Where Gaynip Wants to be a Slam Poet

Kicking off day 5 without pop and the first day without having something caffeinated first thing in the morning.  Every time I think of that sweet nectar that is Pepsi Max, I tell myself it is poison.  This may have backfired because last night I dreamed that I accidentally drank some and it was delicious.  My brain is actively working against me on this one.  Ilanikhan says that I probably shouldn’t tell myself it’s poison, because that’s probably why I had the nightmare.  Plus, if I ever do drink it again, I might have some psychosomatic reaction where my brain really does think it’s poison and I get sick.  Smart lady.

I’m back into one of my weird food moods again.  Yesterday, with supper, I ate an entire bunch of asparagus.  I actually had to talk myself out of eating the bigger bunch.  I keep digging into the coconut that I smashed out of the fresh one I bought last week.  I crave oranges or things that are made from oranges (like juice).  I have to remember to pre-peel some of my oranges for those days when I’m feeling crashy.  Peeling an orange (or a hard boiled egg) is practically impossible to do cleanly when you’re shaking like a leaf.  I almost pulled a Homer two weekends ago.

Today I’m heading to the doctor to find out the results of my blood work.  I’m too tired to feel worried about what he’ll tell me.  I’m actually thinking he’ll say “you’re fine”.  I don’t really trust him, to be honest.  He told me that I didn’t have a sleep disorder when I actually had 3 of them.  Another graduate of upstairs medical college.  On a good note, I managed to go to bed at 9pm (after half falling asleep with the Stephanie Plum book on my face) without the melatonin!!

This morning we’re talking about old wives tales and how chocolate does not in fact cause acne.  So nom nom nom all the chocolate you want, you’re getting the zits from something else.  Speaking of…I’ve been washing my face 2 times a day with the facial stuff and I’m drying my poor skin out to the point of peeling.  I don’t know what to do.  Either I wash my face less and risk more zits (caused by stress) or I dry out my face and hold back the tide.  I feel like a teenager again, and not in a good way.  Or like The Beast from Disney.  I don’t even want to look at myself anymore.  And usually when my skin is clear, I have this lame little moment in front of the mirror where I wink at myself and say something like “Hey there blue eyes, how you doin’?”  I know, incredibly sad and lame but it makes me feel silly and good about myself.  Now I actively avoid eye contact with ole blue eyes.

Yesterday, I watched a slam poet do a poem called “Pretty” that I thought was incredible.  I spent a good hour (spread out) watching more slam poets.  I wish I could be a slam poet!  There is one in particular that I really like, named “Rives“.  He’s fantastically funny and inspiring.  Corbet Dean does a few poems about being a cop, and one of which brought tears to my eyes!  I only started watching one that made me shut it off.  Not really the content, but after watching such passionate poets, it seemed lacking.  Not that I claim to know a lick about what it takes to do slam poetry.

I get the new bed in the living room today.  Tomorrow, I’m at McD’s to do a remote for McHappy Day with $1 from McMuffin’s, Big Mac’s and Happy Meal’s going to a local charity or Ronald McDonald House.  I like doing these.  I’m hoping that I’ll also get to do Camp Day again this year at Tim Horton’s.  Last year, The Rachel and I went down and made coffee.  Then we BBQed some hotdogs.  It was really sunny and we had a lot of people come out.

Everyone seems so quiet lately.  The office is silent.  The apartment building is quiet.  Heck, I even left my phone at home.

The subject of my cooking keeps coming up…I thought I would use a visual aid to convey what happens when I cook:


1 Comment (+add yours?)

  1. pezchica
    May 04, 2010 @ 11:35:05

    I used to be a slam poet groupie. My best friend/girlfriend (it was undefined, I do that) at the time was heavily involved/a performed in the local scene. I haven’t been since she moved to Vancouver. Anyway, big in Ottawa and a fun thing. Apparently, bigger in Vancouver as my friend swears people wait for her to come out and beg for her autograph.


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