PRETEEN SENSATIONS AND BEATING OFF TO BURT REYNOLDS.

Last Friday, I got a quarter of my broken jaw jewelery removed, maybe even a bit more.

So now I'm looking as trendy as preteen sensations (far too often lumped together with tweens.)
















I can now open my mouth about an inch, maybe even a bit more.

It's cool because it means I can do cool sexy things like stick out my tongue long and hard at small children.



















Except not really because my tongue currently extends about point eight inches from my mouth.

I can french my steady though (to a certain extent.)





















Although at first, it seemed eerily reminiscent of the way 2 girls kiss in porn, with their tongues stuck out flicking one another.

You mean like THIS??


















No silly, like THIS.














Inspiring masterpieces like...this??























I saw the video for this song I'd never heard (it's apparently all the rage/maybe even the number one ring tone) during my stay at the Montreal General.

I thought that it was pretty silly and then I saw this Miley Cyrus I keep hearing about and am generally very confused by, just as I am by all millionaires born in the year of my favourite Salt 'n Pepa album, Very Necessary (read: 1993).




















Anyway, Miley Cyrus seems silly too and not to be mean or anything but I feel as though she has one of those "loves giving blowjobs to any Tom, Dick or Aaron Carter" faces and I thought that ever since I was first was alerted to her existence at a Toronto Walmart in January of this year.

As far as I am concerned, Miley's foray (or is it Hannah's? WTF?!) into Annie Liebowitzdom and the cult of Vanity Fair is the least of her problems.

The girl looks like the kind of trouble that meets grade 8 boys in bathroom stalls for after-school specials, no kissing required.
















Of course, there is nothing wrong with enjoying giving head. However, in order to maintain the position of most respect, one must never walk around with one of those "loves giving blowjobs to any Tom, Dick or Aaron Carter (or Tommy Lee)" faces, at least not while comparing the prices of competing pita bread brands or perusing the hot new hairclips at your neighbourhood Ardène.

Rumour has it, the key to lasting love and respect is to NOT look like you love smoking the pole of some dude you met 5 minutes prior in the bathroom at Saphir (even if you do.)















Not during the act of though, let's be frank. This when you must at LEAST pretend you love it (even if you don't).





















It's when you're knocking on melons to find the perfect canteloupe that you must appear, at worst, a distant cousin of Miley Cyrus (4 times removed.)




















That's right ladies and germs, a warm quilt.

Basically, what I'm trying to say is that if you don't love going downtown, no matter which way you swing, you will die alone.
















And if you're one of those boys who makes tuna fish jokes about vaginas and insists that you're girlfriend "doesn't even like it anyway" she probably just doesn't like it because you give off some lame tuna fish joke aficionado vibe which makes her uncomfortable telling you how to make it better, which actually makes it worse if it ever does happen.















So she'll claim she's never really liked boys playing around "down there" anyway, so she doesn't end up feeling uncomfortable about how lame she is (when you're probably the one that's be the lamest if you fear vaginas just as you might fear venus fly traps.)

















So yeah, smooching with your jaw all wonky and non functioning is weird.





















Not weird in the Alan Cumming sense of the word but I wanted to take this opportunity to inform you that more often than not, when someone says "You know what's WEIRD??", it's best to reply "Alan Cumming".

And with conviction!

Making out is sort of weird but kind of cool still.



















Now I'm not entirely sure, but I'd imagine most in my position would be unable to perform fellatio.

It would all depend on the circumstance, of course.

















In other news, rumour has it (preteen sensation) handjobs are way the coolest anyways.























Speaking of which, one time my number one honey love city gurl Katie Hermon's savvy and sophisticated older sister Julia alerted me, a fellow human being far too interested in the colour of one's finger and toenails, to the fact that french manicures should be avoided at all costs (especially during job interviews for the kind of jobs where you wear dress pants and Banana Republic seperates), eloquently stating "they remind me of porn".





















Something to think about, no??

It's my birthday on Thursday and the cool thing is that my sister is coming to Montreal for the occasion.

I reckon my brother is not coming but he did (supposedly) get me approximately one cup of WASABI PEAS for the occasion which would be cool if my sister and someone I made out with when I was 16 hadn't eaten all of them when they were feeling at loss for stimulation at a party my brother (supposedly) had last week.

That said, it would be coolest if I could eat hypothetical WASABI PEAS.

















The best thing that happened all day was when I got off the bus in Ottawa with my former roommate Caroliner, and her parents were there to scoop her up and my occasional guardians (my sister and her steady) were not.





















I didn't cry or anything but they offered to wait until my temporary elders came, which was sweet.





















As we three cruised out of the terminal, Hilary said...

"Caroline's dad is so good-looking it makes me SICK. He looks like Burt Reynolds..."

And with that, I leave you with this.





















And this.






















And this.






















And why not, this too.





















I sincerely hope that at least one person looking at these beats off to Burt today, tommorow, and with conviction.

Because Burt Reynolds don't take no half-ass bullshit.

The Last Live-In Vehicle Ticket Of The Weekend

The road from the Brecon Beacons National Park
to London’s golden-paved streets, is mostly uphill.
That’s the kind of thing you notice
when you’re sat behind the wheel
of a vintage Bedford CF Autosleeper called “William”.
Versatile and reliable, William is a year younger than I am.
2.3 litre overhead camshaft 4-cylinder engine with 83 brake horsepower.
I checked his oil before we left Wales.
I checked his water too. I even greased his nipples.
Best not to take any chances, eh? We can’t afford another flat.
William’s tyre-pressure is 40 pounds per square inch at the front
and 45 pounds per square inch at the rear. He has a top speed of 55mph.
Severn View. Leigh Delamere. Membury. Reading. Heston.
Vintage valve tappets going shudder-shudder
and clack-clackety-clack-clack all the way home.


The Classic Camper Club website

Wellington Boots Must Be Worn At All Times. Void If Removed.

10,000 of us stand in an open field,
10,000 of us stand, sheltering from relentless precipitation.
Fairylights twinkle in the conifers. Bubbles float across the stage.
The whin and the furze grow steadily more waterlogged.
I’m standing close enough to Mr. Samuel Beam,
that from this angle, it’s possible to count his nasal hairs.
This makes me all the more willing to forgive him
his occasionally indulgent folk-calypso noodling
and his seguewaying stadium-rawk tendencies.
May age not wither his honeydewed beard.
Nor nodules seek to tame his seraphim larynx.
Kenny Anderson and The King Creosotes are all wearing syrups.
Lightspeed Champion is wearing Harry Palmer glasses and a fish-fur ushanka.
Little Devon Sproule is wearing her Twin Oaks Community t-shirt.
Whilst little Laura Marling is wearing what looks like a fishing smock.
Jason Spaceman is wearing his trademark Jason Spaceman spaceglasses.
Richard Thompson is wearing his trademark black military beret.
And Badly Drawn Damon Gough is wearing his trademark chip on the shoulder.
The Bowerbirds from North Carolina are,
rather sensibly, all wearing gumboots.
And they're not alone. A lot of people are wearing gumboots this weekend.
Not the full 10,000 of us, no,
but plenty nuff vulcanized rubber all the same.
If only Field Marshal Arthur Wellesley could see us now!

Iron & Wine play 'The Trapeze Swinger'

Buy yourself a Green Man Festival frisbee

Stick To The Day Job

The paps are all in a lather.
The liggers shall inherit the Earth.
Fully grown men who really should know better.
Fully grown men who’d do well to stop reading their own press.
You sir, are not Bono Vox. You sir, are not Shaun Ryder.
And you, Mr. Rhys Evans, are sure as hell not the Welsh Liam Gallagher.
And, more to the point, why would you want to be?
Y Peth is Welsh for The Thing. Chi Cacha is Welsh for Dog Shit.
Should’ve stayed in the pub boyos.

Y Peth's Facebook Page

MIA --> BRB --> sOOn

MOUTH WIDE SHUT MY REMIX/SUP.

SALUT MES AMIS!

Franchement, moi je suis vraiment dans un good mood aujourd'hui parce que- GET THIS!- I had my first full night of sleep in more than a week and it was glorious. I had been having horrible nightmares that woke me up and made me think and toss and turn for hours and it was really not at all fun and I was starting to think that I would never sleep normally again.

Before I tell you why this might be, that I slept like a wee baby sleeping well, I must tell you that I woke up all smiles and decided it would be nice to wake up my sweetly slumbering steady boy just to tell him that "I HAD A GOOD SLEEP! I HAD A GOOD SLEEP!" to which he replied groggily, eyes closed..."I know, I saw you."

Cute...

Anyways, I was thinking I WOKE UP HAPPY for a change, and then I realized I was singing Sophie B. Hawkins in my head, a song that always reminds me of Party of 5 and being without breasts and pubic hair and all that came shortly after Bailey and Sarah consumated their love with S-E-X.





















Here's the jam, you know you love to hate it but you might kind of feel a bit dreamy about it too, even if you never tell anyone or even allow it entrance to your super-exclusive itunes library.














Which is why, I'll toss it here and you can then pretend it never even happened.





















And now for our feature presentation.




Sophie B. is obviously on top of her game and trying to pinch her pennies because she wouldn't let me pull a full version of her video on youtube so I had to settle for Sailor Moon version, which really is not so bad at all/at all.

Anyway, she's trying to make it and we wonder if she's doing a better job than Lisa Loeb (who also ties in now that I think about it) but GET THIS: Sophie B. Hawkins added me as her myspace friend in 2006 and I denied her that privilege. Whoda thunk?! Not I in 1995, that's for damn sure.





















So yeah, I slept well and woke up with Sophie B. Hawkins in my head and if life were much much worse, I'd have had Lisa Loeb stuck in it everytime I felt sleepless.



So who knows why I had a great sleep?? I do and my steady knows and his older brother knows and their family friend visiting from Vancouver who tried to pay for what I'm going to tell you about momentarily except that his bank card would not work and he was embarassed but my boy payed, all with fives because he made a lot of 5 dollar bills on Friday night when they had what sounds like it was a fun party that I did not attend...so yeah, their family friend knows too, why I slept like a baby.















And my sister doesn't know because I made them promise not to tell.


You see, ever since I emerged from my second extended stay in the hospital (extended by my terms of never being the least bit sick ever in life means 5 days is a real drag...I've had unhealthy family members, I know that in truth, 5 days in nothing but I am young and invincible so 2 five day stays really blew, okay??), ever since THEN and while I was in the hospital too, I've been prohibited from going over 1500mL of fluid in my daily diet, which is nothing when your jaw is wired shut and fluid is the only thing you can have.















That is what I look like (to a certain extent). I've been a bit better about bathing and keeping my nails looking cute, plus I have about 10 000 little elastics holding it all together even more, just in case I'm stronger than steel or whatever. Also, I have a metal plate embedded beneath my skin and sewn in there with cool plastic thread that gives me really cool chancres. I can keep it when this is all over and done with, much like younger kids want to keep their casts and/or orthodontic retainers long after they've served their purpose, eventhough they smell like death. And not in the way that hospitals smell like death...more like the way Keds worn without socks for 4 months of summer smell like death. Which is worse? You decide.





















So anyway, something to do with something wrong with my insides meant that if I drank more than that, my sodium would go up from way below healthy to healthy too fast for a functioning brain to remain functional. And that would be bad.





















So I got to leave the hospital on the condition that I follow this diet and get my blood and whatnot checked a week later (today) and by then it would probably be okay and then I could have 14 milkshakes a day if I wanted 14 milkshakes someday.

















I really found it hard to believe that I had a sodium problem because I love V8 and love it often and last time I was at Bifthèque on St. Laurent, I ate a lot of that supersalty popcorn they make so supersalty because salt is inexpensive and butter just ain't worth it.






















But I guess it had more to do with the present day at the time when a week and half ago was the present day, when my body was busy using all my little energy supplies to heal my wounds.

So last night, after going to have dinner with my steady (we'll call him "Devin")and his older brother (let's say he's "Nathaniel Atherton") and his steady girl KeishaChanté (this name is actually made up, her name is Lindsay) and their family friend Rafiki (his name is honestly Eric)...well we all had dinner meaning they had pasta and bread and salad and beer and I had roasted red pepper soup (me and soup are currently besties) and well...then we went to Dairy Queen.





































Which put me over my limit, and I really should have just stayed home with KeishaChanté and done dishes or whatever but I really really wanted to go to Dairy Queen eventhough I knew a Blizzard was a human impossibility.


















But I thought a milkshake would be GREAT. So eventhough you're not supposed to be able to have any flavour of Blizzard as a milkshake, their milkshakes are just standard flavours pretty much, I convinced them to make me an Oreo milkshake by showing them my locked mouth and making them feel badly about trying to limit my fun.





















I made Devin promise not to tell my sister when we later crossed her path, I'm old enough to keep track and follow orders in the name of better health but she saw me try and sneak a glass of chocolate milk I wasn't allowed to have two nights ago so she's really on my case now.
















But TODAY, I go to the doctor and hopefully they say all is well and I can have 9000mL if I want.

We just figured, since I've been FEELING SO MUCH BETTER, that what's 12 hours when I'll most likely get word that I can do whatever I damn well please from this day forward??

Here's hoping.

The moral of the milkshake is, that maybe it was the Dairy Queen Oreo milkshake that made me have a full night of sleep without bad dream interruption. In which case we must consider the small Oreo milkshake a herbal sleep aid, without which I might never sleep soundly again. It's like a spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down. Except it's a heck of a lot more than a spoonful of sugar in one of those things and there is no medicine following the sugar crusade, only milkshake, milkshake and more milkshake.

Therefore..don't you DARE tell my sister.

She has much better things to do than surf the web.

But here is my steady boy, whom I have never formally introduced, as he appears deep in the murky depths of youtube infamy, much to my amusement and hopefully yours too.




And finally, it must be said that all that jazz about my sister being on my case is said in love, because she is and has been particularly in the past few weeks, my older sister and truly her mother's daughter (in the best way possible).

And for that? That's right, I give her snaps!

She's Ashlee to my Jessica, if you know what I mean.





















I mean I'm shorter, curvier, and less prone to black.





















I'm also more likely to seek advice from my older younger sister Hilary, because I think that she is much smarter and more level-headed than I am, less emotional and not at all prone to drama, which is less than I can say for myself (eventhough I think I'm a half-way decent person).

And I am also less likely than Hilary to date/knock boots with anyone remotely close to my height, meaning that I am pushing 5'4 and I much prefer those pushing a minimum of 6'2 and an ultimate of 6'5.

My steady is doing great and let's hope he never shrinks.

WOOHA!

Hmmm...I am also less likely to be the one giving thinly veiled disapproving looks about Hilary's boy choices...I being formerly promiscuous and she being the hot babe who has been basically unattainable by anyone with a dick (or a vagina), unless they are very very cool and funny and nice and goodlooking, like her current gem Russel Simco.

No secret "I'm so not impressed (or surprised)" looks from Hilary these days, she and Devin get along smashingly and did long before we were into making out anyway.

My steady is doing great and let's hope he never shrinks.

I BID YOU ADIEU...

I AM FINALLY POSTING THIS 2 DAYS LATE ON THURSDAY AND NOW THE HOT SCOOP IS THAT I CAN HAVE AS MANY MILKSHAKES AS I WANT.






















And also, you think I think he doesn't care about me, but my brother loves me too and I give him big ups for driving me to and fro the hospital and getting me new Lulu Lemon shorts for my return to physical activity.

I LOVE EVERYONE, EVEN YOU.