If I move in with my mom, all that stuff will go away. And I’ll go under her name so I’ll be off the grid! That idea bears consideration…..

The 24 year old I’ve been teaching how to sell now wants help on telemarketing. Um, no. Not until I see some progress on my fucking website! I’ve had enough of these two. I feel like I’m being played. I’ve put a lot into this guy and …..where’s the site? I’m on strike.

Now going to get a real theme for my personal blog as the present ones sucks. I’ll have to build it myself so that’ll take time but I don’t see any other way. The woman I spoke to about her website has already made the changes I recommended; I shouldn’t have opened my big mouth but I don’t think they can afford me anyway. Still, that proposal took time to create. Though I am an expert at web writing, I’ve been dealing with the wrong market. ‘Shouldn’t have even considered this whole web writing thing again. Or aimed at bigger companies. Individual business owners want it all but don’t want to pay for anything. Meanwhile, time ticks.

It’s all online, all on YouTube for anyone that wants to find this info so why would I pay for it? I’ve already paid for it, by the way.

What they really want is for me to join their business association for between $200 and $400 / year so that I can then pay again for one of them to conduct a seminar on something I could probably do myself.

This lady then mentioned my former employer. Not touching that one.

Fuck it, fuck it all.

‘Struck up a conversation and we talked about where she worked as I’d just heard her company’s North American director speak. It was quickly obvious she was quite attractive (not the most: I’d seen that in October of 2008 at a film festival: an electrifying brunette in a red dress with the best set of legs I’d ever seen and gaze and smile that neutralized my brain circuitry) but she had quite a nice figure, a brain and challenged me about my feelings on the Leafs. I laughed at that.

I ventured over to the brewery – a mere 100 yards distant. It was spacious but all they served was beer. And I’m allergic to beer. At the last moment, I saw that other stuff would be served where the trade show people would convene. But, but, but…..I REALLY wanted to read up on subject matter I’m certain will come up in tomorrow’s meeting and I want to know it to the point that I could talk about it comfortably and have some ideas as to possible approaches. Internal tension was present and pressing on my decision-making module.

And things have gone terribly downhill in the order department at home these last 2 weeks, primarily due to a sore back and being sick last weekend. A sparse diet, piles of laundry, a pigsty of a kitchen was the result. Plus, very little exercise.

Plus, I did not want to repeat a past mistake by not being totally prepared for social reasons. She was a dish, pleasing to look at but ……other things were more important.

Nice!

Which is just what’s required for writing blog posts and posting to Twitter. Zombie flicks (always good), 70s British horror films, emotionally gripping stuff…and then Jackie Gleason, Audry Meadows and Ed Norton. Funny! It’s all there.

Horror movies-wise, I’ve been into this stuff since before I was 10. Whenever I passed a funeral home, I’d always try to look through the basement windows to see if I could see any corpses, embalming or autopsies going on. On TV were black and white movies with Vincent Price (The Fly), Bela Lugosi, Boris Karloff and British horror movies which were all about suspense, foreboding, and scaring the shit out of you and science fiction flicks.

Those were the days when the population was more literate and, compared to today, fairly under-stimulated.

I was a most curious child who read books on insects and reptiles as this was a major part of my world, what with living adjacent to the country. At the north end of our street was a farm where we’d feed the horses though the fence when I was 3 or 4. I was so thrilled. Out back, across the field, we’d visit abandoned farm houses in Mississauga and then to the north, “the trails” which was the country. I’m talking unmarred nature where old cars were left to combine with weeds, flying grasshoppers all about, every kind of bird and big sprawling creeks and no sound of cars.

Comic books and black and white on horror themes were quite popular but way out of my price range. My allowance was a whopping 5 cents a week (for slave labour) whereas those comic books cost between 25 cents and a buck, which was extravagant to say the least. But the artwork and stories in those black and white were awe-inspiring.

‘Begged my best friend at the time to go see Vault of Horrors when it came out. The entire audience laughed loud when one of the actor’s hands were lopped off by a paper cutter. This neat freak should have been fucking, licking, cumming inside and eating his girl/wife every day instead of fussing about his undies. She cleans up later, though.

Well, gotta go.

Yesterday, i felt like I’d fallen off my horse in some ways in the job hunt. Today, I know that isn’t true. I do much better in person so I’m going to business shows today and tomorrow + a networking tomorrow night.

I began this passage yesterday……
Saturday night being cross examined by a overly firm titted, opinionated, designer-drug frazzled divorcee with 4 fucked up (no kidding) kids. That’s what I get for showing up when I should have been in bed, sleeping. Definite Leo. ‘Loved doing her little stripper act. ‘Liked to bend over and be play-fucked – like it was part of her baton twirlers routine.

Good dancer? A happy one. ‘Told me she was a ‘regular’ on jazz cruises (Hell) and that her former husband was a TV executive: “lots of money.” Actual words. Her hand were dock worker-rough: Man hands.

So, what was I doing with her? Going through the motions. ‘Not really there; I was sick and I rarely get sick. Didn’t feel like talking, much, so didn’t care if she did. She’d definitely had new batteries put in that day: a relentless torrent of “this is what I like, this is who I am.” The ever-curious writer was taking all this in. I answered like a voice activated machine.

What I really felt like doing was dancing. Hadn’t been out like this in a long, long time. The band played light white soul. Either recognizable hits or tunes that required no overt movement which was perfect for those I was a little rusty but got into it when ‘Respect Yourself’ by the Staple Sisters was performed.

I loved that tune when it came out in 1971 and still love it. But before YouTube, I seldom heard it.

And now: I’m back to vampire hours.

A re-introduction to tinnitus because I forgot to bring my earplugs which I should not have had to except that the ‘soul’ band played it loud – and I was conscious of that, to some degree. But not conscious enough. And I maybe danced to half a dozen songs at best. Maybe more, I dunno.

So now I have a ring tone in my ears which has been there for 26 hours now. Will it subside? I don’t know which is the frightening thing. It is worrisome.

I really had no time to think or relax because the woman I met and ‘spent the night with’ was a non-stop chatterbox and certified motormouth. Which was necessary for the qualification process to occur: the who, what, where, when, how, etc. It wasn’t fun at all, just more of the same: a download of info.

This is what I really hate about the women of my generation: there’s no play or playfulness. They’re all business. She was a little older and “knew everything.” Knew that my cold would get worse, that my head would feel like it was in a vice, etc. etc. The cold didn’t get worse and I am back to normal because of the sea salt & water / lemon juice cure. And now that my appetite has returned, I can’t get to sleep because I’m hungry and spent 10 day-time hours on Sat-Sun sleeping the cold away. Could have gone out at 5 or 6 but I still felt pooped. I’m tired now, though.

I felt like shit last night anyway; as soon as I got there, I felt like leaving. I should not have gone even though I was looking forward to it. Intuition told me that and I, as usual, disobeyed. And now I can’t hear a fucking thing! I can but that noise in my ears is loud and distracting.

I was deliberating the decision to stay/leave when I crossed paths with her. She got my attention by pressing one of her very firm and possibly fake tits against my arm and leaning in really close.

On driving her home, which really wasn’t out of my way, the thought of contacting her again never even entered my mind. I just wanted her to stop talking. What did she tell me about herself? Everything, too much. She may have been on uppers because she never stopped talking.

What is the similarity between smooth jazz and contemporary?

There both shitty styles of music appreciated by people I don’t hang out with.

One time I lay flat for an entire day but the problem-the pain-went away. Tomorrow, ah’m putting on my dancing shoes and if I do what I’m about to do, I know I’ll be pain-free.

Did a thorough examination (blood pressure 126/82) and told me my pelvis was ….well, it was twisted and locked. So he fairly jumped on me and I heard some loud pops and multiples of them. His technique has improved these last 3-4-5 years so now he does the forearm under my thoracic with brute force.

I left with everything cleaned out: no residual tightness. And now, with the soreness settling in it’s time for the almighty epsom salts bath.

I’ll address those videos sent last night later on – when I emerge. Messages? It would seem so. From someone I know? My hunch is ….yes. Of a welcome variety? Uh-huh. Will I see “her” this weekend, some time. ‘Hope so but…you never can tell…