I am addicted to my Burt's Bees Carrot Seed Oil Complexion Mist. When I apply a modest spritz to my face it's as if I am giving my skin a refreshing drink of water. My face says thank you. I keep a bottle on my desk for frequent application throughout the day. Earlier this afternoon, while in a twilight zone typing in a monotonous manner, I mistaked my vanilla blackberry body mist for the burts and squirted it in my face. I know what you're thinking "I bet your face smells nice." It does.
Last night before falling into a deep nights sleep I wrote a pop song in my mind. I am not a fan of pop music, hate it in fact, but that doesn’t mean I can’t write the junk and make my first mil. The tune was so unimaginative and easy for the average closed minded music lover it was sure to be a hit. I pictured waking up early on a Saturday morning to tune into the local mainstream crapstation, something like the Top Hits of 2008 - 96.5 FM The Zebra, where my song would be played on Casey Kasem’s Top 100. Naturally, there would be some bullshit of a sob story portrayed before leading into the first beat of the song. I envision kickstarting the number one hit with a high pitched growl. I’m still working out details. Being ill equipped to play an instrument I mentally sounded out the bass, the electric guitar and keyboard. During my preliminary outline I really pushed for a trumpet/piano combo in lieu of the drab sound of a keyboard but in the end realized that would be a little too progressive for this sterile genre. The hook, being loyal to its class, was paltry and predictable.
Having already begun my journey into the world of dreams, I could not bring myself to get out of the sleepy sheets to document my musical gem to paper, instead made a good mental note of the masterpiece to perfect the following a.m. Alas, I found myself getting out of the tub this morning when a wave of disappointment came over me. What was sure to be a life altering journey had escaped my thoughts for eternity. My vision vanished. The struggle to find the right producer, interviewing for the right vocalist, a visit to Letterman, an appearance on the Today Show, jet lag, a late night dinner at Nobu with P Diddy, the stress of writing an acceptance speech before nabbing my first Grammy – bye bye. I am kicking myself for not getting my rear out of bed to capture the words of my first opus “Caught in Love”.©™® [writers note: I had a glass of Merlot directly before bed and was exhausted from a late night swim.]
Speaking of rears, for the good part of this week I was victimized by chronic constipation. General moving felt like work until today – the day of reclamation. This small girl with a big fat appetite could not eat a thing all week and the little I was able to swallow and digest merged with the 10 pounds of waste burdening my colon. I felt fat, run down and spent most of the day pushing on my belly encouraging my lazy big intestine and his small helper to do their jobs. By day 3 I woke up feeling full on an empty stomach and knew it was time to take matters into my own hands. A purchase of a Fleet Enema was imminent – at a store that offers self checkout kiosks, naturally. “Ewww…gross.” Shut up. When I succumb to the dire straits of constipation I am wallowing in a pain induced delirium so it doesn’t bother me a bit to squirt 120 ml of sodium phosphate into the anal canal. I welcome it. During the intense seconds following insertion I generally like to read a magazine in a humble attempt to distract my mind from the immediate pressure. Sometimes when I forget to bring reading material I am left to browse the instructions located on the outside of the Fleet box. It makes me smile when I read “Remove the tip from the rectum and maintain the position until the urge to evacuate is strong”. What do you mean until? There is no waiting period. Picture this: someone has just handed you a flaming piece of paper and says "hold this until your hand starts to burn." The trick of the evil enema is the longer you retain the fluid the greater chance at bowel evacuation (I know it sounds sick but it’s science). Let me tell you, the scene is not pretty. I recommend doing the deed when no one is home. There aren’t many other situations I would be more embarrassed to be caught mid act. Here is another tip: when you decide your body will no longer hold what naturally wants to come out make sure you aren’t far from the commode. Just trust me on this. If you follow the simple instructions the Fleet magic should succeed at releasing the compounded mass that is killing you slowly. I must’ve had quite a bit of blockage but lucky for me the enema came to my rescue and cleaned me out. I am dehydrated but my tummy is flat again and it feels as if I gave birth. I am positive if I got on a scale I would be 5 pounds lighter.
My dear friend Ohio informed me last eve that he is going to be leaving us towards the end of this year. The sucker is moving to South Carolina (finally). Here is a bit of trivia, O, the state flower is the Yellow Jessamine. In the less than 6 months we have together I will do what I can to show him a good time, heck I may even document an occasion or two. It’s going to be a difficult task attempting to top the night Ohio and I had to pull up Stacie’s jeans after she tumbled to the pavement while urinating in a downtown parking lot, but we’ll give it our best shot. Our first rumored trip is to the casino – Las Vegas, Nevada or Tunica, Mississipi. I know, night and day right? Matthew says Tunica is the Vegas of the South. What a joke. More like Vegas finds himself homeless, alone and addicted to meth.
In closing I would like to mention that, with the current state of the economy, mediocre earnings and inflation, I am getting ready to buy my first mini horse, T.J. Hooker, solely for the purpose of transportation. You’re right – whatta waste. Transportation and mini horse baseball. Since I am fun size (thanks Mariah) I won’t require a grand daddy size stallion although I would be willing to negotiate with Mr. Ed, if he is still around, because it’d be nice to have someone to vent with while trying to find a parking spot at my neighborhood Kroger.
Last night before falling into a deep nights sleep I wrote a pop song in my mind. I am not a fan of pop music, hate it in fact, but that doesn’t mean I can’t write the junk and make my first mil. The tune was so unimaginative and easy for the average closed minded music lover it was sure to be a hit. I pictured waking up early on a Saturday morning to tune into the local mainstream crapstation, something like the Top Hits of 2008 - 96.5 FM The Zebra, where my song would be played on Casey Kasem’s Top 100. Naturally, there would be some bullshit of a sob story portrayed before leading into the first beat of the song. I envision kickstarting the number one hit with a high pitched growl. I’m still working out details. Being ill equipped to play an instrument I mentally sounded out the bass, the electric guitar and keyboard. During my preliminary outline I really pushed for a trumpet/piano combo in lieu of the drab sound of a keyboard but in the end realized that would be a little too progressive for this sterile genre. The hook, being loyal to its class, was paltry and predictable.
Having already begun my journey into the world of dreams, I could not bring myself to get out of the sleepy sheets to document my musical gem to paper, instead made a good mental note of the masterpiece to perfect the following a.m. Alas, I found myself getting out of the tub this morning when a wave of disappointment came over me. What was sure to be a life altering journey had escaped my thoughts for eternity. My vision vanished. The struggle to find the right producer, interviewing for the right vocalist, a visit to Letterman, an appearance on the Today Show, jet lag, a late night dinner at Nobu with P Diddy, the stress of writing an acceptance speech before nabbing my first Grammy – bye bye. I am kicking myself for not getting my rear out of bed to capture the words of my first opus “Caught in Love”.©™® [writers note: I had a glass of Merlot directly before bed and was exhausted from a late night swim.]
Speaking of rears, for the good part of this week I was victimized by chronic constipation. General moving felt like work until today – the day of reclamation. This small girl with a big fat appetite could not eat a thing all week and the little I was able to swallow and digest merged with the 10 pounds of waste burdening my colon. I felt fat, run down and spent most of the day pushing on my belly encouraging my lazy big intestine and his small helper to do their jobs. By day 3 I woke up feeling full on an empty stomach and knew it was time to take matters into my own hands. A purchase of a Fleet Enema was imminent – at a store that offers self checkout kiosks, naturally. “Ewww…gross.” Shut up. When I succumb to the dire straits of constipation I am wallowing in a pain induced delirium so it doesn’t bother me a bit to squirt 120 ml of sodium phosphate into the anal canal. I welcome it. During the intense seconds following insertion I generally like to read a magazine in a humble attempt to distract my mind from the immediate pressure. Sometimes when I forget to bring reading material I am left to browse the instructions located on the outside of the Fleet box. It makes me smile when I read “Remove the tip from the rectum and maintain the position until the urge to evacuate is strong”. What do you mean until? There is no waiting period. Picture this: someone has just handed you a flaming piece of paper and says "hold this until your hand starts to burn." The trick of the evil enema is the longer you retain the fluid the greater chance at bowel evacuation (I know it sounds sick but it’s science). Let me tell you, the scene is not pretty. I recommend doing the deed when no one is home. There aren’t many other situations I would be more embarrassed to be caught mid act. Here is another tip: when you decide your body will no longer hold what naturally wants to come out make sure you aren’t far from the commode. Just trust me on this. If you follow the simple instructions the Fleet magic should succeed at releasing the compounded mass that is killing you slowly. I must’ve had quite a bit of blockage but lucky for me the enema came to my rescue and cleaned me out. I am dehydrated but my tummy is flat again and it feels as if I gave birth. I am positive if I got on a scale I would be 5 pounds lighter.
My dear friend Ohio informed me last eve that he is going to be leaving us towards the end of this year. The sucker is moving to South Carolina (finally). Here is a bit of trivia, O, the state flower is the Yellow Jessamine. In the less than 6 months we have together I will do what I can to show him a good time, heck I may even document an occasion or two. It’s going to be a difficult task attempting to top the night Ohio and I had to pull up Stacie’s jeans after she tumbled to the pavement while urinating in a downtown parking lot, but we’ll give it our best shot. Our first rumored trip is to the casino – Las Vegas, Nevada or Tunica, Mississipi. I know, night and day right? Matthew says Tunica is the Vegas of the South. What a joke. More like Vegas finds himself homeless, alone and addicted to meth.
In closing I would like to mention that, with the current state of the economy, mediocre earnings and inflation, I am getting ready to buy my first mini horse, T.J. Hooker, solely for the purpose of transportation. You’re right – whatta waste. Transportation and mini horse baseball. Since I am fun size (thanks Mariah) I won’t require a grand daddy size stallion although I would be willing to negotiate with Mr. Ed, if he is still around, because it’d be nice to have someone to vent with while trying to find a parking spot at my neighborhood Kroger.
GOOD NIGHT MY LOVES!
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