Conversations and kicking thy own butt

Over the past month I have had a good hard look at myself. Which led me to a few conclusions and a conversation with yours truly (usually on public transit immediately before the temptation to take up nailbiting for sport),  but to clarify - said conversations take place in my own head, not aloud because THAT my friends, would be CRAZY...

Cakes, I hate to tell you this but, you NEED to get your shit together.

First off,  your ass – it’s looking too flat. Remember it back in the day? HmmHmm, smokin’.

(Ya, but I am working on it, I am going up the mountain at least 4x , ok maybe 3x a week, and I am doing these butt excercises so the next time I get busy, whatever guy is not going to think he is sleeping with a human marshmallow or Mrs. Michelin. Soon I will able to bounch quarters off my ass (ok maybe not quarters, Nerf balls perhaps as there’s only so much I can do with my DNA, and absense of horse steroids) and I’ll be able to remove twist tops off bottles with my butt cheeks – On second thought maybe I won’t try the latter.

You are a slacker,  your apartment is looking like a frat house, and your personal habits are that of 19 year-old male college students - if you ever want to get a decent boyfriend this is a side of yourself you’d better get a grip on….

(Ya, I kind of already knew that. Bad habit, yes indeed… I’ll deal.)


Thou shalt not drink from thy milk carton

You have issues with authority.

(Ya, I kind of already knew that too, it’s a mental-thing. It’s on the list. I’m on it.)

The more responsibility you have, the more you avoid and procrastinate said responsibility… which could get you into BIG trouble, prison, or some Italian immigration holding camp.

(YEP, Uh huh… on that too.)

You’ve become over-the-top suspicious, jaded, paranoid and trust NO ONE. Soon your standard uniform will become beige trenchcoats and dark glasses, you will alienate every last friend you have and thereafter will stand on street corners screaming about government conspiracy theories and alien abductions. You need to start trusting people again.

See? They are REAL! (And they're talking about me.)

(I know, It’s like I’m in some bad karma deli counter and I’ve taken a number, and I’m just waiting in line for my next turn to get fucked over by which-ever friend, aquaintance, potential significant other, random stranger or ignorant government employee, who is working behind it.)

Finally, it’s one year ago yesterday that Nigel died. I know he was like no other. I know the rug was pulled out from under you, it’s excrusciating – he was your closest mate, you loved him, he never lied to you, and he was the only one person you really trusted implicitly, but what are you going to do? Continue crying everyday in your pyjamas till past noon and rivet your sunglasses to the sides of your head like Bono, to hide the fact your  eyes look like 2 pissholes in snow and you have bags the size of Birkins sitting on your face? You’re so sad. He would have  hated to see you this way.

A friend indeed.

(I know…. I’m workin’ on it.)


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