Ode to High School

So I decided this hoodie was blog worthy.

Going through a bunch of unpacked crap, I come across this, which I don't even remember packing up.

My Victoria School for the Performing and visual arts

 (said in a very pretentious English accent) HOODIE, purchased in my Grade Ten year, mainly just to prove I made it to high school, plus I was special due to the fact that I went to an arts school, pissshaaw, so it needed to be advertised.

Love the fact that the design is totally a classic. 

Not written in weird 90's neon shitty font.

My glasses make me look like I could have been the model student... ummm... not QUITE model, but close enough for an arts student that busked on the weekend for money for cigarettes so I could always look the part of dark moody classical musician in a stage of complete rebellion, at the height of teen angst- (they call them emo's now. This was more about being a beatnik goth/alternative metal head classical violinist- YA KNOW?

 Like I had something more interesting to say than just-

fuck you-

-which is probably what I would have said anyways.

That school sure did a lot for me though, I learned how to connect different forms of art, and when I left there I could see images in music, music in images, the beauty of the macabre and the wonder of joy, and a higher understanding of performance, art, music and media and the beauty of the creative process. 

I only hope the child I birth one day will want to go to this school too, it was potentially the best decision I ever made.

If I had gone to a school unlike Vic, I would have definitely dropped out, I'm sure of it now.

Lets just say if I went to my Jr. High's feeder school Strathcona aka Scona, I'd be Ricky from the Trailer park boys now.

http://youtu.be/77xfD4TM6_s

MEOW!

LOVE!

-E.

Ireland Wales

OK!

Just a quick lil' entry to bounce this nutty idea off the wall:

The other night in a state of Pinot Noir I decided the next time I have to renew my license I would change my name to:

Ireland Wales.

I got such fierce support and remarks of how BEAUTIFUL this name is, and really I think it soooo is, but it also sounds like the title of a football match, minus the Vs.

I have a few names now my maiden name, married name, several alias names and even nicknames, they are all a little different, but as we were talking about names and origins of names and Celtic tribes and shit, somehow it came to me-

Erin Welsh=Ireland Wales

WHAAATTT?????

It was a fun party joke that literally turned into a bet, more than that even, an obligation.

Maybe I've completely lost my marbles or I have finally seen the truth, the light!

Now should I adopt this name for any particular period of time, I will expect to be referred as Ireland Wales until I decide I've worn it out- if I ever do!

Just kidding, if you really can't handle it call me Erin Welsh. 

Or whatever!

Now I hope this doesn't offend my mother in particular, she asked me one day when I was fourteen, we got to spend some summer and winter days at Jasper Park Lodge and they were wonderful days.

One day my mother and I were paddling a canoe ( I know, how Canadian) to a golf course that is on a little island across the lake where my brother and dad were playing, and my mom asked me for the first time if I liked my name, and I was like,

My first name? Or my whole name?

Yeah! I think I do!

I had never really thought too much about it.

I liked some names I thought were pretty, naturally, for my dolls and barbies of course, like Sara and Melissa and even Britney and Bianca.

Then I realized that day, yeah, I love my name!

Later on I was told that Erin Welsh sounded like a made up name.

I loved it more even than before.

I figured that Ireland is another way of saying Erin.

So should I do it?

Or the more important question should be, WILL I change my name to 

Ireland Wales???

Or am I just making a big ol' joke blog cause I've had one or seven sakes?

You decide!

LOVE!

-E.

Bam, meow, hiss, BOOM, BOOM

Random title, random entry!

I hope I remember this tomorrow and suffer shame.

JK!!!!!!!!

Too hammered to write, here's some PICS!

CACKLE

UMMM, I NEED MORE MONEY.

HASHTAG, OFFICE ISSUES.

Glory the polar bear I MEAN POODLE!

She's a lover.

Most recent Dr. SkinCreeper visit- allllll clear baby whoop whoop!

Chloe didn't like the fact that I was taking pictures of her instead of feeding or petting her so here she is growling and backing away, she's a cute old lazy hag.

The greatest dating guide ever!

I believe this fish is named Floatatious... the names change here at the B.G.M.

GILLOUISE!

Gill-OOO-Ease

(Trying to show off an animal or fish or whatever creature as often as possible, there are 9 animals in total here!)

A Varg Verkernes Meme that only black metallers and those who care to do the research will get.

Hahahahahaahaha!

K, G'NIGHT!!!

-E.

Thursday Shit

SO!

Let me begin by sharing my recent misery with you.

I started playing soccer on a team two weeks ago.

We have games (indoor) once a week on a gymnasium floor.

I'm the goalie.

Bound to hurt myself.

I will do whatever to save a goal, I don't care how much I hurt myself.

At least that's how I felt when I was 15.

At 29, things hurt more. 

They just do.

Last night I was flying all over the place and bent my calf the wrong way, I don't even remember how it was so swift and painful.

I refuse to let it get me down and off the game, I find soccer so much more rewarding and fun than working out in a gym or any other kind of exercise.

There is blood pain tears sweat and GLORY.

That's why I love the beautiful sport.

Well, I can handle a little pain and strain, but I did it to myself pretty good last night, then came to work and put on heels like an idiot, a gawddamm fool really, and at some point while going down the stairs like my Grandma Frannie does I lose my balance and 

FALL DOWN THE STAIRS.

Oh my god, who falls down the stairs?!

Me. 

It fucking hurt.

The worst part was I couldn't stand up, so I had to writhe in pain for a couple minutes and take my heels off.

Ok, that hurt.

Great reminder that I am not 15 anymore.

It's even harder for me because of the surgery I had on my leg.

The same leg I keep hurting.

It is just different now, I can't lift it up from the top of my leg so I use my knee and calf to lift it, and if I hurt that muscle I can't stand up on it at all from sitting down.

Fucking muscle tearing crazy surgeon, I had no idea the impact it would truly have on my life until now.

I do have a great ice pack and painkillers so I can concentrate on my 

"life" outside work, SCHOOL!

***THE NEXT FRONTIER***

Learning truly is wasted on the young.

I am loving learning and here's what I look like every night:

Usually have a pen in one hand and a cigarette in the other.

I'm ambidextrous like that.

HARDCORE HIGHLIGHTING

NOTES NOTES NOTES

I don't know why I didn't use highlighters in Jr. High or High school, they are my best friend now.

Sometimes when you only have limited time to study lots of things, you can skip over the non-highlighted parts to get to the meat under the bright yellow.

I am pumped to take my first chapter test next week!

Wooohoo!

Anyways, unlike my previous school career, I plan on being an A+ student.

A goody goody teachers pet even.

I want a 4.0.

ERIN'S SCHOOL HISTORY (Abbreviated, there's too much.)

Kindergaten:

Shy but girly.

Had to wear a dress everyday or I would cry.

Caught on to french quickly and was speaking it soon after.

Kindergaten ruled. We did arts and crafts and got to play in a sand box and with boats in a water tank little play houses and trade juice boxes.

Oh, the simple joys of childhood.

When I was in elementary school, we had to do soooo much homework, and the fact that it was French immersion gave you that little special EXTRA challenge!

If you didn't even understand the damn concept in English, why would you be able to learn the entire concept in a different language than you think in?

French immersion is just that, being IMMERSED in French.

You leave lacking English grammar skills with a head full of French grammar you'll never use again.

Ok so elementary school.

I remember loving school until about grade 4. 

Before that we didn't have the evil BESCHERELLE, the French BIBLE of Grammar, and one little mistake of 7000 different tenses and objective, selective, corrective, whatthefuckever that all is that I still barely understand, means you aren't saying something right.

Until that age, they didn't say SHIT when correcting your writing in french.

They just said, oh, we will throw this at them kids later.

All of a sudden, everything I knew turned upside down with all these new tenses, Present Avoir, Future Avoir, Future Tu, Toi, Je, ills, Elles, on, tu, nous....

I'm sure you are confused, I always have been.

By Grade five my grades slipped a lot in french and math because I was just confused.

Most of my class was getting it but I just wasn't.

Maybe some just knew how to study better and take a mental picture of those horrid bescherelle pages and be able to make some sense of them, I can understand it better now but still just barely.

I held on till junior high where I could have switched out to English I don't know why I stayed with French, but I am kinda glad I did.

At some point of Grade 7 I heard about the concept of anarchy, and to me at the age of 12 listening to Smashing Pumpkins and Hole, hating my parents and brother, and spending most of my time brooding, putting on dark makeup and writing depressing poetry, anarchy meant FUCK AUTHORITY and thus, FUCK HOMEWORK.

Well, did I ever pay for that.

Bad marks in math and science, by grade 8 I was failing most everything but said that

 I DIDN'T CARE.

Our French and social studies teacher doled out a TON of homework everyday, and sometimes I would do some in the class, but when I got home it was "fuck it o'clock" I got on the phone and gossiped with friends and cut barbies hair and gave them piercings with sewing needles.

I rarely handed in complete homework assignments- I remember stopping on the side of the school yard to do it before class- yup, and this particularity hated old teacher who was a round apple shaped french bitch in a tight leather mini skirt frightened me so much, and she was my homeroom teacher.

One day after not knowing shit in some oral quiz she did to humiliate kids in front of the class she took me aside and told me that if I didn't get my act together and start doing homework I would end up a homeless junkie hooker and she delivered that so coldly I'll never forget that horrible woman.

Grade nine was better, I was less awkward and not failing everything, and doing more homework still not all of it but some. Haha.

Grade ten was both exciting and horrifying.

I had been at the same school for ten years in the same class of people, and as much as I wanted to get away and meet new more like minded people I didn't go to our feeder school I went to the art school downtown.

I felt so cool... Art hight school.

Played violin for credits, learned to model in photography and create images that were in my head.

I did have some issues transitioning and found myself lost and unaware of my true self, missing my former classmates and not sure how to adapt to my new social environment.

By grade 11 I was fully into Vic and all my fun artistic endeavours that I completely forgot about Jr. High and just LOVED the rest of High School, tried, studied and even did homework.

Somehow graduated with 165 credits!?!?

They gave em away like candy on halloween at that school for things like playing music in the lobby of the theatre for performance, 1 credit, 2 credits, even 3 for shit like that.

A few of the last credits I received were from playing violin at my commencement for the A-P names or whatever.

That school was Edmonton's version of FAME!

We were all stars in our own right and that's what kept me there till the end.

Post High school grad, no interest in school, period.

Finally five or 6 years later I go back to school, to beauty school of course!

It was great, 7 months of class and working on clients- we didn't get paid but got tips sometimes!

I loved it and it care me a career I can do for the rest of my life if I want, or fall back on it, whatever!

After doing that combined with the restaurant service industry my entire life, I am ready for new horizons. 

New challenges, and a new sense of purpose.

I find that in learning and applying myself now, how uncharacteristic of this old rebel girl.

Thanks for ready, time to crash, my painkillers are knocking me the fuck out.

INSERTING RANDOM PHOTOS FOR THE FUCK OF IT!

THE BESTEST FRIENDS YOU EVER DID SEE!

Ballin'

Chloe the stubborn but loving old lady dog and me.

Still rockin' at 100.

Love this woman,

My cute shiney Salem, all shiny and stuff.

Felacia Dragbottoms, our bottom feeding placostamous or however that's spelled.

I think he's cool but gross.

UNTIL NEXT TIME MY LOVES!

PEACE!

-E.

Spectacles, testicles, wallet, watch.

FINALLY I chose a pair of glasses, waited ten days, and now I can see again!

Glory Halleluh-JAAA!

We had a fun but very late night here at the B.G.M.  but because I didn't get any eye hurts it was even better, and worth posting a few goofy pics!

The world is so colourful and beautiful!
I feel like a well functioning organism.

Cursed astigmatism in each eye!

Ball of corn/ ham/ goof.

I CAN SEE YOU!!!

LATER ON...CLAD IN PJ'S

Glasses and a cozy flannel night shirt from my daddy, Frou Frou pink leopard spots.

Anywho's here is some music from tonight!

RANNNNDOMMM!

http://youtu.be/r7sIqyoRFiU

http://youtu.be/xcLqVfKTtKw

http://youtu.be/p2Rch6WvPJE

http://youtu.be/93HAAniZquI

http://youtu.be/2gCgluVD0Aw

NIGHT!

-E.

The Balls

So I started this blog during my interferon treatment, after my surgeries.

Today I was trying to remember those four days in hospital almost 2 years after my big ol' lymph node removal surgery that is a blur of needles, dressing changes, catheters and bed pans, painful trips out of my bed high as fuck on morphine, totally out on Mars, floating around in some weird painful limbo.

Lucky for me I had friends like John there entertaining my mother and I, and getting pics of what was quickly dubbed

MY BALLS!

John only had a few pics of that time, and the most memorable and documented part of my big surgery was The Balls!!!

Now for those who don't know about the balls, they were drainage tubes with ball like receptacles at the end, that I had to wear for almost A MONTH after my surgery and were pretty much the most annoying part was those fucking balls, one tube going into my hip and one in my lower abdomen, stitched on me and pissed me off and I was not able to wear PANTS for those near four weeks.

Everyday 2x a day I had to empty these nasty things full of fluid and blood, yum! 

Not only that I had to write down the measurements of orangey liquid from my balls, cause once it got to a certain lower level of shit in The Balls I could get those fucking things out of my body and put some pants on!

I couldn't move too much or the balls would fill up more, I had to "juice" the tubes for crap and clots, yum again, sorry I don't feel a need to give a warning at the beginning, get used to it, winkie face, mmm, what else?

They hung down like big ol' horse balls.

That was entertaining and helped me deal with it, by it being fucking funny.

I didn't exactly take selfies during this time cause I always looked like shit.

Apparently there was one day in the hospital where I must have been so looped on morphine I allowed John to take a picture of me all messy hospital headed with no makeup on- SATAN FORBID, but I was giving the metal horns cause I was the most metal thing to ever grace the Misery-Cordia hospital of course, but John lost the picture, I kinda wanted to see it simply because I didn't even remember it.

Instead he made sure to capture many shots of The Balls!

If you really do have a weak stomach, maybe don't look at these photos, but don't forget, all of the stuff in the balls is in your body too!

Hahahahaha. 

Lying in the hospital bed.

John thought this nurse was hot so he got a few pics of him, and we bugged him about the Colour codes card attached to him about code brown, and if we thought it meant what we thought it meant, he placated us by going along with our joke, he was funny because when he took my catheter, he's like, ready to see how much you peed???!

HEHEHE

He goes off with a huge bag of piss while I laugh.

He was cool.

A close up of one of The Balls, shortly after the surgery, lots o' blood!

HOME FROM EL HOSPITALE

Them's ma hangy balls!

BAWWWWWWLLLLLZZZZZZ!!!

This is pretty much the position and night shirt I lived in 24/7 for weeks.

It was the best one for clipping the tubes to, so I didn't care how dirty it got.

I smelled like a homeless man living in a garbage and covered in food/ cookie crumbs most of the time, neglected showering for it was a pain in the damn ass.

Obviously high on painkillers, but it was the first day I wore makeup in weeks, and of course I finally ran a brush through my hair, and since I had friends over I tried to show off my cookie cleavage.

The Britney Spears of cancer surgery!

Again, The Balls.

Good times.

It was kind of therapeutic to look at The Balls again, they really disturbed me just because they were stitched to me, kinda like some milder version of a human centipede idea, ya know?

Hope I managed to disturb you mildly, yet still make you laugh.

The Balls are gone and that's all that matters.

-E.

PEEVE MONSTER!

Ok, here we go, I'm about to list some pet peeves on the internet.

PLEASE don't not one of ya's take offence to these, or whatever, do!

I don't care, these are ONLY A FEW of my pet peeves, and not the harshest either. This shit is PG....13.

IN NO PARTICULAR ORDER:

- LINE ASSHOLES! 

People who try to snake in on the line. Those short people who think they can get under a taller person in front of them in line. I always have this problem at places like Shoppers drug and Wal-Mart.

Shit, this has happened to me everywhere, clothing stores, banks, even the courts paying a damn parking ticket. The doctors even!

EVEN AT THE CROSS CANCER INSTITUTE I have encountered LINE ASSHOLES!

WTFFFFFF!

Another kind of line asshole is the one that is last in line at one till, and then another till opens and THE NEXT CUSTOMER is supposed to be first and that asshole from the back snakes in with his Dandruff shampoo and socks. Line asshole. 

-SLOW WALKERS! 

Well doesn't that say it all. Slow walkers with no disabilities whatsoever off in their own world taking a damn Sunday stroll on a Monday. Get moving you son of a bbbbiiiiiiiiiitttttchhhhh.  That includes those fucks that walk slowly in the middle of West Edmonton mall like a huge mall is SO AMAZING it's just a big, annoying mall. Take all the fucking pics you want just stay out of my way, I know where MAC and Millennium are so move the mtherfk out of ma g'dam way.

-WOMEN WHO PEE ON PUBLIC TOILET SEATS! 

Jesus, this one is disgusting, and if you do this, I'm sorry, I may have to re-evaluate our friendship.

 If you want to hover over a mall toilet seat and essentially piss all over it I hate you, truly.

SO GROSS.

All it takes if you are that much of a germaphobe, which BTW there are more bacteria on your phone than a mall toilet seat, is to take some toilet paper or the bottom of your boot to lift up the seat if you wanna "hover." 

I believe these women should have to at the very least clean up their disgusting messes before they leave, which technically leaves it dirtier for the next woman, and therefore I believe these horrid women/girls are misogynistic bitches and should have to lick the toilet seat. That my HARSH opinion!

-PREACHING VEGANS! 

Goddammit, how can we not prove that you that you aren't actually eat meat behind our backs? And whats with all the beer VEGANS drink? 

They're like ACTUALLY IT'S VEEEEEGGGGAAANNN, *roll eyes*

Is that why you are fat because you get most of your calories off of beer, and your idea of Vegan is a VEGAN frozen dinner from planet organic or Quinoa on lettuce?

STFU about your diet. I don't care.

Once I knew a dude, that dated a friend of mine and worked for my father in The Hotel MacDonald where at the same time I happened to play the violin for brunches, that proclaimed one day to be VEGAN. 

He kept up his charade until one day I caught his lying ass eating a pepperoni pizza in the staff room, where I catch him and go WELL WELL WELL whatcha doing eating that?

He's all trying to rationalize it by saying if he doesn't pay for it then he doesn't contribute to the slaughter of animals. 

I laughed at him and said, so, like, it's ok to eat out of the slaughterhouse trash then?

He seemed confused, as any himbo really would be.

SHUT UP PREACHING VEGANS!

Ah that felt good.

Well these are so long and descriptive I may only have time for a couple more, cause as I say, don't get me started honey.

-PEOPLE WHO ALWAYS NEED TO BE TALKING ABOUT SOMETHING IMPORTANT/POLITICAL.

That's a long one, but shit, do we ALWAYS have to be talking about social issues and blahbittyblahblahblah I don't feel like it all the time! Most of the time!

If we are friends we can make jokes about anything. The bushes we walk past. Billboards. Weird creepers. Dumbasses. Cool. Life. Our lives. Serial killers. The Simpsons. Some other dumb mindless shit, or even kill fantasies..... WHAT?

 Not others all the time. C'mon really, it comes across as very pretentious and conversation controlling. I don't want to talk about elections in the middle east all night. 

-THE FOREVER BRIDE.

Ok, so maybe this one is more controversial, and perhaps looked upon as biased as I am currently not exactly married, but heres what I hate about the 

"Forever bride."

The woman that got married 4 years ago and the only pictures of her on Facebook are those taken at her wedding. The woman that when you ask her, tell me about you!

And it starts with, WELL, I'M MARRIED, or I'M A WIFE.

Ok, good for you, is that what defines you as a person, being a wife?

That is kinda boring and sad.

HOW can anyone be a happy wife or husband if they revolve around the other persons needs and always put themselves second? Define themselves as 'MARRIED".

 How can they be the person they really are if all they do is serve another? 

This is just one of my recent and perhaps somewhat bitter revelations about marriage.

Now if you are a happily married person, I think that is wonderful!

Just please don't shove your Destination wedding in my face for years and years afterwards.

It's clear you are clinging to that sense of BRIDE, I don't think women should define themselves as A BRIDE first and for most, unless they are serving some sick fucking polygamist, and really, all they are is WIVES.

-TONE DEAF FOLKS THAT THINK THEY CAN SING.

Don't EVEN get me started honey.

Snap, snap snap.

Ahhhhhh, that was better than taking an anxiety pill.

I feel refreshed.

Thanks ya''ll for reading, and yet again sharing in my miseries, and it may be selfish of me but I do hope that you share in one or all of my pet peeves listed here.

 I do admit, there are many mannnnny more but if you want to know those more horrible and disgusting pet peeves you should come over with a bottle of wine and

 GET ME STARTED HONEY!

I must crash now, the Pinot noir is sending me to bed.

Love always my shiny hexed kin.

-E.

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