i know. kitty pics. what else is new?

do you know where your children are?

i was a small time criminal in my youth. the stout middleman smiling as you passed the goods off and willing to fill in the awkward silence before a delivery with relevant chit chat. there is a swell of pride in my chest when i think about how easy it is for me to engage even the dodgiest of scamps in conversations. glad to say that it's served me well over the years and on into my more domesticated corporate incarnation.
"that's a resume builder," Steak always said. "it'll come in handy beyond talking a cop out of arresting you."

i still get the willies when i hear the metallic whir and click of handcuffs being secured. funnier still to watch me induce a panic attack in a back seat of a car if my legs are too cramped. i once hopped into a cab in the morning going to work and immediately started sweating. after the third pull on an already loosened collar the cabbie said i looked about three shades closer to death than when i got into the cab. this is a heavy-handed statement since i'm so bloody pale.
"I just don't know... i just feel sick all of a sudden you know?"
his voice crackled with smokers cough and chuckled. "you been in trouble before?"
Indignant scoff. "Well, HARDLY anything of note."
"this is an old cop car from an auction. the seats' welded back and yer choking on your own breath trying to get comfortable. and i ask you again, ya been in trouble with the law before?!"
my legs were already propped up on the back seat and stretched out. i patted my forehead with a kleenex and willed my red face into being tame.
"god bless the young offenders act that's all i gotta say."

if i was a timid criminal, my friend Maggie was a bold bitch. while i was jostling change in my pockets waiting for a trade off in a parking lot, she was driving her fathers lexus to toronto to do much more sinister dealings.
Sweetie Maggie-pie was immersed in rich girl fixins, but her rebellion laid in the company she kept. hard living blue collar types wafted around her circle of friends and we were never surprised when a new hard as fuck boyfriend clomped over to shake some faggot hands. even those guys were laughing by the time i was done with them. sure i drink tea with a pinkie raised, but i'm more than competent in the arena of butch boy talk.

the hardest motherfucker of them all was Huu... who won extra points from me having "Phuoc Huu" tattooed across his shoulders. Originally i thought it was pun on "fuck you" but it turns out it actually means something along the lines of "one who deserves to be lucky". who knew? regardless he talked even less than Maggie - if that was possible - but once he got rolling he never shut up.

they waltzed in one night after a trek down to visit some of his relatives in toronto and asked me to come bring some bags in. "great, it's a fucking dead body and i'll have to call my lawyer. i'm going to put his kids through university and grad school. ugh."

The bags were way too light though... i thought they were taking the piss out of me when Huu opened one up for me to take a peek. weed. garbage bags filled to the tits with weed.

"wow." i signed wow for Maggie to join in on my surprise.
"i know... my cousin [it was always a fucking cousin... how many can a man have?!] got me a good deal on this."
"So you drove in a Lexus from Toronto to here with 3 garbage bags full of weed. wow."
"it's great stuff too!"

I assumed that the sensation i was feeling was akin to a stroke. i could sit in a bathtub full of this stuff in one bag. [cue herb alpert music with me lolling around in this like a dog on a dead fish]

I signed "wow" again and shook my head. "Well let's move it in before the neighbors think that it's a body."

Huu guffawed loudly and smacked me on the back. "Body! give me a break. I wouldn't bring you a corpse. you don't even have a shovel here do you?"
"No. Definitely no shovel." Note to self: hide shovel in garage.

i turned out just fine. JUST FINE thank you very much. There's nothing to worry about, but you can get a laugh watching me fidget when a cop is walking past me. that's my gift to you.

pics because i feel so guilty about never writing

newest mix making the rounds

summer lessons... too bitchy to leave on facebook

What did i learn this summer?

That a dream job can devolve into a nightmare.

That friendly people at the office are more often than not trying to solicit information to gossip about. Thankfully i know who the honest people are if i want to speak freely.

That i'm not liked by everyone... this is tough for someone like me, but again, good lesson to work on.

Fashion-sense means more than good work to some people... and those people will be amazed when i wear a shirt and tie every day.

Failing upward is a career path for some... but hopefully that's not what i'm doing!

i actually caught myself thinking more than once a month about applying at the smut-shack again for a job.

i am now a full time smoker again... 'tis better to take a butt-break and chill out than to bite someone's head off.

people within the community have no shame in asking me when i will get laid off... "Do you ask this to ANYONE ELSE?" "Well no..." "Why??" "I... I guess because it's rude?" oy.

There's no replicating the old team i started out with last March... and it's time to let that go.

Being The Other Woman isn't as bad as I thought it'd be... but still nothing thrilling.

I am thankful for the good souls in my life who are available for sushi/coffee breaks/taco tuesday attendance/msn conversations.

i am sad that i have [multiple] relatives who have mocked my family for having a gay child. and this queer child has never said anything to be open, just had a short haircut and no boyfriend.

Realizing that my parents have nothing left to be disappointed in other than my sexual orientation... and that they would rather dwell on that than all my achievements.

Understanding that I'm never going back "home" again without being on the defense and tight-lipped.

For as much as I'm distant to family that remain, I am still so over-whelmed in emotions when i look around my grandmothers old farm house and barn -> see photo gallery

For the first time I've wanted to go to China. Like, really bad. And not tourist Chingy China, I want to go see some shit that will throw me on my head with culture shock.

By the end of 2009 I will need to go to Las Vegas to see the Liberace museum. I have come to the epiphany that it's my Graceland pilgrimage.

I like living where i am... i know this is tough to fathom. just try.

lack of sleep makes me loose my mind.

smoking the good stuff ensures i sleep... which is scary, but it's how it goes.

going sober for over a month didn't make me feel better, sleep better or save any money. i just dumped the cash into comic books and stayed up all night reading them.

i am in a negative mindspace but it'll sort itself out by end of year or else it's time to pull up stakes and make another major change.

i also realized that a strange assortment of people actually read these things...

don't be disturbed by the pessimistic slant, i'm always like this. I just don't let people in on it that often:P

back home...

no words. just pics.

note to self: try to blog more than once a month

wee kitteh photos! not my kitteh, but very photogenic.

must... start... writing... again...

i was at rest for a moment. taking the time to love myself up in sandalwood oil bathwash and ativan the edges had all been rounded off. one plump circle , sir, and how.

today was a troubling mess.. falling off the wagon trying to cut back on smoking hadn't gone to plan. over deficit by one cigarette when i had promised myself 3. it wasn't based on any health benefits, simply i was loathe to fork out the money for another pack for at least a couple more days.

my secondary strike against good intentions flared up on the bus ride home from work. the normal late bus was stacked to the tits with chattering voices. eerily they all had identical knapsacks... stranger still was the high incident ratio of attractively dangerous jailbait tidbits.

i sifted through legs half out in the aisle and wedged between two blue bags poking at cell phones. hoisting up my own conspicuously mis-coloured bag i hugged it close and said a silent prayer. "they can't be terribly legal... think about something unsexy like smashing your cock with a hammer..." oh that's horrible. good. that'll do. now to adjust the ipod...

Skinny fingers pawed at my antique of an ipod. i turned to my bench mate who was wound up and pointing at the display screen. warm fingers cranked out a headphone and said a hearty hey hey and "i love-ah to my boy!"

horrified i thought about licking his fingers. wait. no. jail. jail. and really fucking creepy... let's not forget that shall we?

"oh.. heh, yeah they're great." i swallowed and ground my bag closer to my abdomen. it was very wrong but wholly lecherous to argue with myself for another 10 minutes until i pulled the stop cord and hopped off early.

i think i'm too anxious these days to even appreciate nibbling on a twinky, even if it's only to talk about music.

before my shower i looked up the college written on everyones matching knapsacks. some of them would have been over 18... so i've got that at least.

fourfour mix

"you're awfully quiet tonight..."
Madeline signed the word, "sorry"
"no no, don't be sorry... just, ya know?" I sloppily signed "dad worries"
she swiveled her butt on the couch to prop up her legs on my lap and bob her shoes up and down in unison.

supposedly this was my fault for giving her a non-sexual foot massage a month ago. i was bored with my desk job and had started taking esthetician courses after work. shaving down dead skin and succinctly ripping out hang nails had been my own personal fetish so why not lavish it on other people? it also meant i had a reason to stock packs of razor blades in the house without criticism. there was no actual desire to file down rich sluts feet all day, i just liked working on friends feets.
ANYWAY.
I had spent the better part of 3 hours trying to get Madeline to take her shoes off before my final exam for my course to try and get some practice in to no avail. Her breathy voice whispered "no!" It sounded more like "nooah!"
"don't be a bitch, take your shoes off! i'm not going to suck your fucking toes!"
fingers pinching down on thumbs to make two little holes... thrust of the hands out to my face. No.
i jiggled around in my pocket to pull out my cigarette tin. a blunt materialized from within. delicious strawberry and champagne flavoured from the corner store. [side note: my "usual" was Ad Busters, a pack of menthol cigarettes that the owner would choose at random and a blunt wrap. the magazine was to read, the cigarettes were our little ritual where i said "suprise me]" and he did... and the blunt wrap, well, they always came in handy.]
little puff of air skimmed into her mouth as she inhaled the sickly sweet scent of the wrap.
"see this? You can have it if you let me work on your feet."
her eyes honed in on the blunt.
pulling it up to my face so she'd have to watch my lips i wiggled it around a bit. "It's not a sexual thing! it's calming... If i get a boner you can kick my ass."
She let out an exasperated sigh. "Fine!" Motivation comes in all forms.

But I set myself up for a dangerous precedence. she knew i would sit with feet on my lap and work them over the minute they were thrust into my face. worse still she knew i'd look after them no matter what shape they were in.
clippers in hand i trimmed up the nails before the rhythm of the file started up. Madeline was contemplating the plumes of smoke lolling out of her lips and mindlessly hummed. it's hard to read lips that are bent over to study the arc of tiny nails so we skipped the chitty chatty. mindless indulgence to take her mind off things for a minute or so....