30 November 2006

Down Time and Compromise

I hate this part. I feel like I’m coming down from a drug high or something right now. I’m down to about a post a week, if I’m luck, and I’m completely and totally out of touch with that insight that I was so tied into only two weeks ago. I feel like I’m floating in a field of darkness, hoping the swells don’t smash me onto some metaphysical reef that will ruin me forever.

My newest and one of my only two close friends in the world got thrown in the can over something he couldn’t have possible done, due to a spoiled little shithead that got disillusioned and didn’t get his way.

Someone I met at Renfaire has requested that I play Dom to her Sub. You know, the Sigo and I have the greatest relationship overall in the world, and I love her to death. When we got together, we were doing it 4 to 5 times a week, easy, for over two years. Then she wanted a kid. I was willing to have a couple with her. So we tried for a while. Nothing. Went to the Doc. We got to mark the little chart thing every time we did it. The DOCTOR was impressed with how often we were doing it. We scored. Had a little boy, without too many complications. And the sex came to a screeching halt. Started up for a couple of months when she was ready for her second. And then came to a complete dead stop. Like once a month, and that was if I pressed it. Her drive – gone. Disappeared, off the face of the earth. Hasn’t come back. At 40, I’m still ready for once, even twice a day. Now I’ve got these new interests, on top of it all. Any compromise there? Yeah, whatever!

I should feel like the shithead, because I feel like I’m getting screwed here. I imagine the responses will vary. Those that like and enjoy sex, especially a lot of it, will be with me on this one. Those that don’t and sex doesn’t do anything for them, they’ll be the ones hopping on the all males are assholes bandwagon. No compromise there, either. You know what they’ll say? You can do without. You don’t need to do all that other freaky stuff, either. You should be satisfied with what you get, especially if everything else is as good as you say. The problem here is that, by nature, most females are emotionally based. I’d guess that the majority of them have a major emotional tie with regards to sex and the person they are with. Add that to the inbred jealousy thing, and you’ve got a simple recipe for disaster. They don’t have any concept of sex without emotional ties.

Sorry. Maybe I’m alone in this. I can have sex with a woman, orgasm, come, without the slightest emotional tie, before or after. I kind of think that’s inbred into males. We were designed to get the most bang for our buck, to breed as many females as possible before we got chewed into little bits by a mammoth or a sabertooth. I can get freaky with someone without an emotional tie. So if I can do all that, then she shouldn’t be threatened by me getting what I can’t get from her somewhere else, especially if its freaky and something that she’ll never try. You know why that doesn’t work? Her own insecurities make her insane jealous. So its my problem again. Its shit like this that destroys 8 year relationships. In flames. Complete crash and burn. Even though everything else is sweet, working, and full of love. Yeah, in the end, I’ll be the asshole, as usual. No Matter What!

I have this theory that you are allotted a specific number of orgasms in life. If you miss one, its gone forever. Because she has no drive and doesn’t want to experiment anymore, is it her place to make that decision for the rest of my life? I don’t think so. So I’m the asshole again. What’s another label?

What’s YOUR label?


27 November 2006

The True Cardiac Fantasy

     Just recovering from a week with the Cardiac Clan.  Go see Roadchick’s entry “You Can Get Anything You Want”  for a typical excerpt of my week of “vacation” with 18 people in a 3-1/2 bedroom house. She describes the basic situation in a far more light hearted and detailed manner than I could ever relate right now, this being far too close to recent events in question to revisit the subject without the occasional thought of choking a clan member or two out with bare hands and repeated head butts to said faces.   So this post may be short and sweet.

     I’ve basically come to the conclusion that I’m almost 100% without boundaries with regards to sexual fantasies, and to some extent, the various acts and facets of sex, itself.  There just isn’t too much off limits to what will arouse me, to what I will fantasize about, and what I would be willing to do in a world without Sigo’s.  No, don’t go calling 911 yet.  The ultimately Taboo acts, at least legally taboo, are not on my things to turn from fantasy into reality list.  Just like a person who can imagine, in detail, the killing of another human being, the thought doesn’t make them a murderer, despite some of the more imaginative near future movie concepts we’ve seen in the past few years.  So mentally, I’m a sex freak.  I’ve boasted of it on numerous occasions in a light hearted manner, but what it comes down to is that I’m it, and I am starting to accept that fact for real.  Being a bit of a pervert is essentially normal, these days.  The Sex Morality Code of our Society has become wider in terms of allowable activities, much more so than it used to be.  But I am a full blown freak.  I have truly entered the shadow world, and I’m living in it now.  At close to double the drinking age, my sex drive would still function at once if not twice a day.  No, no boasting.  Just the facts, ma’am.  I’ve taken steps in the last week to go into the BDSM and Dungeon accessories business, leather wise.  Flogs, handcuffs, only the best leather and workmanship. I’m now apprenticed to a master of the trade, and of the shadow world itself.  I’ve gotten the nips pierced in the last two years, got brand new tribal armband tats on both arms in the past week, and am looking to do some more along those lines in the near future.  Giving into it all has been . . .  a release.  Like reborn at 40.  Its weird, its wild, its different, and now I have a blog to describe the slow spiral into the shadow world for all the spectators who want to watch the dive vicariously.  I’d say I was going through a midlife crisis, but it wouldn’t be true.  I’m just tired of pretending to be someone I’m not.  So who’s the freak?





26 November 2006

Altered Movie Quote Part II

When I invite a woman to dinner I expect her to look at my Cardiac Fantasies. That's the price she has to pay.


See previous for Web Site

Altered Movie Quote of the Day

They may take away our Cardiac Fantasies, but they'll never take our


24 November 2006

So What's Your Kink?

You scored as Bondage.

Your turn on is bondage... all out. You don't have a specific part of
kinky sex that turns you on more than any other... everything working
together turns you on. And why shouldn't it? Sex isn't sex without all
the trimmings.

Bondage 92%
Biting 92%
Whips 83%
Chains/Handcuffs 75%
Blood 58%
Blind Folds 8%


Tagged by Palikai

17 November 2006

Just A Shout Out

Hello Victory, Melbourne, Australia!  This is your personal shout out from the States, Mate! Thanks for reading, I hope you are enjoying the Cardiac ER.

This is my personal thank you to you for stopping by!



Paranoid Empathy

     Paranoid Empathy, or Empathetic Paranoia, these two together make a very interesting mix in life.  I have been blessed (cursed) to be, developed into, been conditioned by my early childhood, or born as an extremely empathetic person.  I can read, and respond to, the emotions of others very, very well.  After talking to someone for only a few moments, I can generally tell what their overall mood and/or emotional state is at the time.  The blessing part of that is that I make a very good listener, I can respond to the persons real needs rather than what they are saying verbally, and am a more compassionate person because of it.  It also means that by its very nature, I am a very emotional person.  Here comes the curse, though.  I am a very emotional person. People don’t like being read too easily.  They are uncomfortable with it.  And they don’t get close on more than a completely friendship basis, because dating someone that can read you that easily must be truly scary.  So I got to be the geek in High School that was buddies with all the hot popular chicks (but not in public, that would ruin their rep), the one they told all the intimate desires about regarding OTHER people they wanted to date, but never once did I get a date in High School with a truly hot chick.  I got really tired of being everyone’s best buddies while they went out and fucked the shit out of a bunch of jock losers, then came to me to piss and moan and share their pain when the guys treated them like shit.

     Enter the Paranoia.  For whatever reasons, quirk of depressive state, too many drugs in one year in college, I ended up being somewhat paranoid.  Not that the world was out to get me conspiracy theory type of deal, but just that people were pissed off at me when they weren’t, ready to fire me, etc.  Couple this with the Beast, and the grip of the “I Don’t Give A Fuck About the Consequences” that often arrives with it, and now you’ve got a little problem.  Not too bad, though, so lets throw a little heavy empathy in the mix.  Now I know for SURE that someone’s pissed off because of the empathy, I think they’re pissed off at ME because of the paranoia, and if it’s a bad day, I don’t give a flying fuck at a rolling donut about it, and am just as likely to say something that WILL piss them off if they weren’t already.  Woo Hoo.  How’s that for a freaking rollercoaster, folks?  Did ya LIKE that ride?  NOT.

     People don’t like going out with someone that asks them what’s wrong every single time something is wrong.  Even if its not wrong, and they’re just a little off for the day, they don’t like someone picking up on that all of the time.  The gift turns to stone.  The Midas Touch.  I’m the understanding, sensitive, slightly emotional boyfriend that most girls think they want to have around, and when they finally get it – hell no, that wasn’t what I thought I was getting.  Whatever.  I think Empathetic Paranoid works the best.  Anyone else have a better LABEL?



15 November 2006

Deal or No Deal

     I’ve been blessed with both yin and yang, good and bad, in the past few days.  I’ve had an umbilical to the well font of philosophy and personal insight plugged into my head for over a week now.  Every conversation, every observation, I’ve been coming up with the most startling, dramatic, accurate and TRUE insights into life, relationships, personal dynamics, and happiness, just as long as it had nothing to do with me.  It’s f-ing insane, and it has never happened to me to this extent or even close before.  I feel like my body and mind are in tune with the cosmos, and that I can see interconnections, know how everything is tied together, and be able to communicate that to others in a meaningful way.  That’s the Yin.

    Wham! Slam!  The Yang.  The Beast is alive, well, and prowling through the recesses and dark, dank alcoves of my mind.  Let the wrestling match begin.  I’ve got to fight every moment of the day to concentrate on work, and avoid doing or saying something so totally unacceptable that I lose this job.  Fighting so hard with the Beast yanks an absolutely “I don’t give a fuck about the consequences of ANYTHING” blanket out and wraps it around me, stifling, hot, sweaty, choking, oh my god I can’t breathe, wait don’t say it, don’t say it, keep it inside, keep it inside…..  I hate the Beast, but it opens channels and brings awareness of things on a higher level.  I absolutely write my best when I’m in a stranglehold with the Beast.  It seems that whatever curtain that my everyday brain throws up in order to hide these insights, hide the truth, survive…  well, it seems that the struggle with the Beast diverts the defense mechanisms in my brain, and it can’t keep the protective curtain up.  The fight is on.  Each time, the universe practices yin and yang, balancing the good with the bad.  Great insight into the cosmos balanced with a tightrope walk on a razor blade over the black pit of depressions, loss of spirit, apathy, numbness. 

     It’s a bundled package prize, and you don’t get the prize without paying the piper.  You can’t have the good without suffering the bad.  So I have to ask you right now, my audience. . .


Deal or No Deal?




14 November 2006

Melrose Place

     It’s getting really Melrose Place around the blog world lately.  You can see smaller groups of bloggers forming and reforming these tight knit little groups.  Then there will be one that’s in two or more groups, and people start group hopping to the new blog groups, and suddenly its mass chaos, and the next thing you know you might as well be popping your cousin, because that’s how tight and sometimes bizarre that it gets around here. 

     You can always tell who your true blogger  buddies are, because even through this whole Novel in a month and post a day November thing, with Relatives running amok, the Holidays coming, Black Friday shopping day on the day after Thanksgiving to plan and strategize over, your buddies and lovers, as Fringes so aptly put it, are the ones still stopping by your blog every single day come hell or high water, and when you do post, they’ll always drop a comment even if it’s “Yo, hip post, Dooood!” 

     I think, if I had my druthers, that I’d like to meet some of my buddies and lovers in real life, just to see how well it translates, or how much of their true selves is actually coming out in their writing and how much, when it comes down to it, is just well written fiction and acting.

     I guess, if you’re trying to truly portray the real you, and write about yourself, that most bloggers believe that their whole personality is coming out straight.  But its truly hard to see the distillation of your true essence that actually occurs when you write about yourself in the first person.  It’s like hearing yourself on tape.  Our voices sound different to us on tape because the actual vibrations of our voice are affecting how we hear ourselves.  Listening on a tape, you hear the same voice that everyone around you has always heard, appalling as it might sound to you at the time.  Blogging about yourself is much the same.  Everything that comes from your soul to the computer screen is distilled, changed, and screened to some extent by all of your innermost feelings on the subject matter in question.  You think its you, but its an image of you that you are subtly trying to project.  Others perceive you through your words differently as well.  Your inbound information for them is altered in transit by their own internal beliefs, prejudices, and prejudgments.  In reality, the information you record in your blog is altered twice before it ever makes it into the reader’s brain.  When you meet that person, in person, there’s clues, body language, facial expression, etc. that lends more accurate meaning to the info that they gather about you while you talk, react, and function.  It still goes through their internal filter, but the info is more accurate.  So why doesn’t the info sound different, like the voice, when I go back and read it later, similar to the sound of the voice thing?  It can sound different.  But every word you read invokes at least a portion of the emotions, thoughts, and feelings that you were having as you wrote, so it “sounds” mostly the same.  But if your feelings were intense, or your mood has swung, those same words can sound much different than when you first wrote them, because the information is coming through different “screens”.  You can look at that entry and go “Why in the holy hoo hoo did I write THAT last night?” 

    So at this point, I’m totally weirded out as to how I got on to this whole subject anyway.  >>Banging head against door<< >>Nice resounding BANG to that<<  I mean, we’re talking in one sentence about Melrose Place, the next about internal filters.  My apologies for rambling, I think.  Dunno.  Perhaps someone got some insight out of that.  Perhaps not.

    So back to Melrose, and our tight knit blog groups.  They always had that thing in Melrose, and 90210, One Tree Hill, you name it.  It was like Clique Sex.  No matter how many years the whole drama goes on, it seems like everyone in the group just ends up switching partners within the group, and like the Soaps, the character that tried to stab you in the back a month ago is now your bride to be.  We’re starting to get Melrose Place here.  So, on the count of three, EVERYONE SWITCH PARTNERS!





10 November 2006

Who the Hell are YOU?

So here is the Jung Personality Test. Included is the link. Fellow bloggers, consider yourself tagged. We want to know who YOU are. If you post it on your blog, please place a linkback in my comments so others may view it.
According to this I am introverted and intellectually curious. And curiosity killed the @#$%^ cat.

INFJ - "Author". Strong drive and enjoyment to help others. Complex personality. 1.5% of total population.
Free Jung Personality Test (similar to Myers-Briggs/MBTI)

09 November 2006

Ha Ha I'm Dying

I just found this evening that my email postings from two days ago just got published after 5pm today. Isn't that just special. But it does count as a post now, right? Ha ha, I'm just dying laughing at the whole thing at this point. For a change of pace, all my packing for the weekend is already done so I get to play awhile.
I'm rather troubled at the thought of posting anything at this point. Moments of self doubt, I suppose. I never truly meant for this thing to become a side show as my readers watch my sanity desolve. Early onset Alheimers, or something. I wanted to be a little amusing. I wanted to be a little funny. I wanted my readers (there's 7 of them now, I'm ahead of BD) to look forward to reading this thing as something light and airy, with some infinite variety, to let them get away from things for a moment, and just take a step back and relax. Instead, I feel like this thing has become a journey into the darkness. A winding trail into the mind of a minor maniac. Its starting to feel like I walking through a dark hallway, only the walls are covered with razor blades, and the thing isn't straight, and I keep bumping into things in the dark, and every time I do I feel more and more of my life essence bleeding straight out of my soul. Its the kind of soul searching experience that maybe wasn't made for spectators. God, but I didn't really want it to turn into something like this. I find myself screening, every time I go to make an entry, because I'm paranoid as hell that someone will take something I'm talking about too seriously, and the next thing I know I'll be answering the door to the Suicide watch team or the Perverts Anonymous Branch of the Jehovah's Witnesses. So what if I feel like sacrificing a goat, now and then? I feel like if I tell a story about a serial killer, I'll be in the local station in hours, and with my luck the story I told will match in details to the latest serial killer they are trying to apprehend. That's just the way things turn out with me, far too often. So now I sit back, questioning my sanity, and wonder if I have already taken this blog too far into the shadows, with no hope of pulling it out again. I think at the point that I truly believe that has happened, I may decide that its time to quit, however short lived the thing might have been. I could use some feedback, folks. Probably, no especially, from those that don't normally comment. I could just use some direction from someone outside. Because, ha ha, I'm dying here.


Picture Source -


In the Mood

Today is one of those days that make you want to curl up with someone, anyone, under a blanket, watch some TV, make a little love, but basically be in physical contact with someone the entire day, and know that you are loved.  Its one of those days when you curl up together and munch on popcorn and ice cream until you’re bloated, and never do anything more than snack throughout the day, because you’re never going to ruin the moment by getting up for longer than 30 seconds to do anything, much less cook something to eat.  Today is one of those days where the kids, if you had them, would be camping out at the grandparents, allowing you some much needed privacy and quiet time.  It’s a day where you can both read your latest novels, feet touching, and no one feels the need for conversation while it’s happening.  Today is a day to reinforce your relationships simply by spending quiet time alone with each other, sealing off the outside world for 24 hours.  Yes, today is truly that kind of day for me.  Problem is, I’m at work.




PS:  Anyone up for some quiet time?

08 November 2006

Not Happy Right Now

This email posting capability on Blogger.com has been really helpful to me.  But it went HAYWIRE yesterday.  I had an entire post that never made it in after three tries.  So now I don’t have a record of it in the email, either, because I deleted it prior to leaving work.  And I couldn’t reproduce it if I tried.  It was one of those “in the moment” type deals.  So you’ll have to wait until the inspiration hits me again.  Sorry folks.



07 November 2006

A Matter of Perspective

It’s tough to write about my problems and issues.  While they are important to me, my friends and fellow bloggers are striving through problems and troubles that would try a saint.  I would feel like a complete whiner in sharing some of my issues, which look so pitiful and insignificant by comparison.  A lot the bloggers I “Hang Out” with, are so much stronger than me.  I would probably be crushed under some of the burdens that they carry, one key example being Fringes at www . sarcasticfringe . com / fringehead /   She’s been blessed with wonderful children, but gone through so much in her life, and yet she can still pull a smile out on demand. 

Nor am I in the type of Sarcastic/Humorous mood to write something witty today.  For all intents and purposed, I’ve been nodding off on my computer desk at work all day today, and not getting nearly as much done as I wanted to, because I am just truly exhausted.  Last day off from work (that means hours I spend and get paid for, no matter how much fun I have) was 24 September.  I can’t even think straight.  But I’ll tell you about something that happened this weekend.

I was at work at the festival.  I was doing a little whip routine, cracking it back and forth, when I look out across the thoroughfare and find a beautiful brunette watching me as she browses the shops.  I do a massively exaggerated shrug, spread the whip out, and give her an inviting look.  She calls out,”What, did you catch that look in my eye?”

          “Of Course, milady!  I’d know that look anywhere.”  She laughs out loud and keeps walking, shaking her head slightly in amusement.

          “Don’t run away, milady!  I’ll just catch you on the other side, I PROMISE!”

Our shop is in a fantastic location.  It has doors at both ends.  People that don’t know this will pass by one end, visit the pirate ship, carry on their merry little way, and end up passing the door on the other end of the shop.  So typically, I can usually walk back through the shop quickly and indeed, be waiting in the door on the other side.  It’s nice because it gives me a second chance to pull a customer in on occasion.  So she comes in, takes a look at things, I show here a couple of specific things in the shop, and let her use one on me.  She’s standing close, showing interest, I don’t know how to act, I feel like a flaming idiot about now, and she says goodbye and walks away without me ever having complimented her on her absolutely beautiful eyes that I just collapsed into, and a 14 year old teen from this generation could have handled it a lot better but now its too late, and the chance is gone, and hellfire, I get so tired of getting tongue tied in these situations.

          She walks into the shop later that afternoon.  I tell her its my turn, and demonstrate the item on her this time.  I couldn’t give a flying cow patty about the sale right now, because those eyes are back, and she’s only using the thing as an excuse to stay and talk to me.  On a conscious level I understand this, am pleased and a bit shocked, as happens every time someone of age actually acts interested in me.  I spent too much time in high school as a geek and a laughing stock and a little bucktoothed midget to ever stop feeling a sense of awe when someone is actually attracted to me.  So I see the signs, and I know how I should respond, and I just fall back into those eyes, muddle through it, and manage to say the wrong thing and she’s off again, this time permanently.  I am as unprepared for these kind of situations as I can possibly be at this age.  It’s like being a 60 year old virgin.  There’s just some things you should have learned, practiced, and perfected a long time ago.  But I never had the opportunity to practice and perfect it with anything but a mirror.  I’m lost when it happens, and unless the woman has much patience, I’m generally history in moments.  If I could get past the opening act thing, I’m empathetic and understanding, and if they have a chance to get to know me they always see that good and loving side.  Not too many women have that patience.  Not too many women will make the first move.  And last but not least, not too many women find me that attractive.  Combine those three low percentages, and it leaves little to no percentage chance of getting to know my true colors, much less practicing opening lines. 

          So I normally avoid the situations.  I’ll flirt a lot on a completely shallow level, but never allow myself to get any closer to that Most Embarrassing Moment, thing.  That’s how it goes,  that’s why I’m certifiable, and that’s why you’re reading this, to hear someone else’s problems make yours seem like much less of a burden.  Dream True.




06 November 2006


So, in my attempt to get some variety in this blog, here’s something from Author Unknown.  I welcome your thoughts and experiences.



The Price of Children

This is just too good not to pass on to all. Something absolutely positive for a change.

I have repeatedly seen the breakdown of the cost of raising a child, but this is the first time I have seen the rewards listed this way. It's nice.

The government recently calculated the cost of raising a child from birth to 18 and came up with $160,140 for a middle income family.

Talk about sticker shock!  That doesn't even touch college tuition.

But $160,140 isn't so bad if you break it down. It translates into:

* $8,896.66 a year,

* $741.38 a month, or
* $171.08 a week.
* That's a mere $24.24 a day!
* Just over a dollar an hour.

Still, you might think the best financial advice is don't have children if you want to be "rich"  

Actually, it is just the opposite.

What do you get for your $160,140?

* Naming rights. First, middle, and last!
* Glimpses of God every day.
* Giggles under the covers every night.
* More love than your heart can hold.
* Butterfly kisses and Velcro hugs.
* Endless wonder over rocks, ants, clouds, and warm cookies.
* A hand to hold, usually covered with jelly or chocolate.
* A partner for blowing bubbles, flying kites
* Someone to laugh yourself silly with, no matter what the boss said or how your stocks performed that day.

For $160,140, you never have to grow up.


You get to:
* finger-paint,
* carve pumpkins,
* play hide-and-seek,
* catch lightning bugs, and
* never stop believing in Santa Claus.

You have an excuse to:
* keep reading the Adventures of Piglet and Pooh,
* watching =Saturday morning cartoons,
* going to Disney movies, and * wishing on stars.
* You get to frame rainbows, hearts, and flowers under refrigerator magnets and collect spray painted noodle wreaths for Christmas, hand prints set in clay     or Mother's Day, and cards with backward letters for Father's Day.

For $160,140, there is no greater bang for your buck.


You get to be a hero just for:
* retrieving a Frisbee off the garage roof,
* taking the training wheels off a bike,
* removing a splinter,
* filling a wading pool,
* coaxing a wad of gum out of bangs, and coaching a baseball team that never wins but always gets treated to ice cream regardless.

You get a front row seat to history to witness the:
* first step,
* first word,
* first bra,
* first date, and
* first time behind the wheel.

You get to be immortal.

You get another branch added to your family tree, and if you're lucky, a long list of limbs in your obituary called grandchildren and great grandchildren.

You get an education in psychology, nursing, criminal justice, communications, and human sexuality that no college can match.

In the eyes of a child, you rank right up there under God.

You have all the power to heal a boo-boo, scare away the monsters under the bed, patch a broken heart, police a slumber party, ground them forever, and love them without limits, So . . one day they will like you, love without counting the cost.

That is quite a deal for the price!

What a gift from God!

Love & enjoy your children & grandchildren!!!!!!!


03 November 2006

Meet the Beast


          Good day, fair readers.  Allow me to extend my humblest apologies.  I have already had to drop out of NaBloPoMo.  I certainly should have known better than to think I could pull it off while working two jobs and with the relatives coming for Thanksgiving.  Be of Good Cheer, however.  Your lowly servant will still be maintaining as close to an entry a day as possible.  So, without further adieu, I have something I would like to introduce you to………..

          There are many of you out there in the real world that absolutely detest it when someone claims to have depression.  You probably don’t believe in medication at all, and prefer not to use it, even an aspirin, when you can possibly avoid it.  You wake up in the morning full of energy most of the time, make it through your day without an issue, you’re happy when you should be and you’re sad when its appropriate, and you’re probably not very demonstrative of your feelings.  You’re probably very strong inside, as a person, but part of that is fear, because you can’t stand seeing anything you deem to be weakness in others, lest it be contagious.  Let’s see, what else…….  ah, yes………  you are also utterly arrogant and misinformed fools running around in blinders.  HAVE I GOT YOUR ATTENTION NOW?  Can you pull your blinders off long enough to look at it from another perspective, or are you too much of a self-centered egotist to even see that there is another side to everything, and that it doesn’t necessarily not exist just because it doesn’t fit your current rosy little world view.

          Oh, you’ve all seen the commercials.  People lying on the bed, or sitting with chin in hand and staring off at the horizon.  Everybody moping, everybody sad.  Oh, for the love of Mike, even the damn dog in that commercial looks like it just lost its last friend.  It’s a commercial, people.  It makes you nauseous because that commercial makes it look like a bunch of hopeless losers sitting around at a pity party.  Cue the truth.  The video is secondary.  Visual stimuli that triggers in some of us a recognition as they list off, verbally, the symptoms.  That damn commercial isn’t SUPPOSED to do anything if you’re perfectly healthy.  But it sets off all sorts of alarm bells with those of us that have been there, or those who are there and don’t yet recognize the fact.  You holier than thou pukes don’t know what its like to wake up in the morning, and simply find that you can’t care enough about anything to get out of bed.  You have no clue what its like when wonderful things are happening in your life, but you find yourself to apathetic and lifeless to even enjoy them.  You’ve never bounced out of bed on a Saturday, ready for the day, only to crawl back in less than an hour later, because you lack energy, you’re lifeless, and you can’t get your damn eyes to open.  Spare me your crap.  You’ve never walked into work and nearly lost a sweet job because you so didn’t give a shit that you were just going to do whatever without a single thought for the consequences.  Here’s another newsflash for you.  Chemical Depression is a physical health issue, just like your high cholesterol, or a malfunctioning thyroid gland, or a failing kidney.  It can be cured or kept in check by medication.  Call me when you get cancer, so I can look down at you from my lofty vain perch, and scoff at your “weakness”.  People like you don’t learn anything from someone sitting back quietly explaining some reality to you.  The only way you are ever going to get it is just like this, cracked upside your f-ing rock head. 


You’ve just seen the tip of the iceberg.  Hi, how are ya!  Meet the BEAST.







01 November 2006

Post 1 - NaBloPoMo

I had to be actually braindead to enter this NaBloPoMo thing.  I failed to remember that for the next three Saturdays, that I have no access whatsoever to a computer.  So, in order to complete it, I have to cheat a little.  If you are the judge, and you are reading this, you’ll have to disqualify me now.  Because on Friday, albeit at two separate sittings, I’m going to have to post Saturday on an Outlook send delay.  There is just no way around it.  So I’m out before I even post.  But I am going to do it anyway, to see if I actually can. Let the POSTING begin!!!!!!!

Character Study – Davie

          Davie is a salesman, and a Viet Nam Vet, and a Leather Worker, and the closest thing to a real comic that I know.  Davie and his wife Nell pretty much adopted me from the moment we met.  It was just that sort of click thing that you’re never expecting, but you are always wishing for when you meet new people.  Now me, I don’t quite know what it is or was about me that posted “I NEED ADOPTION” in neon lights overhead for them to see.  Do they read me that well?  Or am I just that transparent to the world.  Davie is a Shade from the Shadow World, too.  Only he makes a lot of the gear for it.  He’s the one with the handbraided flogs.  Oh yeah.  But what gets me about Davie, is his “Talking to the Father” routine.  Oh yes, you’ve seen it before in a couple of movies, a comedy spot here and there.  But he has it nailed down.  You’ll be sitting down in a group of people, talking about something or other, and ask him a question.  He’ll suddenly out of nowhere sort of crick his neck to the side, glancing upward at the sky, and start having a one way conversation with God.  It goes something like this….


Member of Group: Say Davie, why don’t you tell us the story about the girl that groped you under your kilt today.

Davie: No, that’s all right.  We don’t need to get into that.  Nell will be all over me over nothing if I do.

Davie Cricks his neck, listening.

Davie:  But I don’t want to tell the story, Father.

More Listening.

Davie:  You say you want me to tell the story whether I want to or not.

More listening.  The crowd is already busting out.  You have to understand, he does all of this in a bastardized mixture of Scottish and Irish accents.

Davie:  You say you’ll do WHAT if I don’t tell the story?

Short pause.

Davie:  Well alright, Father.  If yer have to be THAT way about it?  Why you gotta bring the Holy Spirit thing into it every time, eh?

He proceeds to tell the story.  Having already gotten the crowd busting, the story brings gales of laughter from everyone, whether its funny or not.  Given his little curled up goatee, and seeing him do all of this in traditional Scottish attire, makes the whole thing that much more delicious.  So that’s Davie.  Maybe you know him.  Maybe you know someone like him.  Or maybe you’d just like to be able to work a crowd like that.  At any rate, keep a look out for him, and for the Father’s sake, if you don’t want to star in one of his routines, keep your hand out from under that darn kilt.