Have you ever gotten the feeling that the things that you'd normally enjoy doing cease to become fun after a short period of time?
Ponder on this little question. You try to play the field but somehow whatever worked in 1987 is now considered irrelevant, silly or offensive in 2005.
This is the longest dry spell that I've had. Aside from half-assed fooling around and pay-per-fucks, I haven't really had that much intimacy for that long.
Of course, I have competition - younger, brasher and more fashion conscious than us aging ex-stoner metalhead fucks. As much as I try hard to keep up with the times and vibes, I'm still the old man around here.
Losing weight and sticking to a balanced diet has helped greatly, but everything becomes irrelevant as soon as the hair starts growing greyer and thinner.
And as soon as I open my mouth, I'd drop a reference to some vague old-school fact that some of the ladies might find alien. For example, many people think that Britney Spears made "My Prerogative" a big hit, but I would correct them by saying that Bobby Brown did it first, and light-years much better than the now-preggers ex-Mouseketeer.
As if... when was the last time Bobby had a hit, aside from the type he would get from a bong?
IMO - some women can be so superficial. (Agree? Disagree? Discuss.) First thing that they would see is the face, then the clothes and then the shoes. They would then listen to the voice and what words go with them. They would prefer to look at the tip of the iceberg than delve deeper to find out what's holding it up. And that is probably why I'm still not getting any at this time.
And this past Thursday night at the Split Crow, one Sup Tech that I know (you know who you are, M. P.) has outed one of my articles in my other site.
FTWK, it's the one about... ahem.
At this point, I really don't care. But did come up with a nice little retort for any critics and anyone who would diss me about my short-coming:
"THE BIGGER THE DICK... THE BIGGER THE DICK!"
So, this weekend, I'm gonna lay a little low. The weather in Hali for the past 2 weeks has been wicked-hot. I still have to hit the beach, and very soon, because I'm looking like a damn zebra at this point - tanned arms, legs, head and neck, but white all points in-between. I feel confident not wearing a shirt at this point, so there should be no issue in not getting the full sunbathing treatment. And Crystal Cresent Beach may be that destination for sun worshipping. But the nitelife will have to be put on hold.
In fact, I'm designating Sundays and some Saturdays - starting with this one - as "anti-social" days. This means that even though I'll be polite to the my co-workers and shipmates, I won't be hanging with them in a social setting. After all, being a Master Seaman in Her Majesty's Canadian Navy is a double edged sword: not quite a God, yet not quite a lackey, either. And in my current gig, I'm an MS 24/7 to some of these peeps.
I need my headspace and time to cultivate it. I need to maintain the separation of work and personal life (or some semblence thereof) - thus ensuring my sanity, focus and the eventual success of my own SUMMER OF SEX mission. I want to keep my freedom to express myself accordingly, online and offline, and if I alienate anyone, too bad! I have that right! I am my own person in my own right, and as far as I'm concerned, my sanity and health comes first and foremost.
Yes... I did have a shitty week, and my Friday was even less better than the other days. If I didn't gallivant my way into bankruptcy, I would've invested in a portable air conditioning unit, but fuck it - I have a fan that works quite well, thank-you. I hardly got any decent sleep all week because of the humidity - at least I'm thankful that the air quality here is much better than in Toronto.
Speaking of money, I have a car to sell. Pics and more later. Being in Hali means that virtually everything is within walking/cycling distance, and Man, do I need the exercise.
So... to everyone trying to get in touch with me this weekend, take it easy - I wanna veg, decompress then regenerate. The stress made me to hit the roof, and I want to come down at this time. So I beg to you all - don't call me. I'll call you, Please.
(Special notice to certain members of Mod 21, St. Laurent Block, Windsor Park, CFB Halifax: either keep it down and discreet, or get a hotel room. Please. For the sake of this sexile. Either that or hook me up with some lady-friend, okay? Heartless, inconsiderate, horney bastards. Sheesh.)