the thing about the mates of state is that it seems like they have the most ideal situation. it's almost as if they rub it in my face everytime they release an album. fucking talented jerks. i don't want to take liberties with the amount of talent Ian and i have, but we're both musically inclined and even if we weren't, there are many different loopholes one can jump through to make it to superindiedarling stardom. no one has successfully outed the lute yet. and that's one instrument that needs outing. one would say it's as gay as the day is long. but I digress here, what do I have to do to be able to play in a band with the love of my life and travel the world with messy haircuts and ripped jeans and thick black eyeliner and spend nights out after shows snorting cocaine off of strange asses while holding hands and then later, after returning to our motel room, having violent 'artistic fits' that are heated with creativity and smashed champagne bottles. And all of this translates into personal life experience and also, eventually, maps itself out on our faces so that by the tender age of 34, we've succeeded in looking like we're on the verge of 'keith richards'. goals for the future. and most gals just want to get married......

we're on the move again, he and I. it's time to expand into a larger place with bigger ceilings and a couple of floors. things are in boxes all over our floor and it's not half bad. I tell you, it's not half bad.

Rarely do I feel the urge to commit words to screen. That's so lame, the fact that I have to say screen instead of pen and who even uses the word quill anymore. that's pretentious talk if you ask me, quill, quill. eat me. i don't do much but I do alot these days. I sit and sing and run and walk and ride my bike here and there and occassionally we'll go on mini-vacations to some place that's not here. toronto seems really stale and old to me even in the grey coldness of fall. I wear glasses now. I know, tragic. Going to pick them out was like walking the plank over an ocean of hungry sharks. It's as if I've finally succomb to the inevitable fact that we all age at some point and no matter how young my mind feels, my eyes have decided to give me a blaringly obvious "head-ups" that they are getting old and senile. when i wear my glasses I feel like a different person and the world seems alittle more inaccessible which really doesn't make any sense because it should be the opposite since i can see better. And even with better vision, I still seem to miss important details. For example, just last week, I had a small huddle of people around my desk for an impromtu meeting and as I went to push a pile of papers across my desk, a small, foiled strip fell onto the floor, unbeknownst to me. I found out within seconds what it was as my boss kindly pointed it out. As I looked down on the floor all I could see was the giant black font on the tiny package, clearly indicating that, yes, this was "Gas-X". And don't ask me why I had a Gas-X. Maybe it's because Stuart recommended them to me for the bloating you get after a meal. Or maybe it's because they were on sale and I thought they were funny or maybe it's because the Russian lady who was giving me an ultrasound would peer into the screen and shake her head and say "too mich gassssss". What the shit? So now I'm the girl on 'Gas-X' and all I can think about is what everyone else thinks. Like they think I sit at my desk and fart all day until I take that miracle of a strip. bullshit. for real. But when you're faced with a situation that is going to paint you in a different light, you gotta work it out. So I said the first thing that came  to mind. It wasn't humourous. I didn't take that familar route. No, I took the road less travelled and boy was I wrong to even step foot on that road because all I could muster was "how'd that get there. that's not mine'. And so all you can do is deal with the redness in your face for the remainder of the day.