I'd like a small Sprite, please...

Am I the only one that thinks of a little winged fairy when someone orders a small Sprite? 

I've worked in the movie theatre for quite some time now and every time someone orders a Sprite I giggle.  I just imagine the concessionists pulling from their aprons a beautiful, magical creature and handing it over to the customer for the duration of the movie.  Like we offer a movie companion that will float around your head and sit on your shoulder throughout the film!  The best part is when people ask for a large Sprite.  This makes me laugh.  Could you imagine pulling out this bowling ball sized fairy with tiny wings, huffing and puffing to the theatre behind you?  It's wings on overdrive and sweat pouring into your popcorn as it buzzes around your head in the theatre!  So the next time you order anything from the concession stand know that we have Sprites on loan!

Well, hello there!

I'm just going to jump right into it.  I hate black people.  HA! Kidding.

Yesterday was the install for our first digital projector, 3D capable.  Today is the second install.  Good so far?! 

When I walked upstairs to get to the booth for the first time I witnessed a massacre of the arts.  There were wires hanging and frayed.  Pieces of metal were thrown about and scattered, plastic and bubble wrap all over the floor and sound rack.  The new, compact digital projector was shinning in glory as these workers were scrambling around it to make sure we were on screen by 7:45pm.  And all the while in the corner, all alone, was the old 35MM projector.  He sat there, facing the mayhem with his scope and flat lens pointed at the new guy, slightly cocked to the right and a little puddle was forming under it.  It could have been the lens cleaner.  It might have been the oil streaking, but I'd like to think he was crying.  The rein of the film days are coming to an end and we are force feeding the projectors their must deserves.  I had to walk by the men working numerous times while running the movies and every time I passed the old projector I heard a sigh.  I did have gas, a lot of it.  That poor guy reminded my of Johnny #5 and I really felt like saving it's inanimate life. 

As I threaded all the antique film through the projectors that were still up and running I got this sense of comradery, a silent coming together of sorts.  Then I walked over to #10.  See, this is the other projector to go today.  They are doing one install a day and today is 10's turn to die.  As with #5 yesterday so too will 10 be replaced today.  I had a feeling of failure and broken dreams from #5 as it watched it's life slowly fading away, but with 10, I felt a sheepish, scared little mouse had taken over it's soul and could see it tightening it's bolts to the floor.  It almost looked like it was nudging closer to the port glass window.  Like it was going to hold onto the wall for dear life.  It new we were coming for it.  It might have been the weeps from #5's oil pump or maybe a last attempt to be infamous.  "Go out with a bang, eh, A.J.?", but it was on a mission to be the last remaining 35MM film projector in the world.  I pat his lamp housing and said good boy, threaded Eat, Pray, Love through his well greased sprockets and pushed start.  A sense of uninterrupted respect and satisfaction poured into my bones as the Xenon bulb flickered on.  It took three times to light.  It was his way of deciding to go on, saying thank you, and good bye.  He stood tall that day.  And the other projectors took notice.  A collective wave of honor and accomplishment rolled over the booth at that moment.  The projectors seemed to give a one apeture plate salute while sweet #5 slowly passed away.       

Scoop, Scoop.

Does anyone else find it amusing that we classify one of the deadliest jobs in the world, besides suicide bomber, as deep sea crab fishing?  Really?  The other one that made it high on the list is ice road trucking.  Ummm...I'm not saying they aren't extremely dangerous but, who cares?  I mean think about it.  They're "fishing" for crabs.  Crabs!  Do we really need crabs in our life so badly that we would send burly men out to sea for 3 months of the year to have only a handful return alive or in one piece for a meal that smells like you just sucked what was under your fingernail after scraping the bottom of a fish tank?  They're crabs people.  Get over it.  Pick up an education and be a plumber for god's sake.  At least you won't need to leave your wife at home to worry over the ever cooling plate of the shell fish dinner he risked everything for wondering if the father of her baby will be home with all his appropriate appendages.  Snap into a slim jim mutha bitches and get real.  Have I mentioned that they are just crabs?!  And on the other note of the ice road truckers...why aren't we using their deaths and mutilation as "fuel" for our litigational fires?  We should be lobbying to our government officials saying stop the murder, go green.  The only reason these men and women risk their lives to cross the semi frozen tundra is to take supplies up to the oil farms in Alaska and then ship oil back down to the willing.  Perfect reason to shut those bitches down and take on hydrogen or corn-powered machines.  Am I really the only one thinking about this?  I mean there have been shows on TLC or The History Channel, one of the two, broadcasting these dumb saps' lives.  The ratings go up and the crabs and oil come streaming in.  Is this what we as Americans have become?  Snookie drives the truck over the oil fields as The Desperate Housewives of Pensacola team up against all odds to get their unwed daughters dating again while shucking shell fish into bins?  Tell me you people wouldn't watch that show and then joke about it to try and justify the reason for watching it in the first place?  Makes me sad.  Although, I have to admit I do watch Chelsea Lately, so in a way I'm contributing to the mass hysteria known as our "culture", but I only watch her because I'm jealous of her face.  I like her face, people, is that a crime?! 

The next stranger you see in the world I would like you to do me a favor as you pass them by, smile and say hello to them.  No matter what type of mood you may be in.  Just look them in the eye and say hello.  Truly mean it when you do.  No mocking attitude should scrape past your teeth.  Just honest kindness.  Let me know how it goes.

This isn't even good grammer or interesting to read for such a topic...I apologise

I am almost 30.  This doesn't come as too much of a surprise seeing as I have been living my own life...it's hard not to know your own age at this point in time.  My point being, I have nothing to show for my life.  Now, this is not some silly Brady Bunch attempt to get sympathy or false compliments.  I try not to fish too hard anymore for such shallow meanings, unless it's about my hair, of course!  But it is an eye opening topic that I must sit down and truly address.  I am almost 30.  I live at home with my parents, I have no real job, no insurance, no money, I have debts owed to the government; sister; father; mother, I have no college education or training of any kind.  I am lost in my own uneducated translation...shout out Kever!  And to boot, I have no motivation to change any of it.  I have no goals to strive for, I have no likes to wish into reality.  I am a rotting piece of sunken ship floating to the surface with the current as my only direction of where to go once it's reached. 

I have always said that I just want to be the "normal" housewife and take care of someone, heart and soul.  But I am almost 30.  Those prospects and lack there of are not looking too good.  I know what everyone is thinking, 30 is still so young.  Yes it is, in the straight world.  In gay years 30 is midlife.  Looks are a huge factor in the life of gay men, men in general, but gay men have a different out look on life.  It is instilled in us that we must achieve greatness by 24 and be in the best shape of our lives by 30 otherwise you become that old man creeper hitting on all the young boys at the club...and you just turned 31.  It's no joke, people.  I invite you to sit and watch the goings on at any gay bar after 11pm.  I have always hated gay "culture" ever since I can remember.  I hate drama.  I hate overly exerted displays of attention.  I get sick off the fact that sex is the only motivator.  That you can't just be friends, it has to be including something more, something with maybe down the road I will blow you and you me.  It disgusts me.  But alas, tis what I must endure.  NYC was a little easier to live in than here being gay, obviously, but it still had it's flaws.  Even though the city was only 16 miles long it had so many different worlds combined.  You could be completely comfortable walking hand-in-hand with a boy down Ave. A at 13th st. but just a few blocks over in Union Station you'd be beat in the face with a skate board.  Same as the upper and lower East and West sides.  Upper East; stay inside and cuddle, Lower East be free!  Cleveland is not at all like that.  You just stay inside and pretend to be normal.  It's safer.  I am so exhausted, though.  Acting normal is truly exhausting.  I put on a show everyday.  I guess anyone who knows me would not use the word normal to describe me but the show is more for the people to not believe I'm a horribly depressed human being.  The one thing no one would ever say about me is that I'm sad or depressed, minus my sister or anyone that actually got to know me beyond the superficial level of Hello, Nice To Meet You.  My act, in public, is one of a happy, fun and crazy individual, but my true soul is breaking every time I step out of my bedroom.  I put on my mask along with my clothes.  It is exhausting.  I feel, though, that I wouldn't have anyone around me if I just was my true self.  I am no fun being myself.  I sit in the corner and sulk in self misery.  I don't socialize or make jokes.  At home is my true personality.  When I get home I completely shut down-due to the exhausting day I had being not me- and I crash on the couch or a chair and curl into a ball and stair off into a world I wouldn't wish upon anyone else.  It is my one real reason for the lack of motivation, the anxiety riddled affliction, my dark secret life of an American teenager...it is my heart strings snapping at the roots.  I have only a few left intact.

One love. 

Were you truly waiting for ME?

Mr. Roeper's clothes hamper or Hugh Grant's dental floss?  Which would you rather be if you had to chose one for all eternity? 

Remember, Roeper was an old man in the 70's.  He wore gobs of cologne, polyester and probably has Mrs. Roeper's hella face paint all over his lapels.

Although, spending that amount of time in any one's mouth could start to get nauseating, not to mention the mouth of a Brit.  Cheeky personality mounted on an insufferable entitled accent.

Chose wisely.

seapage.

Have you ever sat in a room with your back turned to a sliding glass door with the curtain open at night?  I do every time I sit down to the computer to write, or masturbate.  The worst part about it is the reflection of the door to the dark outer realm is noticeable when you adjust your eyes to look through the computer screen.  It freaks the shit out of me because I then stare into it and think of all the horrible things that will suddenly pop in the reflection.  I'm doing it right now, actually.  Best part about it is I'm listening to the Lion King's To Die For track and it just got to the part where Simba is walking up to his father's dead corpse.  Now I have images of rotting fetus' etched in my mind.  The reflection in the screen of the reflection of the door looks hazy, almost indiststinguishable as a man's form and it sorta sways slowly right to left, or I guess that would be left to right.  The sway stops a bit when the tear ducts in my eyes go dry and I need to blink to moisten them.  It appears to come closer as I open them again and readjust my sight.  With every breath I take the movement of the form seems to quiver; pulse rapidly at the neck and head until I exhale.  Then it cocks violently to the right; arm dangles, it seems to stare into the back of my skull like it knows something I don't.  The wind blows and it's stagnant arm taps the glass.  With a slow, precise movement it raises it's head back to the upright position while keeping it's vision deadlocked on my back and focuses for a second.  The static surrounding it snaps away like piano wire under strain.  Piece by piece the image is revealed until all I can see are piercing gold eyes.  They are changing a bit...it almost looks like they're bleeding.  The gold is washing out and becoming this deep red that creeps down the front and sides of the face.  The brow bone cracks in and down as blood fills all the gaps in the face.  The slowly flooding eyes turn to tight slights of red and lower at the inner corners.  A waterfall of blood starts to spew out and onto the glass.  A massive globe of swirling black and red is rising behind it now.  The image is completely blurred minus the top of the quivering skull and the growing orb that is starting to surround it.  There is no sound as the blood rapes the glass and shoots shells on the concrete patio.  With a quick jerk of the left hand the figure smacks the glass, the orb implodes like a breath held for days.  It ignites the ground.  The cold, dry hand flexes and tears the blood away from it's line of sight.  My chair starts to turn under it's own force.  I grip the seat, knuckles white.  The wooden legs catch the seams in the hardwood flooring and scrap a sound that could kill a child.  There is a suction restraining my movement and my back is suddenly stiffened against the chair's back.  I cannot blink.  The chair turns 180 degrees with a crunching pull and am forced to stare directly into it's right eye.  In an instant the blood separates from the creature and falls to the ground like a wave off the rocks.  The grey matter falls static again and the haze lifts back to reality.  

I think I shall close the curtain.

   

I...dee...clare...war

Have you ever mistaken a complete stranger for your own reflection?  One day, years ago, when I was actually trying to do something with my life and attending college...the first time, I turned a corner and got goosebumps.  I looked into the eyes of my double.  Not my twin but my exact human replica.  It was like I was looking at myself in a mirror.  I don't think he saw it in return.  It was if I was looking into a different dimension and his Universe was hovering through a one sided mirror.  He was looking through me not at me and I could feel my temperature rising like I was never supposed to be in that spot at that particular time.  The only day the worm hole gods fucked up and left their post unattended to shit was this day and our paths crossed.  The anxiety of the moment was making the beads of sweat turn to streams on my forehead and I almost lost my muscle control to my stomach.  It only lasted a moment; fraction of time, really, but it felt like I was looking into my future for decades and I could see what it was I was supposed to become.  I blame all my failures on this moment.  This moment that the gods screwed up, walked away from the window, dropped the cosmic balls. 

I think it is this moment in my life that has made it so hard for me to just pick a team.  Jacob or Edward...why is it so hard?!  Curse you Demi-gods! 

The wheels on the bus...

I am so happy the genious at work has decided to come out of his shell and rain down his fabulousness on good ol' 480.  On my drive home from our picnic/cookout thing-a-moroll for work I was entering I-480 from the Kent direction and happened upon the construction zone that has been being worked on for a while now.  I never noticed this from the numerous times I've been on the same road coming home from work everyday but they are paving the freeway with black asphalt.  This in itself doesn't seem strange, at all, but then I really thought about it.  Why on earth would you pave your freeway in black asphalt?  I mean, it's black, number one, and two, it's black.  What genious thought it was clever to make driving even harder at night?  ...while going 75mph?  Not to mention that there are no street lights on 480.  So the equation goes as follows: curvy, poor-lit road + black paint - reflecting center line + increased speed limit + Ohio Turnpike onramp - common sense = Safe Auto and ODOT partnership. 

It also doesn't help that my headlights are complete shit and my high beams are weaker than most car's low beams.  Regardless of the hand holding going on in the insurance and transportation departments paving your roads that have no other light source besides the moon and your clouded up head lights for sight is completely idiotic.  And now I really, REALLY want to snap into a Slim-Jim.

The pool has seen it's share of floaters.

I ate ice cream at 12:30am and I'm feeling the slight tingle of a missed friend.  My belly is pulsating like the broken bolts of the Titanic as it slide across it's frozen fate.  I had planned on writting something about the day I first realized we were all puppets to the ones we love, but I am instead clenching hard and hoping my fingers will allow the words to come quicker than the taco bell flow about to literally hit the fan.  .......

Team Jacob!

Hello.  My name is Inigo Montoya.  You killed my father; prepare to die!

Quotes to surf life on.  The people we look up to in life are the people in ourselves we wish we could be.  I guess that goes without saying, though.  Movies have always been my one and only push.  I don't get excited over anything anymore.  The little things in life are still my most favorite moments but it's getting harder and harder for me to say, yay!, trash day!  Or, thank goodness I missed the wooly bear crossing the road.  Even though I am always excited to miss that little guy.

Writers have always been a fascination of mine.  To be able to manipulate words in a way to motivate and inspire; make peace with and create passion.  Someone who can inflame my heart to burn brighter within a sentence, especially in screen play form, has a special spot next to me on the couch.  A well written movie line with the correct amount of emphasis on the music behind it can truly change your life.  I hate when people take an object to cherish or worship in a sense, but I guess movies and their scores would be my hypecritical stance on the matter.   I can't seem to help it.  I get engrossed inside of them.  Even the horrible movies I can't help but fall into.  I have the same addiction to boys.  I fall into them as quickly as I cum...pretty damn quick.  It doesn't matter what they look like or their personalities, it's all the same to me: someone that I cannot have so I must obsess over it.  Movies are the same way.  It is a life I do not have so I want it.  Gigli for god's sakes!  I teared up and it wasn't because it was longer than 12 minutes.  I actually don't like many of the movies I watch.  I have a horribly high standard when it comes to them, life also, I guess, but I love watching them all.   I love the cinematography.  The way you are made to feel the emotion of the moment by a sweeping camera shot or a slow crawl upwards with the crescendo of the strings underneath you, lifting you up.

I forgot if I had a point.  I guess I normally don't have a point.  So...I'm thinking of buying one of the cardboard standees we are selling for the new Eclipse movie.  There are two types: Edward and Jacob.  They are just a life sized cut out of themselves posing in a sexually explicit way...well, suggestive in the PG-13 sorts.  I thought to myself, $24 is a bit much for cardboard, not to mention, really?  But what's the harm in having a little vampire or werewolf in the closet?  Then I thought if I bought Jacob would that make me a pedifile?  He is technically underage in real life.  Like it makes a difference if he were 20 playing a 15 year old or 15 playing a 20 year old.  Still pretty pedi!  Anyway, that's what I want for my birthday.

When I was a young warthog.

Why am I awake?!! 

I do this to myself all the time.  I force myself to stay awake for some god awful reason.  I think it is the same reason I cannot take naps.  I feel that I'm missing out on my life by sleeping.  And then when I finally fall asleep I feel horrible for waking up in the middle of the afternoon because I feel like I've wasted the morning but I hate to wake up and just want to always be sleeping.  Shit don't make no kinda sense!  I am a huge contradiction!

I have also come up with the plan to lose 25lbs in 2 weeks.  It comes from Christian Bale and his insane performance in The Machinist.  That, was crazy.  One can of Tuna and an apple a day for a month and he dropped 100lbs and became absolutely disgusting looking.  Granted, I do not want to look like him.  I would not be alive for one and two it creeped me out and that doesn't ever happen.  Soo...nope.  But I am going to incorporate some of that logic into this crash, unhealthy diet.  Two cans of tuna!  Ha!

I got to thinking about Jana this past weekend and it made me a bit sad.  No offence to you sweets, but I was thinking about how it must be something amazing to wake up one day and be in the middle of nowhere and still be able to coop with life that is left in shadow and miles away.  I'm not sure what she is thinking about the situation at hand, being so far from her home, her friends, family, dog...lover!  If that is making her sad and regret certain decisions, or if she is thinking that this is now her new form of home.  The not knowing what will come at her next is a solace and this new adventure is her new comfort.  I am reminded of the time I up and moved to NYC.  That just sounded like Wilson from Home Improvement...anyway, and I had no idea what I was doing or going to do for money.  It was a tingle I had never felt before.  It was good.  I miss that feeling of the unknown.  The ghosts of someone else's life to dictate my path.  I'm not sure why we as humans lost our ability to fly by the seat of our pants, go with the flow, play it by ear...use our instincts.  I think my anxiety comes from the pent up instincts I have shoved into the corner of my soul.  I use logic and brain function over wading through the water.  Closing my eyes and stepping forward with the wind pushing against my body as the only caution.  We now seem to over think everything and make unnecessary excuses for every situation.   

Watching the deer outside my window makes me wonder where they are going.  Where did they just come from and what did they do there.  Is it all a game for food?  Walk this path for greens and then back for water and then back for greens, or is it something more?  Something we have lost in ourselves?  The deer paths of my life have route numbers for names and the food and water come in the form of paper and bricks.  Are we the exact duplicates of the deer we see crushed on the side of our paths?  It can't be this way for life, can it?  Driving the same roads to the same sorce day after day.  There has to be something to gain or something to move towards in life.  Is it just money?  Can I truly be happy with no vanities and just honestly say fuck it and leave everything behind?  Hmmm...I think it may be time for a change. 

Jana, I'm comin home!

EPIC FAIL!!!

On fiy-ah!

I'm feeling a little alone in this world of the web.  Where have all my people gone?  I have no interesting posts to read when I get home at the ass-crack of dawn after work and it is making me so sad.  I used to rely on my sister for something to read on her blog but there hasn't been a post for a while.  Now I thought I could count on some interesting desert stories, but the Reeds have dried and snapped off...Help!!

I am giving you all an assignment.  I expect two posts from each of you in the next day.  I have to work tonight until 1am so this gives plenty of time to come up with the first story.  I don't work tomorrow which is awesome!!  Rockin on the River with 5 free drink tokens, loaded pulled pork nachos and a bag of fire up my ass that'll ignite world peace; evening planned.  So you will have an extra day to write the second story, for I won't read this until Saturday night after work.  Good luck.  Disappoint me and I'll murder your loved ones while you watch.  I'm not talkin kindergarten manslaughter, full blown torturous rage with a hatchet and a can of gasoline while listening to the Lion King soundtrack will be in store.  You've been warned.

Add a pinch of Viola and a dash of Soprano!

Just a question...

Name your favorite movie and movie soundtrack.

I guess, just a statement, then...

My movies are, because it is impossible to chose just one, The Lion King, The Last Of The Mohicans, Finding Neverland, Amelie, Edward Scissorhands, Running With Scissors...

Soundtracks are bunches.  How To Train Your Dragon, the above stated movie's soundtracks minus Amelie and Running..., The Davinci Code, Stardust (just a few pieces from it, though), Titanic, Chronicles Of Narnia...to name a few.

I'm looking forward to getting to know you guys better through song!  I believe the music you listen to and the movies you're drawn into are one major piece of our personalities.  Join me in the search for our friend's souls and experience the joys it may bring.

Ice Dance  the sadness of ones consuming love pulls at your heart.
To Die For  this is just simply amazing!  The mix of emotions felt with this song is too much to handle.  Hans Zimmer, enough said. 
The Battle  the amazing way this piece flows with it's cinematographic way
Impossible Opening  cheerful childlike innocence with a sharp pain of adult responsibility
Shooting Star  seems to be able to transport you to a place you feel you need to belong
Chevaliers de Sangreal  beautiful harmony
The Sinking   mainly for the staccato cymbals in the beginning and the growing tension.
Forbidden Friendship  by far my latest obsession!
Elk Hunt  this gives you an uncontrollable filling of intense movement and growing anxiety and anticipation, sooo good!

Gobble, gobble mutha bitch!

Today was an interesting day.  I tried two new things that I never thought would enter my realm of hello-ness.  The first new item was turkey from a can.  As splendid as it sounds, it had a flavor of something that wasn't so splendid.  Granted, it wasn't surprising that turkey from a can wasn't the most amazing tasting product sold at the Dollar Tree, but it wasn't the worst, either.  It was sitting in a pool of broth, which was never explained on the can as to what and where this broth came from.  It could have been pigs lard for all I know, especially since the 6oz can was supposedly three servings and each one of those servings had 3 grams of fat and 80 calories...weird.  It had a slight peppered taste and a shaker full of salt pucker that kept you wanting more.  The top of the flat circle of canned poultry had a thin layer of something tan-ish, brown.  I can only assume that is where the fat calories were being housed.  It wasn't terrible and I may partake in the eating of the can again tomorrow.

The second new thing I tried today was singing in key!  I've noticed that people don't squish their faces as much in your direction when you hit the right note.  When you don't have that crinkle sound in the back of your ear when harmonizing with the radio, or in my case, the NCM advertizing in the lobby, people tend to smile and not run.  Hanson has a new album coming out and the one song on the constant loop in the theatre is actually quite catchy...the mother fuckers.  Not to mention they're not too shabby to look at now that they look like boys.  So I have been singing and dancing, well, pretty much like normal, to it.  Clap, clap.

Twas a good night.  And damn it if I'm not craving some freaking hockey puck turkey goodness right now...

T-minus 22 years and counting...

I don't think it is fair to say that I have never felt happy.  I have been in a state of calm and relaxation before that has lasted longer than most of my shits but to truly say that lead to any sort of happiness could possibly be labeled a lie.  But I do believe in happiness.  I believe it is a place we all strive to be and will one day meet face to face.  I do not believe it will ever be in this time or in this country with these values and prenotions.  I cannot say for sure what anyone else is thinking or even decipher the words as truths that come from people's mouths but I can say with all comfortability that you are all liars.  Not only to the ones around you but to yourselves at most.  I guess with that said though, happiness is never truly acheived in full or at long bursts of time.  It is an island from which we anchor and refuel.  It is a stopping ground in the roadtrip of our lives.  To say one is happy is to deny your humanity.  Maybe I need some rehab, or just need some sleep.  But this is a sick obsession I see in my dreams.  What you got boy, is hard to find, I think about it, all the time...Ke$ha? Really?!  Shit just pops in my head.  But yeah...happiness. Who needs it?  I'd say I'm happy enough without it but there goes that catch-22-thingy again.  The ironic thing about being unhappy is that it puts you into a compulsive state of...well, happiness.  Like this fucking itching!  I know it doesn't help my skin to scratch, it actually worsens the itch, but I can't help it.  It has become the reason I do it.  I truly believe the bumps on my skin are an evolution of my need to scratch it now.  Sick obsession, indeed.

The Closer tonight made me cry balls!  It was so sad.  And so good.  That is my other obsession, feeling miserable.  It makes me feel good to cry and be all dark and depressed.  If I wasn't a manager at a movie theatre my next career plan would be serial killer, pretty sure.  And now I want Peanut Butter Crunch.     

You're gonna love my nuts!

Man Working Above...

While walking through the Pitts yesterday we stumbled upon a sign, from God no less.  A church was under going some sort of roof renivation and around the base of the building were wooden signs proclaimming Men Working Above.  I thought this was quite fitting and that every church should have a sign on the building saying Man Working Above.  For we all know who the "man" is that is working above...it's God, people!  So on our walking adventures we came up with a plan to start setting up these new "signs" from above on all the churches of the world.  It will be my mission, of sorts, to share the word.  The funniest part about the venture was when an actual construction worker came around the corner in his blue jeans and white hard-hat.  I felt like I had actually looked into the eyes of God.  My soul felt instantly cleansed and all was right in the world at the moment.  His name was Fernando.  He seemed confused when I dropped to my knees and started kissing his boots.  Our God is an awesome God, He reins from heaven above...and He's modest! 

I wanna hold your hand.

With Forbidden Friendship streaming into my ears thoughts of death come bursting through the loose fabric that houses my memories.  A kid that "friended" me on Facebook tonight has a mutual friend in common with me.  The common person on both our pages wasn't a friend of mine persay, a relationship or even a Facebook stalkee, but he is someone that entered my life and changed a piece along the way.  He is the first boy that I had a slight feeling for that glanced in my direction here in Ohio.  He is a life force that shined as bright as the dying star he would soon join.  His name is David and he is dead.

The unfortunate thing about this person is that he was made into a world of logic and in turn was poisoned by the thing he tried so hard to defy.  His moments in breath were out lasted by the breath of his moments and he died officially too young on Sunday.  He was 26.

I think the worst part of this whole situation is the fact that I knew it was coming.  The way his eyes ricocheted off your skin.  The fact that the boy never knew what he told you or could remember what you told him.  His life was a party and no one was around for the clean-up after.  He was a drug user and abuser and the alcohol flowed through his veins like toxic life.  He, like so many young gay boys before him, hid behind extravagance to blind the reality.  He was happy doing everything in his power to not comprehend being sad.  To cover up his actuallity was destroying him.  His light has gone out.  And although he is gone in sight he will live on in mind.  I hope he touched as many lives as he needed to in his short span.  For I feel our mission if chosen to accept it is to be alive long enough to open someones eyes, heart, mind, soul, for the better.  I believe David did.  R.I.P. mister.

It starts over.

AIDS

The way we were...

How much have we changed over the years?  Look at yourself now.  Look at yourself 10 years ago.  How much has consciously changed?  Is it for the better, do you think?  Have you changed at all?  If you were 12 ten years ago then this probably doesn't apply, for we all know how much you have physically changed.  But maybe we should look into that.  When we are pre-teens, do we truly have any differences to ourselves than we do when we are adults?  How much is to blame on adolecence?  How much is to blame on just human nature?  Do we dumb ourselves down into believing we are no longer an animal species?  What changed in our genome that granted us the right to take over?  Some argue that technology is the reason we are seperated from the animals, I say it is the reason we cannot move forward.  Technology, to me, is our catalyst that keeps us from finding an actual harmony with the world we live in...not rule.  Mother nature is a far greater force than we could ever harness.  That's why it scares and intruiges us so much.  Yet we as humans believe hole-heartedly that we are an exceptional breed.  Due to the landing on the moon and a nuclear fusion we except our fates as gods amung the creatures of the planet.  Is it not true that most if not all the species, minus humans, on the planet leave the nest before their first birthday?  That most animals actually leave their mother's side right after birth?  We are the only species on the planet that creates a life revolved around nurture, an achilles heel of evolutionary sorts.  We are mammals, so that in itself is a reason we hold onto our parents, but even the most family oriented species do not depend on the family structure as their means of growth, acceptance, prosperity...so look into yourself.  How much have you changed in the past ten years?  Now compare that to how much you've learned.  It's not our technology that pushes us forward it's our capability to have it.   The next time you fill your gas tank up at the gas station think about how much amazing brain power went into creating that car, gas pump, credit card, banking system, cement you're standing on, lights affording you sight, radio waves turned off with the ignition...then look into your pocket.  Give that loose change to charity.  

Not sure what the point of that ramble was.  I had District 9, little sea turtles hatching and then making a break for the water's edge and that stupid ass Bono commercial trapped in my head all at once.  *pop*  "Lipshhtick"  It came out in a flood of nonsensical blah, blah, blah!  Whoopsie!

By the way, Bono is in the hospital, or was, for a broken arm or has cancer or something...wish he would just die and forward all his millions to fighting HIV.  Then he would actually be doing some good. 

God "I really hate that man".  10 points for the reference.

P.S.  I would pay good money to watch the brutal beating of any human going against a grizzly with no technology.  Just sayin, we aint all that without our boom-boom sticks!

zip-zoom

I really don't know what to say tonight.  I haven't written anything in a bit and feel the urge to do so.  Just not quite sure what to write... 

There has been talk of a railway being built between Cleveland and Columbus.  This could potentially be amazing seeing as I love Columbus and shaving off any time it would take to get there would be fish in a bucket, but the builders are fucking stupid.  Much like all men with money and a smidge of power are...they plan on building this train in an old-fashioned type feel.  Like the chug-chug rather than the zip-zoom.  They claim it would be scenic and take approximatly 6 hours one way to get to Columbus.  WHAT THE FUCK?  Really?! What the fuck is wrong with you people?  How amazing would a connection to the main C's in Ohio be if it only took like 40 minutes to get to one place to the other?  The commuters would be in the thousands, i'm sure.  To just be able to scoot down to C-bus whenever you wanted and not need to pack a cooler, awesome...but they went ahead and fucked it up.  Not to mention it would cost 35 million dollars to make.  That's a lot of toilet paper.  Cause ain't nobody riding that train.  Maybe on the weekends families might get together and take the 26mph rail ride down, but nothing to pay off the debt in the next 25 years.  Dumb.  Not to mention the only appeal it had for the Columbus side to come up to Cleveland, cause there aint skid up here, would be the quick ride to grab a stale beer at an Indians game and shoot back home before your friends new of your deceit.  That's blown.

This got me thinking of get rich quick schemes.  See?...All you need is a helicopter that fits 20, a helicopter pilot, enough money to buy a helicopter that seats 20, a greasy palm to create a new air traffic lane and an investor that is not as dumb as the one with the train idea.  To charter a helicopter out of Cleveland would make millions in the first year alone.  I feel it.  To get people to Pittsburg, Columbus, Cinncinatti, Chicago, Youngstown on the off peak times...bullet holes in helicopter glass are expensive to caulk!  All in under an hour to 30 minutes, gold mine people!  Once the solo-chopper gets off the ground! no pun, well, yes pun, take that pun.  We could totally branch out to farther away destinations with more man power and merchandise. 

Just sayin.  Along with the Taco Bell I want to open, the chartered helicopter is gonna take us places...sorry!

whenever, wherever...

Could you imagine if in fact my hips couldn't actually lie?  Like after the meat loaf mother made you eat for 14 years of your young adult life there came muffled sounds from your under carriage.  Like the peanut's character's parents decided to burn the tree instead of decorating it.  You could never get a moments peace.  While you attempted to sleep your hips just droaned on and on about the economy and our government and the fat German teacher that thinks may have an obsession with the boys on the third floor of his apartment building.  Heaven forbid you had a one night stand over...the secrets being tweeted the next day about your small indiscretions bellow the belt would be in the thousands.  We would need to think of ways to shut our hips up.  There would need to be some sort of burn cream associated with the gyno.  There would be a boom of hip replacements for all ages.  A new hip knows nothing of it's brand new host.  Can't spill beans you never knew were there in the first place.  Although, depending on what we used for the new hip the non-lies coming from under your unmentionables may be more embarrassing than the actual truths of yours.  The mistaken shout-outs of someone's other could be more of a shock than your own skeletons. 

I have always wished that we as humans would develope a tick that every once in a while our brains would spasm and we would involuntarily burst into a narrative of what we were doing at that precise moment.  While walking down the street next to someone carrying a tennis racket and balls we would over hear them saying he was walking down the street carrying a tennis racket and balls.  The hips not lying could be an evolutionary step forward from that spasm.  Our brains would wire themselves completely lie-less.  For you cannot narratively tell a lie.  You would have to give away the fact you were telling the lie and therefore would in fact be not telling one.  It's the catch-22's in life that truly keep us honest.  Now turn the pillow over to cool your cheek and dutch oven the one you love.    

Solar power please.

While at the gas station a few days ago I slid my debit card through the slot and did something I have never done before.  I typed my PIN number in with my left forefinger.  This in itself isn't much of a story, for that matter neither is what's coming, but bare with it.  The fact that I had my left hand up while pulling the gas nozzle from the holster and swinging it over to the tank with my right hand, my left hand was on a decline to be left stagnant at my side while the gold from the Middle East went sloshing into my thirsty car.  Well, there must have been some gas left in the hose when the person before me drugged the planet a bit more and it came pouring out all over my left hand and arm.  Now, as much fun as it is to have a liquid billow out of a hose and all over my body is, gas is probably not the idea I had in mind for a good time.  The most amazing thing about having gas poured all over your arm and hand is the fact that it soaked into my skin so quickly.  I was afraid to stick the nozzle into the tank for fear that I might burst into more of a flame than I already am, but I cautiously started to pump the gas in while I sobbed.  I walked over to the station man and asked for the bathroom key to cleanse my soul and he said, "it's already unlocked, it's broke so we keep it open".  So then I thought about licking the grease from his body and walked over to the bathroom.  Wait a minute...what if I needed to actually use the bathroom instead of just washing my hands?  This is how pretty little girls get raped.  The door doesn't lock so anyone could just walk in at any time.  A brutha might have needed to bust out the shank inside him.  I can't use public bathrooms in itself let alone one that could be for the public viewing.  Just my bare ass on a toilet for the world to see.  Nope.  Anyway, the sopa was a plenty and the water was hot so for a gas station restrooms go, it was the Hilton.

The point of this story that makes no sense is, I still smell like gas.  It has been 3 full days and 2 full showers and my hand is still stank ass.  Not to mention it got all in my watch and the soaking of it in soapy hot water isn't seeming to be helpful.  So yesterday at work I spent the most of the night just deep breathing in my watch fumes.  It was a good time by the third hour of my fume intake-athon.  It also helped that my body was running on nothing but dill pickles and a half a bag of chips i dipped into honey BBQ sauce from the acclaimed Dollar Tree.  My mind was eager to be abused as well as my soul.  The fact that I didn't mind getting buzzed by the fumes was enough to maybe pour gas on my body more often.  It was the slight burning sensation that snapped me out of it late last night.  I couldn't sleep a wink but to block out the pain.  Needless to say the only liquids being poured on me as of late, besides water for bathing,  will be urine.  And that is only at Christmas.

While walking to my car after work tonight there was one other car in the parking lot that started it's engine as I made it to my driver's side door.  I pushed the button to release my lock and the lights from the mysterious stranger's car flicked on.  At first I thought I had finally developed telekinesis and I was inadvertently controlling this late model, blue and white Dodge something-or-other, but it in fact was a creeper in the lot just waiting for something to happen, it seemed.  There was no one else around besides my coworker and this wack-o sitting alone in his car.  As I opened the car door I said in response to my coworker's comment of, "that was weird".  I said, "well, he can't follow both of us!".  This actually got me thinking of a movie plot in which that actually happens.  Then it got me thinking about how this man would choose his victim to follow.  There were two of us after all.  Who would be the unlucky victim of this person?  If this were a true horror movie what could I do to ensure the safety of myself?  Or would it even matter any more at this point?  Did the person single me out before he saw both of us leaving?  Was this a random stop off to rape and pillage, or did he have a master plan in the works over a lengthy period of time.  All these question and scenerios ran through my brain all at once.  It was a bit too much to handle so I farted and got in my car and drove away.  I never looked in the rear view mirror.

I'm the Juggernaut, bitch!!

There was a conversation being had on the radio today that was making me angry.  The host was saying how the future would be riddled with robotic features that would take over the world and that we as humans would be powerless to stop it.  Now, I do believe that our own technological advances will soon dominate us and then inturn destroy us, but it was the way he said it would happen that confused me.  He was trying to explain how we would be getting stupider as the robots would be getting smarter.  Like our brains would go in reverse as the technology advanced full speed ahead.  Isn't that an oxymoron?  Would you not need our intelligence to par the future robots at least in the initial building of it?  Society as a whole may become dumbed down due to our technology but is it going to become genetics, evolutionized?  I believe that our robotic friends and objects will become super advanced by themselves, but that doesn't mean we get more stupid.  Like the air is being let out of our tires.  We would just not be as smart as the created.  The nano-technology will produce itself smarter, faster and more capable replicas of itself, sure, but that doesn't mean our brains will shut off.   Granted the longer we go with technology advances to ease our exsistence the harder it will be to start thinking on our own..."could you shave off about 1/3 of that order, she is calling off the wedding". "ummmmm...1/3 is how much less?"  "girl, there is an app for that"....Understood to a point.

They had a caller on that pissed me off even more.  She said that we would fall by the way side of the robots because we don't have flying cars yet.  She was mad that all of her young life there were dreams of once gliding through the air in our personal flying machines and since that has yet to happen that that is the precurser for our deflatted fate.  The only reason we do not have flying cars is the same reason the government is keeping the lid on the cure for cancer...because they can.  Could you imagine the property damage due to the flying cars and the dumb ass human behind the stick?  How dumb are we as humans?  You see people driving now, everyday, with their heads in their phones as they are hurling down the freeway.  Do you really want them typing away on their Mac-Triple-XD-Plus communication devices as they are controlling their hydrogen fueled flying missles?  Nope.  I'm fine with being on the ground and being fender-bendered by the jackass behind me that, "thought it was a bit farther up than that".  The things we have today are conditioned to be the way they are for the masses.  We are being controlled, secretly, by the powers that be to remain as safe as they will allow; for their own good.

Soooo, shut up bitch!

I'm only gonna break, break your, break, break your heart!

I am going to throw all my clothes away besides the ones that don't actually fit me.  I think that may motivate me to get up and shed off these few extra pounds.  Going into work with a suit coat that doesn't button and the sleeves are about to burst open like Ooggie-Boogie Man may in fact highten the cause for a flatter stomach!  Not to mention the freaking amazing looking boy I just saw at the gym...so hot!  He is a good motivator as well.  At least he motivates me to wear a thicker work out pant.  Those light cotton shorts are a dead give away while I'm sweating to the oldies staring at him.  If Jana needed an extra tent on her travels I'd have one for her!  The catch-22 is that working out in jeans is a bit painful!  Plus, the denim sliding up against the flesh leaves me chaffed and sticky!  I may have to start wearing undies or a condom to catch the yum-yum platter that is my jolly juice!  Not sure how I got off track...

My sister is running in a 5K this Sunday, is it?  She is gonna kill me.  I have no memory for things of any nature and can't seem to Spongebob Square Pants it up in there.  I believe it is Sunday.  Anyway, she will be a hot mess after and I took the whole day off.  I was hoping we could spend it downtown, seeing as we will beat the sun there, we will have the whole rest of the day.  Unfortunatly the bitch sweats like a mutha fucka!!! Loaf yea, girl, but you do!  I do too for that matter, but we aint talkin about me running.  So the day will be lost to her glands becoming less smelly and more dry.  Oh, well.  We'll just have to do something around home, like always!  Or we could stop being lazy asses and just go back downtown...there's a thought.  I could just throw the stank in the river and set her a blaze.  That should clean-er right up! 

All-in-all, the blades from a helicopter would do just fine against Scarlett Johansson's left cheek.  Quick and hopefully full of agonizing pain!  HATE THAT BITCH!!

Humans are the stupidest people on Earth.

"Knowledge is the pebble in the hand of a wise man of wit and the diamond on the finger of a fool."

Super Massive Black Hole.

Today started the cycle of my life that I like to call, "the spiral".  I have spurts of lost time that collect over the years of my exsistence.  I feel like I'm a repeat abductee from an alien race of midgets-I'm not sure why they are midget aliens, I think it has to do with my height in phsycallity-The realm of my psyche functions in an oblong gravitational pull.  The forces that be drag my soul through a roller coaster of emotions that I have no choice but to erase from my mind.  In doing so I have yet to truly understand who I am.  I drive back and forth through decisions and the processes that have brought me to certain forks in the road and can't seem to place the reasoning behind the derectional changes.  Maybe that is the point, though.  Maybe it's the not knowing that defines us.  Maybe the thinking behind the decisions are what actually stear us off the correct path in our lives. 

Today was another one of those turning points.  I have a way of falling into myself over and over again.  I am a compulsive wreck that is so painfully bland and uneventfully not reckless.  There could be an object I hate most in life, or on a smaller scale, just think of as friends, and a month or two later I will convince myself that the initial feelings were lies and I actually am obsessed with said object.  I know for a fact that these feelings are an excuse to further push my own buttons and section off the understood parts of my personality away from the unknown goodie bag left to scratch through, but it gets to a point where I actually feel like I'm committing hypethetical suicide.  Like the only answer is to give up and let it all go in a blaze of glory.  A subtle send off to the true unknown. 

Something caught my eye today that had me thinking about this.  It was the way people latch on to things that are seemingly unimportant.  The meaning we equate to an object, song, group, prayer, food, toy...can indeed tear us apart.  My object is forever changing but always remains the same.  It is my inability to let myself love myself.  It is the way I had a hard time even typing those letters in the sequence to spell out those words to create that phrase.  I don't self-loathe, that is a waste of time, but I do block out the one emotion left for everyone else to devoure, love.  The ever changing aspect of it is the way it transforms into different things for different days.  But it will always close in on me.  It will not let the love in.  It may be a boy tonight saying he thinks I am cute...most likely handsom would be the word used...bleh. Or it could be the dog that snuggles it's head in my lap.  I will inevitably make an excuse to dismiss the action as something negative.  I have always been the one with the big mouth.  The person who would say anything unfiltered for a laugh or to get a rise out of someone.  It is my compulsive nature to make everyone feel at ease around one another.  Put the attention, negative or positive, on me so that everyone around me would have a common like or hatred.  To share the love with everyone leaves little love for one's self.  This is the spiral I must get straightened out.  This is the compulsive action I need to flatten, like my abs.  It was the switch that could only be turned off by the power of a liquid for a long time.  It needs to be my motivation.  It is my motivation.  Now, somebody tell my soul.

Society is a funny game.  I was having a conversation about my post about shit buddies last night and it got me thinking about public bathrooms.  Who was it that decided men were at all comfortable with pissing in front of one another?  Let's look at all the different public facilities that men have to deal with.

Stadium restrooms:  equipped with 20 or so toilets, depending on the venue, and lined with trophs to piss in.

Mall/Theatre restrooms:  three toilets and 4-5 urinals.

Bar restrooms:  1-2 toilets and depending the integruity of the place, 2-3 urinals.

If men are lucky there will be particians seperating the urinals.  Most of the time it's hold hands and let the juice squeeze.  My favorite are the trophs.  The constant flow of recycled water making it's way down tilt collecting all the refuge along the way.  Gravity helps this situation.  Side by side men will stand holding their dicks shaking the last bit of piss dribblets off the heads into a metal basin.  When did this become okay?  Which man wrote it down in his journal that all men were cool with exchanging fluids on eachothers shoes?  I understand the urinal.  It makes sense.  But why no seperation?  Why have guys shoulder to shoulder in an awkward silence staring at the tiled wall?  Are we okay with this?  I don't know a single guy who readily stands next to the other guy pissing.  There is a urinal code of ethics set forth over time that places an empty urinal between bladder controlled spurters.  If this ethical pee controller is set up in the minds of all guys, why is it that we still see open urinals and trophs?  Do the designers not ever use public restrooms?  Do they have secret "gotcha" meetings and laugh at the expense of all men?  Are the restroom designers all women and they are giving us a bra-strap salute?

Why don't we just save all the money being spent on the other side of the restroom and just have a door leading outside for the men's room?  Plant a couple of trees next to the door.  Just have us shit and piss outside like the animals we are made to feel like when we enter the men's room.  No need for running water...just fertilize the ground.  Could you imagine?  The women's room is always lavish with couches and stalls that are scented with lilacs and open meadows.  The men's room is just a door leading outside to the parking lot.  Seems to be the next logical step. 

How much water can one person drink without feeling guilty?  If you truly think about how much water you can consume in a day, month, year...what about your lifetime?  When does it start to become obscene?  Bragging even?  The next time you turn your faucet on high and let the luke warm water run over your fingers until it turns the tempature you'd like, think of all the dying children that drink seepage. 

The not so common cold.

I am pretty sure we have a cure for cancer.  There is no doubt in my mind that we have figured it out.  I do believe the governments of the World are holding it hostage, however.  The health care platform would crumble if cancer was taken out of the running.  Could you imagine the finicial holocaust we would see in our economic structure if people stopped needing the drugs and service provided from hospitals?  It would be the end.  So I do believe we have the cure, it's just hiding out under the rugs of our founding fathers.  How many doctors do you know that have died from cancer?  It's probably in their contracts to be vaccinated.  The ones you do know that have died of it have been put into a lottery with a gag order to ease suspicions.

I have come up with the solution to end the cancer crisis once and for all and to still be in the black economically.  We just need to start snapping our children's legs.  There should be a "free of cancer" law put into the constitution where as each American must have both legs broken by the age of 14.  This should counter balance the loss of the chemotherapy visits and perscriptions handed out.  If we need to amend the law to boost monetary income, incorperate the arms as well.  It'll make the next generation stronger...at least in the esteem.  Not to mention the evolution our bodies will eventually go through.  Our brains may become stronger, bigger, faster due to the lack of bone density in all of our systems.  Or maybe our bodies will become more sustainable to injury later on in the years.  All good things.

Needless to say we need this.  The F.B.I. will have a new branch added to it's force-the F.B.P.P.; Fathers Battering Pre-Pubescents.  This way we won't need to spend the extra cash for man hours.  Just have the license given to the biological fathers.  This will give the dead-beat dad an opportunity to get closer to his offspring while insuring the stability of this great nation.  Win, win.  Russia may pick-up on this.  Do we really want another Sputnik?  Let's jump this horse before it's too late.   

If Humpty Dumpty knew any better...eggs wouldn't taste so good.

Something caught my eye tonight.  It was a moth perched on the glass exit door.  It's little anteni were twitching around like it was trying to see through into the theatre, like it knew something better was just lurking around the corner.  It got me thinking about humanity and how we are exactly like that moth.  It always seems like we're waiting for someone to open that door.  Like we could sit staring into someone else's future for the rest of our lives, content with what we see but willing it to open for us to be involved, to be better.  The grass is always greener, it seems.  But what if the weeds are the thing we need to survive?  When the door finally opens and we are sucked into the unknown by the force how do we know what to do when pushed inside?  Isn't this what we were waiting for?  We hop from one star to the next wishing for something to guide us.  For something to just be right.  The challenge is gone with this generation.  Each bright yellow star is the mirrage to a better life.  The misguided wishes we set to the Universe could never be answered in the way we would want.  We are forced to the light once again but are now trapped in our fortunes.  The escape is much harder than the initial fall.  The door may swing out but the pocket created is a suctioned off wall that is too great to break through on our own.  We are again proven undesirable by the gods of all wisdom.  Let it be our decision to land on the fence overlooking the other side.  Never to cross over, but to just imagine our life to be that way...then throw all caution to the wind and, turn around and walk back into your own excistence.  You can never be happy or fullfilled if you were to jump.  You will always be forced to look over the fence.

How'm I doin?

So, I was trying to find the right words to describe this boy that I just witnessed at the theatre tonight.  It was exceptionally hard to do because I found him to be amazing in every way.  He was classy, beautiful and the way he moved was like the wind guided him and him alone through life.  My feelings towards him was hard to put into words.  I felt like me trying to explain anything about him would make me sound a bit disrespectful.  I'm gonna try, though.  Okay..."yes I see her, cause errvry girl in her wonna be 'er"  Okay, not bad.  Doing good.  "she's a diva", could be taken harshly but still on the up-and-up.  It's just a rumor that she's low down, I don't believe them, though.  "she's nothin like you've ever seen before",. see?  nice!  "nothin like yo' neighborhood hoe",  little dicey but still compliments...here it comes.  I'm going to try real hard to not be disrespectful now.  "damn girl, you's a sexy bitch, a sexy bitch".  "damn girl"...Hmmm.  I may have gone off track a little.

Today a girl commented on my Eeyore pin at work.  She said she had to give me "mad props" for wearing him on my jacket while working.  I agreed.  I needed some more mad props.  I was almost out of them from the last customer that complimented my bright green tie and blue shirt.  We had a bit of a conversation about my best little friend and she said he happened to be her's as well.  Bonus round: 20 points!  My new best friend.  As her medium Mr. Pibb: Extra filled to the brim with burpy fizz she said something that will forever be intangled around my soul.  "He was the very first Emo kid".  Sigh......Oh, snap girl!  Nope.  Eeryore is not Emo, he is misunderstood.  She responded, "right, like Emo kids".  My teeth clenched and my fists almost popped the lid off her 4 dollar and 25 cent bucket-o-refreshment.  Bitch!  Emo kids are not misunderstood.  Contrary to what you might believe.  Everyone understands Emo kids.  We understand you.  Your misguided angst for all things authority due to your parents not loving you, or giving you the positive reinforcement that every child needs growing up.  The acting out for any attention, negative or positive, to just feel like someone is listening.  We got it.  It's not that serious.  Go dye your hair purple and black and wear tight ass jeans and huge shoes so your father rolls his eyes and questions your sexuallity so you may have that one on one time you are lacking otherwise.  Take your parent's monetary love and spend it on useless things that make you happy for the brief time it takes your parents to hate them.  DO NOT compare your pleasantville lives to my little Eeyore.  Damn girl! 

Have you ever seen a king or beast with quite so little hair?

There are certain things in life that deserve to be awarded more than a swimmer that can lap a pool in under a minute.  The people that change our lives for the better, for instance.  I'm not talking Opera-esque bitches but the true heroes in our lives.  The fireman, police men, the sane postal worker.  Our high school teachers should remain top of the list, especially if they are teaching in the inner-city school districts.  The grocery store cashier that doesn't hate their life and tries to make everyone around them miserable.  Your massage therapist that compliments your figure even though it's not Michael Phelps' par.  The person that holds the door for you and returns the dollar bill that fell from your pocket.  The small town people, heroes, should become center stage in our world.  We need to start appreciating life as it comes at us more.  Give thanks to those around us that truly deserve it.  Your best friend that stuck through your hardest times even though there was no obligation to do so.  These people are our bloodlines.  They are the next step to generation building.  The blocks we set forth to them will make all the difference in the structural integrity of our childrens lives.  We must not let our opportunity to let them know how much we care pass us by. 

Ewa indeed heard you.  Now go.  Fullfill your destiny.  Make nice with the creatures of your space.  Set the example that was set for you by these people.  Take that small step towards betterment.  Avatar will forever live on in our souls.  Make Jake Sulley proud.

Ha!  Oh, Avatar!  So, the first part is definitly true.  I do believe in rewareding our true heroes with praise and something more than gratitude.  But the second, Avatar...come now.  It wasn't that good of a movie people.  Take the Last of the Mohicans, Dances with Wolves, The Burbs, Jurassic Park and Titanic, even The Fast and the Furious for God's sake and blend them all together and you shall birth Avatar.  It's all been done before.  And if the reason you love the movie so much is because of the world that was created it's been done before as well.  Lawn Mowerman.  Watch it. 

I just finished watching Avatar, acually.  I didn't hate the movie.  Just didn't think it deserved such high praise, or cash value.  I think the thing about James Cameron movies is they are simple.  Not so much in the budget, make up or animation department but in the story, characters and message that is created.  They are relatable movies to all people around the world.  Easy to follow and pretty to look at.  Instant money maker.  Dumb down your dialog and ad flashy colors and you have box office success.  Terminator, Titanic, Alien and now Avatar.  All good movies for the same above reasons.    Although Alien was quite good for what it was worth, I do have to admit.  No computer animation in that movie at all.  Including the opening credits.  Screen on screen is how they achieved all of the effects in that film.  It was quite genious, actually.  I shall give him props for that one.  I just made it seem like I hate everything about James Cameron movies.  I don't at all.  I loved Titanic.  I thought his cinematography was amazing in that movie.  The mood was great.  I didn't hate Terminator.  I liked how he made the end of the world so nonchalant.  You felt for just two characters and forgot all about humanity.  Genious!  So when I say these things about Avatar I'm really just playing Devil's advocate.  I can't help it.  I'm sick in the head!

The Land Before Time...suck on that!

OOO-oh say can you....down in front.

My life is a chalk board with an old sock for an eraser.  What ever mistakes I make I may remove from the present existence but holds the slight fragments left behind to reinvent over.  They are never truly erased completely or forgotten, just built upon in a dusty afterbirth which I can only hope makes me stronger.  Is this the best way to recreate life around me?  Should I dip into the water bucket of denial to saturate the sock completely full of forgetfulness.  Should the mistakes we make in life be the helpful ladder we use to climb over the walls or should they be the hinderences left behind and forgotten; a new path to be laid out with no knowledge of the ones before?  Are we truly helping ourselves achieve greatness by looking into our own mistakes and over coming them?  Are we just destined to make the same ones over agian if the reminants are forever creeping back into mind-sight?  Too much History channel tonight, kids!  Phew.

My  mother asked an interesting question earlier tonight.  She asked where the name America actually came from.  This got me thinking about history and our own namesakes.  I had watched the program of America tonight on the History channel.  It was interesting enough to hold my attention for 2 hours, minus the brief tossing and turning from the ice-cream I had eaten earlier.  Makes me squirt, man!  After the initial wipe and stare, I focused back on history and wondered what prompted us to start adopting "americans" as our new heritage.  There was a line from either Thomas Jefferson or John Adams about becoming one nation instead of thirteen colonies in the first meeting of what would now be our democratic government that was "I'm not a Virginian, I'm an American".  Who was it the first coined that name?  And why is it that Brazilians are not calling themselves Americans as well?  They are apart of the Americas after all.  Who gave us the power to take the two major land masses and shrink them down into one nation's nationality?  It was those stubborn militia, God damn it!  Heath Ledger lost his life way before he lost his life in that militia.  Stubborn.  Should have just left the British locking your wife and towns people in the very church you were married in and then subsequently burned alive in go.  Just let it go.  But nooooo.  Now yea dead, DEAD!!  Who-rah!

See, I'm not like my sister, I don't Google shit and actually look for the answers to my questions and then learn and share the knowledge.  I just ponder the question for a bit and make up whatever answer I deem best and most interesting then eat an entire bag of chips.  I aint gots that kinda patience!  So the answer to whom ever started calling ourselves Americans was George Washington in a dream about skiing down the slopes of the yet to be discovered Rocky Mountains.  I believe it went  a little something like this, "damn, it feels good to be a free American!  Oh, wait...nice".  Then he took that shit to the newly opened First National Bank, of America.  Coined!  Just full of puns tonight.  AVAtar!

To every season; turn, turn, turn.

I  had a second glance today.  It's not normal for me to get the attention of good looking men.  At least it's not completely obvious if it does happen.  But today I think I had a moment with this really good looking boy that came into my ass...eh, the movie theatre.  He was a bit early for the 5:20 showing of Clash of the Titans and sat on the bench awaiting the arrival of his friends.  Well, it seemed little mister sexy pants had a bit of a looky-loo problem with yours truly.  Before this whole situation of the eyes came about there was the overly extended reach, grab and hold of the money exchange.  Our hands touched and remained in the touching position for what felt like six days.  I still feel his embrace around my itchy fingers.  After he took the change from my hand he said, and I quote, "perfect".  Now I know I have flawless hand, eye, money counting coordination but I'm thinking he meant the shine off my pearly whites!  Ha.  Slightly hued creams, almost yellows!  That's probably a better fit.  Either way, he made butt love with the bench that faced the box office and occationaly popped his gaze over to mine.  The last time he studied my face with professional ease and then smurked.  His beautiful blue eyes gleamed off the black shine of his hair as he stood up to greet his friend, who by the way was not as stunning but still in the same Galaxy of God Damn!  They left together towards the theatre.  I, starring like the facebook stalker I am, followed the back of his head all the way round the corner; he totally turned to look back...score. 

I was going to end this story on a pessimistic point but decided to refrain from my normal downsizing of my soul.  A friend asked me if I were still self deprecating.  Ouch.  So, I took the high road and ended it with a happy.  The story is completely false but it made for a quick little anecdote.

Another person asked if I were getting mental help.  She totally thought I wasn't okay and completely unstable!  She follows me on Twitter and I always write some crazy shit on there.  It made me laugh.  Now to remedy the situation I write even more off the wall shit on my Twitter account.  Whoopsie!

How many people have you seriously wanted to kill in your lifetime?  Not jokingly laughed about in the breakroom, but actually wanted to spend the next 50 years in a jail cell for murdering?  Even would take the chance with lethal injection over.  Think about that for a minute while I shit a log that would choke a python.  Write some names down, make a list...

Okay.  How did we do?  Have your list set up?  Now look in the mirror you fucking psycho!  That's you, girl.  You may need to get your head examined.

I ran two miles today.  Actual running.  I wanted to die every step of the way which is how I knew I must have been doing something right.  Running is truly a different breed of exercise.  I could get on that stair stepper all day, the olyptical for six hours, but when it comes to street running you might as well get asphalt shoved up your ass and call it rape.  I think the fact that I celebrated 420 before I ran helped out a lot.  Could you imagine what it would have been like running sober...phsssss.  Girl, please.  I aint stuuupit!  Ha.  Kidding about the 420.  I have never smoked a date in my life!  I think the motivation from my expert-runner-sister-man helped out a lot in those last minutes of my internal bleeding.  She has been running for a couple of years now...I think it has been anyway.  She looks damn good and I hate her for it.  I lost almost 90lbs when I moved to NYC two years ago and have since gained 30 of those creepers back.  She has lost half of Lady Gaga since she started running.  The fact that she would stop looking for the other half of the Gaga is disappointing, but she has her tastes confused.  She thinks music comes in the form of boys screaming and guitars forgetting about melody and harmony.  That's not true...her music taste just sucks, plain and Simple Plan!   Kidding!!  But back on track.  She is a great inspiration for all trying to overcome an obsticle or maintain a certain schedule.  I might be motivated enough to join the 5K at the end of May.  Four weeks to get it up to comfortable status in running 101.  Somebody may need to call 911, but that would be a different story.  Wish me luck.

Now on a serious note.  You may actually need to call somebody about those urges you have to murder people.  That shit aint no joke!

I'm starting to fall into the gap again.   I have been working out steady for one week and 5 days.  I hate every moment of it.  I don't like sweating.  I hate moving at all, really.  I hate the fact that the only reason why we are to be scuplted is to have the boom-boom made sex love.  I know, everyone says the same thing, "I do it because I want to get healthy, I do it for myself".  Bitch please!  You do it so you can walk into a room and not have people say, DAMNNN GIRL...you fat!  Or have the whispering remarks behind your back as you sit in the wooden chair that questionably holds you up.  And of course, you do it because society says you have to in order to have that other in your life.  The better health is colateral "damage".  Now granted, yes, there are people in the world that are bigger that find their "true love".  At least they find their settled true love.  And there are the very select few that find their love that actually looks you into the soul and finds the true meaning of your lives together without caring what the shell looks like.  And there are the even fewer that will look themselves in the mirror and truly say "I love you" and jump in the run full stride ahead.  More power, love.  That is a rare factor in this world we call the Dope Show.   But one that is welcomed with open arms.

Men are men, through and through.  Having two in a relationship that is deeper than Top vs Bottom is a wall being climbed by a one armed man.  It is able to be done but it takes a lot of work.  So we must muddle through the sweat and tears in order to be loved for more than our personalities!  Get in that gym and bust one out for the boys over seas.  Stick with the plan of thinking more positively and affecting your life for the better.  The gym is your friend and the bottom is half full!

I don't.

Is anyone truly still blinded by the traditional romances anymore?  Was anyone in the first place? 

The engagement ring:  a symbol of not only your love but of the bond you share with one another and with God.  Should it be something picked out for you?  Should the man truly get down on one knee and propose it to you along with his hand?  If it's going to be worn by you should you not have the say in what it is?  Or do we give all the power over to the one we love?  Should this union not be thoughtfully discussed and mutually decided on before the proposal ever is made? 

The religious tie: If you don't believe in God can you still get married?  Would an atheist be denied the same rights as gay couples are denied?  Would they be afforded the same rights as a straight couple would be in the eyes of the law?  Could they infact get married even though the purpose and meaning is lost?  What holds a marriage together in the first place?  Is it the devotion held onto by the two lovers or the symbolism of the tradition?  What keeps the two coming back year after year?  Is it the cooking, the kids or the fear of being alone in the last years of your life?

True love:  a powerful drug injected into the soul that has the ability to blind its victims.  The side affect of such a drug is quite obvious and rather infectious.  It spreads like the virus it becomes, weaving in and out of people's psychy.  The heart is the first to go.  It weakens with every beat and against all reasoning from the second muscle it infects, the brain, it continues to pump hazardous fumes throughout the body.  The brain so tirelessly tries to send doubt and understanding but the virus takes hold and buries it too.  We become entraped in this cocoon-type haze that will undeniably end our lives as we once knew it and births out a new being in not quite the same proportions.

I do hope that there are the romances in everyone's life still.  What else could possibly be the point?

All the single ladies!

The things we do when alcohol is involved.  Although, I still think there is more to those Los Gallos margaritas than just alcohol.  Fucked up, fo reals, girl!  I'm starting to cut back on the old alcohol intake now that I'm starting to see some results to the sweatin to the oldies I've been doing.  I still feel as though I'm gaining weight.  It's a weird feeling.  I noticed some tone happening to my shoulders and arms, though.  That makes me want to stop eating pizza at 2 in the morning.  Or getting shit faced.  But the last time I drank was Saturday...no, for real!  mmmhmmm.  IMMABE up in the bus, holdin my cheeks tight.  IMMABE stuck at the red light.  Hope this feeling don't last forever.  Ass cheeks be flappin more than ever.  IMMABE shitin my pants, lookin like i got my freak shit on...REMIX!! 

Now for your viewing pleasure...

With a little bit of ah, ah...and a sprinkle of the uh, uh...

The color of snot

So, I'm sick again.  The snot runneth over.  I slept with my fan on for three days in a row and I think that's what did it.  And now that the weather is again changing over to the tropical climate Ohio is known for, it aint helpin none!  Good news is it gives me an excuse to over dose on Day-quill now and not get those judgemental looks when I chug the bottle for, just the high!  Not saying I have ever done that, or have ever done that before a night of drinking to enhance the buzz...that would be irresponsible! 

I totally started working out yesterday!  Whoot!  I ate right and in stages, not all at once like I normally gorge.  The only issue with eating right right off the bat is that you are starving when you get home from work and end up shoveling mounds of anything into your obesse mouth because your instinct takes over.  Damn M&M's.  It's ok, though.  I'm going to run for an hour while bobbing to some ABBA and I shall burn off that 1/3 of a bag.  Too bad I'm then going to the store to buy some mood enhancing calories.  Maybe I'll get the Miller 64, or the Bud 56.  Why not just shit in a blender, as my sister is probably thinking right now.  It's not too bad once you get over the metal hump and shove some chips in your throat.  64 calories!!  Come on!  You could drink the case and still not feel as bad as you would chugging that Monster Margarita from the Los!  I guess it's Labatt Blue tonight.  Holla!

I have decided that I am officially allergic to waking up.  There must be something in my body that says nope, you should not be awake, ever.  It is secreting an enzyme from my pours that is making me break out in an itchy mass of bloody scratching.  I can't handle it anymore.  I either need to get health insurance to see a doctor about it or I need to never wake up again.  Seeing as the insurance is expenssive I shall chose to latter.  So I am off to bed for the rest of my life.  If anyone has any last words for me before I do so, say them now or forever bite your tongues.  If you wake me up I will end your life.

On a happier note.  I am totally Los Gallos-ing it up tonight for Mexican yum-yum!  I will get to the bottom of James' lack of commenting on here once and for all!  I'm not opposed to packing a bunch of C-4 in my ass, flying to Russia with him and then having him bang the shit out of me, literally, on a suicidal subway non-commenting meltdown.  Girl...you've been warned.  I just stole my own line from Facebook.  I feel so cheap.  It was tweeked a little, however!  That will be my night of intruige.  I hope it doesn't rain like it smells like it will out there.  I need to walk up to the Rooster.  Eh, a little moisture never killed anyone.  Oh, maybe I'm allergic to water...shit I need a shower.  I just scratched my head and now I'm ready to fry up some chicken.  Stank is greasy.  Anyway, who wants crabs?

Gosselin...oops. But who really cares?

Just thought I'd clear that up for everyone reading, and by everyone I mean my sister and maybe James, but he hasn't commented in a while so I'm not sure if he's a continued client here!  I still hate that bitch, Kate Gosselin.  That shit won't ever change.

So, I was watching TLC earlier today and they had a marathon on about that creepy mermaid girl.  I have nothing against that poor girl but I do have something against her parents, mother especially since she is the only one left in her little life, that keep her going.  This poor girl must hate everything about her life and because we as Americans feel the need to give life to everything that breathes no matter what the details are, won't just say enough is enough.  I don't want to sound insensitive as I know I am right now, but I know for 100% sure that I would never want to live like that.  I mean, the newest struggle was keeping her colostomy bag from seeping back into her body to cause an infection that would kill her...let it, by God!  I'm sure those tapes were destroyed by now, the ones that were showing the little mermaid girl tampering with her own bag at night when her warden...I mean, mother, was asleep.  The girl doesn't even look happy.  Are we that shallow in our own misguided affections in feeling good with everything going wrong in our lives that we should keep someone alive that is obviously not living, or even happy?  One love, mermaid girl, one love.  I hope all of your dreams come true for you and not your viewer's, or mother's, own satifactions.

Anyway, that was just a side note.  I needed to vent about that poor girl before I got into the real nitty-gritty.  Ok.  Imagine yourself on a fabulous yacht in the middle of the ocean.  The day is a perfect 72 degrees, the sky is officially the most gorgeous shade of blue ever defined in Webster's and the waves are rocking the boat just a hair, enough to even relax the bull in the china shop. The champagne is flowing, the air is crisp, the strawberries are fresh, unless you are allergic to strawberries and then the pistachios are salty.  The wood had just been polished and has that slight orangy smell to it.  The plush interior was decorated by Michael Coors and has a nautical theme but doesn't shout, I'm on a boat, on a boat.  It is the most lavish afternoon you could have ever dreamed...now imagine a little bunny being set on fire and used to rape your little brother.  Nope.  Imagine, though, that you're on that yacht with the person you hate the most.  Everyday you think of new ways for this person to die, you hate them so much.  And you're stuck in the middle of the ocean on such an amazing day with them, only them, noone else.  First: who is it?  Second:  what would be the first thing that would pop out of your mouth?   Really take some time to think about who you are as a person in this scenario.  It will say a lot about you if you could put yourself in this situation and honestly act it out.  Are you the type that would grit your teeth and bare down on the awkward conversation, remain social for your own sanity.  Or would you be a hardcore bitch and throw yourself into a full on dispute?  Maybe you'd squeeze inbetween the two and be civil but remain detached from all contact...think about it.  This is who you are.  Now cuddle up in bed and read a good book or touch yourself to a raunchy porn and piss off!

Peek-a-boo!

I have always wanted to live in two era's; the 1920's and the time that Jesus lived. 

I have wanted to live around Jesus' time due to the fact that I have always wanted to expose him as a hoax, a David Blaine type figure that lusted after attention.  And the 1920's to degrade women.  I'm not sure which one I hold to a higher standered.

I do have to admit that I have thought of Jesus as a man, a good, honest man, that could be looked up to and followed as someone with morals and a nature that anyone could be so lucky to raise a child on, but never really thought he was the "son" of God.  Not sure what I believe in that field.  That Jesus was just a devine human that wasn't devine.  That he could indeed "perform" for a crowd much as a magician would do so now-a-days.  I don't believe that in this time period we are in now that there could even be a Jesus.  Could you imagine if David Blaine or Chris Angel came on the scene as the son of God and not a magician?  If he truly thought, or at least wanted us to believe, that he was the second coming of Christ that we wouldn't immediately hual his ass away to some looney bin somewhere.  According to scripture there is to be a second coming but who's to say we would believe.  Then it goes without saying that who's to say we should have believed the first time?  Too deep.  Let's just talk about abusing women and call it a night.

The 1920's.  An era of true power in the pants.  The way the free world should always be run...one group with all the power making decisions for all the lesser groups whether they like it or not.  For that one group to say what's good for them is good for everyone no matter what the consequence.  What ever happened to those good old days?  What happened to broken ribs under uniformed girdles?  The tea being served hot with lemon even though noone in their right mind drank tea for the taste.  Parasols and flowing gowns.  Bruised cheek bones and white gloves.  Take me back to those days, minus the three piece suits.  That shit gets hot.  But seriously, let's not give up hope on Kate Gosling right now.  She could still take a slap as good as the next one.

So, I'm obviously kidding around.  I hate Kate Gosling and wish she'd drown her kids already so we may see the last of her.  Or maybe have the husband decapitate her children in front of her before popping their little cherries!  Ouch!  I even covered my mouth on that last one.

Work it girl!

So my high end drag store is slowly unfolding.  I really want to open a drag queen store in Manhattan in the Village somewhere.  I think it would do really well.  There is nothing like it in Manhattan at the moment, which I find crazy.  There are drag queens all over that place.  My store is going to be high end fashion at an affordable price, so any diva may look fabulous without breaking the weave bank.  There will be a fashion show every Saturday so you may showcase your style to the world before you buy your outfit for the next week.  Get an opinion before you buy.  The kicker of it all is that there will be a full bar in the back of the store for a casual drag encounter over drinks.  A gossip corner, if you will of the goings-on in the drag scene.  Nothing catty, for I hate the drama, but it's hard to go dramaless in the world of fabulous dye jobs and lifts.

I really still have a hard time believing there is no place to shop for drag queens besides Payless for shoes or a porn store for a shitty pair of pleather pumps that fall apart in 2 weeks.  Last Halloween I looked all over Manhattan for a shop that housed all of a confused boy's needs in becoming a classy lady.  Nothing.  It was impossible to find anything in my size, number one, 15 is a hard shoe to heel!  Not to mention finding the dress that needs to ride up these 42" clidesdales!  I shall make this store a one stop shop for every sized queen roaming the city that never sleeps.  And don't think the selection will go down when the size goes up.  We will be stocked to the hills with yum.  Then hop on back to the bar and shoot the shit with the other girls.  Prizes will be awarded to the best outfit, best in show, best hair and make-up and of course, most fashionable icon.  That may have to be a monthly prize, or maybe even yearly.  I need to iron out all of the other details.  It's too damn early in the morning for me to be thinking.  Nighters.

Tweet this bitch.

I just started a twitter account, well like 3 weeks ago, and I still have no idea why people use it.  It's the dumbest thing in the world.  I mean, you only have 140 characters to use when tweeting so it's not like you can get any kind of point across.  And if you do manage to intrigue someones interest on a matter, you have no way of knowing they tweeted you back unless you scroll through the thousands of tweets that happened after you tweeted in the first place.  I am totally done using the word tweet, for shit's sake.   I do like the fact that you can see what celebrities are up to in their everyday lives.  Jim Carrey is pretty cool.  He doesn't try too hard to get people to laugh on twitter, he is just normal.  I hate the celebrities that are still acting online.  Noone cares about you when we are not looking at you move on screen and if you do then you need a life.  I do have to say that if Kate Winslet did start to message me I would probably eat shit and die because I love her, but other than that, nope.  I probably still don't care that she is cooking lamb for dinner, though.  My point is I tweeted, sorry, yesterday that Axe deoderant is to Men like the skinny jean is to fucking douche bags.  I tried to start a twitter battle against all of the angsty teeny emo kids out there like Sunny With A Chance did on the Disney channel last week.  I didn't feel like scrolling through the tweets, sorry, all night, though.  So I say fuck twitter.  And fuck Axe.  And especially fuck all those little pre-teen boys that forget that others can actually smell them when they walk into a room and need to stop showering in Axe.  It turns noone on.  A little goes a hell of a long way more than a lot in this case, baby.  Not to mention, it is supposed to be applied onto the skin, not onto your clothing.  The washing machine takes care of the clothes.  Soap takes care of the body but I understand if you need a little boost when it comes to the smell good department.  Just put it on the skin.  That's where the pheremones come from that mix with the cologne.  Not the cotton from china.  We should force feed Home Alone to all the teens boys in the world...AHHHHHH!!!   I fell into the gap, though the other day.  I bought Axe deoderant.  I did it.  It smelled half way decent in the store.  I'm usually a fresh meadow, cut flowers, cool breeze, fresh air scent, shower clean type of guy but this one didn't smell retchid.  I still hate the smell.  I smell like a man...bleh!  Miranda says it turns her on, but I don't think I'll stick with this.  Give me back my Secret.

Anyone up for chopped suey?

Nope.  I am very excitied about the upcoming, day's of my life.  Wednesday is of course Los Gallos day and night!  Thursday is my first time to karaoke in like a decade at Rush Hour in Twinsburg and Saturday is going to be a fun filled day of walking for a cause and eating with a passion in downtown Cleveland!

The MS walk is how I shall start off my Saturday morning.  It begins at the Cleveland Brown's Stadium and ends at probably the same spot.  Not sure how it is working out but I do know it's for a good cause.  After the walk I am spending the day downtown with the sis enjoying the West Side Market in Ohio City and then to kill some poor duck in the Asian Plaza.  It never knew what hit it.  It was probably mass produce at one point anyway.  I saved it's hard life by ending it.  That's a bit sad.  But I've never had duck so suck it.  It always reminds me of A Christmas Story when I think of eating duck.  You know, the famous scene of the man chopping it's head off on the table in the Chinese restaurant.  I think that's probably how this whole idea came to play out...maybe.  I'm excited for walking around downtown, though.  We will probably have the whole city to ourselves, it is Cleveland after all.  I hope we stop off at the Bier Market or to the crazy psychic lady that helped me "out" to my sister.  Maybe we'll stop over to Union Hall, Bar? Club?  What ever the name of the ajoining bar to Bounce is.  I like it in there.  Not so much Bounce.  We could even hit up the Balto exhibit at the Natural History Museum, but I heard it was butt crackers.  The world is our oyster and we have yet to slurp it down.  God, my feet reak...I have been smelling something burning for the past hour and just realized it's my feet.  Damn things are fucking rank, man! 

Anyway.  Saturday=fun.  Feet=9-1-1.

I have a bunch more to say but I'm losing focus.  So I think I'll just brush my nuts and head to bed.  Oh, hey, I'd like to reorganize those files but "I'm Drunk"!