Liquor Is Quicker.

For some strange reason I was thinking about booze today.
As I've said before, music is memory, but I also believe that liquor has it's part in memory as well. (Especially it's help in forgetting.)

Almost everyone remembers the first time they got drunk.

I mainly recall that my brother and I were about 9 or 10, and came upon the leftover, half empty dregs from my parents party the night before. It was some type of orange brandy that was being consumed after dinner, although we thought it was just funny tasting orange juice.
We were wrong.
And I think that has tainted me towards anything orange tasting for the last 20 years.

But if you look far enough back in your liquor history, I think that everyone has had at least one bad experience with almost any alcoholic beverage.

For example:

• Southern Comfort - Drank 26oz of this and threw up on someones dog. Yes, their dog. I never said I was a classy drunk.
• Coolers - Used to drink these just for show. I was able to drink four bottles in under 53 seconds. If I could keep my lunch down I was set for the evening. Chugged two liters of it once on a dare, and let me tell you, I showed everyone that I had hot dogs for lunch that day.
• Vodka - Can't really recall many times that I've had a bad experience with Vodka. That's because I normally black out and forget who the hell I am.
• Gin - Yes, Gin. I tend to drink Gin like it's going out of style, which it has. Last time I got wound up on this stuff was the Sidekicks birthday. Three in the morning, staggering home? Oh Yeah, great experience.
• Rum - Drank way too much, fell down a cliff. Enough said.
• Tequila - Oh hell yeah, who hasn't had a bad time with Tequila? Anyone? Anyone? Bueller? Anyone?
• Beer - Did you read about me at Grey Cup? No? Just skip it, nothing to see here.
• Jack Daniels - See Southern Comfort, just change dog to lawn, and it's where I slept as well.
• Sambuca - Passed out with my eyes open after this one. THAT scared the shit out of everyone, I tell you.

And that's the short list. Forget all the mixed drinks like Paralysers, White Russians, Tequila Sunrises and good 'ol Caesars. I don't have time to list all the stupid things I've done after consuming those types of drinks.

But even with that amount of bad memories, the good times I've had while ingesting beverages with my friends are countless and immeasurable. It's not the essential part to the get-together, but it sure does make it just a tad more haywire.

All and all, I do enjoy a good drink now and then. In moderation. I do learn my lesson, but like most lessons, it has to be constantly reinforced.

Later.

Comfortably Numb.

Just a "meh" kinda day.

No big thoughts, no real crazy things going on, just a so-so day at work.
Of course there are the occasional hiccup or nuisance, but nothing really earth shattering. I usually feed off the energy of the people around me, and today was just not that kinda day.
Not to say I didn't have a good time, but hey, it wasn't a party either.

A good nights sleep and back to the races again.

Later.

From On High.

I was up on a roof today.

I wasn't supposed to be there.

The Boy and I went for a walk while we were waiting, took a wrong turn down a hallway and ended up on an outdoor landing. Judging by the coffee-tin ashtray and discarded filters, we had stumbled onto the secret smoking area of the buildings inhabitants.

There was an open stairwell leading to the roof.

Seeming as I've been quite adventurous lately, I thought "Why the hell not?" and we headed upwards. The lack of decent security in this place is a disgrace.

As we got to the roof and looked out, the ocean on one side and parking for this massive commercial complex on the other, I felt the need to tell The Boy something special, something that would stick with him through all the stages of his life.

"Watch out for the birdshit, son."

That's the best I could come up with? You've got to be kidding me.

But it's true. No matter how high up you get, and how little some of the things in this world may seem, you still got to keep your eye on the ground and make sure you don't step in the shit.

And if you do, for chrissakes, at least wipe your shoe off.

I don't know if the importance of my words sunk in, because at that time he was looking out at the boats on the water, the cars on the lot, and possibly down some woman's top. (He is my boy, after all.)

Lessons learned, we cat-footed our way back to the safety and silence of the hallway whence we came. As I opened the door for The Boy to step in, he stopped, looked around, and wiped his feet on the mat before going in.

Am I a great fucking teacher or what?

Later.

Dialed In.

The quirky thing about listening to the radio at work is that some days it seems like it's playing just for you.

As much as public radio pisses me off at times, I had many occasions today to stop, listen for a moment and just smile at what was playing. Some songs I found ironic, some reminded me of other places and times. And I'll admit, some of them made me want to get my groove on and show off my elite dancing skills. Overall it was pretty cool.

I know it probably won't happen again for a while, but for today at least, it was like the DJ was reading my mind.

Later.

Jkhj;uy#emiufy&%jhrft.

I was typing a post earlier, and I had to stop.

When I type, I don't really look at the screen, I just watch the keys, let my fingers fly and the words pour forth.
So when I look up and see what I've written, it scares me that half of it tends to look like gibberish and the other half appears to be somehow derived from Blogger's word verification tool.

I've become way too dependent on spellcheck.

Of the eighty or so words I just typed, I had four errors, either from spelling or else just hitting an extra key with my chubby fingers. If I talked like I type, people would think that there was something very wrong with me. (Not that there isn't , really, but that's not applicable right now.)

I'll have to teach myself to slow down a bit, and maybe that will help.
Or maybe think about baseball when I type.

Later.

Superman's A Dick.

I must admit, if I was a superhero, I'd be a pretty shitty one.

It's not like I'd be a super-villain, I'm not that much of an asshole.

I would probably just end up putting my own best interests ahead of the greater good. Mostly it would be kinda tame stuff, like picking up people's cars and moving them to different parking spaces, creating sonic booms as I flew over residential neighborhoods, and incredible misuse of the x-ray vision. (If you know what I mean).

I'd try to do a good job and help people out, but you'd have to expect some scheduling conflicts. What do you do if there is a bus load of children going off a bridge at the exact same moment you are "comparing powers" with a hot heroine? Tough choice, right?
But I'm sure someone else would help the kids....

And then there is the matter of Sidekicks. Do you really need that dead weight dragging you down? And why bother having somebody around who is only going to write a "tell all" memoir after you fire their lazy ass for drinking all your beer? Sure, you need someone around to go fetch coffee and to help clean up the secret hideout, but is it really worth the hassle? Just get a fuckin' maid. That's all a Sidekick is anyway, just a maid with shorter pants and a cape.

It would be nice to be able to do some good, though. I'd start small, just helping get cats out of trees, or helping dogs get up to cats in trees, whatever was necessary. Gradually I would move on to bigger stuff, but it would be best to keep it small at first.

But it's all just a dream until I have one of those crazy, bizarre accidents to grant me some powers. So if anyone needs me, I'll be holding the lightning rod in the thunderstorm, waiting for the toxic waste truck to get hit by an alien meteorite as it drives by.

Later.

Consistency.

As I've said many a time before, I enjoy blogging.

I like to somehow sum up my day, or voice a concern or insight I may have had. I've been doing it on a daily basis for over three months now, ( I think the last time I missed a day was back in December.) and off and on for longer than that.

But I have a lot coming up on my plate in the next week or so, which means I may be a bit inconsistent with my blogging. For the five of you that check this blog out on a regular basis: I'm sure you'll be fine, and just think, you'll get to hear highlights of the following:

• My twin brother and his family are coming up! Be ready for tales of breaking up fights between children, and the slow buildup of my migraine!
• My trip to Victoria to see Motley Crue, and to recapture some of my youth! Will I succeed in my quest to reclaim my rockin' heritage? How drunk and disorderly will I get?
• Tales of road rage on the drive to and from! How will he stay awake driving all by himself?

All this and more to come in the next couple of weeks!

I'll still be updating as regularly as possible, and most of this shit doesn't start for about a week and a half.

It's petty, but it kinda bothers me that I'll be breaking the streak. Like I said, I've been fairly consistent, and it'll just be a shame to let that go.

Oh, for a laptop and wireless connection....

Later.

Save The Cute Animals.

It really bothers me how people get all bent out of shape because of the hunting of Harp Seals.

If these animals were ugly like chickens or cows, nobody would give a rat's ass about an annual hunt. But no, they are cute and cuddly, which means that celebrities get to come out and get their face in the news, protesting something they know nothing about. If these animals were endangered, I could see what they would be upset about. But at last count there were over five million of them, and the total quota for the hunt is under a million over three years.

Hell, I know jack shit about seal hunting, and I found that information in under 5 minutes.

I have to agree that it's probably not the prettiest sight in the world to see, what with the blood splashed all over the snow, but go to any conventional slaughterhouse and tell me that's any better. I don't think the killing of any animal is a pretty sight, but I understand why it needs to be done. As for the gruesomeness of clubbing the seals? Like I said before, I've never hunted them, so I can't honestly say if that's the best way to get the job done. Maybe there is a more humane way, like lullabies to sing them to sleep as you swing for the fences, I just don't know.

People say they should stop the hunt and make it more about tourism. Give me a break. You expect the people whose livelihoods depend on this hunt to turn around and start taking tourists out to the ice-flows? How big of a market is there for fur and meat? Compare that to the five people who would pay to take a boat ride to an iceberg. Oh yeah, that's a sustainable economy.

As I said before, if these animals were ugly, nobody would give a damn.

Later.

Write Your Rider.

Ah, the life of a Rock Star.

Not only only do you get to do a job that you love, see the world, and have mindless sex with hawt groupies, you also, (if you are a big enough Rock Star) get to ask for whatever you want just to preform.

The Smoking Gun has a collection of concert performance contracts from a lot of bands/ performers. The parts they display are what the artists " need " in regards to dressing rooms, food, security, etc. These are called "riders" and some of the shit people ask for are fucking crazy.

• Foo Fighters - Boxer Shorts and Tube Socks. At least Dave keeps his shit neat.
• Pearl Jam - Fresh Fruit for making smoothies (Eddie has his own blender), and no Glow Lite merchandise to be sold at the concert.
• Eminem - "Game Room" with big screen T.V. and PlayStation. Arcade games, portable basketball hoop, and don't forget the masseuse.
• Mariah Carey - Cristal Champagne and bendy straws.
• Chili Peppers - The Tube Socks were a given, but Aromatherapy Candles?

Here's your chance. What do you ask for? Forget the beer and cigarettes, and skip the homemade sandwiches. If you were going out to rock the arena, what would you want in your dressing room when you got back?

I'd ask for some real exotic, hard to find kinda shit. Like fresh squeezed Root Beer and milk from cows whose names start with an X. I'd also ask for a rock hard bean bag chair, and for all the water to be served at 24 degrees Fahrenheit but not frozen. Oh, I'd make it challenging for those people.

God, I'm a Bastard sometimes.

So what would you like?

Later.

Proof That I'm A Sick Person.

Do you think it needs extra cream?

Later.

Vernal Equinox

There are days when I enjoy going to work and there are days when I don't.

The sun was shining today, my coffee was still steaming in my travel mug, and I had some great music echoing from the speakers in the car. Tired yet cheerful, I travelled down the road.

I could have just kept on going.

On sunny days everyone is a bit more upbeat, a little more easy going. Not so hard to deal with. Of course there are exceptions to every rule, but they are a little easier to tune out, what with golden light streaming through the windows, and the thought of spring in the air.

Spring is one of my favorite times of the year. Not too hot, not too cold. Indoor action and outdoor experiences are equally as fun. I think it's just been so goddamn long since we've seen the sun, that everyone is just more alive.

All in all, a fuckin' great day.

Later.

Stickin' It To The Man.

I fulfilled my fiscal obligation and completed my taxes.
I must admit, I hate paying taxes, but that's just because it's an extra percentage of money that's not going in my pocket. Granted, it comes right off the top of my pay, so it's not like I really miss it, but knowing what you should be getting versus what you really get is quite a shock.

Amazingly enough, I'm one of those people who do their taxes by hand, with paper and pencil. Yes, you heard it right, paper and pencil. No fancy coom-putt-errr programs for me.
I'm hardcore all the way, and the Government knows it.
They don't fuck with me.

• (Please Mr. Harper, sir, If the previous statement in anyway offended you or members of your newly formed Government, I wish that you would accept my humblest apologies, and be assured that it will never happen again.)

Yeah, I got those shitbags fooled all the way to the bank.

In fact, according to my calculations, they owe me some monies. Monies which I will collect as soon as possible. What will I spend this windfall on? Who the hell knows?

I wonder how feasible it would be to incorporate oneself, and if the tax breaks are what you think they would be. Anything you can do to just get a bit more back from those greedy scum suckers in Ottawa would be worth it, I think.

• (Once again sir, I'm sorry for this derogatory tone, please don't see fit to punish me by audit. I really did believe that I could claim imaginary friends as dependants.)

But I'm in the clear until next year rolls around, and by then I'll have figured out a way to stash just a fraction more away from those incompetent schmucks at the Tax Bureau. Dumb bastards.

• (I don't know how this keeps popping up, but we are doing our best to prevent it, and no further investigation is necessary.)

I hope your tax season goes as well as mine did (hopefully), and we'll meet at the bar for drinks after, OK?

Later.

Similarities.

"Decaffeinated coffee is like sex without orgasm."

Truer words have never been spoken.

There are a lot of similarities between coffee and sex, and pretty much all of them are good. The payoff for both is what I'm interested in.
People drink coffee for a reason. It tastes good, it gives you that jolt you need, and depending on whether you drink it fast or slow, can either be a rush to your system or a nice way to relax.

Sex is exactly the same.

It's the addictive qualities that drive both; coffee has that natural caffeine rush, and sex....well sex has the incredible release of energy, both physical and (sometimes) mental.
To have that buildup, but not the release?
The expectation, but not the follow-through?

Shitty.

And both can be ruined if not prepared right.

Everyone takes their coffee a different way, and no two lovers are the same. Some like extra cream and others take it black. There are those who favor a sweeter blend, and those who prefer a bitter aftertaste. Some places you go to for nice, reliable coffee, and others you've tried once but will never go back again.
I could go on and on. (I say that all the time.)

There are probably some finer points to the argument that I've missed, but you get my drift.

I'd just like to say, To all the women I might of unknowingly served Decaff:
My sincere apologies, and if you bring your cup back, I'll top it off with a stronger brew this time.

Later.

Dissatisfaction.

Today was a day where I didn't get what I wanted.

• A good night's sleep. Why do I wake up and feel like I just went to sleep? Why does my back hurt so fucking much some days? Why do I have to stand on my head just to pee in the toilet?
• Went and got a haircut. Would have preferred to get the pretty stylist, but no, I get the one that smells like week old bread and has a lisp. I thought she was moistening my hair while she was talking, and I realize she's not holding a spray bottle.
• Go through Drive Thru for lunch, thought I'd change it up a bit and get poutine (in honor of those I know who speak french), get home to find out there's no poutine in the bag. (Yet another Lethal Weapon moment- "They fuck you in the Drive Thru."
• Went for coffee with the Sidekick, had two cups of coffee at Timmy's. Did I win anything on my "Roll up the Rim"? Not a fucking chance. Is it too much to ask to let the chubby guy win a donut?

I'll admit, these are all little things. But in life, it's the little things that wear you down. I must have done something bad in a former life, or maybe a couple of bad things in this one. Who knows?

Karma's a bitch sometimes. And sometimes, I'm Karma's bitch.

Later.

Seven Deadly Sins.

I was asked the other day which of the "Deadly" Sins was my worst.
It got me to thinking, (Always dangerous) so lets take a look.

In no particular order:

• Pride - Also known as Vanity. Yes I'll admit I'm vain. I think I am at least 5 times hotter than I actually am, and I tend to carry myself accordingly. I do think that I know it all, or at least most of it, but what can you do when you have a brain as sexy as mine?
• Envy - Even though I'm vain, I'm still envious of others. Usually in the physical abilities or wealth departments. (This problem would be easily solved if I could have sex all night and have money shoot out my ass.) I find I also have the newly discovered "iPod envy", which means I don't have one, and want to take everyone else's.
• Gluttony - Have you looked at my chunky ass lately? Watch me eat donuts and tell me I'm not a glutton. My adventures with liquor have also proved that it's not just limited to pastries, I'm an all around pig. (Sometimes)
• Anger - I don't really have a problem with anger. And I'll fucking kill any of you assholes that says different. I tend to swallow my hate, and form it into a hard little ball in the pit of my stomach, saving it for constructive release, like when the revolution starts.
• Greed - Hell yeah, I'm greedy, except in the sack. (Her needs come first.) I'll take the last donut, the last parking spot, the last cup of coffee. I have a great desire for money, and haven't been to church in years. (That's greedy according to their definition.)
• Sloth - I can be the laziest bastard I know. Mr Procrastination. If I could spend all day in bed, I would. (Hopefully not alone.) It's not that I hate physical exertion, it's just that it messes up my schedule of doing nothing.
• Lust - Hi, have we met? I'm the horniest guy I know. Anywhere, anyplace, anytime. (Although I do have standards.) I think about sex constantly, almost to distraction. Always have, and I don't see it changing anytime soon. Has it caused me trouble in the past? Yes. Did I learn my lesson? Am I thinking about it right now? You'd better believe it.

So there they are, all laid out.

For the record: I'm goin' to Hell. No Doubt.

For those of you who know me, I leave it for you to decide for yourself which is my worst. For those that don't, read the blog and then tell me. Or better yet, you should all tell me yours.

Later.

Lack Of Focus.

I have a thousand thoughts burning around in my brain right now.

I've been trying to pin some of them down, to actually have something useful to say, but it ain't gonna happen.
Some days the words, thoughts and opinions just seem to flow out like water, other times it's as slow as Federal Aid to Katrina victims. (Zing! Take that G.W.!)
Ask the people I work with, some days you can't shut me up, others you'd think I was in a coma.
Never daunted, I sit here and try to pound out something coherent, hopefully witty, and ask your patience for another day, when I will possibly have something interesting to go on about.

But if it was interesting you were looking for, why did you come here?

Later.

'Little Help?

First of all, I will admit to my inexperience with sexual aids.

Just never had them be a part of any relationship I've been involved in. I guess I'm too much man and the ladies in question never felt any compulsion I could not satisfy. (Yeah, Right.) I'm not against them, nor do I feel threatened by them. In fact I believe that if used correctly, they would probably complement and enhance most experiences.

Let me say right now: I'm willing to learn.
I repeat: I'm willing to learn.

As long as no boundaries are crossed, I'm always open to try something new. And if practice is what it takes, then I'm your man. I won't try anything that goes against the rules of the home team, but like I said, bringing something new to your repertoire is always a good thing.

And an open letter to those women who do incorporate "toys" into their lives: You go girls, keep the fires stoked until the wood's ready to burn. ( Best pun I could come up with on short notice.)

Later.

Head Wound.

I injured myself at work today.

Nothing serious, I was doing some minor repairs and I ended up gashing my forehead with a screwdriver. (Don't ask how, suffice to say I was using the tool for other than it's intended purpose.) Now I have a nice little scar, kinda pirate-like.

At first , when people would ask me what happened to my head, I was telling them I got in a knife fight. Seems a lot more glamorous than "self-inflicted hand tool mishap". With some of the sketchy denizens of the area it almost seemed logical. The most common reaction I got was "Really?...Wow." I must look pretty hardcore to pull that one off.

When that tired, I started telling people I got it from rolling around with the cashiers. A bit 'o rough and tumble , if you will. Lets just say scratching was involved. (A wink-wink nudge-nudge kinda thing.)

Sad thing is, more people believed the knife fight.

How's that for depressing?

Later.

Stand Up, Sit Down.

I'm a shower man, always have been.
Something about the screaming hot water peeling away my top layer of skin just works for me.
I love the way the room fogs up, and it's like a sauna even when you step out.
My shower is a double-wide and it has a seat. Probably the main reason I bought the house.
And if you think standing under those heated liquid needles was great, you should try sitting. All the pleasure, half the spent energy.
I like how clean I feel when I step out of the shower.

That's what I don't like about baths. Sitting in dirty water. Yechh.
I'll admit, I have a regular tub, nothing fancy. Barely deep enough to hold three cups of water.
I don't have one of those super deluxe-fancy-shmancy-jets-of-forbidden-pleasure tubs, and have only ever been in one of those, so I can't really say they suck. But a normal bath?
No Thanks.

Plus in a tub the water gets cold. And my boys downstairs don't like cold water. No sirree, they don't like it one bit. Hot tubs, okay. Regular tub? It's like Nanook of the North. And we won't even talk about shrinkage. It's just depressing.

And what about the Sex? Showers? Amazing versatility, where as tubs, it's just a lot of sloshing around in a cramped space. ( I'm talking about the tub.) Like I said, hot tubs may differ, just because they are bigger and allow for more maneuverability, but I like my shower just fine.

So that pretty much sums up my argument.
Where do you stand? Or sit? I know there are some who relish the tub, and those who like the shower, so lets hear it.

Later.

Color Me Shocked.

So a Major League Baseball player, who in the past , categorically denied using performance enhancing drugs has been shown to be lying?
Not only is it documented in federal documents, but laid out in dates, dosages, and type of drug?
How is this a surprise to anyone?

Thanks for exposing the worst kept secret in Baseball.

Rant.

I posted a personal rant here, but I took it down.
I prefer to rant about things other than my personal life.

Later.

Spoiled.

I have a habit with The Boy.

If he's been good and behaved, after dinner we go for a walk and "talk". That is to say he points out things I would never have noticed and I make sure he doesn't lunge off the sidewalk and get hit by a car.

But I digress.

If it's raining, as it was today, we'll watch a movie before he goes to bed. (Yes, I'm training him young.) He watches Disney stuff, as befits his age, but lately I've been getting a bit put off by the movies.
You see, I've always been a big fan of animation. So when some of the Disney classics came out on DVD, I got them. I also have some of the newer, Pixar/Dreamworks stuff that's come out in the last while.
As a whole, I find that the Pixar/Dreamworks stories are better paced, better acted, and just all around better looking than the cell animation that has come before. It's almost to the point that when I ask which movie he wants to watch, I cringe if it's one of the older ones. I'm not saying that every computer generated movie is better than traditional animation, but it's not far off.
I'd rather watch The Incredibles than Lady & The Tramp. Shrek over Beauty & The Beast, and Finding Nemo over The Little Mermaid.
I know it's a little thing to bitch about, and that it's all really about what The Boy likes, but until I can get him to sit through Fight Club and Clerks, it's a legitimate bitch.

Later.

Life Imitates Art.

You know that scene from Lethal Weapon 3 when Mel Gibson and Renee Russo are comparing scars and trying to one-up each other?
My night was like that, (Minus the sex at the end,) but cooler.

You're gonna ask, I'm not gonna tell.

Later.

Unpleasant Visitor.

It starts as a dull ache around my back teeth.
Slowly it works it's way to my neck and then attacks the base of my skull.
It seems to disappear for a moment, but then slams into the back of my eyeballs like a Thousand Pound weight on Willie Coyote.
Of course, The Drugs don't seem to be working on it.
It can't be a caffeine headache, I've had my five cups of Java today.
Sitting in front of a monitor? Not the best choice, but it's only for a while.
I think I'll go to bed and see if sleep won't take it away.
It normally works, but when am I ever normal?

I fucking hate Headaches.

Later.

Tattoo You.

I have a tattoo.
Trust me, I got mine long before it was considered the norm.
Back in the day, not everyone and their slutty sister were inked.

I had just come out of a long relationship, with one of the few women out there who actually broke my heart, and the first thing I could do was go down to Victoria, get drunk and get a tat, just to show how really hardcore I was. I wasn't drunk when I got the work done, which explains why it's not "Fuck You Bitch" across my back, it's only about three inches across by four high and it's the Japanese sign for "Love". ( That's right, I'm a sensitive badass.)

It's on my chest, where I could watch it being done. I wouldn't trust anyone to do anything on my back. For all I'd know they could put "Kick Me" there, and how would I tell?

I'd like to get some more, but I think at the age I am now, it would almost look like a desperation move. When a guy gets to be a certain age, you have to have a reason for getting a tattoo. Something significant. And it almost has to be age appropriate, because getting a dragon tattooed up my leg would not only be painful, but it would seem out of place on a chubby middle-aged guy.

I'll figure something out, who knows?
Maybe "Thug Life" - I hear that's popular......

Later.

Scents & Sensibility.

I remember the first girl who ever got me cologne.

It's not like before I met her I smelled like shit; I've always been a clean kinda guy, it's just that I was a soap-and-deodorant man. I never went for the "girly" smells.
Until it was pointed out to me that women like men who smell better than normal.

You have to be subtle with it though, you can't be pouring that stuff on, and exuding a scent so overpowering that every woman you meet looks like she's been cutting onions. That's just as bad as smelling like a cow pasture.

Over the years I've changed it up so many times that it's hard to recall them all. I have to admit I was almost slightly obsessive-compulsive about how I smelled. (Trust me, after working in the sticks for a bit, being aware of how you smell compared to others is a good thing.) I'm still aware of it, but now I try to resist the compulsion.

But each scent I wear or have worn always seems to remind me of different people in my past. Either because they purchased it for me, or because I had just started wearing it when I met them. Like I said, the first girl who got me cologne? Drakkar Noir, and I'll always associate that scent with her. Others? There are too many to list, so I won't even try.

Women's scents? If you could see the chemical reaction in my brain when I smell Vanilla lotion on a woman's skin you would think that it was the fourth of July. It always seems to do it for me. I can't go into The Body Shop without being in a constant state of arousal. ( OK, I'm exaggerating, that's just creepy, really.)
But you get the idea.

So what aromas are your favorite? Tommy? Ralph? Please don't say J-Lo.

Later.

Storytime.

When men relate stories to each other, it's almost like a competition.

You've got to see who's got the most fucked up, crazy, insane-yet-verifiable & believable tale. You've got to be able to cite at least one credible source, and be able to have specific details and a time-line to relate.
Of course, most of these tales involve sex in one way or another.

I was shooting the shit with some guys from work today, and we got on that subject, (as men are apt to do,) and the only thing I realized after was that I really should have gone for my secondary education. The romps at Burger School are OK, but I think I missed something not living on Rez.

I'm glad that I'm able to hold my own in these types of conversations, and amazingly enough, nothing I've heard from others has been able to shock me. Chalk that up to my years of dealing with the public and people in general, I guess.

I thank God that none of my tales start with "One time in Port Alberni...", but I am awed by how many of them have to do with the Arches. I guess being there for as long as I was made it like a base of operations, not just a job.

I can't relate any of the stories here, but most of you know most of them already. Hell, after being in this town for so long, I'm sure some have passed into legend. Maybe I'll write my own memoirs, and I'll try not to embellish like that Pieces guy did.

Later.