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  • Look What the Cat Dragged In

    I'm listening to Poison's Greatest Hits dealio, and I couldn't resist. Yes, that's right, kiddies. It's Twilight Time again. When darkness falls acrost the land and inspiration (or whatever) strikes your humble narrator. Okay, mostly the or whatever portion of the program, but it's my dime, so...


    I'm all acquiver with anticipation. Guns 'N' Roses is finally coming to my neck of the woods. Tickets go on sale Saturday. Does this mean that Chinese Democracy will finally get released? No, that's just crazy talk, simply too much to hope for. And yet, hope I do.


    And the search for a suitable wingwoman continues. Especially since S. (check out her latest comment, bottom right; much obliged, honey), who would be perfect for the gig, lives so many miles away.


    Here's hoping that Tampa Bay Buccaneers' QB Chris Simms has a rapid and full recovery from his recent splenectomy. Y'all know how I am, ANY excuse to a) troll for traffic and 2) use the word splenectomy.


    Boys with faces like mine simply don't talk to girls with asses like yours. Sorry. Next.


    My different drummer, you know, the one that I march to, is Keith Moon. Maybe Bonzo? Tommy Lee? No, definitely Keith Moon. Once he drank and drugged hisself into the ground, the Who should've called it a day.


    Terrell Owens suicide attempt. Cry for Help. Whatever the fuck. Jerry Jones is the one that should be popping pills for signing T.O.'s prima donna ass. Oh my, yes, y'all can quote me on that, too. I really thought that Bill Parcells would whip Owens' ass into shape. Hey, I can't be right about everything. Oh, like YOU can.


    Song/Video of the Day: Paris Hilton- Nothing in This World. I caught the video on AOL Music Sessions (link on lower right) and I like it even more than I enjoyed One Night in Paris. Seriously, catchy tune. And y'all know how I love me a good hook. Ers, too.


    As I was watching La Bamba recently, I realized that all the best inspiration tends to occur in Tijuana whorehouses.


    The after 16 years return to the ranks of the lemmings trapped in their shiny little boxes (driving a car, for those of y'all not used to my little ways, who require subtitles) is going better each day, thanks for asking. Although trying to relearn to drive (luckily I kept renewing my driver's license) and learn Inner (and, eventually, outer) Game at the same time really doesn't leave a great deal of time for, you know; eating, sleeping, work, all that unimportant shit. Last night, I braved the freeway 2X. When there was actually traffic, as opposed to the first time (simply how I roll: learn how to get to wherever I'll later need to be in the wee smalls; let sense memory take over later), when it was pretty much just me and the early morning big rigs. Yay, me!

    Oh fuck yeah, I'm usually pretty much on autopilot when I drive. Being half asleep also counts as impairment, n'est pas?


    I had no idea that 30 Seconds to Mars is Jared Leto's band. And yet, I like 'em anyway. I've been hearing The Kill on the radio on occasion, liked it, picked up the CD. It's pretty damn solid. The band's in town a week from tomorrow, and I'm seriously pondering attending. If y'all get the op, give this one a whirl.


    I'm off to resume my online dating practice. Dude, at this point, pretty much everything and everyone is practice. We're all pretty much interchangeable, anyway. I've already learned that attractive young womenfolks don't overly appreciate it when you completely ignore their looks, call them on their drama/bullshit and refer to them as Dude and/or Little Buddy. But they DO respond to it. I've got reaction, now I just need to improve attraction. Too much cocky, not enough funny. Easily rectified.

  • Women of the Day 09/22/06

    For those of y'all what've been looking (and you know who you are), I'm pretty sure that teenlust.com isn't an actual site. But, what the hell, right?; the journey's more important than the destination anyway.


    It's a special night, don't make me slap you.


    Someday, I hope to work my merry way up to riffraff. Then, smarmy smarmatan.


    I was going to regale y'all with the tale of how I spent my summer Vacation this past July; but, since I'm hyped-up on cough and cold-type medicines, I might find myself becoming all AFC and putting someone on a pedestal, when I really know better NOW; so that'll be for another (somewhat less heavily medicated) time. A brief teaser:

    I chose the hot new color (according to Cosmo, a fact I learned shortly apres; fuck yeah, I read it: EVERY guy should), jet black, for when I painted my nails during my little identity holiday. Too bad the last night flat out, straight up fucking sucked, though.


    I actually had to take my first sick day since 1998 on Wednesday night. If I wasn't entitled to PAID (I really do love this concept) sick days, now, I would've went in to work anyway. That's just how I roll.

    I managed to squeeze some time into my busy schedule of pill popping, cough syrup (god (or whoever) bless NyQuil!) chugging and general lassitude to catch the series premiere of Jericho. Cool premise, hot chicks, and good ol' Rick Simon. Even though that fake-ass Johnny Depp, Skeet Ulrich, stars therein; I do believe I'll be hooked on this one. Nope, NO idea what the rest of the new TV shows look like. Nope, no interest, either. My TV viewing is primarily reserved for cancelled shows. Besides, isn't every 2nd show one of them accursed ''reality'' shows, anyway?

    And, if y'all ain't never been awoken by your own sneezing, I highly recommend it.


    Also according to Cosmo, guys with a good sense of humor are currently in vogue.

    I, my ownself, am working on being a little more funny and a little less cocky in my interactions with the womenfolks of late. But it's a battle sometimes, knowing when to say when. Especially considering wherefore I used to be. Total deference and putting the pussy on a pedestal. Now, I'm busting their chops left, right, and centre.  Approaches still need work, but that's Cool, as I'm focused on honing my inner Game, anyway. Getting back my old ''if you like me, who gives a fuck?/ if you don't like me, see previous''-type attitude and such. One day at a time.

    You'd be surprised at the promptness of and feeling behind the reactions not unattractive womenfolks who've had men kiss their asses all their lives tend to give you when you treat them like your bratty little sister and refuse to take their drama. Fuck, if I wanted to waste my life, I'd still be married.

    Young girls don't know shit...but ain't it fun to teach 'em? Of course, the more mature womenfolks will teach YOU all kinds of new tricks. And they know who they are and what they want. Which really kinda cuts to the chase.


    Here's hoping that Style (Neil Strauss) releases his Annihilation Method in E-book form for the benefit of all mankind. Yes, there is very much general interest in learning your technique.


    Happy Birthday to Ronaldo. Nope, don't follow soccer. Merely hoping to attract hot Brazilian women to my humble little blog. Fucking sue me.


    On the who and what I am tip: I'm taking my sister to the Three Days Grace/Theory of a Deadman/Mobile/Idle Sons concert for her birthday (yes, she already knows). Okay, my boy Jay couldn't go and there's simply NO fucking way I'm dropping excessive cash moneys trying to impress some dunce; but still. It's the thought that counts, n'est pas?

    Also, I'm doing my damndest to listen to and keep on the good side of the guy at work what seems most likely to go all Columbine on the place. Yes, I've asked him to do so on my days off. Again, totally trying to avoid drama and stress in my life.


    The list:


    1) Leda (the unfaithful queen of Sparta, who was seduced by Zeus in the form of a swan. you know, just in case any of the womenfolks out there in the ether thought THEY have poor taste in men; this one got banged by a fucking BIRD! mother of Castor and Pollux.)


    2) Amy Lee (new album out October 3rd. I simply love the part in the Call Me When You're Sober video where she's all smiles, whilst singing at her piano and then, suddenly, simply shuts said smile off; and, of course, the very last scene. green eyes what you could drown in kinda rock, don't they?)


    3) Fiona Luv (36D-24-36 porn star and free spirit. VERY girl-next-door; I believe I may have mentioned a time or 50 how much that appeals to I. awesome free content on her site.)


    4) Ginger Lynn (today seems to be old school day, a trip down memory lane and shit, don't it? the compilation tape Deep Inside Ginger Lynn certainly changed MY life and, I'm sure, those of the many and varied friends I lent it out to.)


    5) Winona LaDuke (vice presidential running mate to Ralph Nader on the 1996 and 2000 Green Party tickets.)


    Well, I'm off to some cold pizza (breakfast of champions), more medicines, and I've really really REALLY gots to blow my nose, so enjoy your Friday, y'all. I know I shall, working on chick crack (palm reading, handwriting analysis, personality tests, tarot, numerology, astrology, etc.) is always Good Times. I knew my Psychology background would pay dividends at some point.

  • The sights, sounds, and yes, smells of last night's

    Red Hot Chili Peppers concert. Which I was at and you weren't. Hardy har fucking har.


    Firstly, I'm almost certain that damn near nobody saw the opening group, the Mars Volta, as we were treated to a lengthy wait outside in the elements whilst the Saddledome's (or whatever the fuck it's currently called: curse you, corporate sponsorship! what? shit certainly ain't dropping ticket prices any) crack security staff patted down everyfucking body. Good Times. Although, I think the guy what felt me up was kinda sweet on me, so I was able to smuggle in my works; thereby enabling me to shoot up during the concert. Again, what? It's a concert. You're SUPPOSED to get high. Weed is for selling or using to pull chicks. Real men do Heroin.

    Actually, my boy Jay and I got into the show, after dealing with the teeming masses of humanity, in time to hear about the last 20 minutes of the Mars Volta's set. Rather than attempt to navigate finding our assigned (and sadly, not very good, sitting next to groups of women-wise; whenever I go to shows by myself (why bring sand to the beach?), I always seem to end up beside at least 1 2-set of liquored-up young impressionables) seats, we found us a relatively accessible merchandise booth (I bought me a fairly Cool shirt), conveniently located immediately adjacent to a Tim Horton's; whereby we purchased some coffee and doughnuts (what? it was cold outside, both of us were a smidge under the weather; he'd been in bed, sick, all day...and, yes, we're getting old) and then set up at a table near our section. I really need to study his Game a little bit more, even if he's out of practice from being in a relationship for so long. We were approached by a cute young usherette, who was staring out the window at the STILL lengthy lineup to enter the venue. My first instinct was cocky/funny: Is that, like, the lineup for the bathroom? My boy was just a smidge more practical-like, showing her his ticket and inquiring as to whether or not we were in the right section. We were. Yay, us! Anyway, I atoned when she came back about 10 minutes later, saying that I knew she would. This made her smile. Some days, that's about all I've the energy for; making strange womenfolks smile. Besides, I'm still a recovering AFC. One step (or day) at a time.

    Finally, the openers closed up and the excitement built. The Peppers were about to take the stage. The scent of cheap weed was redolent in the air, like burning leaves on a chilly autumn Sunday afternoon. Unbelievable, n'est pas? I fucking TOLD y'all I'm working on my storytelling.

    Okay, let's see: The Red Hot Chili Peppers rock rock rocked rocked the house, y'all. Nope, I'm still not overly familiar with their later material, I'm ALL about Blood Sugar Sex Magic; from which the band only played Give It Away. I was disappointed that they didn't fire up some Higher Ground quality, but they DID do a few bars of London Calling by the Clash; a rare and unexpected treat. The video screen was kickass, projecting all kinds of trippy shit and, also, allowing those of us whose seats weren't quite so exceptional to better see the band. John Frusciante's version of Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow was pretty Cool, even if a sizable portion of the yokels did the lighter and camera phone bit in response. Fucking yokels. Anyway, the tunage was funky, the band put in a quality effort and, even though it wasn't the best show I've ever seen (Motley Crue's Dr. Feelgood tour in 1990: 3 encores, they kept on playing even after the houselights came up; Tommy Lee threw out an entire forest of drumsticks to the crowd; Tesla's opening show was kickass, also), I'd go and see them again.

    And now, the REAL reason why I left my house, the shapely young adorables: Dude, it was like a total candystore up in there. And yet, somehow, we managed to avoid jail time. Although good ol' Carl likely would've went bail moneys for us. Okay, out of all the hot snatch on the hoof of various ages and shapes that we came across, my favorites were:

    - the shapely blonde about our age with the cute little tattoo, that I couldn't quite make out, on her left shoulder, seated a few rows in front of us; even if she brought her cockblock-type friends with her; Jay believed she was a little unsure of herself, body language-wise, but I really wasn't paying enough attention, what with being all calm, sedate and serene guy, mostly I just noticed she couldn't dance for shit and moved on; I DID, however, let her in front of me during the mad rush to exit the building apres the show as that's simply how I roll...she repaid me by making the occasional sudden stop during which I accidentally found myself pressed up against her tight little frame

    - the blonde with the big rack in the row in front of us, about 5 seats over; after she took off her sweater (like I said, quite cold outside), smoked a bowl and got excited about the project, so did we; she, too, couldn't dance for shit, but the enthusiastic way that her tig ol' bitties (do the math, yo) were bobbling around more than made up for her lack of skill and yes, we were treated to the occasional gratuitous cleavage shot as she leaned down and towards us to speak to her friend...

    - the cute little brunette with the goggles (which were at first pretty much all there was to her), who initially served mostly to block off our view but ended up being the high point of the entire evening for me; she didn't have a lot to work with, frame-wise (don't get me wrong, it was aight, but not spectacular), but what she had, she REALLY knew how to work...how can I describe this (never been too good with them word things)? she had this fucking phenomenal little head bob going that showed a very good head technique and I simply was unable to look away for most of the night (did I mention there was some sort of concert going on?); sadly, these 2 little honeys left early, before I had the chance to make with the ''Cool goggles, it's too bad you girls are so shy, otherwise y'all might be worth hanging out with'' call

    To summarize briefly, yes, it was most definitely a good time had by all. Even if I didn't get to see any unconscious folk getting carried out by the paramedics. Perhaps next time.


    And on to other business.


    A hearty much obliged to the divine Ms. S. for another unique comment. Stop by any time. Go 'Noles!


    I knew my coloring books and crayons would totally pay off in the long run. They make excellent props.


    Nope, still ain't heard back from the womenfolks that I showed such deep empathy for: telling them I understood their reluctance to correspond with I (my typing skills landed me an ex-wife and a cyberstalker as well as legions of devoted fans), lest they fall completely in love with me and have their very existences torn asunder.

    Go figure. No big, however, as I have a contingency plan for such scenarios. One I'm going to thank for providing me with a pretty surefire (not, however, foolproof) opener to use on other womenfolks. It turns out that women LOVE to have their opinions solicited by men. Who knew? The other is, as always, far away. Which seems to be a prevailing trend in my life. Nope, ain't heard back about that annulment yet, either. But hopes remain high. After all, this is the new, uber, me.


    I'm learning so very much from the wise advice and sage counsel of (Saint of the Day:) Wayne 'Juggler' Elise. Next, I work on the applying shit portion of the program.

    My new attitude towards the HB's is: okay, you hit the genetic lottery, looks-wise, but what do YOU have to offer ME?

    To this end, I'm back on the dating sites. Just to practice. And for once, I've actually adopted a proactive stance and approached some of the womenfolks therein. To mixed results.

    - the low Self Esteem chick with the beautiful smile (this was my approach, as negging her would've been counterproductive) who has already told me much about her and given me her real e-mail address (like David DeAngelo always says: e-mail over digits), sans me asking for it; this was my fallback and she replied to me within about 20 minutes

    - the fairly attractive woman with the kickass profile which expressed her (likely completely fabricated) goofy side to whom I said kickass profile, but are you all talk or are you someone Cool enough to fake heartfelt reunions in airports with; haven't heard back from her...her loss

    - the fine 23 year old (I'm 34) whose profile had some very similar points to mine own; fuck yeah, I called her on it, plagiarism (other than mine own, naturellement) is so not Cool; then I said that the least she could do was offer me her opinion on that whole ugly walking the nice lady home and not trying anything episode (feel free to use it if you'd like; e-mail me for the full story); she has since tried to give me attitude, to which I replied how cute it is when a woman tries to give me attitude, it always makes me giggle; next I'll mention what a great friend I think she'll make...although I didn't get the desired results the last time I used the LJBF first strike, so we'll see how things play out

    And no, I never talk about success and all that sort of thing. Discretion fucking rocks. I'm all about the Zen of the process itself.


    All right, time for breakfast before the Cleveland Browns/Cincinnati Bengals game later on today. Enjoy your Sunday, y'all. I know that I shall. I've been awake about an hour and a half and in, like, 4 hours, I'll be going back to Sleepytime. Sometimes it's good to be me.