U.S. Citizenship + Babies + McDonald’s

I GOT MY U.S. CITIZENSHIP after a thousand years.

Not that I applied a thousand years ago, that went fairly fast, but I’ve lived here since I was eleven (minus college) so everyone I know from Canada thought I was American and everyone I knew from America mostly didn’t know I was Canadian. I’ve felt like both forever, and time-wise my life has been spent almost exactly 50-50 between the two, so it wasn’t so much like gaining something so much as it was… feeling acknowledged? I know that doesn’t fit the patriotic rhetoric, but if someone talks shit about America I will feel compelled to talk shit about them and if someone talks shit about Canada I will feel compelled to talk shit about them and that I think, is the true test of citizenship.



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Flu shot / Halloween 2015

Dude, so first of all, I got a motherfucking flu shot and my arm hurt for two days. Like a charlie horse running from my shoulder to my wrist, and all the bones in the wrist and the back of my hand felt like I beat them against a wall. I rested. I elevated. I tried doing push ups and swinging my arm around. The only advice on Mayo Clinic genunely amounted to “stop being a pussy.” I couldn’t sleep allllll night. What IS that? I got the flu shot last year and it definitely ached, but I wasn’t in uncontrollable pain that acetaminophin couldn’t touch.

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My Mom’s Birthday, Getting Bit By Mosquitoes, Hanging Out With Jess

Dude, I can barely remember what happened this week, I wish it was due to some blackout scenario but I think the days are just starting to all run together.

It was my Mom’s birthday, and she wanted to go to Good Stuff Eatery, so we went into D.C. because those burgers are an act of God. I had the Vietnamese Coffee milkshake, and I would like them to just stab me with a turkey baster and inject it straight into my heart because it was divine. The weather was nice and the row houses were beautiful as always. My heart is definitely not in D.C. long-term, but who couldn’t fantasize about living on Capitol Hill in a historic brownstone with gorgeous, ornate, wrought iron steps. No one.

Got screwed on the Metro, naturally. It was so hot, and so humid, and there was no moving air, and everyone was literally back to back, ass to sweaty ass, down the entire line. I’ve stood on crowded subways plenty of times, but never in that sort of hog crate scenario for that length of time. It felt like someone had beat me in the back of the knees and the small of my back with a baseball bat for three of four days afterwards.

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Pete Holmes Live from the Ice Planet Hoth

Holy fuck, it’s so cold outside. Adriana and I were going to go see a show at the DC Public Library, but the weather was like, you are going to freeze your ass off and die if you go outside, so we noped the fuck out.

I still want to see a show at the library though. Adriana says they’re renovating the basement and holding punk shows down there for the time being, until they put a new collection or whatever in. Would be pretty cool to see a punk show in a library.

We did go see Pete Holmes at the Improv though, because we bought tickets what feels like six years ago. I actually think I bought the tickets for that before I bought tickets for RAW, so yeah, a long fucking time ago.

I would just like to describe to you how fucking cold it was outside. It was Montreal cold. The kind of cold where you’re pretty sure you can see the air forming into hanging sheets of ice. Everything felt heavy. My usually teddy bear soft Hollister jeggings promptly froze into panes of canvas and then proceeded to rub all of my leg flesh off. We stopped in a bakery because we got turned around trying to run towards heat, and when I looked down to pull out my tickets and check the address, my eyes welled up with what I’m assuming were defrosted tears.

Fucking bullshit.

Pete Holmes was incredible though. Every bit as tall and gangly and adorable as I had been hoping. He had barely any clearance and shoved his arm through the fiberglass ceiling tiles a few times. It was just such a warm atmosphere, I loved his style. He would start giggling at himself, then the crowd would start giggling, then he would laugh harder, then everyone was fucking laughing. Watching Pete Holmes was like if you could get drunk the way they do in movies, childlike joy interspersed with fantastic, well-timed life advice. Like being that perfect three-drinks-in-everything-will-be-okay buzzed forever.

Totally recommend.

Throwback: My Middle School Blog 01/19/03

For all the old blog entries and school assignments I’ve read, and old pictures and art projects I’ve looked at, I cannot tell if it’s the things about you that change, or the things about you that don’t change that are more disturbing.

[sic] everything because there’s a few too many typos to change. Switched my cousins’ names.


Sunday, January 19, 2003, 6:11PM EST

im depressed. again. this summer thing is really really bothering me. i swear i cant take it. i loved the summer… after 7th grade was over. it was seriously the greatest time of my life. everything was fitting in to place. the 2 years since i moved here, i had struggled to fit in, and have friends. i had finally achieved that. i had gotten better grades than in 6th grade, i had found music, my calling. it was the time to lay back and watch everything fall into place. the music. the smells. the sounds. the sights. the tastes. the whole wonderful package that is summer. it wasnt just summer. it was paradise. a summer with a bow, and a cherry, and sprinkles on top. all of that shit that just makes everything a bit better. i guess i felt i could do anything. i wrote songs every day. sung songs. designed more sites than ever. now im fucked. 8th grade is hell. there is not one teacher i truly like. i have no freedom, the music just isnt working. the friend situation is worse than it had been in years, worse then it was before the i moved. and if life isnt bad enough, eveything reminds me of summer. im sitting here in the dark, alone listening to mix tapes i made over summer… defaults wasting my time… i hear it, and im sitting in my room, june or july maybe, its around 3 or 4. they’re playing the video on tv as im sitting on my comp chair. my bag that i got for my birthday is sitting on my bed, along with a bunch of francesca lia block books, and my walkman. and thats not imaginary. i swear that was a specific day. one that i wish i could relive over and over again. but i cant. its over. its gone forever. and i hate it. treble charger’s hundred million… the athem of summer. i remember i was so happy the first day i saw it. now it just brings more memories of summer… our lady peace’s somewhere out there. reminds me of wonderland, in the evening, chilling with cady and phoebe as they played it by wonder mountain at one of the game stand things. the calling’s wherever you will go… JESUS. im sick of this shit. i see things i made over the summer, summer clothes, i just want to cry. it cant be healthy. its just so depressing thinking that something you loved so much you will never see again.