Tuesday, September 28, 2010

Digital Suicide

The following is a practice suicide note. I'm not going to kill myself. I'll probably just go to sleep.

Upon finding this note, I'm guessing you found my bloating rotting corpse as well.
Yeah, I took the cowards way out.
I feel I am inadequate as a human being.  That I have never, nor will ever, accomplish much.
I'm miserable to be around, and those who I do hang out with, I feel as though I have lost touch.
I fit nowhere. I've been disconnected.
I belong nowhere, and I really dont see the point to life anyways.
To live. To exist. There.

I havent felt any happiness for the last three years.
It's been full of pointless bouts of wasting time.
I dont want to do anything. In a way, I'm freeing up space and am one less mouth for the world to feed.

I just dont see myself as worth anything.
I dont mean that in a melodramatic way; I mean, scientifically, I dont contribute anything!

This is my own doing.
Yes, my parents sucked at raising their kids, but they arent the reason I've done this.
Nor is it my friends, siblings, coworkers, or anyone else for that matter.
I did this because of me.
I am a useless human being wasting space.

Exist and Desist.

I am a girl trying to find out who I am.
Trying to find my way.

I dont know how important my impact on the world is, but I go about my days with the notion in my head that I'm glad just to be alive.
I am recovering from an eight year drug addiction, as well as a lifelong issue with severe depression.
I have no family, a crummy job....Really, the only connection I have to where I'm living now is some friends, and the fact I exist in general.
I am into punk rock.
I grew up on Punk roots, meaning I questioned everything, always seemed to be in trouble with some kind of authority, and really wondered just WHY people thought I was weird.
The way I can describe it, My Mother was a burnt-out junkie who stayed in bed all day and My Father was a straight-as-nails, morbid-yet-sensible man.
My Siblings and I were all very creative yet troubled.
My Twin Sister, to this day, is a lazy, uneducated slob with the maturity of someone six years her junior.
My Brother was an extremely violent, angry, sociopathic ex-crackhead, who seems to be settling down since he found out one of his friends was gay. Heh. Guess someone got in under the radar.

I know existance is, in fact, existance; and that we are not all just floating in the dream of a monumentous Universal Centepede in Deep Outer existance.....
But thats about it.
We create almost everything.
The Water of the Ocean is only as deep as the one swimming in it.

Monday, September 27, 2010

NYC punk?

Here's a crazy Idea:

A somewhat unstable Canadian Punk decides to save up money for a pilgrimage to New York.

But cant you just spend that money on a Tattoo?
I barely make anything at the job I have now, so I'd have to get a new job and save up..
Plus my stuff will be in a bit of a weird place...
I'm sure Ranga's leaving soon (tear), so I'd have a new person to guard the fort. Watch: I'll come back and half my stuff will be pawned off.
Meh. It's just stuff.

Anyways, I guess it's just a pipe dream.


Hurray to my Drug Doc (sorry..Addictions Councellor) who just became a Dad yesterday.
Thats the good news.
The bad news is: Now I am in Councellor Limbo.
This place, I know too well.
They havent told me anything yet, but I know from history that it's gonna be at least a month before I get in to see anyone. That and I have to explain things to them all over again.
Whenever I tell a personal story, I not only have to explain the characters, but also the setting of the story.
Like, whenever I tell a story about my own father: Okay. He's a Moldavian-Canadian Police Officer who's funny, witty, and creepy.
Therefore, if I told the councellor about the time my dad left me in a rail yard for two hours when I was fourteen; only to come back bruised, bleeding, but acted like nothing had happened and continued to drive me home- the councellor would have taken that as a sign of 'she was abandoned by her father'.
No. I wasnt.
Old councellor already knows what my Dad's like, so he'd probably ask me what I did for two hours in the rail yard. (I think I sat down and smoked like, five cigarettes. Whatever was in my pocket at the time. I dont remember!)
Not only that, but it's the connection.
You cant just open up to anyone. Thats why it took some people so long in school to get one simple scene done. I mean, you're vulnerable: thats probably how I got hooked on drugs in the first place.
Isolation, loneliness, vulnerability.
Now, it's like I'm having to take five steps back. Again.
I mean, I'm not blaming my councellor, or am angry at the fact his wife gave birth. Good for them. We need more Dharma Punks in the world.
I'm just frustrated that I'm lost in the system. Again.


I've been thinking alot about Fathers lately.
Whenever I see a picture of a father playing with his children, or a commercial of sorts, I get pretty sad.
I know most fathers out there are assholes, but mine wasnt.
Well..Okay, he's been an asshole at times. That doesnt mean he is one.
He had his own style of parenting. He just wasnt around much because of work.
My Mom was always in the house. We just never saw her. She was always in bed.
To this Day, some friends I knew in Junior High think I was Motherless/ Raised by my Dad.
I was, to some extent.
Yeah, my mom was there to display neurotic mood swings, childish ramblings, drunken fighting and terrifying violence, but that's about it.
Dad taught me how to cook, clean, and ways to keep my siblings from killing each other- when he was home.
After that, the schedual was: Avoid Mom, make breakfast/lunch/dinner, shut Laura up, get Phil organized, feed the cat, clean whatever mess the siblings made, get everyone ready for school/make sure everyone's doing their homework (we never did).
Dad came home around 7:00 every night.
He knew my mother had left her room if one of us was crying, or a wine bottle was missing.

So, why am I getting so uptight about fathers?
Maybe I blame mine?
I mean, he could have left my mom and taken us to somewhere safer.
He always stated though that he didnt want her to die and that there wasnt enough money.
Or maybe I just feel I've missed out on the whole childhood thing.
My Dad's been very supportive with this whole stupid baby thing, so I guess I shouldnt be complaining.
You know what? Maybe I should, actually.
Dad. You didnt take responsibility for raising yr kids in a safe environment. You knew we were being beaten; Laura stopped breathing one time she was so scared.
This wasnt just slaps either. We were punched, kicked, had our heads slammed in the walls, and I have two missing teeth from it. I've slowly learned to accept my smile.
Dad. You were such a wonderful man. So why didnt you rescue us?

Thursday, September 23, 2010

Early Morning Ramble- 1

I just want to stay in bed today.
Stupid responsibility.

There comes a time in one's life where they wish to move.
To Change.
To go ahead and continue further on the path through the hazy waters of adulthood.

This person isnt me.

I dont want this person to be me, and quite frankly, I dont understand why I have to be this person.
I'm perfectly fine and content with who I am, as well as where I live, what I eat, and how much I have.
I dont own alot of things.
I dont eat alot.
I dont feel the need to gain more money (yet. Christmas is coming up.)

I dont want to start a family.
I dont want a larger apartment, or more clothes.

It's the double standard: You're greedy if you want things, and you're insane if you dont.
You're frivilous if you buy things. You're stingy if you dont.
Capitalism is evil and demeaning. Communism is Soul crushing and pointless.

Where's the dust to cling?

Monday, September 20, 2010


Female Influences

1. Yoko Ono
2. Alice Glass
3. Courtney Love
4. Kim Gordon
5. Gloria Steinem
6. Bif Naked
7. Bjork
8. Joan Jett

Saturday, September 18, 2010


Oh Thurston Moore...

You may be a Schizophrenic Helltroll, but damn, boy! You make good music!

You also suspiciously remind me of my ex girlfriend. One of them anyways.....Who cares...They were all fucking nuts.
Ono Soul, Dude. Rock On.

You've been tagged!

Been reading up on a recent news article about a Sixteen Year Old Girl who was drugged at a rave and Gang-Raped by half a dozen people in a field.
In the age of surveilance, how did anyone NOT see this?!
We have surveilance footage of a homeless guy being thrown from a dumpster into a dump truck.
We also have footage of Amy Winehouse smoking crack. (Big Surprise there.)
But why, when it comes to actual hard-wired evidence, did this somehow go un-noticed?
There are Seventeen pictures on facebook of it. The guy who posted them is gonna get a talkin' to by the RCMP, and maybe a slap on the wrist for distribution of what's concidered 'Child Pornography'.
Uh, this isnt pornography.
Pornography is usually heavily digitally enhanced pictures of anorexic, seventy-five percent plastic Women fornicating with other equally plasticated Men/Women/Donkeys.
*Insert a million Donkey = Ass/Porn Title jokes here.*
It's consentual and payed. Unless you're the donkey. 
(And if you're reading this, Mr. Donkey, you're a donkey who can not only read english, but navigate the internet to read this. I'm proud of you! Now go get another job. No, not those type of jobs!)
This was Rape. What's worse is the guy taking the pictures didnt do anything to HELP this girl!

She's now living with this ordeal and there's a dozen photos of her strewn all over the internet of her, barely conscience/on GHB (the 'date rape' drug), while being fucked by half a dozen douchbags in a line!
(And you thought the facebook photos of you dancing drunk on a table in some backwater bar were bad!)

The RCMP claim that they simply cannot pinpoint all the pictures strewn about because Facebook is so vast and picture sharing has become so widely available, that it would take about a year of hacking to neutralize all the photos from all sources. So....
You can find and shut down illegal mp3 streaming operations.
You can prevent me from using my roommate's credit card to buy a pet goat on ebay.
You can use infrared technology to find ammo dumps.
You can spend countless hours streaming the BP Oil Disaster to CNN.
But you cant help a Sixteen year old girl find her attackers and maybe get her dignity back.

Yeah, Okay.
I'll just go back to tagging drunken photos of my sister dancing on a table now.
Thats the great thing though about having a twin on Facebook.
That supposed little blurry black dot fighting crocodiles while plummeting down a waterfall?
Totally Me.

Thursday, September 16, 2010

Creepy Roomate Update

My Current roomate:

Steven Boscher
Age: 26
Occupation: Tattoo Shop
Time S/He's lived with me: May '10 - Present

This guy's gotta be one of the coolest people I know. (Well, he'd have to be to live here!)
He's an average Str8 Edge Punk Ginger Aussie (Adelaide?) with some great tattoos.
He's also a millitant Atheist. Okay, I shouldn't say Millitant. He doesn't blow shit up. (That I know of...But then again, with the track record I have for roomates, you never know...)
He does, however, feel very strong with the separation of Church and State, as well as just the general Idiocracy of Christianity.
I know, I know.
The little twenty one year old Idolizing some Tattoo'd atheist.
Trust me. It makes a better Twilight Ripoff than anything in real life.
He does raise some very good points in some Facebook Atheist groups, so HURRAY!

He also eats a ton of sugar.
He's probably nuts. But hey, I dont mind.
He has his space. I have mine. It's all good.
And because some idiot's gonna ask sooner or later: No, we havent seen each other naked.
I hope to never. Despite being awsome, lets just say I'm an early bird who doesnt go for worm.

Wednesday, September 15, 2010

Junkie's Promise

 A hundred dollar's pay used to buy your stuff
And now a hundred times a day and still it's not enough
People always tell me you get what you deserve
All I know is all and all is all I've heard
I heard you say: "you know I hate myself
But I love everybody else"And did you say: "I can't escape myself"
And then you did and now there's no one else
To blame you know that I know-yeah that times are rough
I'd like to help you out, but things are rather tough
People always tell me that you've got to lend a helping hand
Nothing in return is all I expect from you my friend
I heard you say: "you know I hate myself
But I love everybody else"And did you say: "I can't escape myself"
And then you did and now there's no one else
I heard you say: "you know I hate myself
But I love everybody else"
And did you say: "I can't escape myself"
And then you do
and now there's no one else.

Take Thou Job and Shove Thy, Part 2

Skipping work again.
God, I hate my fucking job...
I also hate the fact I'm being some kind of a lazy ass, and justifying being lazy with the whole 'I hate my job' excuse.
If it were up to me, I'd run my own business of vegan catering.
But that would mean taking a business course, getting certified, learning the 'art of presentation' and many other things which require money.
I have to work for money. At a job I hate.
{Vicious Circle time!)
I never have wanted to become a cook.
I like cooking, dont get me wrong, but that's just the thing: I like it.
To turn something into a job is to make it the enemy.
I know Andrew McIllroy stated to 'never make the building/schedual the enemy', but then again, he'd shuffle into Starbucks at night, and spew a plummel of exausted aggitation about having to teach at another place till midnight.
Meh. He's a great man, so I'm not going to point out the whole hipocritical viewpoint.
My job is getting easier since they've began training me. (Gee...That only took three months!)
But it's just the whole repeatitive nature, plus making an indecent wage $9.00. Immigrants make more.
Our Supervisior is very overworked, nobody ever really knows what's going on, and the whole merchandising department is opperating miles apart from everyone else.
That and everybody in the store, including the new people, are making more than I am.
Why this is, I have no idea.

Craigslist Time, again.

Speaking of job woes, I saw a picture of my old roomate on craigslist, who's now in New Zealand, working as a prostitute.
She did the same thing when she was here, but I was glad she was living with me and not in a brothel somewhere.
I was always very nervous that her body would end up in Coal Harbour or False Creek.
She's come home and tell me about all the guys she'd service.
God I'd wish they'd legalize prostitution already!
Sure, these fucking pseudo-hippies can block victory square for hours about 'Freeing Marc Emery!' or other shit, but I have yet to meet any young people who will put their time towards prostitutes.
Oh yeah, that's right....Prostitutes arent really people. I forgot.
They cant be grinded up, put into bags, unless you're Robert Pickton... smoked, and make you do stupid shit.
Anybody who gives me that 'It's their choice' attitude can stick it up their ass.
You think someone just gets up one day and decides "Hey, I'm going to go sell my body, risk my life, and begin a life-long addiction!" just for something to do?!
No. This isnt 'choosing' between Cookie Dough Icecream or Peanut Butter Icecream.
It's (for lack of a better term) choosing to make money the only way you know how to, so that your body doesnt go into entrapedic shock from withdrawl, possibly risking a heart attack, or eating another day.
The Sex these women are having isn't passion infused either.
Nobody's in love. You're on something, a guy is punching you in the face, doesnt care about how much it hurts when he's fucking you, and hey, maybe he has a gun and might shoot you! Who  knows!
These women have the self esteem of chewed gum on the sidewalk.
What's worse, is that in Vancouver, people would rather clean up the gum.

Monday, September 13, 2010

Never Enough

I always secretly feel really lame that I'm the one not drinking or toking at any party/social function.
I mean, it's totally my choice: Live up and pay up.
I know it works out in the long run: More self control, slowly gaining my life back, never hung over, never making a giant ass out of myself...The pros totally outweigh the cons.
Recently though, I've been to a few outings where I've felt a bit disconnected from everyone else.
I guess it's my own doing, seeing at how you're only as happy as you want to be happy...
I guess I'm just on a different wave length than everyone else.
Dont get me wrong: Being dry has totally saved me in situations as well....*coughDrunkMagicianscough!*
I mean, because of being the quickest (well, relatively) thinker in some situations with some people, I have prevented some fires. (Literally).
I mean, I know people who've almost gotten themselves seriously injured while drunk....and being in a room with a stoner when you're not baked is about as exciting as watching paint dry. Sometimes, that's literally what you end up doing all night anyway. Only they enjoy it.
I'm not gettin all preachy or anything about the dangers of alcohol...
Everyone already knows that.
I guess I just feel like how I did when I was the oldest kid in Kindergarten.
I knew Santa wasnt real, and even if I pretended and went along with the excitement of the other kids, I knew deep down that it was all an over-rated sham.
Meh. I'm being moody.

I still have lovely friendships I am greatful for; I just really dont appreciate how everyone keeps telling me I'm a 'good girl' all while chugging their beers/wines.
I guess I can compare the feeling I get to someone on a diet in a room full of people eating cheesecake.
You think "Oh hell....Everyone's eating it! May as well have a slice!"
Thats when you remember that nobody in their right mind ever has just one slice of cheesecake.
Alcohol and Drugs are the same way.
"One Drink is too many, and a thousand is never enough".

The deeper subtext I feel is that I'm the only one I know, who is willing to admit I am struggling with an addiction. So far, I'm winning. But it just keeps going on. It's a simple fact. Nobody I know has (or is willing to admit) an addiction. I feel as if there's some kind of stigma placed on me as 'the chick who cant drink'.
Same thing with being Vegan and Diabetic.
Cant have this. Cant have that. Blahblahblah. I know that if I throw it all away, it's gonna bite me in the ass though. (I'm just being whiny...)
Thank god for the Virgin Margaritas at the Mexican restaurant tonight!
A friend of mine from school, Stacy, turns Twenty One today! YAY! MEXICAN FOOD!
Complete with a sombraro, guacamole, and of course, a thousand things with cheese.
I ordered the guacamole. Really the only thing I could eat. I dont mind though. I love the shit.
I'm glad I got to sit and eat my favorite food with good friends.
Happy Birthday Stacy!

Sunday, September 12, 2010

Short Poem

I called up my mother
She'd had too much to drink
What's one pint to another?
As this woman might think.
Reluctantly, we sang verses
From the exact same song
It was two different bands
But she still got it wrong.
"The song's about a woman who was left by her man"
"The Song's about Suicide" I interrupted. "Understand?"
"My version is beautiful. Filled with a soul
Your version sounds like it was sung in a hole."
Mom, I interupted, Cant we agree?
Or is that such a problem, from a person like me?
Surely they sound different, but the message is there-
It's someone who's lost touch with a world in dispair.
But there's no use arguing, or taking the blame
You cant win a match with the creator of the game.

Taketh thou job and shove thy

This entry was written August 21, 2010.
Facebook never let me publish it. Reasons I have no idea why.

In this past week, I'd have two very opposing conversations with two members of my family at different times.
I had managed to come to even terms with my brother, stating to agree to disagree; though I have a sneaking suspicion he's going to hinder off to the same level of being an asshole he usually is when I'm at home.

The other ill-fated-as per usual- conversation was with my mother, from which I had managed to evade her usual guilt ridden self loathed stories of pointlessness.

I haven’t slept well for a couple of days, so now I'm sick.

I've missed two days of work. Bad for the paycheque, but good for the fact I despise my workplace.

I have a job interview today for a small café which makes chocolate.

Coffee and Chocolate: my two Achilles Heels.

I’ve also been reading Edgar Allen Poe, the result being my writing is beginning to take better shape.

I’m sitting on the fence with the whole job thing.

On One side:

Jean’s Reasons for Quittin’ Time!

1. It’s pretty obvious. I’m like a retarded child attempting to play bagpipes in an Elevator when it comes to working where I‘m employed. The training sucks. What’s worse is that my superiors have all ADMITTED the training sucks. When it comes down to crunch time, within me asking whether or not I’m going to actually learn something today, everyone’s ‘too busy’ to show me where the fucking hooks are, what the fuck an MTD actually is, and whether or not anyone actually gives a fuck about merchandising in general.

2. Is it chilly in here? Or….
Is everybody just in a really fucking bad mood ALL THE TIME?!
Yeah, it’s 5 AM. Yeah, you were probably out drinking all night. I understand.

But all I said was “Good Morning”, not  in demonic voice from The Exorcist “Yer Mother’s Here”….

Lighten the fuck up people!

I’d never thought *I* would be the one telling someone to smile!

3. It hasn’t been since VFS that I can actually feel myself tensing up when I enter the building. It’s an automated reaction of fear; something I don’t need.

If my body is reacting towards the point of being so frustrated that I actually start to shake, then I know I’m either doing something painful (AKA At home Sewing Needle Piercing) or something I really do NOT want to do.

4. Nine Bucks an Hour. I made more doing the exact same tasks I do now, at a Liquor store.

Granted here, I’m not sneaking booze.

Jean’s Reasons to Stay.

1. Three people out of the four dozen people working there are nice.

2. I’ve only been there for two months. {But then again, if I’m already driven into a shaking frenzy after only two months….}

3. I can have many piercing and purple hair. They don’t seem to give a damn about those.

Who knows. Maybe I wont even be hired at the café. (Editor's Note: She wasn't!)
Maybe, like almost every workplace nowadays, they’re looking for the Lulu Lemon wearing, sweet to yr face-snotty to yr back type of people, whom seem to be multiplying at a terrifying rate.

I’m frustrated because it seems like every other month, I’m out looking for a job.

I was debating whether or not it was just my attitude towards the entire thing.

Or maybe I’ve just worked a lot of crappy jobs.

Who knows.

All I know is, From this job, I got a cheap printer.

Hurray and Thank you.
I’d live on an Amish farm with no technology whatsoever if it meant I got homemade chocolate.


I’ve found the dirty little secret behind the ever addicting evil Girl Guide cookies in vegan cupcake form.

*Insert Mwahahaha Here*

If nobody wants to eat Chocolate Peppermint Cupcakes, then I’m outta’ here!

Saturday, September 11, 2010


Before I forget:

Nine Years ago today: whether you believe it was carried out by Islamic Extremists, or an entire cover up/incident created by the CIA, over a thousand people lost parts of their families/friends in the World Trade Centre Attacks in New York City.

May they Rest in Peace.

-September 11, 2010

Music Rant 1

For the last month, I've been listening to Sonic Youth non-stop.
Before that, it was Kap Bambino.
Before THAT was Crystal Castles.

I'm wondering if this is either something more deeply rooted in my psyche, or if I'm just succumbing to any average young person's interest in music.

Kim Gordon, the Bassist for Sonic Youth, is definately on my list of powerful women in rock.
I'm so amazed at almost everything that spouts from her mouth.
Sure, she's guarded and edgy...But who isnt?
Best of all, it isnt an act. That and she actually knows what the fuck she's talking about.

I cant believe some of the idiotic things most tween pop stars say these days.
I'm sure people can remember that twat Miley Cyrus's 'racism scandal', in where the fucking twat  singer was photographed mocking some Asian guy by doing the slanty eyes thing.
OH and some wonderful words of wisdom from Shiloh! (Who?)

Interviewer: So what can you tell me about your single? What was the inspiration you followed?
Shiloh: Well...Uhm..Like, I didnt actually, like, write the song.

Sorry. That was the sound of my skull imploding.

Now, back in the day (the 80s...), most punk rockers got by on writting their OWN SHIT.
Like, picking up a pen and paper, and writting things down. Then creating a melody through practice.
I know that Sonic Youth still produces their own music, even though they're all on their merry little ways of becoming grumpy old people.
(Kim still looks fucking beautiful, and her husband/bandmate Thurston Moore hasn't aged a whole lot.....Maybe gingers really are all secretly evol trolls. He reminds me of every guy I went to highschool with. I will post further self-created conspiracy theories on why Kim Gordon may just be the devil. I've got my Dad on this theory as well....)
The Beatles also followed this somewhat foreign practice of creativity/talent.
I bet you Paul McCartney can source every song he's ever written. Thats because, uh, HE ACTUALLY WROTE ALL OF 'EM!
I was taught this at VFS: When your results suck, you suck. No matter what you do, if you dont do the work/put in the time and effort, you not only lose power in everything you do, you never really gain the power to begin with. The power of talent, work, and self respect.


Allow me to introduce myself.

I go under the handle 'Lambcat'.
(The name is after a little stuffed genetically modified cat plushie who think's he's a lamb. He wears a pleather jacket I made him.)

I am a bored, overeducated-understimulated young woman, living in Vancouver, Canada.
I'm a vegan buddhist, as well as a recovering drug addict. (Arent they all?!)
My main source of income involves spending four to eight hours at an un-named Electronics store.
I know for a fact this company actually spies on its employees, so I wont bother getting into all the red tape and shit.
I'm a Str8 Edge Punk, currently with a Black and Red Mohawk.
I'm still young. I can do whatever the hell I want with my hair and face..
If, by some fluke coincidence, or some horrible experiment-gone-wrong involving soysauce and poptarts- you were to meet me, you'd assume at first glance I was some angry-spitting-junk shootin'-sarcastic-punk girl of a bitch. I'm actually quite warm and funny. That is if you dont subject me to drug fuelled schizophrenic ramblings of utter destruction.
Too Many of those...

I live in Vancouver with some Australian Str8 Edge punk I met on Craigslist.
He's cool.

I've lived throughout Western Canada most of my life, so I really dont have a hometown.
Vancouver to me is the greatest place one will ever vomit in the street.

Most of the people I hang around are either from the last city I lived in; Calgary, or people I drag home from work to play N64 and eat spaghetti.
My hobbies include cooking, playing N64 or Gamecube, jumping up and down like a monkey on speed to music, photo manipulations, baking, and sleeping.
I am also an Alumni of Vancouver Film School's Acting Department.
I think I'm going to do that now, actually...