Salvage

Just reading over some of the earliest postings on this seemingly dead blog... and wondering what happened to that guy. Where did he go? ("He" being "me". )

I remember writing the words. I remember the enthusiasm.

There's nothing to be done to get him back entirely. But I am on a salvage mission of sorts.
That comes with no promise of additional blog entries, though "who knows". I did love this once. Everything just got so damned sad that it didn't seem the type of thing that anyone would want to read, and my circumstances certainly became too painful to document (for me anyway).

I wonder if I can find that guy. Does he remember me?

The Curve

This weekend has been a chapter in learning to live alone. I'm getting there. And I can assure anybody that there is a lot to be learned from spending all the "firsts" by yourself. The May holiday weekend... it's the "first" weekend of the summer by many standards. I'm not proud of the mopey manner in which I spent most of it, but here on the twilight day of it, I've taken two long walks, got some much needed sleep, had a paradigm shift in my attitude about my search for "romance" (let's see how long that lasts) ... AND I washed all my living room windows, inside and out.

I watched a half-decent movie last night, "I Love You Man"... (half-decent, but not recommended necessarily). It's one of those comedies I had really low expectations for, but despite some RRRREALLY painful (intentionally) awkward scenes, this movie hit home on a fundamental level. In a nutshell, it's the story of a guy who's never taken the time throughout his life to make "guy" friends. Instead, he's devoted himself entirely to relationship after relationship with women. When faced with marriage and the realization that he doesn't even have someone close enough to ask to be in his wedding party, let-alone be best man, he sets out on a search to make male friends. There's so much truth and sad irony in the isolation we set ourselves up for when we hit our stride in a relationship, never thinking we need anyone else after being so completed by the love we've found. Couple that with the lack of opportunity to even pursue "new" friendships as an adult... and what other people are undoubtedly laughing about (in this movie) has me taking a long, hard look at my life and wondering just "how long" I'm going to be alone.

I think I may have erred entirely in my lack of maintenance with female friends in particular, in an effort to find the elusive "something" I'm looking for in guys. But then, I think I'm hard to wrap your head around, be you male or female, and though I know I'm kind and respectful, I'm also extremely "judgemental" in that I look for magic, and the moment there's a hint of it's void, I know (or default that) the relationship holds little reward. Not because I expect someone to instantly fulfill everything I want them to be, but because I know exactly what I don't want.

That makes me sound like an ogre. Hmmph. Maybe I am one. They certainly live a life of solitude in every tale.

I'm just thinking out loud.

This song... a curious choice I'm sure. But I've got my own cryptic reasons for picking it.

Something Stupid - Robbie Williams (with Nicole Kidman)

I know I stand in line
Until you think you have the time
To spend an evening with me
And if we go someplace to dance
I know that there's a chance
You won't be leaving with me

Then afterwards we drop into a quiet little place
And have a drink or two
And then I go and spoil it all
By saying something stupid
Like I love you

I can see it in your eyes
You still despise the same old lines
You heard the night before
And though it's just a line to you
For me it's true
And never seemed so right before

I practice every day to find some clever
lines to say
To make the meaning come true
But then I think I'll wait until the evening
gets late
And I'm alone with you

The time is right
Your perfume fills my head
The stars get red
And oh the night's so blue
And then I go and spoil it all
By saying something stupid
Like I love you

(INSTRUMENTAL)

The time is right
Your perfume fills my head
The stars get red
And oh the night's so blue
And then I go and spoil it all
By saying something stupid
Like I love you
I love you
I love you
I love you
I love you
I love you
I love you
I love you

C.S.S. Rudderless: I Am Not My Expectations

Expectations.

My life is full of them.

The expectations I place on myself, and those I hold up to other people... daring them to live-up, or let-down. I try not to worry about the expectations I put on other people. Quite frankly, I keep the bar extremely low. But sadly, I keep that bar equally low for myself in that I don't seem to accomplish a whole lot.

I am in wheel-spinning mode. Not "down" or "depressed" per say, but certainly feeling "rudderless". I think that would be the name of my boat if my life were a boat... the C.S.S. Rudderless. Just kinda' driftin' around... following the same course without plotting a new one.

There's a course (of the educational variety) at Humber that I'd like to take, but upon inquiring, I've found I'm going to have to save up some cash, and won't be able to do so before the course start date of... Hey... It's tomorrow. Ahh well... the next time it's offered for sure. Oh, and the course itself is all about "Career Planning" and "Occupational Assessment"... perfect for someone like me. But then, leave it to me to need to take a course to find out which courses to take thereafter. *sigh*

Refusal to berate myself for it, is integral right now. That is my resolve: I will not beat myself up for not knowing what I want. I don't have to know what I want.

Even writing in my blog is undue pressure I put on myself I think. Not that I don't enjoy doing it. I just "feel bad" when I don't. What's that all about?

With this talk of expectations I think I would wish for a life free-enough that it wouldn't matter to me whether I have purpose or not. Free-enough to view life as a gift no matter what I'm doing, and free-enough to know that expectations should instead be "joyful pursuits".... not a "to do" list with boxes for check marks in the left hand column.

I wish. I wish. I wish.

A Life Full of Ticky Tacky

Quite obviously, Facebook is bad for my blogging.

Not to mention... I can't quite put my finger on it, but I have a theory that Facebook depresses me. Perhaps it's that other people appear to have more eventful/meaningful lives than I do, or perhaps it's all that activity and interaction going on, knowing full-well that people aren't really "thinking" about you, or wanting to spend time with you. They're just slapping a post-it note on your head to let you know you're still friends.

At any rate... I'm having a rough time of things this week. And "that" is also bad for my blogging. 'Cause nobody wants to read about how sad or lonely you are. I know this, because I don't want to "write" about how sad and lonely I am. And furthermore, I want to be one of those people who's perfectly satisfied with his own company, and uses the solitude to accomplish fulfilling things.

I just can't seem to get a handle on that yet.

Anyhow... anyhow, anyhow, anyhow... in much more enjoyable news, I have discovered just how much I thoroughly enjoy the show "Weeds". I've had the first season on DVD for literally years now and just this weekend, decided to crack the plastic and give it a whirl. The result was a 6 hour marathon to watch the whole thing because it was just that good. I just couldn't stop. The show in general is quite clever and volleys back and forth between provocative and humourous, but there are moments of incredible tenderness. One episode in particular ends with "this scene" (clicky clicky) where Nancy (Mary-Louise Parker) is watching a video of her and her husband Judah while they were making love. Poignant because Judah, is her deceased husband, and the entire premise of the show is her trying to care/provide for herself and their two sons after his death. Prior to what you see here, she has just gone through many things she never thought she'd do, and questioning her decisions with regret and takes a moment to reflect and allow herself to miss him. Her grief is not something they dwell on throughout the entire season, but when they do...
...Yeah... I cried a lot. It's unfortunate this particular youtube clip cuts off the song before it finishes throughout the credits, because it really is perfectly fitting and heart-wrenching.

"Ballerina" by Leona Naess (this link contains a rough recording of a live performance)

I'll never feel the weight of your hands
Inside mine, like diamonds
Lace so fine, ballerina
Cupcake and my earthquake
Wakes me from my sleep that
Never comes, are you breathing?
Waiting for me

I didn't really want you
But I want you now
Was so foolish of me
Feel you tumbling down
Into that empty room
The lights went out
I want to rescue, want to scream out loud

I didn't think I needed you
But I need you now
Was so empty, in me
Feel you crashing down
Into the empty world
The music stops
I want to rescue, want to scream out loud
You will always be mine

The room spins
Pull you from me
My body burns
Tell me all the rainbows
The colors that the rain throws
Ballerina dance softly
She knows when to come only
When she's called on, slowly coming to

I didn't really want you
But I need you
Was so foolish of me
Feel you tumbling down
Into that empty room
The lights went out
Want to rescue, want to scream out loud

I didn't think I wanted you
But I want you now
Was so empty, in me
Feel you crashing down
Into the empty world
The music stops
I want to rescue, want to scream out loud
You will always be mine

So, so sorry
Just come back for me now
So, so sorry
Just come back to me now
Or soon

I didn't think I wanted you
But I want you now
Was so foolish of me
Feel you tumbling down
Into that empty room
The lights went out
Wanted to rescue, want to scream out loud

I didn't think I needed you
But I need you now
Was so empty, in me
Feel you tumbling down
Into that empty room
The lights went out
I want to rescue, want to scream out loud
That you will always be mine...

Mmmmmmm.... Pop.

Sometimes I must admit my unapologetic sweet-tooth for the sugary goodness of pure orgasmic, melodic pop.

Tonight as I was sitting at work ridiculously late with little or no reason to be there other than not wanting to go home to an empty apartment, I decided I would indulge in a trip to HMV. (The big one on Yonge) I figured I'd spend as long as I wanted going through every single row of CD's and pick one or two. I spent over an hour and a half doing so, and enjoyed myself thoroughly, 'cause I haven't done that in forever.

I was hoping to get some really, really good deals and wind up with a bunch, BUT... because I was determined to at last pick up the latest Sam Phillips CD: Don't Do Anything, (which as expected was effing expensive) I stuck to my guns and only got two. I don't regret for a moment that I bought the Sam album, 'cause it's fantastic, and I will revisit that in a later post.

Here comes the explanation of "unapologetic". Y'see... I am NOT an American Idol fan. I don't hate it for the sake of hating it, nor do I deny there are some genuinely talented young vocalists rolling off the line in it's fully greased machinery either. BUT... other than Kelly Clarkson, I have not been a patron of the factory American Idol represents. HOWEVER.... like a year or two ago, on YouTube... whenever it was that I relented some hype to pass through my gates, I saw this button-cute, little guy sing "Imagine" by John Lennon. And he sang the fuck out of it with about as much passion and tenderness I've ever heard. For those not-in-the-know, his name is David Archuleta.

Now for some reason unknown, he didn't win his season, and since even his beautiful take on that song couldn't coerce me into devoting any time to that show, I couldn't tell you with any sincerity whether he was robbed or not. All I know is that the boy can sing, and I've been paying attention to the singles from his debut album, and since the first time I heard "Crush" (the first single) I knew I'd be buying this CD. Tonight I did. No apologies. I love this kid's voice. He does not take a single note for granted and his debut is pure pop bliss. I love it. I've already listened to it 3 times.
I'd go beyond merely recommending it, and insist you go pick it up. It's simply called David Archuleta.

Repeat after me: we love him.

Seriously, I can't wait to see what he does when he has more control over the material he sings. Though he does have a hand in writing a couple of the songs, and does more than justice to a cover of Robbie Williams "Angels".

I'm a giddy school girl fan of an American Idol. Oy! Oh well. Pride and an empty sack is worth the sack. I'd wear a David Archuleta t-shirt if I had one. He's that good.

"Your Eyes Don't Lie" David Archuleta

(I won't bother posting lyrics, 'cause if you watch the video link and hear the song, --which I strongly encourage you to do-- some fan crazier than I, has already done the work in far more entertaining detail.)

Good Things Happen

My friend who was in danger of eviction, is now in the clear. I couldn't be more relieved for him.

And I got to sleep in til 10am this morning! *yawn, stretch, sigh* This is particularly wonderful because I went to sleep at about 11pm last night.

I dreamed about Ted quite a bit, because he was on my mind a lot this weekend. I don't remember all of the details, but I know we argued, and then we were getting along really well.
There was also a sexual element to the dream, involving me and some guy I met working in the garden centre of a hardware store, which I won't detail.... 'cuz I'm classay like dat. But the dream ended with me tending this huge front-yard flower garden that I knew wasn't mine. And "no", it wasn't the garden of the strange man from the hardware store or if it was, I wasn't aware that it was.

Dreams... ...they're like an inflatable "jumpy castle" for your brain.

No One Need Die. Just Let Me Do My Laundry.

Laundry room etiquette 101:

If you return to the laundry room of your apartment building and there's a big gay guy sitting, swinging his legs, obviously waiting for something... you might want to survey the room to realize that there are no available dryers, and he might just be waiting for one. If this should be the case, then it may not be the most considerate time to proceed to fold each individual item as you remove it from the dryer you've finished using. Perhaps you could instead, remove all the clothes like a normal person and fold them elsewhere instead of slowly, steadily sealing your death with each maddening gesture of oblivion to your fellow tenant. Consider if only for a moment that others also happen to pay rent which entitles them to use the laundry facilities, and quite likely before you've folded your last pair of panties.

Yes, the big gay guy is not above stuffing your delicate little frame inside said-dryer and forgoing another cycle, just to rid the world of someone with your glaring lack of manners. But instead, he'll just suffer silently and write passive-aggressive evil intentions towards you in his blog before creating a soft little lint voodoo doll out of the filter remnants you did not clean out. (adding insult to injury).

If You Seek a Tax Form

Ok. Tonight's the night. I am doing my fucking taxes if it kills me. And putting it in writing will make me do it. Right?

Just like putting my new healthy regime in writing made me do my stretches but not my exercises this morning, skip breakfast, have the Big Bell Box (from Taco Bell) for lunch, and a big pot of pasta for dinner. (which I'm munching on right now) *sigh* So yummy.

I did take the boys for an extra long walk this evening though. I love walking Porthos along Eglington in the shopping district. It's almost like a public service because he just plain makes people grin, and laugh, and fawn. Well, those who aren't inexplicably afraid of him. Poor Cole doesn't garner much attention, but such is the plight of the aged, right?

Anyhow... the pasta is finished and so is my time for procrastinating. Fuck you fucking taxes! Stop giving me hives and give me my money!!

Bright-side of spending this particular Friday night doing taxes: I have an extendo-weekend! My work computer contracted a vicious virus and needs to be rebuilt, so our computer engineer advised me (and the boss-man) that there's no sense in me coming to work til about 12:30 on Monday! WOOT!

Happy Weekend to you! And may I survive this night.

Fluff piece. Fluff piece. It's not turning out to be quite the hit I anticipated, but meh. Still a great song, from a phenomenal pop album....

If You Seek Amy - Britney Spears

Oh baby baby
Have you seen Amy tonight?
Is she in the bathroom?
Is she smokin' up outside?
(Oh)

Oh baby baby
Does she take a piece of lime?
For the drink that I'mma buy her,
Do you know just what she likes?
(Oo)

Oh, oh
Tell me have you seen her
'Cause I'm so... oh
I can't get her off of my brain.
I just wanna go
To the party she gon' go
Can somebody take me home?
Ha ha, hee hee, ha ha, ho

Love me, hate me
Say what you want about me
But all the boys and all the girls
Are begging to "if you seek Amy"

Love me, hate me
Can't you see what I see
All the boys and all the girls
Are begging to "if you seek Amy"

(La la la...)

Amy told me
That she's gonna meet me up
I don't know where or when
And now they're closing up the club
(Oh)

I've seen her once or twice
Before she knows my face
But it's hard to see with all the people
Standing in the way
(oh)

Oh, oh
Tell me have you seen her
'Cause I'm so... oh
I can't get her off of my brain.
I just wanna go
To the party she gon' go
Can somebody take me home?
Ha ha, hee hee, ha ha, ho

Love me, hate me
Say what you want about me
But all the boys and all the girls
Are begging to "if you seek Amy"

Love me, hate me
But can't you see what I see
All the boys and all the girls
Are begging to "if you seek Amy"

Oh, say what you want about me
Oh, but can't you see what I see

Yeah, say what you want about me 'bout me, 'bout me

So tell me if you see her
(Noone knew what she was wearing and what she was like)
'Cause I've been waiting here forever
(Lemme know if she was going out of mind)

Oh baby baby
If you seek Amy tonight (oh)
Oh baby baby
We'll do whatever you like

Oh baby baby baby
Oh baby baby baby

(La la la...)

Love me, hate me
Say what you want about me
But all the boys and all the girls
Are begging to "if you seek Amy"

Love me, hate me
But can't you see what I see
All the boys and all the girls
Are begging to "if you seek Amy"

Love me, hate me
Say what you want about me

Love me, hate me
But can't you see what I see
All the boys and all the girls
Are begging to "if you seek Amy"

Oh, say what you want about me
Oh, but can't you see what I see
Oh, say what you want about me

All the boys and all the girls
Are begging to "if you seek Amy"

9998 and a Hot Cup O' Fish-Ass-Juice

Hey! I think it's safe to say that my blog, this blog... this VERY blog... is going to have it's 10-thousandth hit at some point today. I say this with the arrogance that only having the counter sitting at 9998 can bring. Surely 2 people will stumble upon it looking for something entirely unrelated to what they thought they'd find. You'd think. ...Whether or not they'll return is an entirely different issue altogether.

Today is a dull, gloomy Thursday (see - I just summoned one hit) and I'm sitting at my desk at work, drinking a mug of hot green tea... only because it's good for me I might add. 'Cause personally, I think green tea tastes simultaneously like fish juice, and "ASS". Not to be confused with fish-ass-juice, which would just be unpalatable. Remarkably enough though, I've been drinking at least one green tea every day for about 3 or 4 weeks now, and I actually do feel quite good, and I don't know if it's related, but my skin has been quite nice. I've also been exercising ever so slightly ("stretching" and "moving" would be more precise) for at least a half hour every day for the past 3 weeks, as prescribed by my new chiropractor.

I've been writing, and not just blogging, though anyone who checks here even semi-regularly would have to notice a dramatic increase in activity in the ol' EBP Blog by now. I've been reading more. Listening to music more. Including more fruit in my diet (insert gay joke here) (no really, it applies). And just plain rationalizing things. I'm hoping it becomes my "Less Round, More Rounded" phase. I'm not going to detail exactly what the extra-curricular writing is all about, but let's just say it's my contingency plan for a more fulfilling career finally taking baby steps.

Yeah. Yay.

Anyhow. Good day to you. Lemme know if you're number 10,000.

A song because I love it. I may have even posted this before.

Piano Man - Brandy

Play a song for us (Mr. Piano Man)
Play a song for love (Mr. Piano Man)
Play a song for us (Mr. Piano Man)
Play a song for love (Mr. Piano Man)

Do you have a request book handy, I can flip through
I do, he said my name is Rodney, good to meet you
What do you wanna hear tonight he asked me
I said, something I can feel inside
I've got what you need know exactly, why don't we give this a try

[Chorus:]
Play me a song about heartache, I promise I can sing every word
Play me a song about love lost, that's another one everyone's heard
Strike up the band
We can have the whole world singing tonight
We can have the whole world singing tonight
We can have the whole world singing tonight
We can have the whole world singing tonight

Play a song for us (Mr. Piano Man)
Play a song for love (Mr. Piano Man)
Play a song for us (Mr. Piano Man)
Play a song for love (Mr. Piano Man)

He played a song filled with sadness, I believed him
Each note was dripping with madness, I could see it
We were lost in the music, everyone knew it
Truth was in the air tonight
I could see all the faces, they thought the same
Won't you please......

Play me a song about heartache, I promise I can sing every word
Play me a song about love lost, that's another one everyone's heard
Strike up the band
We can have the whole world singing tonight
We can have the whole world singing tonight
We can have the whole world singing tonight
We can have the whole world singing tonight (Mr. Piano Man)

Play a song for us (Mr. Piano Man)
Play a song for love (Mr. Piano Man)
Play a song for us (Mr. Piano Man)
Play a song for love (Mr. Piano Man)

[Bridge:]
He was going for hours, people crying showers
No one ever really tells how it is
I sang about hopeless,
cause everyone knows it, knows it
And it was so honest
Finally breathing some clean air, been through it and seen there
I witnessed all the pain
As the spotlight was fading, he just kept on playing

Play me a song about heartache, I promise I can sing every word
Play me a song about love lost, that's another one everyone's heard
Strike up the band
We can have the whole world singing tonight
We can have the whole world singing tonight
We can have the whole world singing tonight
We can have the whole world singing tonight (Mr. Piano Man)

Play a song for us (Mr. Piano Man)
Play a song for love (Mr. Piano Man)
Play a song for us (Mr. Piano Man)
Play a song for love (Mr. Piano Man)

The Day I Had Nothing to Say (I think not.)

There's always something to write about isn't there? At times I'll be somewhere with no access to pen and paper let-alone a computer and struck by things I want to write down and express fully. Y'know thoughts I feel are really worthy of remembering because it's something I feel very passionate about, or found really funny, or think is really clever...

...And then there are the days when I plop my ass down in front of my computer, and all I can do is gripe about the way some woman smells on the subway... or like today... have nothing to say at all.

Ok... that's a lie... I never have absolutely "nothing" to say. I'm a little too verbose and opinionated to declare that with any kind of conviction. There are days however, when nothing I have to say feels like it'd be a very good thing to share. I guess this is one of those days.

I sit here now, thankful my day is drawing to a close with me doing something I enjoy after a day of not-so-enjoyable truths and circumstances.

For example... I thought my day was getting off to a reeeeeally bad start when Porthos doddled around outside this morning and would not poop to save his life (or my schedule). I yelled at him in the elevator and gave him a couple of smacks in anger. Which is really awful when I think about it. He's a dog. He obviously just didn't have to go. But all I could think was "oh you stupid animal! I've got to go to work and I won't be home for 9 hours, and now I can look forward to cleaning up a mess on the floor because you won't be able to hold it that long."
*grump grump grump* *grumble* *grumble* *stomp* *stomp*
Yeah... well... I got to work and talked to a friend on the phone who's in danger of being evicted from his apartment because he hasn't paid his rent in 2 months. He had an emotional breakdown two nights ago, and has one week to come up with over 2000 dollars. And that's something I can't even help him with. I wish I could, but I just don't have that kind of money.

By comparison, my life is not that bad. Not that I didn't have additional stress come at me quite steadily all day, but still... I've got a place to come home to when my day of unrealistic demands, and impossibly negative, bickering co-workers, comes to an end. And it's paid for. And I'm grateful.

It's strange how all the talk of financial crisis and economic downturn has finally started to affect me in ways I didn't think it would. I've got sales reps clambering for any business they can get their hands on and obsessing over every minute detail, because business has dropped-off considerably. And they're obsessing over current clients they don't want to lose, and those clients are stressing about lost business, and of course it's "because their advertising doesn't work anymore", and not because people might put off buying a new car, or having plastic surgery, or laser hair removal, or may even rethink going out to a ridiculous bar to pay 20-dollars to get in, and 10 dollars per drink to enjoy themselves.

I know it's tough. Seriously, I sympathize, 'cause it's going to get tougher for us too as a business, but at some point you have to take a step back, and look at the blinking, shining, oozing mess of EXCESS that modern civilization has come to expect as a norm and a right-of-passage... ...and say "yeah... it had to end some time didn't it"?

You can try to sell all the crap and luxuries you want, but as a matter of self-preservation, "many" people (with more modest incomes, or spiraling credit card debt) WILL come to the realization that there are crucial priorities to ensure for yourself and your loved ones. Priorities a tad stronger than trading in your perfectly reliable 2 year old car for a new one just because your lease is up and you like the smell of new plastic and leather.

At any rate, I'm expected to come up with brilliant new ways to shovel snow in the Arctic when really... these businesses have to "wait it out", or "find something else to sell that consumers need - not want".

Sorry, I hate being preachy... even though I won't shut-up about it beyond my apology. Going to work lately feels like watching people drown.

Don't let me paint a pious picture by any means. I'm not immune to the credit-consumer-disease. I'm extremely grateful I still get by and pay my bills on time. Likewise, I'm starting to realize the threat of the economy on my own job. We're not untouchable. Media companies are suffering all over Canada, and it's not like we're a ratings giant. At the very least, this may well be the event that crushes our music format. I'm not privy to that information, but the possibility is there. Better the format to disappear than our jobs though. Of this much I'm certain. And I don't work for stupid people, so I'm sure it's crossed their minds too.

Funny how I sat down thinking I had nothing to say, isn't it?

Time for more Oz. Which is getting a little dull sadly. The characters are like Kleenex. They're running out of ways to kill everyone. Another shank - Another day. And I've still got 18 episodes to go before the series finale.

Song of the day... (yes, I really do like this song - even though it's strategically posted for ironic purposes given the topic of my post. It's a very catchy hip hop dittay!) ...

PS... Porthos was really good. No mess to clean up when I got home. That much I didn't deserve after being so angry with him this morning. My reward should be someone standing over me while I sit on a public toilet... camera pointed at me saying "go on... poop" "and make it quick, I've missed four subway trains".

9th Ward - Add Me Up

I got my Gucci shade on with my Gucci tennis shoes
I can hear nigga's whisperin' that that look Gucci do
I say yeah this me (uh huh,) who else it gon' be
Quarter mil', add me up, from my head to my feet
Thousands on my shoes, thousands on my pants (uh huh)
Same thing goes for the guap in my hand (come on)
Bling bling on my wrist, bling bling on my neck (uh, uh, uh)
Showin' 'em my teeth, yes nigga I'mma flex
Now people be like damn, what he gon' do next
I know one thing I ain't gon' do and that's god damn stress (yeah)
Got my goons on my side, got them two's on deck
Like 3-6 mafia I'm dope boy fresh (uh)

I think I want to buy that there (add me up)
But I know I'm gon' buy this here (add me up)
I think I need the one with the ice (add me up)
But the gold one looks so right (add me up)
I think I want to buy that there (add me up)
But I know I'm gon' buy this here (add me up)
I think I need the one with the ice (add me up)
But the gold one looks so right (add me up)

D-Boy swagger, see your status (hey)
See me on that block, tool on my bladder (alright)
Ho's know my face, niggas know my name
My bank grown up, now they wanna see me change (nah)
Keep it real, I'm a keep gettin' dollars (hey)
Keep it throw-away, buy a couple more Impala's
Either way I talk I'll be swear I got shorty
That thing on that showroom floor, I bought it
Ho's lookin' at me, like I owe 'em somethin'
I just bought a few things (oh nigga stop stuntin')
What you mean Gu, I ain't doin' nothin' new (nah)
I been gettin' money (rarr rarr rarr)

I think I want to buy that there (add me up)
But I know I'm gon' buy this here (add me up)
I think I need the one with the ice (add me up)
But the gold one looks so right (add me up)

Peephole Stank

There's no secret that I'm pretty intolerant of stinky humans. I've most certainly made more than one entry about people with bad breath and body odour. Today before I delve into something of more substance (maybe, no promises.) I simply must mention a growing trend of women who favour really high-octane floral perfumes. It used to be only heavy-smoking women to douse themselves in something offensively, flowery... presumably to cover-up the smell of cigarettes and rotting lungs from the noses of those who might be fooled into thinking "oh no, she couldn't possibly be a smoker... she conveys only the essence of begonias on a sunny May afternoon".

Has anyone ever been fooled? The allergic and easily-annoyed want to know.

At any rate there's an entirely new segment of the female cologne-marinating population who simply love-love-love a particular brand of perfume that, to me (and who am I really?) smells like Dollar Store fabric softener sheets. Y'know, that really cheap, synthetic floral scent that doesn't even really smell like flowers? It's just one of those generic odours that someone accidentally stumbled upon and deemed the epitome of "femininity".

Picture the instructions on the label... "pour on ground, roll in puddle, smell pretty". Or "attach nozzle to create fine mist, dance in said-mist for 15 minutes until personal space consumes city-block, repeat, smell pretty".

I know I'm being extreme, but really... this is what I envision when some chick's perfume makes my sinuses close-up shop, immediately threatening to declare a headache, leaving me VERY grumpy and longing for a roll of smiley-face-stickers declaring "I stink. Stand clear." that I can slap on one of their boobs to be both provocative and offensive. Not-so-much-unlike the relationship of their "perfume intention" to their "perfume reality".

There is a rule with cologne and perfume. If you haven't heard it... gather 'round. It goes a little somethin' like this:

IF YOU CAN SMELL YOUR OWN FRAGRANCE, YOU ARE WEARING TOO MUCH!

Fragrances are subjective. I realize this. Everybody has their own idea of what smells complimentary on their own skin. But like a teenage boy who smells like he just crawled out of the air conditioning ducts of your local Abercrombie and Fitch store... and soaked in a tub full of the latest stank by Tommy Hilfiger... LESS.... is almost certainly MORE.

Gee... I truly wasn't planning on a full-blown topical rant. But it's decidedly more colourful than my chiropractic appointment today. Let's leave it at that. I think I shall watch more "Oz" and get to bed at a decent hour tonight.


Help, I'm Alive - Metric

I tremble
They’re gonna eat me alive
If I stumble
They’re gonna eat me alive

Can you hear my heart beating like a hammer, beating like a hammer
Help, I’m alive, my heart keeps beating like a hammer
Hard to be soft, tough to be tender
Come take my pulse, the pace is on a runaway train
Help, I’m alive, my heart keeps beating like a hammer, beating like a hammer

If you’re still alive
My regrets are few.
If my life is mine,
what shouldn’t I do?
I get wherever I’m going,
I get whatever I need
while my blood’s still flowing
and my heart still beating like a hammer, beating like a hammer.

Help, I’m alive, my heart keeps beating like a hammer
Hard to be soft, tough to be tender
Come take my pulse, the pace is on a runaway train
Help, I’m alive, my heart keeps beating like a hammer, beating like a hammer

Help, I’m alive, my heart keeps beating like a hammer.

The Bird, Wrapped in Sunshine

If this song doesn't absolutely invade your brain and take over... then I suspect there's something seriously wrong with you.

Yes... I said it.



I may write more later, but in case I don't. I hope you have a splendid day. Listen to this song for guaranteed splendid-ness.

"Fuck You Very Much" - Lily Allen

Look inside, look inside your tiny mind
now look a bit harder
cuz we’re so uninspired
so sick and tired
of all the hatred you harbor

so you say it’s not okay to be gay
well I think you’re just evil
you’re just some racist who can’t tie my laces
you’re point of view is medieval

Fuck you, fuck you very very much
cuz we hate what you do
and we hate your whole crew
so please don’t stay in touch

fuck you, fuck you very very much
cuz your words don’t translate
and it’s getting quite late
so please don’t stay in touch

do you get, do you get a little kick out of being small-minded?
you want to be like your father
it’s approval you’re after
well that’s not how you’ll find it

do you, do you really enjoy living a life that’s so hateful
cuz there’s a hole where your soul should be
you’re losing control of it
and it’s really distasteful

Fuck you, fuck you very very much
cuz we hate what you do
and we hate your whole crew
so please don’t stay in touch

Fuck you, fuck you very very much
cuz your words don’t translate
and it’s getting quite late
so please don’t stay in touch

You say, you think we need to go to war
Well you're already in one.
Cuz it's people like you that need to get slew
No-one wants your opinion

Fuck you, fuck you very very much
cause we hate what you do
and we hate your whole crew
so please don’t stay in touch

Fuck you, fuck you very very much
cuz your words don’t translate
and it’s getting quite late
so please don’t stay in touch

How Taxing

I am procrastinating.

My taxes need to be done, and I don't wanna.

Truthfully, I've never done my own taxes before, and although I bought a "QuickTax" program, I'm dreading the process. I don't like numbers. They frighten me.

And this is with the knowledge that I'll be getting a return on my taxes. Probably larger than I have in a long time because of my TTC pass rebate. My irrational fear of numbers is rooted in ridiculing high-school math teachers. Meaning teachers that ridiculed me... ...not the other way around. One teacher in particular anyhow. I can't even remember his name. I blocked it due to trauma.

Math and I have a long history as enemies. But we "used" to be friends. Or at least amiable. I remember the exact time I felt the sting of math's betrayal. Throughout grade school, I was an all-A student. I did well in absolutely every subject. So when it came time to enrol in high school courses, of course I chose "advanced" in everything. It was the next logical step, right? Math said "not so". For it was in my Grade 9 advanced math class that I discovered... I didn't know diddly. I struggled for an entire semester to learn the secret language of numbers... but for the most-part I only learned the equivalent of how to ask the whereabouts of the bathroom in the twisted, sadistic land of numbers. My final grade was 75% that year... ...a "B". And it only got worse. Grade 10 advanced math had teeth like small, sharp daggers. I didn't understand my homework... ...so, I stopped doing it, because I was getting the majority of it wrong. My final grade that semester: a lowly 60%.... a ...."C". I was mortified and defeated.

By grade 11, I had lost all hope of mastering even the basics of math. I enrolled in the advanced class, and lasted less than 2 weeks. Our first test was "a review" of the previous year and I scored 10%. Knowing full-well, I was only going to be dragged behind the bumper of the math bus, I dropped the course and didn't take any more at any skill level.

That in essence, is what kept me out of university. (I originally wanted to become a teacher.)

It's tragic to think of the minds I could've twisted by now. Hee hee

Anyhoo... don't know how I was quite-so-inspired to write an entry about "math" of all things. Sometimes you just don't know what'll come spewing out of your brain.

It's certainly time I could have spent doing my taxes, isn't it now?

Jesus Doesn't Love Me

HOW DID I NOT KNOW DRAGONETTE HAD A VIDEO FOR "Jesus Doesn't Love Me"?????!!!
They're so naughty! I want to have a dinner party like that. Except maybe without the girls. heh heh

I yearn for new music from this band. Like oxygen. Like dark chocolate. Like blind-folded dinner parties. ;)

Home is Where You Fart Most

I have the day off tomorrow (today) to spend with someone I adore.

"Happy" is such a wonderful feeling when it's at it's most anticipated. *grin*

Since it's 1am... and I really do want to go to bed to be rested for tomorrow, I'm just going to post a few pictures of me and the boys and apartment stuff.

First: a very recent picture of me and P-Dawg. Yes, I'm sporting a beard now. Though it's truly more work than I ever bargained for, and yielding less-than-satisfactory results. Porthos... ...or Pork-ohs (baby dog needs to shed a stone) (just like papa) if I may be allowed to boast for a moment, is THE most loving and sensitive of dogs I've ever had my entire life. I could not love him more.

And then, proving "salt and pepper" is the new "black", the ever-handsome gangsta beagle, Cole. My sweet little princess is starting to show his age, but he's still spry and lean and has a coat that'd make a mink say "DAYUMN". Not bad for a gentlemen of 80 years of age (that's 12 calendar years this summer) . It's a little bit harder to get him to pose for pictures these days. He's grown weary of the paparazzi, or rather, just privy to the flash. It annoys him, so a lot of shots are of him walking away, turning his head or closing his eyes. Oh that clever hound.

And, now just to show y'all that I'm actually setting-up house. There are still boxes unpacked and much crap "undealt"-with (***note the conspicuous lack of any bedroom shots, and not because I fear the widespread knowledge of my porn HQ.) but I'm starting to really get things arranged the way I want them, and the plants are thriving and looking good. It feels more like home. Anyhow, just pictures to play us through the credits. No song lyrics today 'cause I'm going to fall-the-"eff"-down from exhaustion.

Harpy Birthday to Shrew

Hmmm.... one of my coworkers just said to me: "Oh John you're always making me laugh, you should have your own blog."

Is that what this is supposed to be for? If it is, I'm admittedly doing a very poor job of being funny lately.

Incidentally, she overheard me say to no one in particular (with reference to a song we were playing on-air) "This song is sooooooooo shitty.... so shitty it sounds brown."

Whatta ya think? Does that make me worthy of writing my very own blog? (which I didn't tell her about) I don't think it was that funny.

I dunno, if I was being judged on it, I would've spruced it up... y'know... like "this song is so shitty... so shitty I can hear the kernels of corn begging for freedom." That's asking a lot of imagery of it's audience though, isn't it?

And no, it's not always about poo with me. It's just more amusing when it is.

In a topic totally unrelated to poo. This movie is REALLY, REALLY GREAT! "Rachel Getting Married" for those of you disinclined to clicky on m'a linky. It's one of those films that will have you feeling a) thankful for your own family or b) wondering how they managed to film your family without you knowing about it. DYSFUNCTION JUNCTION, what's your function? Loved it. But be forewarned, it's NOT a feel-good film whether or not you can identify with any of the mental-patient nuclear family hyjinx contained therein. I saw bits and pieces of my sisters and most certainly my mom in a great deal of the female lead characters, but certainly not to the extremes they were taken for the plot of this movie. The similarities were present though. No doubt about it.

In a topic not completely unrelated to dysfunctional families... today is my mom's birthday.

Oh... and before I forget, I just saw "Religulous" for the second time. (& LoVeD it even more the second time) If you haven't seen it, you should. "Required Viewing" for a very fucked-up world in my opinion.

Never Done

I'm not sure why I did what I did tonight, but nonetheless, I've turned down plans to get together with an aforementioned superficial friend in favour of being alone this evening. So here I sit on a Friday night with nothing in particular to do, and feeling rather mopey.

Of course I've been feeling mopey since Wednesday night. A likely side-effect of going off the meds I suppose. Which causes me more than a little bit of dread, because I'd hate to have to go back on them and endure the zombie state of reintroducing them to my system. *sigh* It's very difficult to admit to depression as an actual "illness". Even now, after enough years (taking pills) for me to lose count, I still feel like antidepressants are a cop-out for me. Like they're an excuse to shut-down and not deal with my real feelings. I have to remind (and justify to myself) that depression isn't "merely feeling sad". It's not some event that happens along that you have to mourn to overcome. And yet, I perpetuate my own stigma, by feeling the need to be pill-free. Truthfully, I don't like them. I don't like the sexual side-effects more than anything else, but I also hate the muted colour they help you see the world in. It took a year of suggestion from my doctor to get me to go on them because I just didn't want to. And I perish the thought of actually admitting to her that I've taken my own initiative to abandon them. I honestly think I'd rather drown in emotion than monkey around with different varieties as replacements or alternatives. I want to accept my sadness as a part of me that I can control and subdue and occasionally revel in when things get too hard to bare. It's one of my design flaws. Something I have to learn to love about myself.

Facing facts though... I'm crying... a LOT. Like every day. And that can't possibly be normal. In sticking with my cognitive therapy I do try to limit myself to a short period, and then just letting it go by rationalizing my grief and sadness, and countering it with gratitude for all I have to be thankful for. Gratitude is empowering and humbling. And I do have so much to be thankful for, that's it's really an exercise in blatant "assholishness" to dwell on everything that makes me miserable. My life is good. 'Better than good. I just have to keep my sight set on that.

I'm just so affected by people and things. I find it virtually impossible to not be. People are really awful to one another... and you don't even have to pay attention to the news to see it manifested in so many things. Malice and cruelty, selfishness and greed, fear, hate and just plain ol' apathy.

Of course that's not my only source of woe. I'm lonely. Mind-numbingly, aching for companionship, and someone to just take a genuine interest in me. But then, that could be labelled ego I suppose. Since this past 8 months has been the first time in so many years that I've actually been alone I think I'm feeling the isolation with a little more magnitude than I would otherwise.

Anyhow... woe is me... boo hoo hoo... just venting and giving words to some unexpressed thoughts. I will be ok. I always am. And with good reason. I am blessed and thankful. No more dwelling.

Incomplete - Alanis Morissette (live video in link)

One day I'll find relief
I'll be arrived and I'll be a friend to my friends who know how to be friends

One day I'll be at peace
I’ll be enlightened and I'll be married with children and maybe adopt

One day I will be healed
I will gather my wounds forge the end of tragic comedy

I have been running so sweaty my whole life
Urgent for a finish line
And I have been missing the rapture this whole time
Of being forever incomplete

One day, my mind will retreat, and I'll know god and I'll be constantly one with her night dusk and day
One day I'll be secure, like the women I see on their 30th anniversaries

I have been running so sweaty my whole life
Urgent for a finish line
And I have been missing the rapture this whole time
Of being forever incomplete

Ever unfolding
Ever expanding
Ever adventurous and torturous
But never done

One day, I will speak freely
I'll be less afraid
And measured outside of my poems and lyrics and art
One day I will be faith-filled
I'll be trusting and spacious authentic and grounded and whole

I have been running so sweaty my whole life
Urgent for a finish line
And I have been missing the rapture this whole time
Of being forever incomplete

Usher Blasts Chris Brown

I am in no way condoning Chris Brown or domestic violence. I think his relationship with Rihanna must be very unhealthy and dysfunctional to say the least - BUT - the general public, including Usher... has no right to pass judgement on a suitable display of remorse.

Celebrities they may be, but again it falls on deaf ears that "they too" are only human. Flawed and prone to error. Rihanna's been pretty silent on this whole fiasco, and if she's willing to endure more abuse, one must also consider the possibility that "maybe" she doles out a fair share of abuse herself. Perhaps that's just how they function. There are many relationships of equally horrible calibre that aren't scrutinized under a lens we reserve for celebrities who are supposed role models because they've displayed a marketable talent the world wishes to consume. To be blunt: Chris and Rihanna are kids. They're not supposed to have everything all figured-out at their age. It's sad and glaringly obvious that they've got issues - but it's also "none of our business" to tell them how to live their lives. The example they set for others is determined by the morality instilled in us by our own circumstances. It's not their responsibility to lead a perfect life for someone else to emulate. They're incapable of it - just like the rest of us. To expect it of them is incredibly naive.

Breakin' Dishes - Rihanna (from "Good Girl Gone Bad")

I don't know who you think I am
I don't know who you think I am
I don't know who you think I am
I don't know who you think I am am am am am am am am am ow

He been gone (gone)
since three thirty (three thirty)
And coming home
lately at three thirty (three thirty)
I'm super cool
I've been a fool
But now I'm hot,
and baby you gon' get it (it it it)
Now I ain't tripping ah!
I ain't twisting ah!
I ain't demented ah!
well just a lil' bit uh!
I'm kicking asses
I'm taking names
I'm on flame
don't come home babe

I'm breaking dishes up in here
All Night (Uh-huh)
I ain't go stop until I see police n' lights
I'ma 'bout a man tonight
I'ma 'bout a man tonight
I'ma 'bout a man tonight
A man, a man, a ma-a-a-an
A man, a man, a ma-a-a-an ohhhh

I'm still waiting,
come through the door
I am killing time,
you know bleaching your clothes
I am roasting marshmallows
on the fire
And what I'm burnin'
is your attire
I'm gettin' restless
I'm gettin' tested
And I can't believe he's always out all night and never checks in
Is he cheatin'?
Man I don't know
I am lookin' 'round for something else to throw

I'm breakin' dishes up in here
All Night (Uh-huh)
I ain't gon' stop until I see police n' lights (Uh-huh)
I'ma 'bout a man tonight
I'ma 'bout a man tonight
I'ma 'bout a man tonight

A man, a man, a ma-a-a-an
A man, a man, a ma-a-a-an
Ohhhhh

I don't know who you think I am (I am...)
But I really don't give a damn right now
If you don't come I am going to huff and puff and
I'ma blow this blow this uh,
I'ma blow this blow this uh,
I'ma blow this house house down!
Dishes
breakin'
dishes
breakin'

I'm breakin' dishes up in here
All Night (Uh-huh)
I ain't gon stop until I see police n' lights (Uh-huh)
I'ma 'bout a man tonight
I'ma 'bout a man tonight
I'ma 'bout a man tonight

A man, a man, a ma-a-a-an
A man, a man, a ma-a-a-an
A man, a man, a ma-a-a-an
A man, a man, a ma-a-a-an

Breakin' Breakin' Breakin'...
Dishes Dishes Dishes...

Smucked in the Nose

Well... the intention was there. Sadly, the timing was completely off. 'Didn't get to see "Poopie Pants" the movie, because it was overbooked. --No seats left when we got there-- Who knew??

Thus I have no recommendations, whether or not you should see it, 'cause I didn't. And... truthfully, I likely won't now. ...well, maybe when it hits DVD.

Instead I spent the evening drinking... and (as I usually do with alcohol) ...spiraling. Some friends are not good for the soul, the esteem or one's well-being. You can learn this lesson again, and again, and again... but in the end, sometimes even the superficial is preferential to being alone.

...Not to say it's better for you... but preferential none-the-less.

I am far too sensitive. This I know. This I know.

Poopie-Pants: the movie

A matter-of-fact post about movies...

So, right now, I'm sitting at work waiting for 6 o'clock to roll around to meet some friends to have the most delicious burritos in the world from "Chipotle", and then hit the theatre at 7pm. The movie we're going to see is called "Pontypool" (so obviously all I can remember it as is "poopie pants"). I have to look at the voucher to remind me of the title every time I want to refer to it. It's a premiere screening, which means it's free. This alone makes me happy. "Pontypool" is an indie Canadian Zombie flick. My expectations are low. But as-always I'm trying to approach it with a willfully open minded attitude.

Last night I saw "Vicky Christina Barcelona" and LOVED it. Strangely enough, I'm quite convinced it was my very first Woody Allen movie. (no, he wasn't in this one) My friend Scott is quite the (W.A.) fan, and has been wanting to see it. I'm so glad he included me. The narration was a little distracting at first, but once I realized the director's commentary wasn't turned-on, (and yes, I was in need of convincing) I was quickly immersed in a brief patch of the lives of some very neurotic, richly envisioned (real) characters. And I could relate to almost every one of them in varying degrees. The male lead, played by Javier Bardem, was the most deliciously, well-rounded, loving, and wise character with the healthiest, most realistic view of life and relationships I've ever seen. And Penelope Cruz who plays his passionately unstable ex-wife actually managed to make me forgive her for "Vanilla Sky". She really is good in this film. At any rate, I loved the non-traditional theme and the cinematography, and music as well. I'll be purchasing this one to watch and share for sure.

More later maybe. If I'm not a zombie.

Sexy MoFu

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