That Vampy's a Trampy.

Tonight, to unwind from the daily struggles of a house-hermit, I took time for a very very hot bath. I chose for my bath the least esthetically pleasing bath bomb from the many assorted bathwater infusion pieces situated on top of a little basket in the corner of our bathroom. Mistake. The bath terror-bomb in question was in the shape of a jolly red Santa, intact with a white bushy beard. I knew I was in trouble the second the cloudy pink fizz residue began to clear and I was left with, instead, sickeningly hot red water. That really looked just like blood. Oh Santa...

Post

"...and there's Luke not giving a Good God Damn!"

I'm sick of job hunting, applying and waiting in my house for interview calls to hit my receiver. Apparently there is something wrong with my resume that is causing Respective Employers to not bother bringing me round for a tête-à-tête chat so I can prove my worth/suck the fuck up. Or maybe I actually have no skills, experience or reputable education to be employable. I'm just sick of it. Always and somewhat stereotypically, the actress who waits tables at a dead end restaurant job is saving up to move to Hollywood, or just until the next break comes along. If her "dead end, shitty waitress job" is all she could land in her mean time, how am I supposed to justify in my life, that I am unable to even secure the oh-so-evasive interview for a coffee shop barista position at the mall?? Maybe it is because I haven't worked through 4 years of acting school. Is that the prerequisite for busing tables these days? I want to flashback to the 70s, when they accepted anybody who could type 60 words/minute on a typewriter for business administration employment. I could have gone so far.

It's oceans theme on the Frame 230HD. And now, Sunbursts.

Woodpigeon and The Antlers

WOW. I love music. I wish it was possible to be enriched by every single note available in the world. But seeing as that's ridiculous, I'll just try my best not to be a music snob.

http://www.myspace.com/woodpigeon

http://www.myspace.com/theantlers

by the way, the antlers are in town May 4, any takers?

It better be as fun as unprotected sex.

Recently, due to extenuating circumstances which involved heartbreaking volcanic ash, drain-pourable boutique beer and hotel bed failure, I paid $36.50 plus tax for Plan B Emergency Contraception Pills. Despite the hiked up price and a standoffish pharmacist who avoided eye contact as he explained that I may experience abnormal bleeding out from my ‘cuntle region’, I put aside any possible doubts that I’d been a nitwit for swiping over $38 for a 7% decrease in probability of pregnancy, and ate it. The box, neatly labelled “Plan B” and coloured with a pleasing blue palette, was roughly big enough for 7 iPhones to fit inside, snuggled like sardines. So, you will appreciate my confusion as I shook it open in the Granville Tim Horton’s and two measly, Tylenol-sized pills fell out with their instructions. At first I thought I’d been had by the creepy pharmacist. I half-expected a note reading “EMILY TRENCHARD, YOU’VE BEEN PLAN B’D!!!!” to flutter out along with an extending boxing glove, spring loaded to punch my embryonic baby in the face. No dice. I did exactly what I was told for once. Even down to the “take both pills at once” part. They went down so at once I even put them in my mouth together. That was on Sunday. Other than a few random abdominal cramps, nothing out of the ordinary is worth reporting from that bodily region since. In fact this method of contraception does work, or we shall find out in…17 days, and if any of my 5 readers were sincerely taken by my supposed ‘pregnancy scare’, I promise to post a response to this as soon as I know…

Positive, or Negative?

Actually, that was a Ty Haller reference, for any Cap Quality readers of this blog. I don’t think I pulled it off. Or that I have any Cap Quality readers.