Fuck you for this lousy piece of candy. Parents are dumb and most children figure that out. Good for most kids. Some are unfortunate enough to have such tyrant parents that they remain screwed up for most of their life. Not goot. (typo, but I'm going to stick with it) Goot conjures a whole new scenario...for me. Baby I feel goot, like I know I shoot...so goot, so goot, I got you. Hey, the germans make a good chocolate cake, why wouldn't they be able to sing a brown song. Actually, Happy Halloween. You're welcome. Now let's get back to parents. I had the pleasure this evening to deal with way too many of them. I was in charge of doling out the candy. We had a wide variety and tonight we had more than enough. Last year I gave everything away and it still wasn't enough. But we ended up getting a new kitchen sink the day afterward so the bride was happy. Almond color. Porcelain over cast iron. Regardless, I don't care if any kid says thank you. And when they don't, I don't dislike the kid as much as I dislike the parent who takes time to make an issue of it while other kids are standing in line waiting on their stinky little piece of candy. Earlier today I was at the supermarket buying a few back up bags of candy just in case. The speaking portion of my brain is never idle so the conversation with the cashier went something like this: I was here yesterday, but I almost ran out of candy last year so I want to make sure I have enough this year. And the cashier replies....we gave out 623 pieces of candy last year. End of conversation, but I wondered how she could keep track of such a number. Although, now that I think about it, she's probably the mother standing behind the child that came to our door tonight....saying something like...now what do you say. And me, I probably said you're welcome, more than I ever dreamed I could. And one time, I actually heard myself say...you're very welcome.  And here's a handful of candy corn for you my dear reader...Happy Halloween.

I know there's pain and some of my friends are feeling pain. I know that seasons come and go and every season has pain and joy. Neither is a constant. So it's easy for me to say that I like parts of every season. So right now, I sitting here with the part I don't like about this season it's about a friend being in pain. But one thing I have to say is this. Several times already today I've noticed things that have given me a glimpse of joy. A joy amidst thinking of my freind's sadness. Earlier today I was reading a little blurb in the newspaper about Patrick Swayze. He's back filming less than a year after being diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. In the little snippet he had this to say: "I do find myself at the end of the day riding home, sort of catching myself with a smile on my face."  Reading that, I smiled. And then later after getting an email from my friend telling me that something I wrote reminded her of a line from a Josh Groban song, I went to youtube to listen to the song. But while poking around for the Groban song, I stumbled upon a song with him and Sara McLachlan singing about angels. And that song made me smile because it was such a triumph of sorts. (and sara looks so damn sexy too)  And then I came across this little gold cross with the opal in the center and the light was hitting it just so that the opal caught my eye and I thought...what a beautiful little stone that is...and I smiled. So in a sense, this blog may have very little to do with a friend's pain, and how and when that pain will come to an end, but it is a signal to me, that within any event there are always tiny glimmers that occur that slowly draw us to a lighter world.

And then winter leaves etc. No season has a lock on change. And yet, there are those that would like for everything to go backward. Today this woman who sliced my cold cuts caught me in the seafood section as she was about to go on her break. She said to me, I can't stand this life anymore, everything has changed so much...and you know, Obama will win, and he won't last a year, because someone's going to get him. I could give you and hundred anecdotes on this election, and you could give me a hundred more and I'm glad at least that this election has electrified some folks. I'm inspired by this energy. It seems like this country is slowing beginning to rise from its ashes. The last time this country was alive was during the sixties. I'll never forget when I made my first vote. I was in vietnam and I made my decision to vote for Nixon, while sitting atop a bunker because I felt that he was going to end the war. This was in 1968 and Nixon ended before the war did. And not only was my belief shattered, but I was even more dismayed by the fact that we left without dignity. We scurried the fuck out of there leaving behind the blood of innocents. Leaving behind heavy metal chunks of mass destruction. Yeah, this fucking shit works, but it can't destroy spirit, so let's pull out. Fast forward to now. Holy fuck, don't you just feel like going berserk. I do, and yet I still hold out for hope. Right now, I have not a whole lot of hope...maybe like that lady at the supermarket, but I do feel a lot more alive...like I was back in the 60's. I still wear a peace sign and a string of colored beads around my neck....I don't know why, but it's the one symbol of hope that I haven't abandoned. And on Tuesday, I won't be voting for Nixon....not because he's not running, but because he and his merry band taught me a lesson monsoons ago. And yes, it's all fraught with lies, but I'm not listening to them, I'm listening to me....me little heartbeat.
                                              

Things may have changed, I used to live for the rush, but lately the rush comes upon me before I even feel like copping one. Yesterday while at the supermarket I noticed that they've put up a whole array of xmas stuff to catch our attention. Usually these displays didn't show up until after Thanksgiving. M&M's are now packaged in reds and greens while candies colored orange and yellow are drastically reduced to near pittance. Smart shoppers stockpile goodies for the next year's holiday. I see them doing so. Although, I'm hoping they don't tuck the candy away in their attic. I would rather they eat it instead and be repulsed by their indiscretion. For me, indiscretion is a learning tool. I haven't had a Peppermint Patty in more that 40 years because when I was a kid, I thought I could eat more than two. You would think that vomit laced with peppermint would be OK, but not so. Even vomit laced with peppermint schnapps is not all that great. When I got out of the military in 1969 I took on a part time job in the evening as a bartender in a local college bar. This may have been a rather dumb thing to do because I worked a full time job from 8-4, went to night school from 5-8 and tended bar from 9 to closing time three times a week. Back then, peppermint schnapps was in vogue. Way too many kids were doing shots of that crap. And they wanted more often than not for their bartender to partake in their slugfest. And so it was, that I would have a shot after shot with them. Until one morning after, that I decided this was no  longer going to be an option for me. It was on this morning that I woke up more than queasy and I looked at the clock and thought oh what the fuck, I have to be at work in another hour. And another thought rolled along and said you need something to quell this queasiness before you embark on your day. And then the sluggish body made its way to the medicine cabinet and there was Brioschi, my old friend. I'm not even sure if Brioschi exists these days, but for those of you who don't know, Brioschi is somewhat similar to alka seltzer, but it was ground up and ready to start fizzing immediately with just the faintest touch of water. And that morning, when I thought I needed that stuff to assist my ass to work, I plopped a hefty  scoop into a glass and poured in some great local tap water and slugged it down. And moments as this geyser stuff was coming up, I put my hand across my mouth and suddenly all this bubbly pepperminty shit started to come out of my nose.
And this story should have an end, but what's the rush?

                                  

There's definitely some cyber asshole god fucking with me tonight. This is my third attempt to put a paragraph down and every word I put down has been going poof. My train of thought has jumped the track and maybe it's because this cybergod didn't like where I was taking you. Possibly it was to teach me a lesson. I'm not sure and that might be a good thing. I was talking about this resurgence of energy a lot of folks got last night. It felt good to me, even though I didn't cry out of joy and I wanted to. I do have a feeling that there's a lot of rebirth going on. A regeneration. And that something special may occur if I keep working at it. And then I thought, what if this is my last rebirth...I better make it good. And if this is the case, death would be final and would I know that I'd be glad. And that's probably what it's all about...not knowing.

When I was a kid I often heard people (mostly adults) say,  "leave well enough alone." And a lot of times I did, and a lot of times I didn't. So really, I have no idea if it's good to leave well enough alone. However, I never understood what well enough entails. At times throughout my life I may have thrown in the towel too early, but never did it seem to make a huge difference. I seldom have regrets that last more than a few moments. But even those few moments are a private hell and I can only imagine what eternal damnation would be all about. Guilt is bad enough, but burning in hell on top of that is way too much anguish for me to imagine. I don't think a dozen virgins could make that thought better. Hell is probably a place where you can't gloss things over. No whiteout, no delete button, no drugs or alcohol to numb your thoughts, or twenty pound cheesecakes or gallons of ice cream or oral sex (hold on buddy...oral sex is not a sin) or smooshing ants and dousing wasps and bees with chemicals and setting traps for rats (which has no bearing on this topic) and no privacy whatsoever, where all the noise going on in the minds of others would be played out full blast for all to hear like too many televisions going on in the background. And no meditation too. Nothing at all to give you a little peace (piece)  of mind because you have sinned so much against a forgiving god that even the forgiving god can't forgive you. Kick and scream, kick and scream and writhe too. Writhe? Do people still do that...I can't remember writhing in a long time. Yes, but in this hell you will remember endlessly regardless of pain or joy. Bullshit. Yeah well, you'll find out soon enough. Well, can I go back to what I was doing before you interrupted. What were you doing. Trying not to die with all this shit going on in my head. Oh.
                              

At our house we refer to the remote control tv channel changer as a clicker. In our house there's always a tv going on. Right now I'm home alone and there's one going on here and one going on there. The one here stays on a lot less than the one that's going on there. I just got off my lazy ass and shut the one off over here. Besides, I always leave this computer on and I believe the one up there is always left on too. But the tv on over there in our bedroom (funny though, the bride always refers to it as her bedroom) is always left on ...probably to keep the dogs entertained while we're away. It seems that we love to waste energy around here. Our last monthly electric bill was $94.85. Which actually made me feel glad writing out the check because it was less than what it generally is when the air conditioner is blowing cool air on my aged bones when I  could care less about being cool and comfortable. I could almost say that it's my wife's fault, but these last several years, I've grown accustomed to walking into a cool home and feeling quite comfortable doing so. Oh what a relief it is. A relief to know that some like it hot, some like it cold and some like it in between. I like the reference to in between, but I still like it to be known that during the times of extreme temperatures I like lukewarm. But isn't lukewarm the same as in between. Yes, in many cultures it is. So, what's the point of this blog tonight? There really is none, but.....if you need a point here it is: after a while, moderation can become a discipline that becomes way too hot or way too cold. And the key to figuring all this shit out is generally dependent on finding the clicker (especially late  when you need your rest the most) to shut it off until tomorrow, And the tomorrow after that too. But where's the clicker. I thought I put it on your pillow. Nope, it's not there.....pat, pat , pat....and a little touch here and there and a grab of a little clicker that  if operated properly  would put the lights out for the night.

You called, why didn't you leave a message? I called because I wanted to talk to you, I didn't want to talk to a machine. I don't like ringing those little bells on countertops either. I mean, maybe the person that was supposed to be at the counter had to take a shit and out of respect I know that a good shit should be as peaceful as possible and I can't imagine sitting on the potty when I should be manning a counter and hearing ding ding ding ding ding and thinking on man, it's half way out and I know the boss will be pissed if he finds out that a customer walked out but I also know that if I don't get out there soon the customer will leave and goddamn maybe it's one of the boss' relatives and then I'll be really fucked but damnit I've got these cramps and I don't want to shit my pants at the counter and yet I better get out there fast because the customer seems very impatient ding ding ding ding and I won't have time now to wash my hands even though I'm an employee and the little sign says that I must wash my hands but I need this fucking job because I have four kids and an asshole husband who's not making support payments and a family that's disowned me to boot and lousy karma maybe I'm not sure I think I need a cigarette even though I quit smoking 23 days ago oh god where are you when I need you. So where were you this afternoon. I was out taking a walk with the dogs. Did you enjoy the walk? Yeah, it was nice...I was thinking about you and what it was that I was going to say if you had picked up the phone. So, what were you going to say. Nothing.

                                       

Are you sure you mean it? Yeah. But why me. Why not. Why anybody. But this is so extraordinary...so special...I don't think I deserve it. If you keep this shit up, I'll give it to someone else....someone who thinks they deserve it. It is beautiful...but I don't really deserve it. What the fuck are you talking about, it's only the morning, and it's not even mine to give you, but I'm giving it to you regardless. But why would you give me something that's not yours...isn't that like giving me stolen goods. Here (kiss). Wow, that just put a whole new perspective on the morning. Would you care to see what it feels like in the afternoon. Maybe. Well, why don't we forget about this afternoon and kiss again now. Not so fast buster, I have to think about it. What's there to think about. My reputation. But you didn't care about your reputation on max yasgur's farm...why should you care about it now. That was a long time ago and I'm not sure I feel the same way anymore. About the morning. No, about the kiss. What's wrong with the kiss. It's not laced with anything anymore. Do you think we should do a doobie. Nope. Do what. Do what you like. This is going nowhere. Yes, it's like we don't know each other anymore. What about lunch. No, I think I'll just enjoy the sun coming up. But what about later on. Not now.

                                          

This is way past my blog time. I just got home from a meeting. I love how tired I'm feeling. I love when rest settles in. Which brings me to a thought that was roaming around earlier. Should I succumb to a 6 o'clock news nap or should I shake it off an go for a second wind. I'm not very good at napping, but when I do nap I know that I must have needed one. Some people are good nappers. And the other day I was reading one of my friend's blog who was going through an insomnia phase in her life. I sat here and prayed her a good sleep. Not a whole lot of methods work for the restless though. I smile. I smile because I remember an assignment I gave to my class one Friday morning. It had nothing to do with the course I was teaching, but since I loved to assign a spontaneous 200 word week end assignment essay I figured what could be the harm with asking the students to tell me about the last thoughts they remember before falling asleep. Of course I did not consider the insomniacs. So, the next semester, when I was lacking spontaneity, I asked, in two hundred words or less, tell me about the thoughts that are going through your mind when you think you should be sleeping and ...you can't. And Monday came and I collected all the papers and then stacked 'em the best I could with varying sizes of sheets and coiffed them until they bunched up and felt good in my hands and I took them and tore them in halves and then quarters and I felt disappointed I didn't have enough strength to rip 'em into eighths, but nonetheless, I was glad I made my point to their dismay. A voice from the back of the room blurted out: you prick you...I stayed up all night to write that.  It's 9:40pm. Someone please call 911.

Askew too. Do you ever wonder why you look at the world the way you do. I do. The other day while walking the dogs in the park I came across this tree and everything seemed to be hitting it perfectly and I thought it would be so nice to snap a picture of this and capture the moment as I was feeling. Today while walking the dogs in the same park but at a different time and a different day I took a picture of the tree that awestruck me the other day. This was about eleven hours ago. Tonight I'm sitting here thinking, what was it that I thought I saw the other day. Now, this doesn't preclude you from already having a sense of awe from seeing the posted snapshot before you got to these words. I mean, even though I'm not having the same awe today that I experienced the other day, does it diminish the first awe I had. And the same goes for you...whatever feeling you were having. But what if the snapshot gave you no feeling whatsoever. Does the fact that these words are now pointing you in another direction make any difference. Do these words change the way you look at the snapshot. And if they somehow made you feel better about what you saw, would it make you wonder at all what it was that I saw originally that made me feel in awe. Or, if your explanation of what you saw in the snapshot, awe or not, would change my view of what I thought I saw. Or, would it just point out what you saw that I had missed and now we are completing the picture.

                                    

On a pock. A pock is such a harsh word. But I like it tonight, it seems to have character. At times it's a noticeable mark. Even glamorous. I like your pock. It was love at first sight. Right after I first laid eyes on that pock, I knew I wanted to spend the rest of my life with it. The rest didn't matter, it was all about the pock. Can I ask you very confidentially, what it is about my pock that made you fall in love with me. Well, if you remember correctly it was a fall evening and the harvest moon was out and the light was hitting you just so and my eyes caught your pock and it had this nice little shine to it and I thought, what a beautiful addition to a face. Of course, the rest of you is beautiful too, your eyes, your nose, your mouth, your ears, your teeth, your hair ...nothing really extraordinary, but everything proportionate, except for the pock that really is minute to the whole of you, but it's there, adding a dimension that brings everything else together that ultimately defines you as beautiful. Oh my gosh, I can't believe you're saying this to me...I'm going to have to cancel my doctor appointment. What's wrong honey. Well, this pock has been bothering me ever since I was a child and I scheduled an appointment with the plastic surgeon for next week to have the mark removed. You mean to tell me you would cancel the appointment just for me. Yes under one condition. What's that honey.  If you use my appointment to get that ugly heart shaped tattoo on your shoulder with your high school sweetheart Ruth's name etched in the middle of it laser-ed off.  Wow, I forgot I even had it....it's been there since 1968. Is it a deal. A deal.

Do you ever struggle with a title. Does a good title draw you into a story. Will it keep you going until the end. Earlier I wanted to title this blog as "uh oh...oh no."  And that was simply because I knew, that no matter where I was going to go with this blog tonight... it was going nowhere. For a few moments there were thoughts of not writing at all. So what, not should not be a constant. As is yes. I had a chat with buddha this afternoon on this very topic and he gave me some very sage advice. He said, no matter which way you go, there will be pain. There is no right way or wrong way ...there is only dukka. And I said, what the fukka are you talking about, and should I be concerned about my spelling of these sanskrit words. Ah, he said, concern can be a matter of tenderness and duhka at the same time. Ah, I think I understood that. A buddha snicker. You just reminded me of a ceramic statue I have my mantle. So, you caught a glimpse, Yeah, but the statue of you looks fatter than what you are now. I've been on the Atkins diet for the last couple of weeks and even though I have lost a lot of weight, I feel I could kill for a large piece of fresh baked bread or a nectarine. Speaking of nectarines...have you ever necked. Only with this bodhi tree I was sitting up against. Is that when you realized that life is suffering. Yes, it was then that I realized that the tree was doing nothing for my back. And your front. My front will be ok, once I get my belly back. (a chuckle,  but not a guffaw. ) Seriously, for tonight do me a favor......laugh like your goddess or god would laugh...and don't hold back. Go beyond a smirk. Ho ho ho. Trust.
                                

So often things aren't as they seem to be. To some, those pizza boxes look symmetrical, but to others they look a little off. Have you ever been in a airplane and marveled at how things look so orderly from way up where you're looking from. And then, once on the ground it's a whole different perspective. It'd be easier to get through a corn maze from up in the air then to enter it from ground level. But getting through a maze would probably be less fun if you knew in advance how to get through it. Unless of course you're the type of person that needs to know where they're going every step of the way. I like to know things in advance, but I like surprises too. I'm trying to think if I had any surprises at all today. If something happened, either good or bad, that was a tad out of the ordinary. Did today go as I generally anticipate a day to go. Holy shit, it was mostly nondescript ...except for a touch-back that just happened in the Wisconsin/Minnesota game. Damn, and earlier my team was up by fourteen points at halftime and now they're down. But, this is football and the ball does bounce funny in this game. Wow, what happened to you. What do you mean. Earlier, I thought you were the best stacked woman at the bar and now you look flat. Actually I was, but here catch. Oops, I fumbled. And what about you, will I have to be fumbling about too. I suppose it all depends what you're looking for. I'm not looking for a damn thing....surprise me. What was that. A surprise. Ooo, I think tonight is going to be fun. Yikes, what was that. Your surprise.

                                                       

I just read a post from one of my friends here on Zagaiadz about 50 things we don't know about Barry the president elect. At first I wanted to read this list and then I caught myself. Two things popped into my mind: shouldn't we allow him some privacy and how do we know if these fifty things are true. I mean really, do you believe he and his wife enjoy anal sex, and that while he was in the peace corps a long time ago he had a pet monkey and he named him "cracker" and while he was in college, he smoked weed and snorted cocoa, which resulted in his beige colour. So, even though I want to know more about important people, (and I hate this phrase I'm going to use) at  the end of the day, I'm not sure why. Years ago, I made this comment while in high school. I'm jerking off so much that I'm actually getting a blister at the end of my cock. And then, one of my friends blurted out that the same thing was happening to him. At first I wanted to ask him who he thinks about while he's doing all this jerking, but instead, all I thought was: you pathetic fuck, is that all you have to do in your spare time is jerk off. Anyway, I hope you get my point. Sometimes having a special kinship with Barry may actually diminish his office somewhat. Although, this may be a bit demeaning....so I won't say it. It was going to be mean, and it was something really ugly about Barbara and it was a fluke on how I found out, so really, it's not worth repeating. But let me say this, it had something to do with a Mini Cooper. So, here I am at the end of my paragraph and I must admit, that I forgot what I wanted to say tonight. I think it had something to do with a bird in the hand.

                                   

I've never been able to snap a good picture of one of our cats around here. This cat you see today is Bandit. She's a stray like our other two. Give Bandit some credit, she likes to move in an out while the other two have found a home. Chances are that Bandit could die outdoors, while the other two will die some place upstairs in some corner and I will have to bring their bodies down and crate them some place to be cremated. But, who knows, the house may burn down while we're all sound asleep (3 dogs, 3 cats, a beta fish & dust mites & some spiders too) and that's the end of it. Until, someone has sifted through the ashes and has made a discovery. Looky here me mate and see what I have discovered. Be careful not to disturb the dig because we need to piece it all together. I'm glad there are people out there that piece it all together for us. Today I read in the news that some astronomer discovered two more stars besides the one he knew was always there. It was quite a discovery but he claimed that he always knew that there was always more than the one than the one he claimed to be his own. I wondered why he would have bothered to seek for more than the one he claimed to be his own, and I can only surmise that he really wasn't wishing to find out for sure if there were more, but it was a simple matter of him just wanting to be sure. And now what...there's two more. Honey, are you coming to bed tonight. Yes dear, but if I found two, don't you think there's more out there. Yes, I'd guess a billion more. Holy shit, you're so right...I seemed to have lost perspective. Can you do me a favor. What's that. Can you feed the cats before you come to bed. Sure, but you'll owe me. Meow.   btw...I was going to shitcan the sanpshot but I liked the way the whiskers looked.

We had spaghetti for supper.Tomato & basil sauce.  That's a hint. Texas
garlic toast with cheese too. And meatballs made with beef, veal and pork. And
now a burp that has a garlic flavor to it. Beer too. No wine. Grated cheese was
tossed in & a small salad. No farts yet...but I'm speaking for myself. I
didn't eat alone. But since supper, we've departed, so I don't know if someone
else has farted. I did that rhyme for you. Do you enjoy beans for supper. Did
you ever hear this: beans, beans the musical food, the more you eat the more
you tune. I think I have heard someone say that once and I think I may have
said that phrase well over a thousand times during my life, but that's a guess.
I am now wondering if at the moment of my death it will be revealed to me the
correct amount of times I uttered that phrase. It's been said that before one
dies, their life flashes before them. I just wonder if that flash includes
details such as dates and times, banalities, innuendos, and passing fancies. Or
does this time come flashing by in chunks....say for example, incrementally in
chunks of fives years at a time. That wouldn't be fair. Especially when you
take into consideration the first seven years of your life, when there's so
much new stuff going on. (at this point you may insert things other than going
from tit to bottle, teething, potty training, first steps and baby goes boom
& don't touch) Personally, before I go anywhere after death, I want my
flash to include all. I want to savor all the moments I forgot about during my
full life. (please insert here a moment you personally wish to recall) 
(and now, petition your god) (I don't think I could be of any assistance to you
while you're at your moment of death) And I wonder if all this shit happens
automatically for all, or if I have to start asking my god to make sure it
happens for you too.

Pure decadence. Improper balance. Can I tell you what I'm doing tonight. Should I or must I? Would it spoil the fun? What fun and whose fun? Hoosegow. Too much fun can get you into a load of trouble. Truth is I'm searching. I'm tired and I'm looking for a word that will trigger a chain of words that may end up becoming a blog. I've got a few hoosegow stories, but I'd rather talk about butter tonight. This is my confession: I've never felt comfortable with margarine. I could always cozy up to lard, but I've always had this thing about margarine. Margarine always left a funny after taste in my mouth. Even when they named it "I can't believe it's not butter,"  I thought....how stupid am I not to believe it's not butter...after all.... don't I even trust my own after taste. I think a lot of legislation has been passed throughout the years for a little more truth in advertising. I would love to go into a supermarket one day and see a plastic container with these words printed on it: "this is not fucking butter."  I would enjoy such honesty, but then, my next question would be....well, what the fuck is it. I would then try to read the small print on the container which is generally impossible for me to read under the best lighting conditions and I would attempt to determine if this product that I was about to place into my cart was really safe for human consumption. Excuse me, could you please help me. With what? I can't read the last few words on these ingredients. It says: all natural 10/35 motor oil. And then I may think, a buck seventy-nine is not all that bad of a price considering the price of oil these days...and then think...whoa, what if this is the oil that they already took out of cars after oil changes, and then think..what the fuck are you thinking...none of this shit should matter...it's the taste of butter that you love the most. And then, I would start to look for some fresh bread that didn't smell like the stuff that drips on my driveway. Of course I'm exaggerating the moo versus vroom of my imagination. Whose gow is it anyway? Wow, I can't  believe I'm doing this with our language tonight.
   
                                        

Beyonce...not necessarily. A new car. Possibly. Charisma. I'm not sure. Borderline dangerous. Depends. For much longer. Hopefully not. So, what are you telling me. Thank god for creating extremes. And why is that. So we can find the middle. Regardless, I am not going to play with the thought process that I was on. I want to tell you about tomorrow. I am going across the border on into Canada. I am amazed at what a huge pain in the ass this simple procedure of going from my home to mimi's home could possibly end up being. Where were you born. Buffalo. What is your reason for coming into Canada today. To have lunch. Are you bringing anything over with you other than the clothes you're wearing. No. I smell apple pie. Well actually, I am bringing a homemade apple pie for our lunch this afternoon. Did you get an agricultural permit for the apples you used to bake your pie. No sir. Well, you'll have to pull over to the right and ask for a permit application and fill it out and pay twenty Canadian dollars and they may issue you a permit. What do you mean may. Simple, there are no guarantees ever since 9/11. So, can I turn around and just go back home. That may be a possibility, but we may have to confiscate the pie. And what about the vanilla Ice cream in the cooler. Did you get a dairy permit for that sir. No, I didn't get any fucking permits for anything. Watch your language sir. Hey, take a shit, there's about five cars in back of me, why are you jerking me around. Pull over to the furthest right station and they are going to strip your car and strip your clothes and make you spread your cheeks. Fuck you....a huge u turn occurs, a screech and a scent of burning rubber permeates the air and a whirr whirr whirr of flashing red provincial lights are seen and heard from my rear-view mirror. Blasting from a weird sounding loud system are the words...PULL OVER....PULL OVER. And now I'm home, and I'm not even close to being under any form of house arrest. How the hell did he get away from us....you guys will pay for this. Excuse me sir, I'm a gal. Yes, and quite a cutie too. Can you do me a favor. What's that sir. Can you bake me an apple pie. From scratch. Sure.  
                                                 

Well, it's true, we were talking about sex drugs and rock 'n' roll yesterday at mimi's house in Canada. But we only partook in lunch and lively conversation and left the groovy stuff lie dormant mostly in the back of our minds. I hinted a lot about making the afternoon more real, but mimi was talking about her 70 year old friend who wants to get next to her and Liza told me that she mostly digs on men with facial hair. Liza showed me a picture of her guru and I thought....it would take me another 30 years to grow a beard of that magnitude...I doubt that I'll live that long. Mimi told me that she was mad at a boy from way back in eighth grade that made fun of her lips. I then looked at her lips and had some devious thoughts. Menage a trois came to mind at the tail end of the afternoon. I didn't go through mimi's medicine cabinet. I had this feeling she wanted me to because she filled it up with marbles. Instead, I just peed with the toilet seat up and then after I flushed the toilet I lifted up the back and disconnected the handle from the chain that lifts the rubber stopper and allows for the water to rush through and flush. Much to my surprise though, she had a couple of rocks in the tank and a turtle too. And I thought...what a whacked out broad this mimi must be. And then I thought, I wonder if she even knows it's there. And then I thought....I best not say anything because maybe one of her grand-kids put the turtle in there to keep it away from a nasty cat that keeps pawing away at their little glass bowl at home. And then I realized I better hook back the chain that that's attached to the rubber stopper apparatus because I didn't want her to lift the back of the toilet up to see why it wasn't flushing properly and then go eek when she saw the turtle and get super light headed and pass out and hit her head on the sink on the way down. But what if she reads this blog. I better shut up now. I was going to tell you about how Liza and I got stuck in the elevator for about a half hour on our way out to the parking lot. When the maintenance guy finally got the doors open for us...I asked him what the hell happened. And he said....turtles....they're all over the place.




                                            

I think I was made in the likeness of God. And I think this god must have liked vanilla ice cream because I do too. I don't hate much and I dislike some and tonight I wonder if this god that I know feels the same way I do. I petition this god daily mostly in gratitude, but every once and again I petition for some immediate pain relief. My god is both girl and guy. I like god in general the most...sexless and flat, like best friends at ages 7, 8 or 9. This is so weird, because I don't care for when people say I am that, even though one of my gods said the same thing. What arrogance. I mean, who the fuck are you to say that you are that. That is so broad. My god one time said this: I am this that is. And I thought, you be cool. I'm actually glad that my god doesn't speak to me. Even though I think it would be cool to have god talk to me, I don't  think I'd ever be ready for the voice of god. I want to know...does god whisper, or does god shout out demands or pithy statements that could assist me in my earthly travels. Take a left. Are your sure, I thought I had to turn right. It's up to you, turn right if you like, but as god, I'm telling you that left is really right. Yes, I think I agree...but it's only for the weak . Any day of the weak. I would say yes, but weak is an entirely different notion than week. I suppose. But I worry about supposition being weak too. Is that like in also. Maybe. Who just said that. Not me, I just said maybe. And who are you. Neither this or that. Yes and no too. Yeah, you is.

Small stopping and seeing. Now what? Continue to make small pauses and allow for the recognition of the concept of love to permeate your soul and then let it rule and pass. It seems so simple doesn't it. And I would imagine, if you did that ten thousand times within the course of a day, you might just have something there. Where? That's a good question...I'm glad you asked it. Why....because you already prepared an answer to my supposed question. Stop! Allow for the passage of a new train of thought....get unstuck please. Is this for you or me. It's for me, but for us too. & we three. And the crazy disaster of a lily pot that just fell off our counter top and smashed itself silly on the kitchen floor, and now it's a whole new story that may be continued if the passage of love will be allowed to fall into place as quickly as the lily pot hitting the floor. But now, after I got off my ass and helped a little bit in the cleaning up of the mess, I realized a lot. I got swept away  too.
  

Amen. Amen amen I say to you, if you are without sin you better cast the first stone. Afuckingamen. Amen. In the beginning was the word and it is the word without end. Amen. So, are you telling me that there's no such thing as getting the last word in. Yes, but it goes for the same thing as getting the last word out too. Hello, is anybody out there? The Titanic movie comes to mind. Floating in icy cold waters...help, help, help me. Under rubble, out of oozing hot lava ash, hanging on to a tree limb in mud slid land, gripping chunks of floating bodies, using the dead as life rafts....and then finally being saved by an outstretched hand...and then saying amen amen and living for another day. Thank you. You're welcome. Thank you for saying you're welcome. No problem....thank you for thanking me. You're welcome.

                

Don't you find it amusing that even though you may have such access to information, a lot of stuff you know and feel is not fully understood, and you would care to know more, but you're afraid to ask....or maybe a tad too shy....which is a lower form of fear.. And, even if you may be a bold one, do you ever feel that you should be braver in certain aspects of your life. I did, and sometimes, even now I feel that I should be more bold and less shy. Have you ever felt that you were too shy (or weak) to break the ice. Do you have an unfulfilled infatuation hanging out there somewhere. Or an anger that you would love to see come to fruition. Abeyance came to fruition not out of naught. Take note.... nota bene....n.b. Dominus regit me. The good lord your shepherd told you to suspend judgment. Examine your conscience. But, if you don't mind me being so bold, please don't ignore your gut. Suppose for a moment you're a guy who's infatuated with a gal who works as counter waitress at a local restaurant. You love to stop in there daily, not so much to eat, but just to see her. She takes your order when she's working your end and you tell her the same damn thing over and over again....two eggs over easy, rye toast & sausage. And then she asks, is the sausage links or patties sir. And then you think, this must be going no where...I would think by now she would know that I order links. And she's thinking: I know he wants links, I'm just waiting on the day where he'll be a little more bold and say something like: two eggs over easy, rye toast and sausage links & a full and open mouth kiss on these lips of mine. I like a guy to be in charge. Once again he's frustrated...and the next day he orders the same.

                                                    

The Bills lost today. Big deal, I lost ten dollars. Big deal, I like to bet. It's one of my bad habits. I like to think I'm right most of the time, I like to bet on it, and because I do bet and I have to pay when I lose, I realize that I'm only right half of the time.Although, sometimes I'm wrong six or seven time in a row.  That's just the law of nature. And even though I know that eventually things will even out, I still love to bet against it. Lucky streaks are just that...streaks. As are bad streaks too. So, don't worry man...be happy. Sage advice, or fuck you advice? Or, something in between like be wary advice. Did you ever get bad advice and then say to yourself damn I knew better....of course, only after you followed bad advice. Asking for advice is an art. It has to do with timing, and more importantly...it's about who you should ask. But that's not true for all questions. Although, I'm not even sure if that is true. 34 agree and 34 disagree. Where's my sister so I can kiss her. 44 agreed and 24 wondered about the relationship. Actually one of the 24 thought it was pretty gross. I think it was Johnny who was extremely grossed out by his Aunt Helen's wet sloppy kisses at Christmas time. Gimme a kiss. And there really are so many levels of kisses out there....right? Don't kiss me with that scratchy beard of yours....good night Pluto you lovely little puppy dog you..... give momma a kiss. Lick, lick, lick.  So let me finish tonight off with an old joke. Did you hear that Mickey Mouse is divorcing Minnie. Why's that? Because she's fucking Goofy. Thirty one percent of the people surveyed thought that Mickey should file for divorce, 31% thought Minnie was an object of abuse & neglect and 28% thought that they need more facts to make an educated decision, while 10%  were still undecided.