossom? Tis my curse evidently. Relationships are so strange, platonic/romantic/sexual... human social interaction really. So complicated and delicate, always hanging in some odd balance. Which reminds me, I'm currently majorly crushing, in a very highschool-sexually-frustrated way, on three people. One of them already has a boyfriend, I think. I'm not sure. Oh well, I guess that's the nature of love. Revealing this rather mysterious thing lead me to think about why I keep an online journal. It's rather contradictory, an online diary. A diary is supposedly for private thoughts, and yet, blogging is a HUGE thing right now? Who doesn't blog? Really? But then I remembered something brilliant: "Talking much about oneself can also be a means to conceal oneself." (Special prize to whomever guesses who said that. Alysson, you can't just google it.) Anyways, that is so amazingly true. Is not love an irresistible desire to be irresistibly desired? (Frost, a'thank you.)Is that why we confide in online diaries and blogs? To know if we are worth reading about? To know that people care enough about your life and existence to read through your thoughts? To understand through comments, that they sympathize, or have some input, into how your life is going, as if they truly care, (which I'm sure they actually do for the most part), but I get the feeling that many of us desire that input.

Anyways, so my armpits hurt (how can armpits hurt??) from doing pushups boy-style today. When I told my dad this, he was like >see! girl's can't do boy's exercises<. Then I was like, a) i'm just a wimpy girl and b) what do you know about working out, man-who-looks-pregnant-because-of-beer? Also, I turned a Naaaasty pair of old torn jeans into cute short shorts today. No correlation to the armpit issue, but I just thought I'd announce it and see if people cared. (Kidding, I don't care if you care. Well, I do care, I should hope you care, but not care so carefully about the care I put into making new short shorts. I'm dumb.)

I have to go to sleep. I studied my history notes for almost 7 hours. I'm a psycho. Sooo psycho. I need a good lovin I think. (Btw, a gooood good lovin will burn a substantial amount of calories, like, a whole meal, gone.)
"But you see, here in America the attitude that is fed to us is that outside of America there live lesser people. "Fuck them, let them fend for themselves." No, Fuck you, they are you. No matter how much you want to dye your hair blonde and put fake eyes in, or follow an anorexic standard of beauty, or no matter how many diamonds you buy from people who exploit your own brutally to get them, no matter what kind of car you drive or what kind of fancy clothes you put on, you will never be them. They're always gonna look at you as nothing but a little monkey. I'd rather be proud of what I am, rather than desperately trying to be something I'm really not, just to fit in. And whether we want to accept it or not, that's what this culture or lack of culture is feeding us." - The Poverty of Philosophy Lyrics (Immortal Technique)

I'm wearing glasses and a huge sweater. My hair is hardly brushed and my eyes are falling asleep. I can't remember the last time I truly wore makeup?According to the current media female ideal, I am a savage. Barely a woman, more of a homeless street crack ho. I'm named after Venus, born after Venus and modeled after Venus. I wonder if she is disapointed?

Do you ever here music and it just makes you feel euphoric. Just makes you want to move your body, touch your body, hear, see, feel, smell your body? Makes you want to run your own fingers through your hair and just love the pattern of the sounds and feel the beat of the music. Your blood starts to pump in sync. The music resets your heart. Gives you a kick start. It's like a massage for my soul. Turn up the bass, the fingers press harder. Like a brilliant massage, if it hurts, it's probably better. And music can definetely hurt you. It can definetely influence you and change you. Violin makes me cry. Trombone makes me strong. The beat gives me grace. When the music stops the blood stops pumping and flowing.

I'm completely mad. I can't think normally anymore. My hands hurt and my head hurts (generally in the brow region). Why is it that? Oh well. I don't mind. Now my elbow hurts but only because I hit it off the desk. Is everyone on the edge of madness, and only those who are "truly mad" express it. I'm not mad like Plath-sticking-her-head-in-the-oven mad. I don't want to hurt myself. I love my mind and body and whatever components add up to me, but am I mad because I express my every thought. Articulated in colour or word or behaviour? God I need to paint something. So bad, I have the itch in my fingers. Something has to come of them quickly. I've got to make something. I've got to create something with them. I've got to be a mother to beauty, at least in my own eyes and fast.

mercy. unless you love me and are interested in the unfiltered thoughts in my brain, ignore this post. completely useless to say this at the end though.

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I feel so inadequate lately when it comes to expressing how I feel. I haven't been able to write anything, paint anything, say anything good. I feel blocked from expression, like a clog or something. Also, I have this pit in my stomache like I'm missing something vital. Everyone knows the feeling. It's the same when you forget something on your desk when you are half way to your destination and it's too late to turn back and you'll just have to start thinking up excuses.

Today on Much's "Story of" is artists talking about their drug use. Don't get me wrong, I love a little narcotics now and then, but I've never felt completely addicted to them. I feel cravings right afterwards, buts thats more mental than physical I think. When something is just so good of course you're going to want more of it, but I've always "just said no" after a small embellishment. Anyways, I guess that is a different story for a different time.

I'm reading the book Sybil right now that is based on the Shirley Mason case wherein Mason suffors from dissociative identity disorder brought on by her mother's horrendous acts of childhood abuse. This book is disturbing me to the core and often makes me wonder about the nature of reality, memory and identity. I could, for all I know, be a dissociated identity of another person! I really want to see the movie now and I'm going to beg Gavin to order it. The book also discusses depression, anxiety and schizophrenia (which should not be confused with dissociative identity disorder). I'm thinking about taking out a book on abnormal psyche that I saw in the library today.

On another note, I'm really sorry to people who I've normally had constant email interaction with. I'm really trying to get away from the computer as much as I can. I'm trying to read more and get outside and have a little more exercise in my day. It's hard to break from normal patterns, but I've got to.

This post has been really disjointed and hard to follow, I'm sure, but it's more for my benefit than yours. Sometimes I've just got to get ideas out of my head someway and I don't really have anyone to genuinely talk to (who doesn't think I'm crazy half the time), so here is some of my brain. Right here. Gbye.
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Things like this remind me I'm straight.

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Why does everyone love Ewan McGregor's penis? I admit, I wouldn't mind Ewan McGregor..... But is it the man attached to the penis, or the penis itself that has caused such a frenzy. (I say, that's what he gets for whipping out the wang for practically every movie but Moulin Rouge and Star Wars. ... Okay, who didn't want to see Obi Wan whip it out?)

In evidence of the McGregor Penis movement:

(You may have to scroll a bit for the penis area on some pages, but if you just search "penis" or "mcgregor" you'll find it.)

And also... because I can't contain myself.

Well, that's quite enough penis for one day.