A little pressed for time this a.m., early dentist appointment, so I'll likely be somewhat briefer than usual. I'm a little on edge, as you may or may not be able to surmise. I am, however, looking forward to the local I'll be getting to numb my tooth. If only I could get a larger dose for my larger, slightly more permanent issues. Sigh.
Birthday wishes to the immortal Christopher fucking Walken this balmy spring day. The Russian Roulette scenes in The Deer Hunter. And nothing more needs to be said.
I want to be known for my hits, not just my misses
I took a shot and didn't even come close
Of late, I find myself completely stupefied by the answering machine. Especially if it offers more options than: you know the drill, after the beep and shit.
Y'all know how well I handle choice. And, of course, technology.
Oh Hell no I ain't got one of my own. All of the time I'd spend in pursuit of the ideal outgoing message would cut into the time I have to devote to the search for the perfect title. And we simply cannot have that.
C for Couth. Uh huh, sure pal. Is it Opposite Day again, already? No, but apparently it is Bunsen Burner Day. I fucking KNEW the geeks were taking over the world. Good for them. They can fucking have it. Just leave me a nice quiet cave somewheres far far FAR away from, like, every-fucking-body. Hmmm...C for Captain Caveman? Yeah, I kinda like the sound of that one, too. Anybody know wherefore I can procure me a solid, hefty, you know, club?
Yes, women totally keep score. Of anything and everything you do and/or don't. Getting to make her see god (or whoever) is all in the details, baby. Little things. Emotional support. Romantic gestures. All things that guys tend to ignore. Calling her in the middle of the day just because you happen to be in the same area code or time zone.
And when she's rambling on and on and fucking ON as they tend to do, you don't even really have to listen that hard; as long as you remember not to EVER try to fix any problems she might mention. That's not why she's mentioning them to you. Just coo sympathetically. Hug her. Touch her affectionately. Try to remember her name. Spend the entire time picturing her and her best friend performing various contortions upon each other and you.
What? Like I said, I read all them relationship books. And, not having one of my own (and not really a great deal of interest in same) gives me plenty of free time for study and objective, impartial observation. Just trying to help. What's it gonna Hurt you to give this little notion its day in court?
Much obliged to Sonya for stopping by (you've been missed, honey) and commenting 2X yesterday. You really should be earning some extra cash moneys writing them bodice ripper-type romance novels; you've got a certain flair for both the scenarios and the language. If I were to discuss all of my sex-type dreams, I'd never have time or space for anything else. Actually and factually, my dreams are usually about pain and fire and rivers of blood; swinging wildly between and betwixt the mildly esoteric and the downright fucking strange, so I'm usually quite thrilled to have something more mundane to view every once in a while.
For the record: yes, I have. Yes, I do. The womenfolks need to use both hands. Movie theatre. Cemetery. Moving car. Just to mention a few.
As for your 2nd comment, it's come to me, not come FOR me. I'm, like, begging, not demanding. That's just how I roll. Strangely enough, it seems to be working quite well this month. Although, back in the world, I'm working on my approach. More of a step to the plate like a real boy (no strings) dealio. Progress is slow, but hopes remain high.
Thanks also to Jim for stopping by (tell all your friends, acquaintances and complete strangers to do likewise) and commenting. Yes, Sonya sure can weave a tale, can't she? Her comments are often longer and somewhat more interesting than the posts they accompany. Definitely more colorful.
And your English is better than mine. After all, Mumble is my first language and I'm just faking the other.
Since today is the last day of Women's History Month, I'm all for gangs of womenfolks roaming the streets looting and pillaging and forcing unsuspecting menfolks (like, say, me) to have sex with 2 and 3 of them at a time. It's your time to shine, ladies. Do the fucking village.
1) Meg Whitman (President and CEO of eBay. in previous lives she was: responsible for making Keds; a chief exec at FTD; and responsible for global marketing of Mr. Potato Head, a longtime personal fave.)
2) Sedna (the Inuit folks believed that she used ugliness as protection to help her rule over the sea animals. anyone who dared to look at her would be struck dead. damn, but that sounds familiar. how do y'all think I've managed to keep my goldfish, Silver, Alive lo these many hours?)
3) Stephanie Kwolek (invented Kevlar in 1966. like I said, the last day of Women's History Month. maybe I can get some for my Chrome-Plated Heart?)
4) Letitia Geer (the patron Saint (of the Day) of junkies and diabetics; she invented the syringe in 1899. maybe that's why it's called gear? wow, I really do learn something new every time I do one of these things. yay, me! yay, gear! yay, Heroin!)
5) T.J. Hart (to continue a theme, two, actually: fine, busty blonde porn star and occasional B-movie actress. star of Sex Games Vegas: Jack and Jill, which I suspect may just be a smidge different than the version of Jack and Jill y'all learned about as children.)
All right, I'm losing my train of blank, so it's well nigh on time to bounce. May your Friday be smooth and calm. I'll be back later, to shamelessly whore for more of my beloved traffic.