That Name Again is Mr. Plow

I came home to my parents house this wretched Monday morning to indulge and be in a place that has more than one room, roast beef for dinner and a sex-free nite. Basically, I wanted to relax.

You can imagine how saucy I got when mom demanded I shovel the entire driveway. "waaahhhh. scutt doesnt want to shovel. Scutt is a lazy beast with carpel tunnel syndrome. wahhhhh." (rubs under eyes). But I put on a fedora and some gloves and went off to meet my defeat: The 6 ft snow pile the plow had left fittingly for me at the end of our driveway. 2 hours later I looked at my work and felt an overwhelming sense of productivity. The most productive I have felt since School. And it felt really really good.

So good, in fact, that I hopped over my recently created mountain that seperated our driveway from the neighbours and started to do theirs as well! They are in florida so I thought it would be nice for them to have a house that wasnt robbed to come home to (Also, my mom made me). But primarily I continued to shovel because I didnt want this feeling to leave. It became clear to me today that I haven't had a monumental task that I wanted to undertake in almost a year or since school ended. I work a mundane routine job that offers no mental stimulation and no feelings of achievement. I do mundane activities in my spare time with little or no sense of feat. For someone who deems herself a rather work oriented individual I certainly dont feel like I am doing quite enough to keep me on the up and up. This is a taste of what I have been missing. I am aware its just shovelling snow....but it's SOMETHING. And it offered me quite a good buzz along with numb toes.

Here's to the next big change!

A snow shoveling business.

(* in case your wondering, Its not ME who is sexily fornicating on a Monday nite, it is my neighbours above. Whom I am starting to believe are rabbits after all and want me to take part in their festivities. While all along, I am merely trying to steal a carrot from the vegetable patch and run away from the sounds.)

emo this!

Apparently you can't complain or be masochistic anymore without people calling you emo...

Listen all you Hip 20 somethings. Emo is over...Sure Panic! at the fallout boy has reigned again with yet ANOTHER album of angsty lyrics. Also, their chart toping single is enough to suggest that maybe trendy pop emo bands will be around for another 15 mins., But I think the nerd-gone-cool with comic books and clever makeup is dying out.

Still, the emo comments continue. "Im so sad today." stop being emo. "I feel lonely." stop being emo. "I want you to not call me anymore and tell me stories about your stupid dog, k?" stop being emo scutt.

I am very confident that those aren't actually emo sayings. Unless I am telling you that I masterbated to Catcher and the Rye last nite while simulateneously weeping as my black makeup falls to my shirt..then please refrain from telling me to "stop being emo."

non-emo kids have feelings too!

http://i10.photobucket.com/albums/a104/payphoneandpills/82330785_l.jpg

uncliche v-day?

We are all supposed to hate Valentines day. The cliche isn't hearts, chocolate and roses anymore..the cliche has become anti-Valentines day. Even people in relationships now boycott the traditions because they werent in a relationship the last 3 valentines days that rolled around and vowed to themselves that if they ever ended up with someone, they would not compromise their MORALS goddammit!! I will be angry and avoid all the Hallmark intiated scams. Im so trendy, sooo sooooo trendy. Good for me.

yes, this worked for even scutt for about 9 years. Boo Valentines day. Yeah we can spend the day together but nothing romantic. Wait, what are you doing? Put down that sexy teddy and get that Chocolate truffle out of your mouth. I said NO ROMANCE!

Although this year, is slightly different. How to you tell your anti-romance and Anti-valentines day "someone" that you want him to do something romantic? Well you can't. He isn't romantic and he isnt even that into this whole thing. So no valentines day surprise for you. Even if your idea of romance is teddy bears with heads cut off and little X'es where their eyes used to be. Or dead Flowers..now that is uncliche.

Good for me.

My Dad is better than your Dad.

Family winter weekend '07. My oh so cute father, Mr. Scutt decided to start a band. He grabbed his best friend, his entire family, a fender stratocaster and backing tracks of Harrison and mcCartney and played live at a lounge in M-i-s-s-i-s-s-a-u-g-a on Saturday night. Sure there were 10 other bands playing similar songs and you only got 20 min of fame (which, might I add is 5 higher than your standard 15) but for a brief while, The cleverly named "Chris Scutt band" was in the spotlight and the smile on him was literally, ear to ear.

It was awesome. First of all, no one can play Clapton like Clapton; we are all aware of that, but my dad does while my guitar gently weeps some serious justice. Clemens blew his mind over the fact that our family's camera was 11 mega pixels and went all Ansel Adams for the 20 min they were on. My Sister brought her three kids and the baby played the drums fericiously on the linen tables during Grandpa's set. Mom became a frat boy and chugged back a bottle of beer then asked where "all da bitches were." I just marvelled in the entire experience around me.

When you are young (read: adolescent) you see your parents as these white-washed-slaves-to-the-man, boring people that you vow to not end up like. When your eyes are rimmed in black makeup and you're standing at smokers corner you find yourself angrily cursing Mom and Dad for not giving you the car this weekend. You see them as passionless and definately not understanding. They are a bother, a pylon in your way that you need to plow down in order to make sure you dont get sucked into their metaphorical vaccum of unoriginality. You decide your life, in that moment, will be 400 times more exciting then theirs.

Turns out, snobby adolescent scutt, they did have personalities (!) and they were alright. Dad and you can now converse about politics, religion and weather (weather? yes...weather. Mr. Scutt is borderline psychotically obsessed with weather) he plays guitar in ways that you can only dream about and he is the first person to pull out a bottle of red wine and get drunk with you. Mom has lost her nagging persona and starts to treat you like a real woman. She trades books with scutt (unfortunately they are usually Dr. Phils or his fuckface wife's current non ficton bestseller) and tells you that you still look "good in everything."

It appears that I am really starting to enjoy my family more than ever before. I see there coolness now and tend to stick up for them when they have scuttisms. Because really, I appreciate now that I am totally half my mom and half my dad, so if we grew up and continually thought our parents were oh-so-lame, that would just mean that you too, are lame? or something like that...I think I have made my point regardless.

I just wish they had taught me the beauty of not using run on sentences. But whatever, MY DAD can play Clapton.

avoidance

People do not like to talk to me.

There are currently 5 fire trucks, 3 ambulances and 2 police cars sitting on Yonge St. There is no evidence of a car crash and no dead bodies. There actually really isn't anything to look at except the flashing red and yellow lights of the emergency vehicles. The yellow tape suggests to me that I should not cross, so I dont. I come in here. Although before this 20 min typefest I realized I couldnt cross the street and head home and now I was desperate to find out what was wrong.

"Hey man, whats going on here? " -scutt asks non threatening stranger
He looks at me, takes a drag of his smoke and walks away. And that is just plain rude.

I still dont know what the fuss is about outside.

This happens to me far more than I like to admit.