"Yo Bitch, I didn't ask for no Sprinkles!!"

How old would you be if you didn't know how old you are?

It's funny, but when you finally meet yourself at say, the age of 35 or so, you realize that the vision of the thirties as being old that you had at twenty something is a complete joke.

I've always found it fascinating, the sort of contempt that the average twenty something has for anyone whose age falls in a decade later than theirs. How they believe that everything sags, falls apart, that somehow a person of that age has no ideals, nothing to contribute but a desperate yearning to be twenty something again. It sometimes seems like every 20-29 year old believes they exist in this special vacuum of non-agers, that they and only they will never become older, never have to be looked upon as "tired, worn-out, desperate...".

I know I used to feel that way. What a shock then, to become 30 and realize that I did not feel any different, that there was no moment where I suddenly had to accept that I was old, less attractive, getting wrinkled, gaining weight, longing for youth. It didn't happen. The wrinkles didn't come, I didn't run out and buy a minivan. The desperate air of the aged didn't fall upon me. What did happen is a looking back on my own twenties as a time of insecurity, a time when everything hinged on appearance and staying power, parties and socializing. To think about it too hard reveals little of substance.

I kind of like the thirties. Many of us still have some of the look of youth (at least if we didn't take the twenties for granted), but a little more substance than most twenty somethings. A little more experience, a little more to say, maybe even more guts to be real.

Sometimes, anyway.

Peekaboo

Hey Trevor, I saw you at your job today, but you didn't see me, I thought about going in and saying hello but I hate that "visiting people at work" shit and figured it was far more interesting to see you in action when you didn't know I was there.

I was wrong about that though.

I'm still waiting for my energy to come home, hurry the fuck up! This vacation you have taken is much too long.

Exercise Your Demons, They're Getting Fat

Went shopping this weekend.



Actually managed to make something bloom.



And realized this.

Tweet Tweet

Who the hell are you, weird whistling man who I hear EVERY SINGLE DAY, whistling your shrill sounding cry at WHO??? exactly?

That's right, I'm more curious about what kind of a total fucking DONK responds to your mental case bird trilling every day... I think I heard you follow up your maniacal and irritating wind puffing with a screech of STEVE!! so Steve my man, I have to say, you and your tropical bird of paradise buddy are no longer amusing.

I live near a gay hustler zone, so who knows, maybe Tweetie has gone sweet on a blowjob buddy or something and is in fact being ignored by Steve and denied entrance to Steve's building and has to resort to twittering up at Steve's window daily.

If I ever actually see you pursing your lips and making that ridiculous sound, I cannot be blamed for the rock that might bounce off your skull.

This One's For Glenn

They're still talking about it.

All the taste, 1/2 the calories

Once when I worked at this company that outsourced print work to India, we sent them a menu to reproduce.

They sent it back with Diet Cock on the menu. I wish I could say I returned the menu to the original customer unchanged.

Another time, one of the girls had to call the customer to clarify some text on the job information they had faxed.

"What comes after oral but before assplay?" she had to ask. Yeah, we used to get jobs for New York prostitutes.

The sad jobs were the obits for obvious gang members in Chicago. They were usually accompanied by flashy photos and shout outs to Kong and "R.I.P. Baby Loc" and such.

Seeing these things was the best part of my job.

Let's get dumb, drink some Rum

I guess the first time I got drunk I was 12 or 13. My parents had an unusually large number of those airplane bottles of booze in their liquor cabinet due to the extensive business travelling my father did, so it was not difficult to snatch a few unnoticed. We would get slightly drunk in the park across from my house. I still remember going home at lunch feeling all fuzzy and somewhat warm to eat my toasted honey sandwich and watch Gilligan's Island followed by the Flintstones. Nobody noticed my woozy ways, but 12/13 year olds are wonky anyway, and nobody expects them to be drunk so I suppose it's really an ideal time to start experimenting.

I had this "boyfriend" at the time who was 19. I guess the idea to drink sort of came from him. I mostly spent my time avoiding him, as obviously he wanted something far more sexual than I even knew existed.

We moved from Montreal to Ontario, and I didn't get caught drunk until grade 9. They had to come find me wandering the neighbourhood quite loaded and avoiding going home based upon the flawed logic that if I went home then this time they would probably notice. Pretty much all I remember about that escapade is lying in the bathtub eating the sandwich my mother made me.

I didn't puke.

Nobody is as calm as they'd like you to think.

Juan Valdez says:

People who say shit like "Oh don't even talk to me until I've had my first coffee of the day" deserve a hard, black and white movie style slap across the face. Or in a pinch, a perhaps poorly formed but soundly delivered punch.

Falling into the big black sky

If I could have just 5 minutes of total relaxation, just 5 minutes where I did not feel as though my heart were about to burst out of my chest, just 5 minutes with a clear untroubled mind, I would pay dearly for it. God knows what will happen if anything truly worth worrying about occurs.

O.K. Dirty Birds...

which one of you got to my blog by googling "gay penis 20 years"?

shhh...super fun time girl pizza for special feeling of life

Recommendations

"...this is really good music to listen to while you are under the influence of random drugs, not lsd though because during the death like singing parts you'll start to see really strange stuff. Get this Album."

Amazon's customer reviews are super useful, no?

Equation

Captured by Robots = booze+robot music divided by early 20 somethings = I feel old but what the hell, it was fun. Go see him at Sneaky Dee's in Toronto on the 17th. You'll have a good time and also get to eat the best nachos ever. I'd go. Order the King's Crown nachos. Get an extra bowl of sour cream. And guacafuckinmole.

It's Harlow gold, not hollow gold

You know that song "Bette Davis Eyes"? I always thought they sang "all the boys think she's a spaz". They don't. I'm disappointed. Because someone with Bette Davis eyes definitely looks spazzy.
I guess it should have been obvious because spaz doesn't rhyme with eyes and she'd have to have Bette Davis Ass, which really would have been a better song if you think about it.

I'm about 20 odd years too late for this discussion.

A mouthful of hurt

I'm being made to go to the dentist so that I can continue to flash those pearly whites and have them be my own. He even set the appointment for me. I hate the dentist. But I have a raging toothache and so I suppose I can't put it off much longer. I can only imagine what sort of excavating will need to be done.

I bet it will cost a fortune.

Well I can hear the drums, voodoo all night long

I used to get really annoyed by my Ex because he seemed to be this person who would jump on the bandwagon of any cause going but never really DO anything productive about the cause beyond debating attending rallies or protests or as I like to call them "a big excuse to beat drums and smoke weed in public". As it turns out, he never even ended up doing that, which is good because I would have mocked him mercilessly being that you can easily smoke weed at home, you can't convincingly beat drums in public without some dreads (sarcasm here), and as far as I can tell, the only thing attending those sorts of protests does is brand you as a total fucking jerk-off who probably just wants to avoid another day of work and who will also probably stop off for a fucking Big Mac or some other piece of dead animal on a bun but shh in secret because protesters are also vegetarians or something. You all don't know shit about protest, go to some other country and stand for something at the risk of death, without puffing a doob first. Oh, and leave the goddamned bongo at home, Rainbow Brite.

I think those with a genuine social conscious actually do something about it that doesn't neccessarily mean you just have fun getting high, picking out the perfect outfit, dying your hair that bestest shade of red or blue and pretending you *care. Protesting isn't about partying like it's 1969, it's about effecting change.

*for example, the goofs in the pic. Just what the fuck are they protesting? The right to logical thought? Don't they just look super-engaged? Yeah, in their own self-serving "look, I have a conscious and it's, like, social" sort of way. But they might get the most awsomest tans or maybe hook up with some wicked ass chronic from B.C. dude. They might even get to say on T.V. "the government is really bad, and like we are all like one consciousness trying to change the things the government wants to force us all to do. It's like really important to be an individual and stand up for this issue. Yes, my drum like totally represents the repressed and how they get beaten down like every single day...that's totally why we broke that small shopkeeper's window...because I have no clue what I'm talking about but I've heard it all said in a song somewhere..." Yeah... go kick that hacky sack.

I Think It's Funny

how people sometimes think you are a really insensitive person when actually, you are so sensitive you have enough cry for every single one of them ten times over maybe even a hundred, but you are just really good at hiding it and sometimes you just say FUCK a whole lot and talk in a politically incorrect way about iffy topics and that works too.

Being criticized as insensitive is like winning an Oscar at the hiding your feelings awards. Now that would be one hell of an after party.

A really funny thing that happened when we got home was this. Well, first I need to give you a little back story. The garbage at the cottage goes in the garage. We could not get the damn garage door to open, so we brought the bags home to dispose of them. Simple enough.

So now we are home and unloading the car. "This bag of your stuff is wet", says Tom. "Maybe the garbage leaked?" Then he sniffs it. Then proceeds to gag and spit and come thisclose to puking, right out on the street. I of course am roaring with laughter. In fact, the memory of it is making me laugh right now.

Dude, you knew we had fish bones and guts and such in the garbage. Why would you sniff anyway?

It was worth having to redo my laundry.

The Cottage

The cottage was a welcome retreat. I discovered that I am a person who gets really bored at the beach, what with the trying not to get sun and realizing that after splashing around a little bit, there's not much else to do there but get sun. I did notice that the majority of people are not terribly fit.

For some reason, smashed turtles on the road are particularly heartbreaking.

I did not smoke once while there.

Hallo

I was at the cottage. More later, I'm tired.

Diary entry 2

I may not have been a very well-adjusted 12 year old. Also, my spelling and grammar were atrocious.

Curve

Icanfeelmyedges
roundeachcurve
soulbursting
justtherebeneaththesurface
shellnotchosen
whispering
freeinspiteofthebox
somedaytoseperate
softly, uncontrollably, Human.

Mr. Bones

My cat has the power of hypnotism and is super laid-back due to chronic catnip use. He lulls you into a comfortable state at which time he zaps you with his kitty mind control and then you are done.

Attack of the Pom Pom Zombies

Will the cheerleaders succumb to the dark ritual of sexual sacrifice and death that’s been plotted for them?

ONE IN 10 DRIVERS YOU PASS ON THE ROAD ARE NAKED FROM THE WAIST DOWN!

Saw this hilarious ad last night for these Summer' s Eve feminine hygiene towelette things. I guess what made it so funny was the statement that "you can be fresh by female standards". So while your cootch can smell like lavender or roses or whatever pretty little dream of a smell they have come up with to represent female standards, buddy boy can continue scratching stray hairs and sweat into his thigh cracks for days on end whilst emitting that scent that apparently represents the male standard of fresh, the smell of penis musk and soiled drawers.

Summer's Eve sounds like the name of some all girl band who celebrates the Solstice and performs on a small stage at Lillith Fair with drummers and druids.

Um Dude, You have no hair...

yes you, middle-aged, balding man. What's up with the driving around in a convertible with the top down and windows up?

Please tell me exactly what gets messed up anyway?

We drink until we don't feel like going out...

"They're doing it! They ARE! You look!"



"They can see you looking! Stop looking! Seriously!"



"They can't prove we were looking at them!"

I am Baffled

at how many young women continue to suntan. Is it worth feeling that you look super hot now knowing that at the very least by the time you are 30 you will look 45+ not to mention the terrible damage you are doing your skin?

Leatherneck is an ugly look.

BAR CODES FOR YOUR FOREHEAD!

I've seen quite a few articles about blogging lately, the whys, wheres and how-to's... and I'm thinking that because these articles are written by journalists and other such newsy types, they have totally missed the mark on blogging and why it exists and why people actually read blogs.

I don't actually think that if I wrote lengthy in-depth, well researched babbles about politics and world issues and such it would actually be very interesting or attractive to people. More importantly, it wouldn't be a bit interesting to me. I'd say maybe 10% of people who care about reading blogs actually read these types of blogs, although maybe it's just me (I find them incredibly dull). I still think that news is better obtained via newspapers and the appropriate over serious magazine. Sure, every now and then I might like to check in on what some crusty Christian has to say about gay marriage or teen pregnancy, but the hardcore serious blogs take far too much effort to be that appealing.

I think blogging is the lazy man's version of people watching; hell you don't have to leave your house! It's about the voyeurism really. The chance to read something funny, catch a glimpse of an interesting or provocative photo, read an entertaining rant.

Do you think these journalists want us all to try to follow their so-called blogging rules so that nobody will be interested anymore? Are they threatened? Do people need to be told what to do and how to do them all the time? Somebody tell me, just how do you put guidelines on something so personal? Will following these rules and guidelines actually make you a more interesting "blogger"? Is there really some special, hip blog club for those who have all the ingredients of a supposed top-notch blog?

If there is, it's a club I'm not interested in joining.

Hey, whatever happened to those Pog things?

THE SUN WILL EXPLODE IN LESS THAN 6 YEARS

I woke up this morning feeling all grr...I'm still in the process of trying to get that poison Depo out of my system, and my days range from O.K. to pretty rotten.

Sometimes I panic when I think about getting old. Not panic in that "Oh god, wrinkles" sort of way, just panic because inside my head I feel exactly the same as I did when I was 14, at least, I can't remember any specific moment when my way of thinking changed and became adult, and that troubles me, the idea of thinking the same but losing control over your outerness. (outerness isn't a word, is it...)

Regis and Kelly is a great big celebrity ass-kiss festival. David Letterman sure did make fun of Paris Hilton in her interview with him last night, and she really wasn't getting it, not that that should come as a surprise.

Once this very fat gay man was at my apartment shaking his man boobs to Madonna. ON PURPOSE. I think that was the last time I allowed random people to come back and party after the club.

I always imagine that every British man sounds exactly like Damon Albarn when they sing.

I Suppose

the pic below is a touch hypocritical of me.

LOOKING AT BREASTS MAKES MEN LIVE LONGER

MEN IN BLACK TO GET NEW COLORS!

Lance Hardrod, defender of the all male spa.

Create your own superhero here.

YOU TOO CAN HAVE ROCK-STAR SEX LIKE DENNIS RODMAN

I'm becoming boring. "Becoming?" I hear you say with a smirk and a sassy tone. Yes, becoming. I know this because every night I have dreams that follow the same basic format. What kind of idiot has basically the same dream every fucking night?

I've also noticed that I manage to feel anxious and stressed in my dreams, which means that now I can't even escape those feelings through sleep.