I was thinking today, that I would like to live in London. I really miss it, and I haven't really talked about it since November. When we went I wasn't sick of the rain by that point, and it was tremendous fun running from building to building in the rain, and falling into the lobby of some uptown pub, to the welcomes of friendly barmen, as opposed to those skinny brainless women they have pressing themselves on you in a Canadian restaurant.
And it was so big! When we flew into Heathrow, Mom pointed out all the landmarks along the Themes, and it still expanded for miles, ten times bigger than Calgary. All the buildings are intermingled. There was an old-about seventeenth century-scary looking hospital with gargoyles on the door, and dusty black windows that you expect to look up see a lost spirit drifting past, with a butchered stomach and blue translucent guts spilling out of them, and all the while, you are standing on the street next to the Starbucks kiosk, in front of the Underground station, which has no front wall onto the street and you can hear all the hustle and bustle within. The best part was a woman in full costume, from the London Dungeon, dressed as a hooker from the Jack the Ripper exhibit ordering coffee and smiling at me. She hurried off and dissapeared behind a double decker bus. I looked for her in the London Dungeon. She accused me of commiting unnatural crimes against animals...as part of her script, mind you. From the top of St Pauls, I saw everything, and when I saw the Old Baileys, the famous court, I felt justice.
At the Tower, I watched the ravens, and how they are superstitiously linked to the Tower. Something about if the ravens leave the Tower of London will fall. I gave one raven a chip. And we saw Henry the VIII's armour. He was obviously compensating for something! I felt special, walking where royaltly had walked, and taking a picture of an Olde English toilet.
When we went with mom she took us to the London equivalent of 17th ave. It was a lot better and a lot more of a culture shock at night. Lots of homeless people, but they were all nice. Not drunk or stoned or pestering. They didn't really beg for money, all they wanted was conversation. There was one girl, about nineteen with a big shaggy dog and she had a bloodied up face. Everyone was really kind to her, offering her food and mopping up her blood with tissues, and I knew she wasn't thinking "Great, now I get to rake in the cash!". She was genuinly hurt, and when the police arrived, they didn't just throw her in the police car, but they helped her up, took her dog by the leash, and led her slowly to a nearby pharmacy. I saw her again later, with a gauze bandage on her face and a small smile as she held her canine companion close and talked to a woman who wore upper class clothes and wore expensive jewelry. I gave her five pounds. Her dog licked my hand.
We went into a store and went shopping. A boy, of about twelve, was trying to steal something, but the alarms at the doors went off. His older brother started swearing and hitting the kid. The kid didn't cry, he knew he had done wrong. The older brother retrieved the merchandise and handed it carefully back to the woman at the front desk. I watched as the kid stared at the floor, but I knew he would be okay. When the brother came back, he wrapped his arm around the boy and led him out, still shouting and swearing, but comforting him as well. I was surprised how everything went back to normal. No police, no guns, no nothing. It was like the Londoners all had this understanding of each other, so they didn't get their feathers ruffled over the relatively small stuff, like a small sorry kid.
When we went to London the second time with my dad and Mick, we did a lot of the same things, but still only seeing a tiny part of the great city. We saw Pudding lane, where the Great Fire of London started in a bakery, and the monument to it. It wasn't a big dressed up thing either. Mick, Meagan and I wouldn't have found it out if we hadn't walked to the bridge.
The trains were fun. The Undergrounds were interesting, standing on the station, with pidgeons the size of badgers flying in the tunnels, pale from the lack of sunlight. My mom told me that in WWII, people would cram down here, as it doubled as a bomb shelter for the night. I could imagine it. The Overground trains were exceptionally nice, with men in green uniforms and those old train hats, and a big old station, with high high high ceilings and panes of glass that were so muggy with white smoke I could see through them, but sun still leaked down. When we raced along the platform, almost missing the train, I imagined women in late nineteenth century clothes scrambling after their husbands, doing as we did now. And the trains offered hot food and liquor and snacks and fine desserts. And it was so yummy. I remember on the way back to Ascot with Mick, I was tired, and dozing against him, and I felt like I was content to stay on that train with him for all enternity.
I'm not sure why I am talking about London now. Maybe I miss Mick and Clare, and want to see their baby daughter Niamh. Maybe I miss my family there. Maybe I miss the rough community feeling, maybe I miss that woman and her dog. I miss them all. I wish I wasn't here.

Wow. Today was fun. Fun like the fun. Except I got very close to having a fucking concussion.

I sneezed! After 28 hours of holding it in, I sneezed. Hah, Val, my nose rings remains as it was, embedded in my left nostril! Although it was a mouth sneeze...which...now my nose is bleeding...shit.

I still have to fucking sneeze.

Something is going to happen...
Mousey attacked Poe or something last night. He has been hissing and growling all day, running into corners and hiding under things. I do hope they stop. They usually get along so well...what do they know that I don't?

Man, this is so cool...I can feel air passing through the side of my nose. The only problem is that it is a little sore, so I have been containing my sneeze for about nine hours now. It didn't hurt, but the procedure was odd. It bled, so I had about three Q-tips rammed up my nose for a while. Emily, is that stupid enough for you?

Blog, blog blog, blog blog blog blog blog blog!
Oh, I am terribly excited! For tomorrow, and then for Friday. I am super joyous that I got my purple plaid swim shorts back, as they are super cool! Muahahaha!

Val, I hope you have fun in Peru, and although I know it is a terrible thing to say, I kinda want that "The 'H' Word" senario to happen...with the love, of course!

Not dying, found my swim shorts!

Ugh, I think my brain is going to explode now. GARRR, WHY IS MY MOTHER A NAZI?!

Tomorrow is the day! Woohoo!

Listen to the Thunder God sing his earthly alto, and watch the Lightning Goddess dance like a spirit released. Smell the rain as the heavans cry. It remind me of everything wonderful and deadly.

Aaaarrrrrgh! Dying! I have searched high and low for my purple plaid swimming shorts, but I cannot find them anywhere! These are like...my super shorts! I probably left them at my dads, but if I have lost them I swear I am going to cry! THEY ARE SO COOL!
Well, I think so anyway.

Admitedly, I'm a little annoyed. I'm not entirely sure why, but it's a little annoying.
Anyway, I'm going out. Yayay.
So tired, and I wish that woman would shut the fuck up.

Beebo, Only Beebo

You shine through the black when things are bad
Beebo, Only Beebo
You make the rain stop when I'm sad
Beebo, Only Beebo
You make me laugh and make smile
Beebo, Only Beebo
You make me think that life is worthwhile
Beebo, Only Beebo
But most importantly of all
Beebo, Only Beebo
You make the best Dead Baby of all
Beebo, Only Beebo!

For Beebo.

This is a crappy movie if ever I saw one.
I want it to rain.
I am not doing anything, to the best of my knowledge, until Wednesday. And on that day, I will get my nose pierced. Hooray!
Yeah, I'm stupid.

This has to be said. It just has to be.
I cannot understand you. I think that I have gotten a sign, that the hints are true, but then I talk to you, and I simply can't bring myself to ask...maybe for fear that I will be told something I don't want to hear, but in any case, I feel stupid and rejected and sad. Maybe I will ask, and you will tell me that I was right, but it is more likely that you will say it wasn't me you were talking about. I fear that my heart might just break. Especially because it could easily be me, but it could also be someone else. Maybe I am lonely, I cannot tell. But this must be known. When I am in your company, or just chatting on line, I feel so warm and loved. Thankyou for that, at least.

Ms Emily's Mom, I love you. So very very very much. Can you feel the love!?
Sorry Em, I called you, and you weren't home, and you mom asked how I was, and I said I was fine, and I asked if you guys were moving, she said maybe, then she talked about your dad, and she said *quote*He is kind of an asshole, what with that drinking problem*end quote* and I was sort of stumped, so I laughed a little, she laughed too, and I said that I hoped she had a good summer, and we moved onto this atrociously hot weather, and she said to call you about six and I said I would so I will, and then we said our goodbyes, and here I am, blogging about it.
Hooray.

Beebo, your phone, it is stupid!
Must...find...source...of...cold...
But my heart is pleasantly warm, because someone out there loves me.