You may not know this about me, but I can be kind of a dick.
Keep that in mind if you decide to email me promises of wealth beyond my imagination, supplied by the overthrown Prince of a war-ravaged country or by Nigerian/Sudanese/Ugandan dissidents. You may not like how the conversation goes.
If anyone what “foufoff” means, please let me know.
Two years. Seven months. Fifteen days.
That’s how long it’s been since I’ve posted anything on what used to be my favorite place in the world. Life has a funny way of pulling your attention elsewhere, whether you like it or not.
What I didn’t know before I began writing was that life has always had its own plan for me. That plan is to be what I call “Keeper of the Pain.” Everyone’s pain. I have been destined to hold everyone together while they fall apart, my own wants and needs be damned. I tempted fate when I stepped away from that role to indulge in something for myself- my writing. I looked away for what felt like a moment and when I looked back, my life was in flames.
It has taken me two years, seven months and fifteen days to gain control of that fire, but it is far from extinguished. My role as Keeper of the Pain burns on.
The struggle I face is incorporating my own wants, needs and pain into the firestorm of problems that I deal with daily. This blog, I hope, will become a firestop- a small, controlled burn to keep the larger fires from raging out of control, consuming me once more.
I hope to light a fire of my own.
Most days I keep my boredom at bay by adding cartoon characters or celebrities I’ve never met to my phone’s contact list, or by pranking unsuspecting people who happen to incorrectly dial my cellphone number. Then there are days when the boredom is too much and I share my pain by sending random and nonsensical texts to the poor souls who happen to know me.
Featured here are the best responses to the inane chatter that escapes my head on a daily basis: (more…)
Long before I became a New Englander I was a native of the south, specifically southern Florida. And as anyone who’s either lived in or even just visited the south can attest, no one throws a party better than a southerner (back me up here, Dayton). Because in the south a party isn’t just a party- it’s a balls-out drunken feeding frenzy of Bacchanalian proportion. I blame the heat.
It should come as no surprise that the southern party of the year, Mardi Gras, is celebrated in the party Mecca better known as New Orleans, Louisiana. French for “Fat Tuesday,” Mardi Gras reflects the practice of the last night of eating richer, fatty foods before the ritual fasting of the Lenten season.
Fat Tuesday, my friends, just happens to be today. (more…)
For Valentine’s Day I thought it only appropriate to interview the most wanted man, uh…boy in the world. I’m talking about the one, the only….CUPID.
CUPID – Pleasure to be here. Despite this being my busy time of year, I can always find time for you H.E., you helped my blog become what it is today and for that my heart is ever at your service…..You know, if you wanted I could set you up with somebody? I still feel bad about your last relationship. In my defense though, you were the one who fucked that up. Cupid’s arrow is rarely wrong and sometimes you got to give a little to get a little if you know what I mean….
***** So tell the readers, what is the hardest part being the God of Desire?
CUPID – The hardest part? My cock. (more…)