"did i make an error in time?"

"hey hey woah woah, i don't think you're a whore so that's gotta count for something."
he was chewing on the edge of my pillow. a very small swatch of people in my life would be allowed to touch let alone transmit spit onto one of my pillows.
"you not thinking i'm a whore isn't a whole lot of comfort you know?"
"yeah, i guess it's kinda like asking someone on the whore stroll if they're a lady."
he went back to teething on the pillow and looking a head. i was only marginally invested in the conversation due to an extended winning streak in Super Monkey Ball.
"i have friends who are MUCH bigger sluts!"
"mmhmm... oh yes, sluts everywhere andFUCK! FUCK FUCK FUCK!"
he clenched into a ball to avoid the controller being flung out of my hands.
"you have all of my attention now. you are not a slut, you don't deserve to be called a slut and you shouldn't dwell on thinking you're one."
"i slept with James."
"OH YOU STUPID WHORE!"
he released the pillow and deftly loped over the arm of the couch before i could grab him. reaching for my pipe case he skittered to the corner trying to look for the fastest way out. if he went for the door i would lock him out and he was in track pants so NO way he'd be seen in public like that. to the hallway certainly meant me sprinting after him like a rhino, gathering speed as my heft propelled me forward. and then there was the balcony. one look and his eyes snapped back to mine.
"23 stories up, what now son?!"
"It... it just happened! I didn't mean for it to happen!"
"You didn't MEAN for your cock to fall out and into an assshole?! Fuck YOU!" the case whirred out of my hand and smashed satisfyingly right above his head.
"You didn't MEAN to slap the nuts to that piece of shit after I spent 2 hours telling you what a soul-sucking harpy he is?! FUCK!"
he was terrified. i don't go off often but when i do there was no escape. it was ugly and so wrought with tension you could taste it in your mouth. the bukkake of rage if you will.
"nathan! calm down!! why are you doing this?"
"I? ME?! I'm the one who...you..." my lips caved into an implosion of twisted expressions and i realized the fuse was running out and i would lapse into my two options: crying so hard that i would hyperventilate or attempt to connect his face to my fist. and everyone LOVES options don't they?
Brad was shaking. Like, real scared and real aware that there wasn't much negotiation room, just wait and see what my next move was.
Instead of butch anger, i felt my face go flush and the enveloping feeling of tears pushing out. i'm ugly at the best of times so tears weren't going to add anything to my appearance. after years of being beaten as a child for emotional displays i was a master at yanking it in to throw up a chin and exit a situation.
and exit i did. i heard brad trailing after me, timid, pausing as we turned the hall for fear that i would rear around and really attack. open the door. shut the door. turn the lock on the door and it's an easy run to the bed to slap my face down before i really lost it.
brad was trying to make contact with small knocks and "c'mon" every couple of seconds. i hate being a queeny diva like this. nothing like having a tantrum to really test how engorged my capillaries can get when i'm bawling like a fool.

what a drag

lame coffee and lack of stimulating conversation always drags me down. plus looking for an excuse to post to see if my tumblr thingie is working... and since i can never get links to post on this fucking blog [AND YEAH I KNOW THERE'S A LINK FOR LINKS BUT IT NEVER FUCKING WORKS]..

MEOW MEOW MEOW



http://lokismoke.tumblr.com/

lokismoke.tumblr.com/

tim tim: a study in ginger

tim tim the marmalade fat prince

1

really, i want to be helpful. so far all i had really accomplished for my poor roommate was taking him away from his deadline for 2 solid days and he'd probably have to throw up for hours to purge all the junk food fat he had taken on.
a break is a break and i was hopeful that even a self destructive respite had purpose. or maybe this is what a truly evil person would say?
brad was rooting around a gummy worm bag to try and see if there were any scraps to divine from the depths of it.
"i've never eaten this much in so little time before..." dismayed that there was nothing left he puffed out some air and laid back down on the floor to stretch out. i was waiting for him to remark, "how do you do this all the time?!" but he didn't. possibly too whacked out on sugar to insult me properly? or maybe he wasn't a hateful little shit like i assumed he was.
keeping him stoned on weed they give cancer patients licked in opium he hadn't strayed too far. I suppose that's a little scummy, but my soul rests easy knowing i was going to smoke it anyway, his choice to sit and hit it with me.
we had done little conversing. it was more me listening to him unleash all his anxiety. the twinky back stabbers. the novel that never would be complete. the errant idea that he would get back together with a guy he was with and it'd solve pretty much everything.
on and on and it didn't bother me. i had an irritating super power that did little good for humanity but still amazed me. my mutant ability was causing people to open up to me after only a few conversations. it was nothing coached, it just fell out of their mouths and into my lecherous ears. an ex described me as a natural cold reader who baited the eager with leading questions and slowly pulled the bow loose on their secret box. i mean, i heard myself saying this shit, but it was nothing active. it wasn't like i dug in there to pull out the dark shit, it just found a little hole to leak out of and i wound up breaking the whole damn open.
brad had been in the apartment for what? 2? 3 months? we had shared nothing than a few conversations about the rent and some few and far between times when i clattered in drunk and started yapping. all that time with no interest in making contact and only wanting it to be a room he could hide in. maybe that's it? it insulted my psychotic vanity that someone wouldn't want to get to know me and it's been pushing me up to this instance where he'd be tied to me indefinitely. you don't just open up with that sort of info and walk away clean. especially when your confessor hasn't said a fucking thing other than "how does that make you feel?" kind of prodding questions.
people come to after and turn sour. too much told and nary any interest in seeing the face who took it all in. that hurts, man. it hurts but i've gotten my head out of my ass about it and just kept rolling. 15 year old me would have sat in the bathroom for hours cutting myself in a hidden place. wailing softly and cursing the pain of getting into someones mind and being evicted when they woke up in the morning and had some buyers remorse. hurt hurt hurt and hell bent on never doing it again. but it always happened again. and again. and it got deeper. did i just attract more fucked up people? or did i get better at yanking out the scary shit? was this the one craft i could excel at instead of being a jackass of all trades? what a rip off. i can't believe being a psychopath is the one thing i get a fucking gold medal in!
but again it happened. and again i fell right into that warm pool of Bad Stories and paddled around. doughy white legs frog stroking around in that hidden shit. it felt good and where i was supposed to be.
brad looked up at the ceiling and sighed. i immediately assumed he was going to panic but he collected his thoughts and closed his eyes.
"i have no idea what you even do for a living... you know that? we've been in this apartment for days and not one word about you."
i think i just came. hot nutty load of egomania spurting out of my cock and making me black out from the throngs of awesome. oh yes oh yes oh FUCK. you have to tell him where you work now.
no you don't.
just give him The Family Reunion Stock Response!
"i'm an account manager. selling ad space and looking after clients who are long term customers. nothing fancy."
"you're in ad sales and you walk out the door every day in jeans, skate shoes and Mapplethorpe tshirts?"
"hey! i have a blazer at work i leave on the back of my chair. shit man, who says i need a fucking tie to make my quota!?"
he was smiling and chuckling quietly.
"bullshit. i call bullshit."
mouthing a thick cloud of smoke i sucked it back and then expelled it out under my command.
"you're so goddamned smart aren't you?" i passed the spliff down to him and he took it like a champ.
"yes, you're pretty smart. well I AM and account manager and I DO sell ad space. i just don't see clients face to face. i don't need to look like some twat prick to talk to customers on the phone."
passing it back he sat up to lean against the wall. his blond hair was greasy but i cursed how his layers always hung properly no matter the situation.
"ok well you got me on that one. still don't think you're telling me everything tho..."
give that boy the evil eye. adjust and sit up real nice. one leg crossing the other like an evil queen of the fucking universe.
"child, you don't need to know what daddy does for a living."
"now you have to tell me... is it illegal?"
"if it was illegal would i be living in this place?"
"fair... it has to be something for the governm..." he trailed off thinking about how i wouldn't pass a drug test in 20 years if i quit today.
"dead end. are you... are you...?" he looked away and tried to glean something from my room. i am an unstable clutter freak so it would take a team of ten to rip my room apart for any consistent clues.
"no hints." i shucked back in more smoke and felt awash in a toasty film. put too much opium in that one.
"i..i'm at a loss. nothing. two days and i have no clue about who this guy is."
"mmhmm, international man of mystery. listen, it pains me to see you pouting. let me show you." pushing off on my chair with a thin plume of smoke running behind me i slammed into my desk. shake a shake the mouse and hope there's nothing fucked up on my desktop.
pulling up a fresh browser window i tapped in where my paycheque comes from.
"porn? you work for a porno site?"
"don't cheapen it! it's the biggest site in canada that's canadian owned. you know QweerVu? we do that site. same with C0ck-a-Do-Me."
"no way! that's all the same site?"
he crawled on hands and knees over to the desk and removed the joint from my fingers.
"huh, that's impressive."
"not morally opposed?"
"god no... do you enjoy it? er well... i mean...."
"go on. ask it. everyone always does."
"do you ever get sick of it?"
"Not in the slightest. it's always fascinated me so i don't feel like i can ever get sick of it."
his eyes folded tighter in contemplation. "so do you actually sell ad space?"
"for sure! ad space is one of the things around the office i can be called on to do. i also work with recruiting and new hires."
"somehow i feel like those things mean something totally different in your industry..."
"ah that's why you're the smart one, skippy." he frowned. like i give a shit about offending a beta gay when i have seniority?
"i'm definitely a point person for bringing in agents with potential new talent. i'm further down the line after the casting couch tho. i just integrate the new talent and help them when they lose a contact lens on set or make sure they get to photo shoots. you know, the usual when you're wrangling whores."
"whores? that's a little harsh."
"you're right. i should really be respectful of clients and their best interests. sure they take money for sex acts. and sure they get a train ran on them by 30 guys at a time for a gang bang scene... but definitely harsh to call them whores."
"so what is this? legit disdain or acting butch to distance yourself from them?"
twinge. the boy was good. the boy might be another secret susser. i tread carefully and make note of his prowess.
"it's like training dogs for the blind. you have all these puppies running around in your life and you just can't get attached to all of them before you ship them out into the world to work."
"that has to be the most horrifying metaphor you've ever said to me."
"ha! grand ain't it?"
"i guess this business explains your seemingly endless and non-descript business trips then huh?"
"oh yeah, these whip handles stuffed up an ass shirts don't grow on trees."
"do.... you like it?"
"i'm good at it. i don't really feel as though i'm capable of liking anything really. they're people, i interact with those people and i get paid."
"you sure you're not autistic?"
"no no, i told you i'm a psychopath."
"psychopaths aren't so caring about helping people."
"ah yes, but a psycho would help just to deceive people into thinking he had a soul and was capable of caring."
"match point." he tried to make a grab for the smouldering end of the joint but i smacked his hand enough for it to sting.
"roll another one, i've made the commitment to seeing this to the end."
pouting after being put into his place he scratched his side absently and looked at the monitor.
"i've never met someone who's been in a porno."
"that you know of."
"oh no i can't see any of my friends doing that. a lot of them don't even like porn."
"or are they just giving in to the collective will and saying that so they don't look like perverts?"
"oh i don't know!" he stood up and tottered around for a moment. he looked like he had some Big Words to share but i'm sure his brain was careening around too much to focus.
the friends are still a sore point. in my mind i imagined scamming through his facebook to look at their faces. see if one of them set me off on a memory of them jerking off for some quick cash. maybe a couples tape that got leaked in a break up? how terrible that the only noble gesture i can come up with is this kind of sleuth work.

pesto on cream cheese on crackers

Adam and i were in the throngs of prepping a munchie platter. while i felt passionate about weed and the deep rooted place it had in my priority list, i did twinge a little at the stereotypes. almost as fast as the self-loathing came, it swept past my mind when the pesto came out.
normally sending adam alone to make a snack meant waiting around for 30 minutes before you realized adam was just standing in the kitchen eating everything and puffing on cigarettes he shipped in from spain.
too many times we had waited up in the attic for naught so we would need to draw straws to see who had to get up and sous chef with adam. tonight we were stuck with only 2 guests so i stepped up to the challenge to help. i didn't feel like it was too much of a fucking chore to get up and help. it was important to note that adam often padded around his house in skin sucking bike short boy panties and delightfully opaque worn out tshirts. follwing around a tower of brown eyes and thick dark hair was more of a reality check than an actual task. it keept me pushing myself to stop thinking about chicks and focus on the bottomline: i liked dick. a lot.
adam worked with my roommate at a high end restaurant and was forever calling me during smoke breaks crying and breaking through to the realization that tonight was the night that he was going to quit. the confidence built towards the end of the cigarette and he'd stride all john wayne like to the kitchen door to swing it open. oh goodness he never hung up. standing high at 6"2 i go with him sightless through the kitchen... past the chefs who chuck recyclables out in front of my roommate causing a screaming match there and later at home... past the faggy chef that i want to make out with that has a wife... past the steam and chopping and conversations that trail off. adam on the warpath was tangible and he parted the way without much effort. hand booming into the swinging doors to emerge into an expanse of black table cloths and lighting that always gave him migraines intermittenly. scanning scanning around for a supervisor i'm sure, but all i can hear is the floor bussing. a hum of conversations and the clatter of food being shovelled into mouths.
the phone always snaps shut before anything good happens.
i'm told it consistently ends with another server running an interception before he ever made it to quit. some charged at him to push him off his course and potentially create some down time to cool off. some met him with the same intensity and a waterglass packed with the expensive gin and ice water for an explosive sexy come down.
part of adams appeal was the tizzying spin around of calm to fury. i really believe it appealed to me like some sort of boy rodeo of seeing how fast i could diffuse a bomb. my record was considerably impressive, but never the type to be cocky, know that i can have an endless winning streak.
tonight tonight, ah tonight adam walked in and stripped down a little more on each floor. dress shirt and tie at the door. pants on the main floor along with glasses. [left on some sort of flat surface, never to be seen until he threatened to burn the house down if we didn't help find them] and finally socks peeled off and hucked to a corner when he creaked up the attic stairs.
"I FUCKING HATE MY FUCKING JOB! FUCK! I WILL QUIT! I WILL AND THEN WE'LL STARVE TO DEATH BECAUSE I'M THE ONLY ONE WHO MAKES MONEY!!" immediately his boyfriend lept up with a freshly sealed joint and i stood up making sure to brush up against him for the thrill of it.
into the maw of a manic mouth went the joint and i ensured it was properly lit up for consumption. adam relaxed and let himself be sat on the floor. session protocol dictated that it be passed, but this was clearly an emergency. we let him haul on it and wash into a semblance of calm. he curved back to lay on the pillows while dragging saul down into his shoulder nook. i grabbed the torch to toke while adam and saul soaked up the endorphins one in theory gets when they're held. they murmured back and fourth and it was my turn to get a wonderful wash of the ooo's.
who knows how long i tuned out for, but i came to with an adam face pushed into my neck asking for me to pass it over. half gone but still optimism-inspiring for even my dark soul.
saul sat up looking faintly preturbed at how little adam was wearing. in my mind, if i looked like that i'd probably be prancing around nude as much as was legally possible. that and i guess it's always different when your boyfriend's cock is perfectly shillouetted in underwear with guests over. whatever, we're a laid back bunch and at least i wasn't sucking him off so? that's pretty fucking awesome in the cicles of gays i run with.
adam passed the joint over to saul and effortlessly leaned his head down to the floor while grabbing his outstretched legs. i'd slip a disc trying to lick one of my man tits let alone something that indepth.
having cycled out of rage and into the calm before the next wave of tantrums, adam declared that food was in order. after working all night schlepping plates of food, both adam and my roommate could not stop hustling, even on their own time. it wasn't good enough to assure them that you'd go grab something, there was a clear need to supervise to ensure the mission critical task at hand was completed.

dandy warhols - the entire come down albuuuuuuuum

brad was on an informal suicide watch. i couldn't fathom him ever dicing himself up or the risk of having ligature marks for an open casket funeral... no, it was more a self-motivated desire to comit social suicide and crawl back to the pack of twinky douchebags that had sent him into exile.
i got him so stoned that he promptly passed out on the floor with 3/4 empty bag of salt and vinegar chips. he snoozed with my feet propped up on his chest and i resisted my burning desire to streak a toe over his lips. then frowned at how aroused that made me feel. it's annoying to be single for so long that fetish becomes the norm. spend enough time jerking yourself off thinking about all the sick shit you wish you were doing and it kinda weaves itself into your psyche.
thankfully he had turned his cell to vibrate but i watched the led slowly cycle from blue to purple... the tell tale sign of an upper echelon friend trying to reach out to him. no sense waking him up for that.
author by trade, he had managed to crank out two novels by the time he hit 25. fucking impressive to say the least, and admittedly a source of pouting from me. but subliminal only. er, well i supposed it comes out when i'm drunk every once in a while... and only when i'm drinking brown liquor.
so my darling roommate and accomplished writer was under the gun to finish his next great masterpiece by the end of June and he felt like that simply wasn't enough time.
he moved around the apartment like a thin vapour that flitted from kitchen to the bathroom to his bedroom. i mean, i'm a consumate only child so normally i would be in heaven with this sort of arrangement but the smothery healer in me couldn't stand the thought that someone was hurt and going through life without my advice.
sometimes i caught him out on the balcony, back to the cement barrier and slumped forward. eyes down and the petered out butts of joints with ashy-topped cans of diet coke around him. it was too much to stand sometimes. well, as much as i could actually care about a guy who i only met two months ago to lease a bedroom.
i came home from a long day at the office to hear something akin to suffocated tears in the bathroom. i'm all for people getting it out, but i had to shake out a monster shit and had paced up and down the hall for a definative eight minutes before i gave a knock.
"buddy?" [i'll never escape growing up lower middle class and the hierarchy of pet names]
water turned in the tub and i got the sensation that he hadn't realized i was home.
"y... yeah?"
"I gotta be a doucher and kick you out, man. i need to crunch some numbers in there."
the lift of water and his footsteps came towards the door.
opening it wide, a wallop of steam pushed out and i actually had to flip my hands around through the moist fog.
he attempted to walk proudly past me with a swollen face and savagely red eyes. i wanted to shit my brains out in a whalloping thud into a bowl. i didn't care if there was piss mellowing in it. [fucking hippy fag brad....] i want to push it out and wham i slam the door. ahhhhhrelieffffuuckiwonderwhatssooooohwrongwith. brad. ah.
clensed, i am renewed in my quest to make a bond with my roommate. maybe it was the 1/2 litre of wine i had after work. maybe it was the $40 bag of blow i did in the bathroom... but i was going to make contact and make this dude know someone cared. and sure it meant only a little since i wasn't a hot twinky telling him this, but damn it, my opinion mattered. to me. my opinion mattered to me and sharing it with others. my opinion mattered to me and inflicting it on others was my bag.

"the last song i will ever want to sing" - .moneen.

slinking into the apartment, my teeth gritted when i realized it was a full house. the tappity clicks of controllers were almost smothered by the commentary being delivered from Twit, Twat and Teeny. Twit was my ex, Twat was my tranny friend and Teeny was an old roommate who never seemed to have left. still didn't pay rent so I guess really, it was like he never departed.
it was some army-related game that I liked to watch when i was stoned and scream, "BOOSH!" every 15 minutes. What I liked more was being able to watch my tv and not be a hub for some LAN party every other day. Especially since it caused my current roommate to slink off to his room and sulk.
"Hey everyone... Did, ah, did ya just let yourself in... or?"
"Brad let us in it's cool."
On a short fuse already I felt myself get wound up seeing the remnants of my beer and the pork tenderloin leftovers I was going to have for dinner.
"How about this, has anyone actually SEEN Brad lately?"
Twat was mid toke and squeaked out a response with full lungs. "Ohforsurewhenheletus..." exhale "in."
i kicked off my boots and let them thwack against the wall. just, you know, sometimes you need to come home to an empty house. part of the appeal of living with Brad was this very fact. Or at least, this is what I promised him originally.
making my way down the hall I found his bedroom door shut and what could only be my Leonard Cohen record playing. couldn't really get mad at the kid for going into my room for it, i'd probably be wiping my dick all over the place if i was feeling that trapped. but, you know... that's just what i do when i'm stressed out.
Tap tap.. "Dude?"
There was some faint noises... sounded like a comforter being scrunched up and the whine of bedsprings as he got up.
"Hrm... yeah. yeah come in."
I walked into a veritable bat cave of drawn curtains and a stereo turned down low but just enough to make a blanket of sound to make the livingroom seem like a distant nightmare.
He was clearly half asleep and looked sour.
"Hey, yo, I'm sorry about the guys. You never have to let them in you know. I feel like a shit that you're hiding in here."
"Oh whatever... I just couldn't be bothered. needed to sleep anyway."
"still, it's a pain in the dick to have them all out there in your apartment."
He flopped back onto the bed and rubbed his eyes. All signs pointed to him being in his bedroom all day. the over-priced but oh-so-well fitted tshirt he had on rolled up a little and exposed that place on your side that's so delicious. i know it as The Place Where My Love Handles Blossom. He wasn't my cup of tea, but I do enjoy seeing any semblance of exposed skin on boys.
"Are you feeling ok?"
"Not really. I only have 3 more months to finish my book."
"Well shit, that's lots of time! And judging by your facial expression, I am incorrect."
Sigh.
He was like a puppy to me. Sometimes I just wanted to rush him to pick him up and swing him around. possibly with the addition of raspberries blown on his stomach. more likely with me screaming "YAY!" and feeling so happy. I don't really interact with younger folk so I don't think I'm really able to process having them around.
He was looking at me suspiciously as I meandered off into my own puppy-twinky correlation inner dialogue. There's no tactful way to sit a roommate down to discuss how you may look at them with something that resembles lust but it's more thinking they're cute, not rapey longings.
Again I realized I had completely spaced out.
"Look I'm sorry I'm a million different places right now. I just wanted to make sure you're ok and if you need the living room free..."
There was an eruption of screams from the livingroom.
"...living room free of the T's."
"I'm good... but I was going to ask you if I could have some of that pork tenderloin so I don't have to go out for dinner tonight."
tapping on the door frame I chewed on my lip for a minute thinking about my lovingly prepared pork being eaten by the wild dogs in my apartment.
"yeah about that. It's gone. And the beer. And I'm pretty sure Teeny had a piece of Fruit Loops stuck in his hair."
"That's just great. I can't even think about leaving the building right now. What about sending one of the T's out to pick something up?"
"IF they ever returned, and that's a huge if, it would be half eaten and entirely not what you asked for."
"Great friends of yours, huh?"
"Oh YEAH, go call up one of your fag posse buddies to bring something over why don't ya?"
Ooops. ok so that was uncalled for, especially since I was completely feeding into the yes camp for mocking my own friends.
"Sorry sorry... I'm a bit cunty right now."
He rolled over and mashed his face into the pillow.
Great. This is like slapping a golden lab puppy across the face. Completely uncalled for and devastating to see the reaction.
"Fuck! You're not crying are you?"
Silence. Tiny seismic shakes over his body.
"Brad... aw, I'm sorry." I boldly walked over and sat on the bed. "Let me go out and get something from Vesuvio's and bring it back for you. Would that be good?"
[muffled noise]
"Is that a yes or a no?"
cresting up from the pillow he leaned his neck back and said a croaky yes before slamming back down.
"Hey buddy, i didn't mean to be a dick..."
rolling over to face the wall he took in a breath. "It's FINE I should get over it."
"No one really gets over being jettisoned from a circle of friends so don't play like you're too good to be hurt over it."
OH GREAT. YOU HAD TO SAY "TOO GOOD" DIDN'T YOU?
ever so slightly his spine curled and bent him inwards. fantastic. let him receed into the fetal position.
"Wha... what about i get sammiches and those little chocolate truffle jizz bombs you like?"
"I haven't been tho the gym for a MONTH!"
"OH DORTHY, CAN IT!"
he rolled over quickly to look at me. i don't usually pop my top like that. well, i do internally and rehash it a million times in my mind, but not verbally. and with someone listening. and definitely not when that person is half crying because of something i said previously.
now he's scared. some old fag is sitting on the end of his bed and he can't escape and there's no one but three degenerate miscreants for the cavalry.
and now the old one burst.
slap my hands over my eyes and groan deep and long.
"I. Am. Sorry. I've rambled in here trying to make you feel better, i swear. instead i've carted you along my little fucked up parade of miserable thinking."
"It's... ok. I'm more impressed. you didn't even flip when Twit won sole custody of the dog."
"That's different. I poisoned all the squirrels in his back yard so it was even-steven."
the bastard actually cut the cable hook up because he spent more time watching the squirrels. and it wasn't *all* of them. Just a few that he had named. And to be FAIR, I donated a lot of money to a squirrel sanctuary that year. all in the past now.
Brad was very lost at this point. focus. focus. less unbalanced drifter, more helpful roommate.
"bad day. bad mindset. but a Vesuvio's dinner and maybe some reefer? ya? maybe daddy has a bath bomb to chuck at you to get some private relaxation in the bathroom?"
"that... that actually works." he schucked back some stuffiness and easily folded any sadness back into himself. poised and relaxed even tho he was a tiny blip in a room that looked like a miserable fortress.
i left to go get The Usual [prosciutto, 10 year old cheddar, artichoke hearts and rabidly hot peppers smothered with pesto mayo] and hollered at the T's like i was back at the hospital herding clients.
"GET THE FUCK ON OUT OF HE-YEAH! SAVE THE GAME GEDDIT GEDDDDDOUT! AH! LEAVE THE FUCKING M&M'S!"
If i was going for the whole zen outlook the parasites really weren't adding to the ambiance.

the strange secret of bruce wayne S02Ep37 - Batman the Animated Series

maraschino cherries are a late-in-life interest for me. no clue why i developed a taste for them. most likely stemming from understanding how they taste at the bottom of a manhattan.
squishing one in my teeth i went flush after a spurt of bourbon came out. it was deeply chilled and a tangible pop in my mouth. i spend an awful lot of time sexualizing food items, but hey, i make no excuses on being a hog.
what a wonderful treat... i even got a handsome glass that was forged 15+ years before i occurred. turning the glass i looked at nondescript swiss mountain scenes layered over harvest gold paint. it looked tacky and dreamy. probably didn't have any mates in the cupboard. most wonderful. who wants to look at the same glass on the coffee table?
lost i felt trapped between asking for another manhattan and knowing that i would be over the top hungover the next day. one more manhattan and i would have to think about leaving before i got a boner during a smoke break. one less manhattan and i would need to come up with an excuse to stay on the couch...aaaand probably would also end in a boner-related incident.
what is WRONG with me?

blargh

can someone help me decide on what i want to be when i grow up?

my current choices are:
* amicable but firm-handed pot dealer
* lottery winner [even tho i never play the lottery EVER]
and
* grip for porn production company

i'm at a loss for any other careers that are out there i'd actually be interested in doing. the list above involves potential jail time, lack of wherewithal to purchase a lottery ticket and finally, i don't think they ever need grips on porn sets... just fluffers and ew, pass.

but i'd watch... so... wait...i don't think i can get paid watching beej's.

back to the drawing board. zzzzz....