I don’t feel dirty about it at all. I don’t know why that is though. Lately, I’ve been switching between my usual awesomeness that you all know and love, being a jackass, and being more emotionally scarred than a repeat third degree burn victim. Which says a lot unfortunately. Or does it say anything at all? It doesn’t, because the victims jaw melted off! Bad joke, but that’s just the kind of mood I’ve been in lately. All doom and gloom, but between writing my novel, getting our second on the shelves, and maintaining the positive belief that all midgets are in fact, not big headed short people that can kick themselves in the head… Because I waatched all the Jackass movies…
I’ve been contemplating a lot of things. See, normally, right about now is the time where I would simply switch off the emotional “Don’t Give A Fuck” filter and lambast anything and everything that has crossed my mind in the previous fifty seconds. Why do this? Why not?
but lately, I’ve been having a Crisis Of Not-giving-A-fuck. As most of you know, I live and work on my parents property as a ranch hand. AKA, I still live at home and on occasion remember to feed the chickens. Along with this so far great and interesting aspect is the fact, and I say this with the great of love for my folks who put up with my somewhat jackassish antics, that on any given day, it can be a great day, or a absolute crap one. In addition to this, I remain in the same flatlined mind set of drilling myself not to show the slightest bit of emotion towards either spectrum.
Why? Because If it’s a great day, chances are I’ll be happy, but that also precludes the now proven “You’re so fucked” Theory, and the next day will be utter shit. Vice Versa for that as well. The great thing is t hat now I can be the not hate filled Dalek I’ve never dreamed of being, and at the same time, try not to trip the almost infinite ways to ruin a perfectly good day.
No, we do not have a Basement. but I would so take all that space if it were available. fuck the Basement Dweller tag. At any rate, I find myself being more and more distracted with things. things with Boobs. Women. Women aren’t things, they’re the other half of our species. But boobs are things that are attached to t hem. So in a sense, Boobs are things. My logic breaks yours any day of the week.
That was creepy.
anyways, on the Relationship side of things, there’s nothing really going on there. I’ve fallen into the slightly confusing world of craigs list, a place of magical dangers in the forms of Spam bots, Camwhores, and the occasionally hilarious “YOU WILL DO AS I SAY!” message that comes up everyonce in a while.
Seriously, those things are funnier than shit. And while I do get my kicks in (Easy way to piss a Dominatrix right the fuck off? Say no and then place a order as if she were just a McDonalds drive through window. Works EVERY TIME.)