smothered hope

It's late. I've been up thinking for days.

Jason's funeral was nice. It's sad how funerals are possibly the only real closure people get in life. The majority of it was just another ceremony, ritual dutifully played out for the benefit of the bereaved, and I won't speak ill of it, but I will say this: I attended out of respect for Jason and his family but did not expect to cry. I did not expect the sight of his coffin to evoke such strong feelings. I've been to funerals; the dead are like exoskeletons to me. Perhaps it had something to do with the length of time between that moment and the last I'd seen him. When the service was over, it felt permanent, and that was what seemed to count the most. Satisfying and alleviating.

I met up with old friends, reconnected and observed the changes, or lack thereof, in all of us. It's funny how people expect others to remain the same, even when they themselves have evolved. I've heard that people can't truly change their personalities, not significantly. (I hate the way that sounds, like our minds are a crapshoot, and we're stuck with the mutant results thereof, like herpes.) Some of my old crowd are just as I'd suspected, others seemed to have grown into themselves with grace. Still others seemed like the same people, only mellowed by new cars, marriages, babies, homes. Phone numbers and e-mails were exchanged, etc, but by that time, I mostly just wanted to take the lady shoes off and sleep through the residual emotional haze.

Some other things I've done, in no particular order, but rather because I'd like to get off of what is turning out to be a dreary topic:

I had a shoot with a visiting photographer, which turned out to be quite fun. Public nudity and an advantageous view - if you think watching people piss and smoke joints is hot. My favourite had to be the old, bald dude who made no bones about staring at my tits, oblivious to the fact that I had just seconds before been snickering at his tactless urination tactics. (Say that last bit five times fast!) As we left the fire-escape, a cop van passed, as many cop cars had while we'd been shooting. I had managed to appear clothed the entire time, but the photog and I suspected that the boys newly occupying the same spot would not be so lucky in eluding Montreal's Finest. I'm waiting for the photos with baited breath.

I've been watching far too much of The X-Files. A friend of mine owns the entire series, and I'm tearing through it like bushfire or somethin'. This sort of nerdy addiction is bad. So bad. I'm starting to frighten myself. Yesterday I decided that the guy who plays the boss (Skinner) is sexy. Today I caught myself drifiting off into a Mulder/Scully slash daydream. (I know, I know, "slash" is usually reserved for gay fanfic, but I wanted to point out how horrifically geeky I am with both my desire to see fictional characters get it on and my knowledge of the term "slash". Next up: Mulder/Scully/Kat threesome fanfic?) Send drugs, money, and hookers who look like Duchovny*.

Finally, a note about name brands. I have a pair of jeans whose model name is "Hipster." Like "Boot Fit" or "Button Fly," I suppose. Only, I'm not so sure any hipster would be caught dead in these. I think the name refers to the waistline, but I can't say that the waist on the "Hipster" model is much lower than that of the dreaded Mom Jeans. In fact, they make my behind look flat and wide, and the legs flare slightly at the bottom. Hipsters seem to favour the tight, super-low cut, the kind you can roll up without giving the impression that somewhere, a toilet has overflowed. These jeans are of an altogether unflattering cut, and I have therefore decided to rename them the "Fat'n'Uglies". I'm sure if I use them for general housework and mucking about, they will become fashionable in ten years. You know, about three weeks after I decide to finally throw them away.

*Unless they're women, in which case, Anderson, please!

back | forth

listening:
reading:
ingesting:
(see entries before 20.11.05)

previously on Smothered Hope:

unreal - 20.05.08
in which our narrator kinda just babbles on a bit - 15.05.08
drank several margaritas last night. they were great. - 04.05.08
spacey - 29.04.08
i will most definitely regret posting this in public - 28.04.08