Adventures In Babysitting
So its been about 3/4s of a year since my last post and there is only one word to sum up my absence. Strippers.
Like passed-out-drunk-on-their-door-step-because-you-are-so-attentive-to-every-word-that-they-say-that-you-can-track-them-down, Strippers. The inner most workings of your reproductive system isn't the only detail I'm paying attention to...careful what comes out of your mouth.
Like getting-my-girlfriend-out-of-bed-and-begging-her-for-money-and-to-ignore-the-bouncer-standing-on-the-other-side-of- our-apartment-door, Strippers. I'm full of alot of things, and money isn;t one of them.
Man, I cant even count the amount of times I should have been arrested.
Welcome back.
Labels: tender tender flesh
Flux You!
In an awesome continuation of my winning streak I won yet ANOTHER contest from 102.1 THE EDGE!
I’m going to see Bloc Party in March and the Toronto International Auto Show this Saturday! Happy Valentines Day indeed!
I got people from grade school that I haven’t spoken to in years calling me…I guess they’re just happy to know I’m still alive.
Fighting fire with firewood
I was looking for a little excitement so I decided to become a drug dealer. The plan was to go to London to pick up a shipment that this Somali cab driver expected from his contact in Yemen. I was the perfect candidate because one, I’m well liked in the Somali community (I once worked across from a fine ass Djiboutian girl who taught me a few phrases, if you can say “I think its snowing” in Somali, you’re golden) and secondly, I was white and customs would never suspect me of being a mule for some Arabian Peninsula plant that nobody’s ever heard of or could give two shits about.
We made the deal over shwarma after declining to join him and his friends at a Somali dance club. I told him I wasn’t in the mood to paint my face and dance around a fire and he laughed so hard that tumbleweed soup came out his nose. We made the arrangements; I was to stay in a first class hotel in Fitzrovia, and meet his connect in a tea house by the nearest tube station. No guns or tough guy attitude required they considered me to be doing them a favour; I could just act completely natural, a Canadian guy in my brothers sweater sitting cross legged on the floor with a dusty ass, toothless Yemenite botanist just a block away from Piccadilly Circus. What could go wrong?
From there they’d take me out to the ports in Twickenham, where I would get the container vessel and the fake ass bill of lading. I was told I’d be more likely to get in trouble from IFAD than customs because they’d be more pissed about me moving invasive species rather than the fact that I was gonna get a whole whack of East African immigrants stone off their asses on this shit.
I was assured if I made the trip a few times (without getting caught) that I’d be living comfortably. Temptation is a bitch.
This is gonna hurt like hell
This has been a trying 48 hours for me. I started by putting up plastic sheeting all over the apartment. I got off work early Friday so it glimmered nicely in the setting of the mid winter sun. It seems to breathe, the walls heaving collective sighs as I walk here or there, rippling in my path. It almost takes on an organic characteristic that serves to remind/embarrass me of my own failings. It has become my own enemy which I resent. I despise the fact that I can see myself in it, draped tightly over the windows and can hear the static embrace of the wall when my dry ear dares to get close enough to listen. The hair on my arm stiffens and I lament the lack of contorl over my body. But what else is new...
I stay in the kitchen, those egg shell walls are easy to clean.
But my girlfriend sure will be happy if things go wrong. I have a well thought out and comprehensive plan to keep my blood off these walls, and so far it seems to be working. My apartment is white, not nearly enough sun, but white in a non-descript overexposed picture sort of way. This is where we lead our lives; in this cloudy blob of whiteness that dulls our edges and mutes our features. I have 15 corners in my apartment, not counting cupboards or shelves, and I’ve mastered moving from one to the next with a sense of feline self consciousness where every step is at the same time cautious and adventurous. Megan once emulating a cat’s flat paw across my groin and I haven’t forgotten it since. Every step equal intrigue, every step equal impression.
I have 15 beers in me and a bottle of wine and a bottle on Tylenol. Now tell me if I will land on my feet? It would be a shame to waste all this nice plastic sheeting on the walls and globe and mail on the floor only to jump out the window.
Lucky for me I have a plan. What do they say? Jump right before you hit the bottom?
Labels: actual stuff, future?, going crazy, kill yourself-suprise your friends, tender tender flesh, unceremonious, uncontrollable urges
Watch and learn; this is how you get laid!
Me: Drunkenly MSMing chicks.
Her: Loving my poor spelling
First off, girls love it when you can spot a good deal, so imagine how impressed she was when I told her I got 2 pounds of wing and 5 beers for 18 bucks! That, plus me crafting dope poetry at the same time, how could she resist?
Such romantic things like inventing a new karate move and naming it after her then going around punching old people in the heart so they can feel what its like to die alone without her. That doesn’t even make sense but it’s golden, she ate that shit up!
A few more lines like that and she’ll overlook the fact that I’m about one beer away from pissing myself. And I’m gonna think of her while I do it!
Doesn’t get sexier then that! Welcome to the bone zone!
Just be glad i didnt put it back in the fridge this time
It’s Saturday night and I can’t even
beg a friend to hang out with me. There was a time when I was double or triple booked every night of the week, and now, now I’m having a photo shoot with different wedges of cheese and a mason s’ jar of lemon preserves that I made. It’s hard to capture the cloudy mix of lemon juice through the reflection of the glass. It’s harder to come to terms with the fact that this is my Saturday night.
Oh Gruyere, you are such a good subject, this light flatters you nicely. And your creamy texture reminds me of passionate lovers that I also used to rub all over my privates!
the price of infamy, an hero...
If planning for the future lets you know you have one, why the hell am I half heartedly dragging this toothbrush over my teeth? I watched myself laboriously with my puffy red eyes muster all my strength to pull my arm in broad horizontal stroke in an attempt to wash this bitter taste from my mouth. To no avail.
God, tell me about dire straits. I called my pastor and church buddy and they didn’t pick up.
