for the crowd

Nine Inch Nails: Edmonton
July 28, 2008, 6:51 pm
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags:

Today dawned rainy and drizzly and miserable but OH MY GOD NINE INCH NAILS TONIGHT. I am so excited I just might puke. Yeah! That kind of excitement.

I’ll be the girl in the pink dress, with the henna tattoo on her back.


The Slip: Canadians Pay More?
July 19, 2008, 1:29 am
Filed under: Music | Tags: , , , ,

I’m a loser and really, really want a physical copy of the limited release of The Slip. Why’d it have to be limited, Trent? Now we’re all freaking out about getting one and they’ll fetch ridiculous amounts of money on ebay once they’re all sold. Thanks a lot.

But anyway, that’s not what’s getting me. What’s getting me is that I preordered the record on, because I am Canadian. Usually being Canadian has all sorts of cool benefits, like better beer and people not mugging you in foreign locales, but right now we’re being screwed over.

While the price on for The Slip has dropped yet again to $13.99, over on it is still at the low low price of $25.99. It’s much the same with, with the Brits and the like paying significantly less than Canadians when it comes to this record.

When Austalians were charged ridiculous amounts for plastic discs, Trent got all outraged and told everyone to just steal the music. That was back when he was still with Interscope, but he’s independent now and has more control over his production. Now, obviously I can’t go around stealing this thing (physically… and, well, I can’t steal it digitally either since he’s giving it away) so now I’m quite disgruntled. What gives, Trent? Don’t you like Canada? We invented the zipper. Do we really have to pay the extra ten dollars? I mean… we invented the zipper!

And concerning my last post: My haircut turned out fine, though I suspect I now look like a boy from certain angles. Hm. Whatever, I can rock it.

Searching for a New Stylist: Part 1
July 16, 2008, 9:14 pm
Filed under: Fashion, People | Tags: ,

I’m obsessed with my hair because… because my hair is freaking awesome. I love to go into the salon and give it a good chop or a little snip and change up my look. Actually, I’m amazed at so many people I know who won’t cut their hair because they’re convinced that they’re ugly and long hair is their only saving grace. I used to think that way, before I went in and chopped off the majority of my two-foot mane and transformed myself from unkempt bookworm to Ms. Sexy Sexerton. It works, people. Find a good stylist and go for it.

But unfortunately, I called the spa where I normally get my hair done today and found that my hair stylist has gone off, either quitting the business entirely or moving to a different company. My queries of “Where is she now?” were unanswered. I don’t have the time right now to track her down, so I had to result to picking another salon on the fly and going with that. Because hey, it’s never too early or late for a change.

I picked the place where I sometimes get my eyebrows done, and called in to book an appointment. What followed was one of the dumbest conversations I have ever had with a receptionist, ever. Maybe I was expecting too much, and admittedly I wasn’t too bright while on the phone either, but in my experience a good receptionist usually guides you along, and doesn’t wait for you to do her job for her. Hm.

Me: I’d like to book an appointment.
Her: Sure. What time? And what day?
Me: Well, tomorrow or Friday would be best.
Her: Tomorrow’s not Friday.
Me: Yes, I know. Tomorrow or Friday.
Her: Oh, ok! What time?
Me: It’ll have to be any time after six.
Her: Six?
Me: Preferably after.
Her: So like, seven?
Me: Sure.
[call waiting beeps]
Her: Oh, could you hold on?
Me: Yeah, sure.
[thirty seconds later]
Her: Thanks for holding!
[long pause as I wait for something more]
Me: … OK?
Her: So, around seven?
Me: Sure, if there’s anything open.
Her: Oh, well, you can come in tomorrow and we’ll be open.
Me: Ok?
Her: At seven?
Me: Oh, so I can just come in and you’ll accomodate me whenever?
Her: Well, we do do walk-ins, but it’s better if you were to make an appointment.
Me: … Um, could I make an appointment?
Her: Sure, what time?
Me: … seven.

So there you have it! I’m going in tomorrow (at seven, remember) and we’ll see how that goes. Hopefully my receptionist will not be the one cutting my hair. I’ll be sure to mention it in my next post if this is the case.

How I Am Now A Saloon Girl (or, holyshitIhaveacorset!!!1)
July 13, 2008, 10:06 pm
Filed under: Fashion | Tags: , , , , , ,

I’ve wanted a corset for awhile. Like, a long time. But I’ve especially wanted one since about October of 2006 when I first tried one on, properly, with a competent salesgirl who actually knew what she was selling to me. I figured that now was the time that I finally cave in and fork out a retarded amount of cash for a piece of satin and steel.

Now, I’m no longer what you’d call a Goth (oh, the horror!) but I still wanted a corset because

1) It does amazing things to your figure,
2) It’s versatile, able to be worn above and under clothing, for modern, kinky, or Victorian looks, and
3) It does amazing things to your figure.

First off, I wanted to be careful about who I bought my corset from. There are lots of places in Edmonton to pick up a corset, all of them ranging in quality and reputation. One of the more popular places to go is Sancutary, the “gothic curio” shop just off of Whyte Ave. There was no way in Hell I was going to go buy from there, though. Apart from one or two exceptions, the staff there aren’t exactly going to bend over to please you. They don’t want you in there unless you’re going to buy something – they detest window shoppers to the nth degree, becoming huffy when you try on clothes without purchasing them. When I walked in there and asked if it was possible that I could try on a corset, the girl shook her head and said “Only if you plan on buying one”. Wow! That’s great salesmen skills right there. Thanks, but no thanks. “Alternative” stores in Edmonton seem to go both ways – either they’re wonderfully sweet and friendly and helpful, or they’re downright pretentious.

So I chose Rowena’s, right on Whyte Ave, which is a store that has always been kind to me, ever since I was a wee ninth grader that wanted to be an elf. That, actually, was the store where I first properly tried on a corset. I went in there on Saturday last week to try on and fully intending to buy, but luck wasn’t with me that day – all of the corsets were too big for me, save for one that was just too damn small.

I resorted then to the stash of business cards on my desk and pulled out the one for Nightshade Corsets. I picked up their card near the beginning of the school year when I went to the Sex Tradeshow at the Agricom (and it was delightful, thanks! I bought my mother some Egyptian cotton sheets for cheap. “Hey, mom, I’m at the sex trade show.” “What’s that?!” “It’s like a trade show for sex, but I was wondering, would you like some egyptian cotton sheets?” “Ooh, yes please!”). I’d never gone to the store before, but I figured there was no time like the present. So yesterday I showed up with one of my friends in tow, and we started poking around.

I have to say, Nightshade Corsets has all similar stores beat, because the place was actually air-conditioned and didn’t smell of incense everywhere. It was comfortable to go up and down the narrow store inspecting the wares, because you weren’t sweating your ass off, and the atmosphere was pretty light since, strangely enough, the walls were white instead of maroon or black. So, I found the right store.

The second thing I wanted to be sure of was that I got the corset I wanted, and didn’t walk off with anything cheap or daringly overpriced. What I needed was something black, and plain – no frills or patterns, no bows or Chinese fabric. And I wanted the real deal, too, with steel boning and actual support, not just cheap plastic knockoffs that don’t do anything. The sales girl, who was one of those viciously thin women that pretty much look elegant all the time, asked me for my price range and I said somewhere in the realm of $200, and we were off.

I probably tried on about a dozen corsets, all in varying sizes and styles, trying to get the right fit and neckline for my body type. It’s possible to go in and have your body sized to get a custom made one, but I thought that would just be overkill – if there was a corset that fit me without all of that hassle, then great!

I ended up starting to try on some of the higher end corsets. I was laced into one that didn’t fit correctly, but that would give me the general idea of the difference between the three hundred and the two hundred corsets. I walked in front of the mirror and almost fell over. I was an hourglass. I was a particularly fetching liqueur bottle. I was a freaking saloon girl. I, like every other girl who has tried on a good corset, immediately felt like this:

Suffice it to say it was pretty sweet.

I grimaced at the price tag, but looked at my figure again. “It’ll be worth every penny,” my friend counselled. “You’ll never throw it away.” Ah, too true. I’ll probably still have it when I’m old and leathery and dribbling into my oatmeal. So of course, with a sigh, I bought it, but I haven’t regretted it.

So now I am armed with my brand new corset, and I am pleased. I rushed to show my parents, pulling it out with a smug look. My dad laughed and my mother shook her head and claimed she didn’t understand why I’d pay so much money for it, but I didn’t take her seriously because I get my spending habits from her, anyway. Besides, when I tried it on later last night, she had a demonic amount of fun lacing me up, even putting her knee to the small of my back and nearly breaking my ribs. Apparently she didn’t believe herself when she warned me that corsets were dangerous.

So anyway, if you’re in or around Edmonton, or wouldn’t mind the shipping, visit, or go straight to the source and hit up 108 ave and 124 Str. They’re stocked up to their eyeballs, and they know what they’re talking about. They also sell crotchless panties, but that’s another thing entirely. And no, I’m not being paid to tell you this. But I should be. Or at least get a free pair of fishnets for my troubles.

Canada Day
July 1, 2008, 4:49 pm
Filed under: Anecdotes | Tags: , , , ,

Way to go for me, yeah? It’s been over a month since my last update. Naughty, naughty me. All I can say about it is that I was not exactly busy (though work tires me out horribly), but I certainly didn’t have any focus at all to write. Well, I guess I’m still unfocused, so. Better late than never.

But hey, guess what? Today is Canada Day. I’m not in the best of moods and I’m feeling a little down, but I’ve slotted the Nine Inch Nails DVD Beside You in Time into the player (when I was living in Mexico, that DVD was like my comfort blanket) and I’ve cleaned the house up a bit. Cleaning’s great for making you feel like you’re sorting things out, and it doesn’t hurt to have a clean space when you’re going to have company over.

Last year I stood on the bank of the North Saskatchewan River and watched the fireworks exploding over downtown, but this year I’m throwing a little pool party (by little I mean there’s probably just going to be four of us… When it comes to gatherings in my own home, fewer is better). We’ll swim around and eat Smores and drink cheap vodka coolers. That sounds like a pretty decent time by me. I don’t really have the energy to paint myself in red and white and go crowd-surfing somewhere.

I’m pretty clueless as to what other people in Edmonton do on Canada Day. I figure we just party. I don’t know how much nationalism we put into it. It’s hard to generalize things, especially when it comes to national feeling, and especially since Edmonton is the weirdest mixture of people. If you go further south to Calgary, you find a bigger city but the culture isn’t so fantastic. Up in Edmonton, though, the hardcore conservatives and prim do-gooders exist side-by-side with the crossdressers, the pierced, and the loudly opinionated.

And see, we’re officially supposed to be the “City of Champions”, but a long time ago we stopped churning out champions. I used to wish I’d be one of them, but I realise now that if I ever become famous for whatever reason, it won’t be as someone that takes home the gold medals. Edmonton is now owner of a brand new name: Festival City.

Edmonton has a shitload of festivals going on, all the time, all year. People might look around at the dirty industralized areas in the north or the bland neighbourhoods popping up along the west and south, and say that Edmonton has no culture. But nah, we’ve got lots of culture. And we celebrate it, all the freaking time. “Festival City” is just another way of saying that Edmontonians know how to party, as can be witnessed when walking into any bar on Whyte Avenue at midnight on a Saturday.

This post is going nowhere. See! I told you it was unfocused.

maple leaf, yo(photo by Just-Us-3)

I can’t even say ‘the point is’ because there is no point. Suppose I should just stick one in nd make do with that. Well. I am celebrating Canada Day quietly, because I like quiet as much as I like loud and obnoxious. And I’m not feeling very great today because at around three in the morning an ex-friend, who I discovered after a few months of knowing him that he was a liar and hid all of his psychotic tendancies from me (blowing his cover when he abandoned me in Calgary after I got drunk and still wouldn’t even kiss him), started texting me scary, frightening things and then lecturing me on how bad a friend I am and that he’ll never forgive me for not forgiving him. Truth is, I don’t care what he thinks about me, because what’s important is that I know I’m amazing and he isn’t. I didn’t respond to him, and I’m blocking his number tomorrow, but when someone disrespects you like that it sure puts a damper on things.

But you know, he’s just one asshole in a sea of assholes, and I’ve got friends to make Smores with me and listen patiently whenever I open my mouth and start babbling about Trent Reznor. And it’s Canada Day, and I love this country, even though it’s confused and sometimes pompous, and I love Edmonton with all of its gritty corners and graffiti and amazing little boutiques where the girl manning the counter is the one who made the jacket you’re about to buy.

Maybe you’re Canadian or just in Canada and you don’t like it here, but think of something you do like. Even if it’s how the wind feels, or the maple leaf trees, or the loonies and toonies in your pocket (because whenever I go to America, I get flustered by the dollar bills). Go outside and watch everyone else celebrating, too, and it’ll catch on. Trust me. And if you’re already in the mood for a little bit of partying hardy, great! But of course, don’t drink and drive, know when you’ve hit your limit, stay safe and take care of your friends, because without them you’d just be partying by yourself… and that just blows. Am I right? Yah damn straight.

Happy Canada Day, chicos. Sorry I fail at post-writing. Kiss kiss!