When was the first time you watched a horror film, and how did it affect you?

Honestly, I cannot recall the first horror film I watched. I was probably terrified at first, but also very intrigued. As I grew older, I wanted to watch as many horror films as possible and rented just about every horror flick from our local Blockbuster.

Read the Bianca Barnett interview

Except, turning 33 feels different; special somehow. Maybe it’s in the numbers, but most likely it’s all in my mind. I feel different. Birthday wishes, presents and all that junk aren’t important to me, except—for reasons I’m just beginning to understand—I actually feel like celebrating this year. Something’s tingling inside me. I think it’s hope.

It’s a strange, strange feeling. I haven’t felt hope in years.

The past few years have been tough. I’ve felt, in my darkest moments, like there’s no point to a lot of what I do and that grinding away has been an effort in futility. Positive change as a result of my actions has been elusive.

The love of my friends and family helps pull me through a lot of the darkness and I’ve enjoyed many moments. I can say that things have been OK, but not great. For the most part I can muster up a smile and a laugh and I do know how to enjoy myself, despite feeling like a part of me is (was) dead inside.

I’ve felt directionless and without purpose, despite working on some important projects for social change. There’s a big slice of something missing from my life, but I have no idea what it is. I used to feel hopeless about these feelings, but now this dead spot in my chest doesn’t feel so heavy. It’s nice to feel hope again.

It has nothing and everything to do with 33. It’s easy to create a signpost to mark when things will happen. I guess my mind has chosen my birthday as a symbol of change.

The veil is falling down and I’m happy to be alive.

The fashion world welcomes an exciting new addition to the As Seen On TV menagerie: PajamaJeans.  Blending the muumuu-like luxury of pajamas with the I-Have-A-Job assertiveness of jeans, PajamaJeans lend a touch of MILFy mystique to dowdy homemakers.

Pajama Jeans: The Sassy, Sexy Way To Tell The World That You've Stopped Trying.

Because it’s 6:45 AM somewhere.

“Now with 30% more gunt support!”

I don’t really know if you’re the one
or if there is any such thing as “the one” but
what I do know is that I don’t want to be alone
anymore, so here we are,
tying our lives together with the belief that
boring sex and fights about nothing
is better than dying with nothing
but a cat and a (misplaced?) sense of pride
in independence and self-sufficiency
to comfort us.

Spring training was sooooo good to us. Still crying. 

Part 2: IDC IF I LOOK LIKE SHIT IN MOST OF THESE…Crying right now

IDC IF I LOOK LIKE SHIT IN MOST OF THESE…Crying right now

Me: Don’t say that to me. When people say that everything goes black and I wake up surrounded by body parts.

You guys are so mean! Patrick Chan was BORN THIS WAY.

WHAT? WHYYYY????

DYING. DEAD. GONE.

So it’s come to this:

• You go to a giant multinational superstore.
• You call your sister to ask what she wants for Christmas.
• She tells you what to buy her family, with all items coming from huge multinational suppliers.
• You buy those multinational items from a catalogue.
• Those items are delivered unwrapped to your sister by the multinational corporation ahead of time.

Christmas. Tesco style.

For years advertising has been gently pissing on the spirit of Christmas but with this advert they’ve finally slipped into rampant corporate wish fulfillment; no personality, no individualism, no charm, no special consideration – just the purchasing and exchanging on items at a specific time of the year.

If an advert could have eyes this Tesco commercial would be dead behind them.

Once, just once, I would be so utterly and completely happy if when I pressed one of the buttons in the elevator it shot up and burst out of the top of the building like Willy Wonka’s Wonkevator. That would be so sweet. I’d probably end up crashing though.

It’s been a week. I’ve slept, digested, farted and drank. No, I haven’t seen him. No, I don’t want to see him. Looking at how I was feeling in my mind, makes me laugh today. But smile because it happened and the sex when it finally happened, was amazing. Maybe that’s what it was for. The sex.

I’ve been too busy on my other blog. It’s tumblr. I love it. Quick and easy to explain how I feel. In a picture, a quick post, a quote, even a recording. But writing is my passion. So I need to start writing on here more. But with tumblr, no one knows who I am. I’ve made friends. Other confused and fucked up souls. I don’t know who reads this one. Whether or not people think its real. But what is real? It might be real from the outlook of one part of my brain, but might be ironic to another.

I need to get out of this place. My never ending battery supply is slowly diminishing. And there’s only so much I can cook. I want to get on it. I want to get high. I don’t know why she swallowed a fly, perhaps she’ll die.

Cutting off losers and users, makes ones life particularly not that exciting. Till I fill the void with new kindred souls. Corporate world? I have two weeks left of my life. Two weeks to find enough money to get me out of this hell hole.

I want to put my voicemail on here. But I’m too lazy to record them all. I want them as memories. Memories of the mirage of reality. My reality? My desired outcome? My anxiety of the truth? I don’t know and I don’t care anymore.

Island life/
takes getting used 2./

Now I’ll catch a ferry/
2 soon b citifide./

There I’ll b clean,/
and feel dead inside.

They need to get a little dead inside.

*****

Nails down to the quick
I’ve made them weak
with my neglect
I should have listened to the wives’ tales
I’m without talon to pick or perch
and it will take more time than I’ve got
to make them right again