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  • Inspiration

    Strikes in the unlikeliest of places.

    Is 90% perspiration.

    Other cliches and old wives' tales.

     

    So, whilst listening to Anna Nalick's Breathe (2 A.M.), which the wife turned me on to once upon a time and which I still hope to Someday actually hear at, you know, 2 a.m., the proverbial lightning bolt smote your humble narrator upside his pretty little head. And yes, this is my diary screaming out loud. Nope, don't give a fuck that noone's listening but me.

    And I'm damn near deaf.

     

    So the new question I'm bouncing off folks in text and e-mail is this: If you could possess any single thing, quality or feeling, what would it be?

    For those of you who are as inept as me, trust me on this: never ask a question (always ask better questions; I have a ? tattooed on my left forearm to remind me of this) you don't have an answer prepared for.

    My answer is thus: The Rewind Button, of course. Those of you familiar with the lovely and talented Ms. Nalick's (she's due for a new disc and one certainly hopes her tour makes its merry way to Calgary) will be all-too-aware of where I'm going with this.

    And this is the basis for my next storytelling endeavour which, sadly, is still in the planning stages. What? It took all of my 3 brain cells just to come up with the fucking thing. And my day has been spent eating cake, reading Neil Strauss' Emergency and watching Season 2 of the Chappelle Show. And wondering how far back to pull whilst giving someone her space. And discovering, much to my dismay, that I'm completely UNDATEABLE; an excellent read. I caught some of the VH1 special when I was in Vegas in May.

    But I digress. My idea. What would you do if you were blessed or cursed with the Rewind Button?

    Would you act globally or locally? Selfishly or selflessly?

    I like to think I know what I'd do but, sadly, I've a sneaking suspicion I'd end up using it for good instead. Sigh. I guess we'll just have to find out. Yes, it's a great deal like the last thing I actually wrote (curse you, shakes fist, writer's block!), but write what you know, n'est pas? And I'm just thrilled that ideas and words are starting to use me as a conduit again now that I, to quote Mr. Rossdale (whatever happened to him, anyway?), feel the way I hate and hate the way I feel...full time. Where they'll take me remains to be seen, but it's all about the journey, fuck the destination.

    In closing, what have we learned here today?

    Anna Nalick is TOO fine.

    And I'm Rick James, bitch! Nope, that shit never gets tired.

    Oh, and I think we should deport Vanilla Ice to run Haiti. I'm pretty sure he needs the work.

    Sasha Grey on Entourage is like a wet dream come true, ain't it? Have I mentioned that I met her? Even put my arm around her without security kicking my monkey ass and everything. Good times!

    Fuck Poker. The World Series of Blowjobs is where it's at. The blonde and the oriental duking it out in the finale and gagging their merry way through a well, gaggle of fellas (what? they can't all be gold, sue me) is well worth the download. Trust me, I have a cute South African doctor.

  • Today's Random

    Simply because my completely random crackpot theories and notions have been lacking of late:

     

    I'm continually being turned down for the US Green Card Lottery and directed to apply for immigration to Australia. Apparently, Canada isn't a 3rd World nation. And being married to an American citizen just doesn't go as far as it used to. So what if we never cohabitated?

    At least I never have to worry about running into ex-GF's afterwards. I never leave the house unless it's for work, errands or pussy. And even then it's rare.

    I found out yesterday that Michael Cera's Canadian. Therefore, I no longer am. Ukraine, represent! Who's next, that Will Ferrell cocksucker?

    So Hilary Duff's getting married? That's cool, my wardrobe's pretty much already all black, anyway. Since I'll be wearing black for the next year or so. My advice? Honey, record something. Whatever happened to Haylie, anyway? Is she doing porn yet?

    Some chick's memory's stuck in 1994. Big fucking deal, I've been living in 1993 since, well, 1993 I suppose. Damn that was a good year.

    In the immortal words of the venerable Mr. Springsteen (yes, I really DO talk like that, deal), I had a job, I had a girl, I had something going, mister, in this world. One quit me and I'm on the verge of walking away from the other.

    If you haven't seen Kickass yet, go. I'll wait.

    Never ask an ex who asked you for space how to deal with a similar situation from another womenfolks. Just trust me on this.

    Can The Gift of Missing Me prevail over I Need Some Space and It's Not You, It's Me (whatever she was looking for, it was NEVER me)? Stay tuned. Thankfully, I keep reminding myslef that none of them is Kendra, and that shall see me through. In fact, mayhap I'll rename this entire mess None Of Them Is Kendra? Hmm, must ponder. Mull, even.

    Note to self: cease, desist and refrain from allowing the fact that you're too lazy to pursue (how does one go from dating 3 women at once to getting kicked to the curb by 1, anyway?) to persuade you to settle into a routine too fast. Tends to scare off the womenfolks, it does.

    Still waiting. Patiently.

    At least I'm writing again. And for that, I have you to thank. Words and ideas only seem to come to me when the demons do. Which kinda sorta sucks, but it is what it is.

    Fuck sexy, I'm bringing brooding back. Yeah.

    I tried. I Gave Up. I'm simply not relationship folk. Fucking sticking points. I do so much better as Interim Guy. Like the man said, Find 'em, Fuck 'em, Forget 'em. No, no matter how I might seem, I'm not looking to settle down. I simply work too long and too hard (still working on my subliminals and NLP, multi-tasking is awesome) and have so little free time that I tend to fall into a routine much too easily and forget what got me there in the first place. And that's why it's entirely my fault we broke up. Fuck it, so be it. I've got broad shoulders.

    Why, yes, I do occasionally repeat myself. If you don't like it, change the channel. Next caller.

    Work simply isn't reason enough to be awake at 5 a.m. Especially since I awoke an hour 45 before my alarm. What can I say? I'm in heavy turmoil over all of this. I had something/someone good and now...I don't. But I digress, I do that. I'm such a chick.

    Maybe I'll learn me some simple magic tricks. Now that I have all this free time.

    I was watching season 1 of the Chappelle Show yesterday. Some funny shit. It's too bad he went all crazy, although I can totally relate. Other than the talented and funny part, naturellement. I still expect a big comeback from him. Watch for it.

    At least I have an excuse to regrow my goatee. I have to admit, though, that constantly having to reinvent myself and trying to be everything to everybody is extremely taxing. And yes, I completely misread her needs/wants/desires on this one. I do that. I gathered that she was seeking a relationship. Apparently not.

    I need someone on whom to practice my texting skills. And someone to take to Mamma Mia next month. Even though I swore I'd never again plan ahead and buy 2 tickets to anything, I went ahead and did it anyway. Oh well, it's a good show and everybody likes ABBA, whether they'll admit it or not.

    Always have a fallback girl/contingency plan.

    If it leads to sex, it's your fault. If something goes wrong, it's her fault.

    I'm getting reacquainted with the songs on my MP3 player that long ago got me through some difficult times. E-mail me for the complete list.

    So, the big question here is: do I give her her space and risk losing her for good (face it, pal, she's Good For Gone) and sleep with the phone book or do I attempt to lead her where I think I want her to go? Discuss.

    When are they going to remake Flipper? I sense a Matthew Lillard comeback therein. He needs the work, since Freddie Prinze hasn't done anything of late that he could finagle his way into.

    I swear I'd burn this city down to show you the light. Simply because I'm in an FOB kind of place right now.

    I love you, I just don't like either of us very much right now. I do, however, understand. We really don't have much in common. And never ask me why I asked you to be my GF so soon. You won't like the answer. Again, she's been known to stop by on occasion. I no longer have anything to hide. And you should've seen the light go out of the eyes of my press agent, Yan, when he discovered that she already knew about my Vegas wedding. Sorry, guy. If it's any consolation, you tell the story better than I ever did.

    My car is now paid for. Which gives me some extra flexibility, midlife crisis-wise. I took a very productive sick day yesterday and relearned some vital info I'd somehow allowed myself to forget. ALWAYS keep attracting her. Don't fall into comfort too soon. Never stop teasing and being a challenge. Don't have feelings and, if by some misfortune you do, for Pete Wentz's sake (trying out something new, I think it'll catch on), NEVER tell her about them. Keep yourself to yourself. He who cares the least wins.

    And, again, that is me. Sorry kiddies, best exit line I've got today. Peace.

     

     

     

  • On Second Thought

    She was totally right to ask for her space and time to think about who she is and what she's looking for. Perhaps we rushed into things too quickly. I do that. I find something I like and I go after it. Simply how I roll. Sure, I still care about and for her, but it's likely for the best.