The End

I did it myyyyyyy waaaaaayyyyy!

Goodnight, everybody!

X!

Merry Christmas!

God (or Elvis) bless us, everyone!

I hope you got everything you wanted.
....and by "everything you wanted" I mean laid.

....and maybe The Dark Knight on dvd.

Nuthin' Sweet About ME

Hi all! I live! Sure, I had Salmonella for awhile, and let me tell ya, that SUCKS, but I'm still alive and kicking.
....Well, ok, not kicking, but alive.

Today, I've had Gabriella Climi's "Sweet about me" stuck in my head for no apparent reason. I mean, I haven't heard this song in MONTHS, so I don't know why I was humming it. Well (I sure write the word well a lot), I know why I'm humming it, I dont' know the words.
...and I can't sing.

Anyhoo..

I diecided I'd pop onto Youtube and give it a listen again and while I found IT, I also found some cute little(Ok, 21 isn't little) french girl who I think sings it better. Maybe better isn't right. Maybe I just like her voice better. *shrug* Let me know what you think.
Original:


Gexalex (Youtube name) version:

Yeah, I know the sound quality isn't all that good on the second one, but still. Good stuff.

You're welcome.

What else have I been up too? Well (there it is again!), I've been UNsuccessfully trying to find a job. I thankfully cleared out an IRA I had JUST before the bank I had my money in went to Hell in a handbasket a few months ago, so I have some money, but I better find something in the next couple months or I am quite screwed. Quite.

I've been learning some new songs. Since I have all this free time, I've been playing guitar again after a few years of barely picking on up.

Here's one I've been jamming today, although not quite up to speed. Quite.
Killing Floor by The Jimi Hendrix Experience.


I always say the full band name when I talk about the music because I think a lot of people forget just how awesome the WHOLE band was. Jimi, Noel Redding on bass and Mitch Mitchell on drums. Awesome. Quite.

I'l type atcha later. Hope you're well.

Quite.

So....um..I bought a guitar today.

Betcha can't guess which one.

Parrot, Ox and Contra Diction

I've been reading up (litterally, I was laying on my back) on Dada. Dadaism. I get it, I think (therefore I am), but it's confusing and I believe it's meant to be. It's art that's supposed to be anti-art or rather a way of saying that art, any art is not greater than anything else, art or otherwise. I think. Anyhoo....

When I read this kind of crap (See, I'm embracing Dada already!) my dormant (doormat?) brain tries to work and shoots off in a billion (say it Carl Sagan style) different...um....neuron...flashy...directions...n'stuff.

It got me thinking, and I know Warhol said this with his soupcan painting (and others before that weird little soulsucking elf and his Carol Channing hairdo), but isn't a toilet just as much a work of art as the Mona Lisa? No? Didn't someone think it up, slave over the design of it, every curve, straight line, thickness, depth....practical function, discarding what was not needed, having to do without some cosmetic beautiful thing that might be too much (or not enough) for what it is?
If a God made you, every flower, every butterfly, every color of the rainbow..didn't this God also make every rock? Dirt? Slime? Then if man makes a toilet, isn't he just as much one with God in that moment as Davinci was at any moment when he created? How about you or I? Isn't our "art" just as beautiful or relevant as all that hangs in any museum?

"Well, I'm not very good." In comparison to who (whom?)? Jackson "let me flick some paint and become genius" Pollack? Isn't all the art on every refridgerator in this world just as good or appreciated as all in the Louvre? What if one day we cleaned house and threw all of it out? Would all say "Fuck it, we'll never be able to replace all that or do better"? No, because if that were the case why would anyone anywhere be creating anything? We all make art and yet don't. Your baloney sandwich might make me weep at it's sheer luncheon meat perfection, while my rambly blogpost might make you scratch your head and say "what...the...". There's a toilet in every house, but not a Mona Lisa. Is it less a work of art because you shit in it, or possibly more?

I'm not sure what I'm trying to say, but I'm having a decent time trying to say it.

Another thing...related or not:

Say you hated green (g'head, say it), the color not the environmental movement. You hate green and you spend every available extra bit of your day (Look, blatant lack of commas!) eliminating green from your sight. No green in the house. No lawn, just rocks. High fences to block your view of neighborly greenage. You hate green....should green be capitalized here? Green. You hate Green. Green is an odd looking word isn't it? I digress...

You hate green. Loathe it. Well, what are you without green? Hasn't green become your life? Your reason for existing is to void the green. What if you somehow got rid of it all, found a "cure" for green? Do you now go on with your life or do you have to get rid of green-ish things too? No more blue-green? Do you get rid of blue and yellow now too, due to possible conspiring to make green? At what point do you become one with the thing you want nothing of? Aren't you forever locked in eachothers(two words?) embrace?
I ask these questions because I cannot fathom how so called "Non-conformists" can't see that there is no possible way to NOT conform to something.
For instance, I recall being a young Punk/New Wave skater kid. I rattled off all the crap about Anarchy....being yourself....not conforming to what society does, thinks, blah blah blah.
Well, I can recall my epiphany on conformity. I was 15. I had the silly haircut, wore all black attire, had my leather jacket (Gabba gabba hey)....and I'm sitting in the corner of this teen club whilst this girl, Courtney, rattled on and on to this preppy college boy doing a paper on Punk (or trying to nail little Goth hotties, who knows...) about how we're all anti this and anti that and we're our own free thinking individuals who do our own thing yaddity blah bleeger blah....
Meanwhile, I'm getting this in one ear and looking around the room.
Group of Skinheads*? Check
Group of guys and girls who all look like The Cure? Check.
20 or so Mohawks? Check.
Flock of Seagulls/long bangs folk (my jackass self included)? Check.
Geebus on toast! WE ALL FUCKING LOOK THE SAME! I had seen the enemy (enema?), and it was us! I felt stupid. Worse, I was completely surrounded by idiots. I'd heard the "We're not like everybody else!" line from all of them. This was no new movement, radical ideal, it was crap. "Non-comformity has a conformity all it's own" is right. I'd allowed myself to dupe m'self. Dumbass. I became the Abyss (good movie, not what I mean. Screw you, Neitzche!) what with all my staring.

Again, don't know what I mean, but it's scary how I can ramble on like this when I don't do drugs and haven't had a beer in days, huh?

Methinks my attempt at depth has been wasted, much like all the time you lost reading this.

"I didn't mean to take up all your sweet time. I'll give it right back, one of these days." - Voodoo Chile/Jimi Hendrix

My house smeels like lemons and my girlfriend snores quite softly.

Smooches.

*I cut the Skinheads some slack, because they know they're conforming. The whole point of joining is to conform, be the same. Still though, there's anti-establishment bullshit involved, and I'm not even talking about the Nazi Skinheads that make all Skinheads look bad.

The Body Politic

Personally, I believe that both parties suck. Neither does anything but point fingers at the other party and say "Look how bad those guys are over there!". Democrats are anti-Republican. Republicans are anti-Democrat. Truthfully, you could go into Washington D.C. today with the host from Survivor and hand out two different colored headbands telling them that we're making two new "tribes", mix them all up and set them back down on opposite sides of the room, hall, building, city..whatever, and business would go on as usual. It's all about making the other guys look bad and making as much money for themselves as possible. If you trully think that any of those cats in D.C. give a shit about the everyman and his/her life, you need your head examined.


I guess what I'm trying to say is....

I'd bang Sarah Palin.

Nobody can eat 50 eggs

Actor Paul Newman has died.

Our world just lost a whole bunch of coolness.

Tone

What an odd looking word.

I wish there were a way to acurately convey tone on here. Should one, and by one I mean me, that is I, the person blogging, slap a ton of those damn emoticons before or after every sentence or paragraph?

It rained today :(
:/ I think I shouldn't have eaten that bean dip I found in the back of the fridge :/
Why don't you go phuc yerself! :)
Why DON'T you go phuc yerself? :*

Some have read my crap for years(!), yes years(!). Not here mind you, but an old blog. Some remember the funny stuff, some the whiney, and some the bitchy. Not to mention the ecessive use of commas and poor grammar.

....or the lack of an X in the word excessive.

What I'm getting at is that no matter how I may write something, that is, how I mean it, you're (not your) just going to assign a tone to it however you want, right?
What if I don't know how I feel? Would that have any effect whatsoever on how you read this? I mean, as long as you didn't know that I didn't know how I felt about whatever.

Hm....

Let's proceed (another odd looking word that I probably spelled wrong.).

Have you seen Fight Club? Ya know that part where Ed Norton beats the snot out of the pretty boy and when Brad Pitt asks him what that was all about he says something like "I wanted to destroy something beautiful."?

I did that.

Well, I didn't beat the snot out of anybody and I didn't want to destroy something beautiful, I just did. I did; and as much as I'd like to fix it I feel like I don't deserve it anyway. Phuc me, right? I fucked it up. I did my damndest to go about shit in the worst possible manner, or that's how it seems anway. Phuc me. Fuck. Me. I don't deserve it. What emoticon should I use here.....? :l? :\? Is there a blank stare one?

Next up.....

I had a slight plan. I went after a dream. I got fucked out of a few thousand dollars (fucked myself out of a few thou?).

On we go...

I've been avoiding pretty much everyone on earth. I'd be no fun to be around. That is assuming I ever was.
I feel like a huge.....void? No. Gap? Hm...I'm a.....bleh. Yes. I am Bleh incarnate. I am become Bleh.

I miss.

I'm missing....something.
I'm missing something in the details or something in ME.
Perhaps I'm missing a bit of butter to make my bitter batter better.
Maybe I missed an episode, got up to go to the bathroom and missed a key part of the plot.
Missed my plane, train or automobile.
Misplaced my keys?

I'm missing something.
I'm MISSING something.
I'm missing some thing.

Puzzle without a piece.
Puzzled without peace.

I feel a part of my has always been hollow. Head. Heart. Soul. The hollow just moves from one location to the next and it's wanderlust is driving me batty.

I miss. Miss out(?).

Miss.

Out.
(Insert appropriate emoticon)

the cake is a lie

"If wishes were horses, beggars would ride." - Gramma

Blue Cheese

I dreamt that Brett Favre was traded to the Raiders and that they were set to play the Eagles in the Superbowl.

How odd would THAT be?

Hello Blogness my ol' fren

....

hm...

Ya know, I actually have stuff going on, big things happening, major shake up/changes....and I STILL don't seem to have the ability/need/whatever, to write about it. I am officially...dull.

GAH!

I'm mayonaise.
I am white bread.
I am bland.

Boring.

Who wants to read about boring? Geebus, you prolly gots tons of boring laying around the house! You don't need MY boring, do ya? Wait....is it one of those "Gee, and I thought MY life sucked" kind of things? You know, you read about my life and then you don't feel so bad about yours? "Man, I thought my life was dull and couldn't carry a tune to save my life, but THIS GUY....thank The Great Eyeball(tm) in the sky I'm not THAT bad off.".

If so, if I am doing you good, providing a service (Bom chika-bowm-bowm..), then I shall write about my boring.

Let the boring commence!

.....just not right now.

Well...the boring is constant, I just mean I'm not gonna write about it just yet.

(cough)

Later skater.

Dear God,

:ppppppppppppppp~

Sincerely,

J.

It's "You're welcome.", not "Your welcome."!

Your [pronounced - Yohr, Yor]–pronoun
1. (a form of the possessive case of you used as an attributive adjective): Your jacket is in that closet. or I like your idea.

2. one's (used to indicate that one belonging to oneself or to any person): The consulate is your best source of information. or As you go down the hill, the library is on your left.

3. (used informally to indicate all members of a group, occupation, etc., or things of a particular type): Take your factory worker, for instance. or Your power brakes don't need that much servicing....but your mother does.

Your [pronounced - Yoor, Yu-er] Contraction of the words You and Are as in You're certain that's right? or You're using YOUR, when you should be using YOU'RE.

Dear Texters and Emailers,

I don't own a WELCOME! If you do, then I'll mention how nice YOUR Welcome is sometime, and then you'll say "Thank you" and I'll say YOU'RE (You Are) welcome!!

OK?!

GOT IT?!

GOOD!

My First Car

A Plymouth TC3. White. Sweet ride.

...and by "sweet ride" I mean "It got from Point A to Point B and back again a few times".

The Unfunny

Remember when I wrote about the Dane Cook phenomenon?

Here, is a perfect parody of his unfunniness. Although, this guy is funnier in his unfunniness than Dane Cook is.


Thanks to Jen at Casual Slack for the hookup.

My biggest fan

One time I wasn't paying attention to where I was standing and I was trying to describe some stupid thing and I stuck my hands up in the air......right into the ceiling fan. Luckily(?), I was just at the edge of the blades so one smacked my hand and kinda sliced my palm open a bit with it's little seam type thing on the edge of the blade, and the blades smacked the fingers of my left hand, bending them back and bruising the phuc out of the side of my ring finger. Thankfully(?), my left hand slowed the blades down. If it'd been on high, I think I would've broken a finger or four.

Pay attention kids.

Hey, Santa does it! Kinda....sorta...in a way...

One day I was running late, and it was right before my bedtime when I realized I didn't have any clean pants to wear to work. So, I did a load of laundry, and just threw one pair of pants into the dryer and went to bed. The lateness carried over to the next day and so I showered, and grabbed my pants out of the dryer, got dressed and bolted off to work.

At the end of the day, when I got home I was taking my shoes off when I noticed something baaaaaaarely poking out of one of my pant legs.

In my haste to get a pair of pants washed and dried, I failed to notice that I hadn't emptied the load of socks I had dried earlier.

I had gone all day at work with a nice, thick, white athletic sock stuck, by the magic of static, to the inside of my pantleg.

GAH!

A wave of brief horror went through me as I realized, that at any point during the day, the sock could have flopped out further or completely come out and made it look like I stuffed my pants to make it look like I have a large packet.

I check the dryer to make sure it's COMPLETELY empty before I throw a new load in now.

A Dud

Way back when I was a wee lad of 10 or 11, I was enrolled(?) in a summer camp. It wasn't a sleepaway camp or anything. They actually picked you up in a van in the morning, took you to do different activities during the day and then dropped you off around 4pm. It was only a Monday through Friday thing so you had to find your own fun on the weekends. Some days we went to a pool and swam until noon, then they took us to a small theatre where we'd see some old flick like the original Planet of the Apes (You blew it all to HELL!!!! DAMN YOU!!) or we'd be forced to sit through a horrible Benji movie. More time than not it was a double feature, I can't recall all of them, but they mostly sucked. We'd go bowling a lot. Anyhoo...
This "camp" was a citywide thing, they'd pick up kids from all over the place and we'd all meet up together at some park for lunch. You got to meet kids from all over town, and by kids I mean girls. Sweet, pretty, nice (usually) smelling, mysterious girls.

Well...

One time this guy on my bus (Everybody said bus instead of van. I never could figure out why), I can't recall his name, fell in deep like-like (Love was ucky. You 'member.) with this girl from another bus. So, every day he'd admire her from afar, but never, ever, ever, everever, go talk to her. I think he was 12. Who knows how old she was. Well, one day I got tired of him going on and on about how pretty she was and blah blah blah, so I pretty much triple-dog dared him to go talk to her. That's right, I said it, in a total breach of etiquette I went straight to the triple. He wussed out. I made fun of him. He said "Well if you're so brave Mister Smart-guy, why don't YOU go ask her what her name is n stuff?!".

So I did.

Ha!

Wuss!

I went up and said hi. Asked her name. She asked why. I said my friend liked her. She asked which friend. I went to point him out. He was nowhere to be found. She and her friends giggled. I said that he was too shy or sumthin. They giggled some more. I said I'd go get him. They asked my name. I told 'em. Bye. Bye.

I didn't see him until we were leaving the park. I continued the wuss calling, but I told him her name. No, I don't remember it. It was a looooong time ago, didn't you read the friggin Benji reference? Stupid dog. THAT'S when Chevy Chase started being UN-funny, that damn Benji movie.

Benji.

Bleh.

A few days later we were at another park for lunch and we happened to park RIGHT next to the girls van. Homeboy ducked (OK, we didn't say Homeboy back then. My buddy ducked) and then promptly disappeared on me again, and this was after a few days of "I'll talk to her next time! I mean it! I'll show YOU!". Yeah.....POOF. Gone. After all the kids scattered and the girls weren't around, he made an appearance again. This time he wanted me to go talk to her for him and to give her a gift. A box of Milk Duds. I KNOW! Milk Duds! I TOLD you he like-liked her!

*cough*

So....

I said no way. If he wanted her to have them, HE had to go talk to her and give them to her. He said ok; but I had to go break the ice first. Sigh....ok. Stupid wussy. I track her and her friends down. They're sitting in the shade enjoying the lovely weather. I RE-tell the whole deal. More giggling. They ask where he is this time, and juuuuuust as I'm about to turn to point him out here comes Wussboy, running full friggin tilt past us, like some sort of WWII movie strafing run where a plane is swooping down from out of the sky, it's bullets kicking up rows of dirt as it flies past(!), but instead of shooting at us, Wussboy, he launches the box of Milk Duds at her.

SMACK!

Right in the chest.

.....

No giggling.

"Um....that was him."

.......

I said sorry and promptly left.

There Will Be Blood

Did you know that if a girl/woman has an extremely low amount of iron in her system combined with thin vaginal walls, that she could almost bleed to death during her period?

Nether did I until my girlfriend almost passed out on monday from "heavy" bleeding. Apparently, if one bleeds too much and they have a very low level of iron, that since their body has become used to it, a transfusion of "normal" blood could cause them to go into shock and could KILL them.

Interesting, no?

She's fine.

Take your iron ladies.

Tagged with a Crazy Eights thing

Thanks Jen. Thank you SO much.
(read: Sarcasm)

8 Things I’m Passionate About -
- Fruit (Get it?! Passion.....fruit...Passion fruit?! Get it?!)
- My hobby of jersey collecting
- Sex
- Having Fun
- Mexican food
- Reading
- Sleep
- Coca Cola


8 Things I Want to Do Before I Die -
- Live longer
- Go to Alaska Again
- Go to the Hockey Hall of Fame in Toronto
- Jessica Alba
- Find a job that I enjoy going to every day
- Win Powerball
- See a NHL game in every NHL city
- Find a current picture of Jen

8 Things I Say Often -
- Awesome
- How so?
- Pfft..
- Just sayin..
- Nice
- Sweet!
- You wish
- Late (instead of "Later" or "I'll see you later". I do this on the phone. I can't stop.)

8 Books I’ve Read Recently -
- Moby Dick (again)
- Shutter Island by Dennis Lehane
- The Amber Room by Steve Berry
- Piecework by Pete Hamill
- Nothing like it in the World by Stephen A. Ambrose
- The Game by Ken Dryden
- The Cabinet of Curiosities By Douglas Preston & Lincoln Child
- The Ice Limit by Preston & Child


8 Songs I Could Listen to Over and Over -
- Airwaves - Thomas Dolby
- Should've Known Better - Mica Paris
- Deliverance - Opeth
- Right Down the Line - Gerry Rafferty
- Roads to Madness - Queensryche
- Amanda - Boston
- Superbad - The Amazing Mr. Please, Please, himself.....James Brown
- The Land of 1000 dances - The Wicked, Wicked, Wilson Pickett



8 Things That Attract Me to My Best Friends-
- Humor
- Taste in beer
- They bathe
- They give me food
- Intelligence
- A basic loathing of the human race
- Taste in music
- Magic

I'm supposed to tag 8 other people. I shant.
:P

I got some for ya...

Hey, why do some children feel the need to let loose a bloodcurdling SHRIEK(!) as if they were just stabbed in the eye with an ice pick or stumbled upon their mothers severed head, when they are merely playing tag or some such nonsense?

Why do some people TELL you what your thinking? You know, those folks that are trying to manipulate you, whether they are conscious of it or not, they're trying to get a reaction, or to find out what you really think. "I know you're ignoring me because you know how much it bothers me. I know that you probably think that I'm blah blah blah when I'm not!" You know what? Shut the fuck up. I won't play your phuct up little game. I have never in my years on this rock had one of these accusatory(sp?) dorks guess right. You DON'T know what I'm thinking. You DON'T know why I'm doing or not doing shit. You know why? Because you're not talking TO me, you're talking AT me and saying all the shit you want to hear. Fine. Go ahead and ramble on, get it out of your system and when you're done with your little pity party or whatever it is, come back to Jerkville and we'll hang. I don't play that bullshit. Never have. Never will.

Are eggs meat? The Catholic part of my family and my Catholic buds are all doing the lent (caps?)/ no meat on fridays thing and they're all ok with cramming eggs in their pieholes. Aren't eggs PRE-chickens and therefor meat? Nobody's ever given me a straight answer on this one. I think that eggs are meat and yer all foolin' (F-f-f-foolin'.... Aw, f-f-foolin'...) yourselves.

William.......F........Buckley...(deep breath).....has....died. Nobody paused like that dude. So long, Bill.

Why are they Chipmunks? Shouldn't they be Nutmunks? Woodmunks? I dunno.

U.F.O. means Unidentified Flying Object, not flying saucer from another world, k? If'n you look up in the sky and you're all "wtf is that over there?" then you can't identify the object which is in the sky. Even if a second later you can clearly see that it's a plane, briefly, you did, in fact, see a U.F.O.......and then you identified it. Most of what people see is experimental aircraft, top secret shit. If ther is life out there, I seriously doubt they're here to skin cows and rape your ass. Little grey men with huge noggins aren't sucking our goats. Grow up.

Now, Bigfoot on the other hand, that dude's real.

Just sayin.

Crunch time

Why do the folded over potato chips taste better than the "normal" potato chips?

Jerk's Emergency "OMG...I forgot it was Valentine's Day!!!" Plan: The reprint

Or The "So you want to see her naked this month?" backup "Please don't kill me in my sleep" escape plan.

This seemed to go over well last year, so let's rehash shall we? Yes, let's shall.

(U's have been added for the Canucks in the crowd)

1) DON'T PANIC!! There's still time. Even if you're reading this late in the evening you've still got time to save your ass. Er...."prove your love". You're just going to need to make sure you get the basics and are sincere. This means you have to actually like the girl, not just want to bang her. Women, even stupid ones, gain at least 30 IQ points on this day and they all put new batteries in their bullshit detectors this past weekend. Try to remember, football season ends....new batteries. Superbowl after party = New batteries. Write it down somewhere; because I know you guys, your memory is for shit when it comes to important "Don't piss women off" stuff.

2) Get flowers. ANY FLOWERS. Roses are two to three times as expensive as they were a week ago and they're probably sold out at most florists so your cheap ass needs to score them elsewhere. Now, because you're a dumbass (Dude, they've been pushin V-day for a month. All the red balloons and stuff. I feel for you, I've been there, but I've learned from my mistakes.) and spaced this holiday out, you've missed your chance to gain bonus points by sending flowers to her at work. Women, even ones that don't like flowers, love...and I mean LOVE, all the attention flowers bring. You know that feeling you get when you show off your new putter, or get a great deal on a gas grill that's twice as big as your neighboUrs? THAT is what it's like for women who get flowers. (Write this one down for next year too.) It's too late for that now. Go to Sam's Club or Costco. They usually stock up on a crapload of flowers, even roses, and they dont seem to charge as much as a florist. I'm not just telling you about prices because I know you're cheap and/or broke, but because if you DO happen to have some extra dough, get as many flowers as you can get. If for some reason they're out or all that is left are wilted, ucky ones with a huge sunflower in the middle, OR you dont live anywhere near a Sam's Club or Costco, get your ass to the grocery store! Get whatever they have, ANY flowers. You're doing damage control at this point ok? Any flowers are better than NO flowers.

3) If you've got around a $100 to spend, forget the flowers all together and get your ass directly to a jewelry store! Tell the pretty girl there how much money you have to spend. She'll know that you're trying to save your life, she'll have already dealt with at least 3 other "Dead men walking" this afternoon. She's there to help you. Go with a bracelet or a necklace. I say this because I know that if you forgot it was Valentines day, you probably aren't 100% sure if her ears are pierced. If you show up with earrings and they AREN'T pierced, you've blown it. IMPORTANT: Do NOT get a ring. Not just because it sends the "I want to get married" kind of vibes, but if you get it too big it's "You think I'm fat!!!" and if you get too small it's "OMG...I'm a big fat pig!! How can you want to be naked with a fatso?!!" , either one means you get no lovin. No rings. Just like with the flowers, ANY jewelry is better than NO jewelry. Don't decide that because you don't have a lot of money, to NOT buy any. Women don't just wear diamonds buddy. They buy themselves any pretty, shiny thing they like. Just as much, or more "costume" (fake, you dork) jewelry is purchased by girls as the real deal. Shiny/sparkly + Pretty = happy, smiley girl. It doesn't have to be big or real. If you're broke, you can go to one of those smaller "fake" jewelry stores that are jam packed with teenage girls. Again, ask the nice girl there to help you, don't just grab any damn shiny thing. If you're not spending a lot of money, you still want it to be as shiny/sparkly as possible, not the crap where all the silver paint rubs of in a week or the cheap metal turns her green. If you don't know what the hell I'm talking about then that is EXACTLY why I'm telling you to ask for help.

4) If you can, get flowers AND jewelry. Even if it's the $10 mixed small bouquet (a bunch of flowers in a clear plastic funnel lookin thingy) and some $30 pendant (a small shiny thing on a necklace) you're good.

All of this is because on this day, the thought really DOES count. If you forgot it was Valentines Day they think that means you forgot about THEM. Nothing on Valentines Day means you dont care about them at all. Use your brain. Today is not the day to just tell them they're pretty, you gotta show them you care. Yes, I know it's a made up, commercial thing created to sell cards, flowers and candy, but I've never heard a story about a guy getting laid using that arguement. Never. Ever.Ever. Go get her something. Now.

If you completely phuctup and you're reading this on Thursday Friday....

DON'T PANIC!!!

You've blown your chance to get lovin NOW, but you can still save your ass enough to maybe get some on the weekend or at least next week.

Maybe.

You'll have to do everything I just told you about, but now you've got to go BIGGER. A lot of flowers OR nicer, REAL jewelry. Dont do BOTH, because then you'll just piss her off. I know, it doesn't make sense to me either, but somehow it falls in the "no imagination" category. Trust me, if you go TOO big, you'll just piss her off. One or the other. Really nice flowers OR nice jewelry. At this point you'll also need to do something personal. You're going to have to.......think. Yes, I know! Deep breath..... It's going to be ok. You can do this. Does she have a favorite place to eat? A favorite chick-flick? What's favoUrite coloUr? You're going to need to go, do, buy something that relates to her. Something that is personal in some way. I can't help you there, I dont know her, you're going to need to think of something.

If you've messed up really bad, gotten in a fight or gotten the cold shoulder, you're going to need to use the entire weekend to spoil her. The weekend is when you go over the top. At this point, you won't piss her off by going big. I know, it doesn't make sense to me either, I'm just telling you what I've learned from my own and some of the bonehead mistakes our fellow men have made. You can save yourself by pampering her this weekend. She doesn't cook, she doesn't clean, she doesn't drive.....you take care of everything got me? It's gonna be tough, but you can save your neck or much lower.

IMPORTANT: None of this will work, NONE of it, if you're not really meaning any of it. Be honest. Be sincere. Even if you're bad with words, tell her she's pretty if you think she's pretty. Tell her she's nice 'n stuff. Tell her you like how she smells. Yes, even if you just say "You smell good", if you MEAN IT, you're good.


Now ladies, guys like stuff to ya know. Think food. We like food. There was a short lived TV show years ago where a couple had a fight and the woman gave her husband two six-packs of his favoUrite beer, or as he called them when she handed them to him "Oooo...Guy flowers!". A dozen "Guy Flowers" would be nice. After that, just take your shirt off and press up against us, we'll take it from there.

Have fun.
Be honest.
Be nice to each other.

G'nite.

Conspiracy theory

So.....how are you?

Gooooooood.

The other day I went out and gots myself a new high techy thinga-majig to replace my old cellphone which died during the worst weekend ever in recorded "Jerk" history. Said gizmo allows me to get online from anywhere in the world(!), well anywhere in my town anyway.
Now, over the course of the past 3 years blogging has gone from something I did a lot of and really, really enjoyed to more of a "Meh, whatever...." thing. Sometimes I'd think of something I wanted to post about, but I wouldn't be anywhere near a computer, and by the time I did....poof, what ever it was had drifted off into the Ether.
SO.....I have this gizmo and I think of something I want to blog about. I decide that I'm going to blog on Wordpress because Blogger has been annoying me lately and does my gizmo let me? No. It takes for ever to get in and then it locks up on me. Ok, no biggie, I'll just blog on MySpace like I said I was gonna do anyway,right? Does gizmo let me blog there? Yes, and no. It has issues, and this seems odd since my gizmo manual even mentions that it has special myspace crapola or something. I'm starting to get pissed (angry, not drunk) when this little irritated voice in my head says "Watch, I bet this fucker works on Blogger".

.......

Lo and behold. Here we are again.

Again.

Everytime I think I'm out, it pulls me back in. I'm not sure if this really will get me into blogging again and more often, but we'll give it a shot. Me and the irritated voice that is.

Peace,
Jerk

I'm done here

If you absolutely, positively, need to know what the hell I'm up to, you can find me here on MySpace.

Or, I guess you could just leave me a comment here. It still auto-sends to my email.

Don't read ME, I'll read you.