I grew a little desperate last night and called the twenty year old. I've never had a woman say what she said to me. She yelled for at least ten minutes. Told me she hates me. I'm a pig. Asshole. I use women. I was mean to her. All women need to be told how bad I am. She's talked to people about me -- I took the phone from my ear and held it out to see if it was the correct number. Then after who knows how long, I finally asked if she knew who she were talking to? She said, "Dean fucking Vandelmar. The sociopath!" She ended by tying her panties into 30 or 40 knots, told me again how much she hates me and hung up. For good.

I only slept with her a few times. Gave her incredible orgasms. I thought we had a deal. She said flat out. "If you find a 25 year old guy for me, set me up, I'll let you fuck me in the mean time." But I never called her after the last time which was in the fall. I never found the "boyfriend" because it's a waste of time and stupid. I feel sorry for her. I feel sorry for myself.

It's amazing how many women hate me now. It's a nightmare. I can't figure out how they know. I'm pouring a litre of scotch as we speak.

So, I think I've gotten rid of the brain borers, but I now have creativity cramps. I've taken some Mindol, and hopefully that will help.

I'm trying to get back into the spirit of things, writing and painting and thinking in Technicolor, but the mood swing on my front porch is swishing back and forth like tall grass in a windstorm, and I just don't feel much like me right now. Dammit, where IS me? Maybe I should put a picture of myself on the side of a milk carton.

I have several things I want to write about, here and elsewhere, but I just can't get started. I'm writing this in hopes that it'll help. Maybe I've been jinxed. Perhaps aliens have been abducting me at night, and tonging around in my head ("tonging" is an extra-terrestrial term for "using tongs"). Maybe a blog surfer has been hanging five on my brain waves when I'm not looking. Maybe some neighborhood dealer read one of my posts about this area and put a crack curse on me. I'm thinking that I may need to find an urban gypsy to remove the hex.

Whatever the reason, I feel sad. I want to turn my frown upside down, take my lemons and make lemonade, keep on the sunny side, and put the "fun" back in dysfunctional. I keep squinching my eyes shut and smooshing my brain in hopes that it'll end this mental constipation, but it's not working. The more I squinch, the less I produce. I also end up with squinch head, which is very unattractive.

One part of it may be that I think I've told too many people about my blog. D'oh! BIG mistake. As you know, dearest diary, I often write about my life-- I sorta kinda HAVE to write about it, and the less anonymity I have, the more difficult it becomes. I think I've given the actual URL to three people, and I know they haven't given it out, but word travels fast among friends and family, so you never know. Maybe I'll close up shop and start again, or enter a blogger protection program. Then again, maybe I'll just shut up and see what tomorrow brings.

Chuck replied, 'Well, then just give me my money back.'

The farmer said, 'Can't do that. I went and spent it already.'

Chuck said, 'Ok, then, just bring me the dead horse.'

The farmer asked, 'What ya gonna do with him?

Chuck said, 'I'm going to raffle him off.'

The farmer said, 'You can't raffle off a dead horse!'

Chuck said, 'Sure I can. Watch me. I just won't tell anybody he's dead.'

A month later, the farmer met up with Chuck and asked, 'What happened with that dead horse?'

Chuck said, 'I raffled him off. I sold 500 tickets at two dollars a piece and made a net profit of $898.00.'

The farmer said, 'Didn't anyone complain?'

Chuck said, 'Just the guy who won. So I gave him his two dollars back.'

Chuck grew up and works for the government.

Author Unknown

What does constitute a good deed of sorts, I think, is the pooping /scooping aspect of dog sitting. (Just as diaper-changing nudges babysitting into good-deed territory.)

There’s something about handling the doo-doo of someone outside your nuclear family that merits extra credit in the goodwill department.

And it’s a trickier operation than you may realize. Each dog seems to have its own idiosyncrasies when it comes to this area of activity.

Mr. Biggz, for example, will only “get down to business” if you pretend you’re not watching. The fact that he’s squatting down in broad daylight on a busy street is immaterial. “Talk amongst yourselves,” his big brown eyes seem to say as he gets into position.

Last night’s just-before-bedtime walk was especially challenging because, without a flashlight, you could spend hours searching in the tall grass for his little cigarillos.

I guess I could've have just kept walking, but what kind of good deed doer would I be then?
-------------

P.S. I’m driving four hours to Port Loring, Ontario, tonight to sing with some friends at a fundraiser for a teen drug-prevention program. I’ll try to post tomorrow, but, if not, then see you Sunday!

While I was dining out the other night I thought of a very funny idea. The idea is a gift card that comes with a stipulation. Therefore, you have the ability to give your friends a gift, but you can fight back if they have slighted you. Here are a list of some of the stipulations cards.

1. Pizza Hut card limited to pasta

2. AMC card limited to burned popcorn

3. KFC limited to vegetables

4. Hardee's limited to fat-free items

5. McDonald's limited to anything excluding Mc-items

More to follow

To more food cards gone wrong!

Hondo

I know this idea is probably ahead of it's time, but we have to dream big... don't we?

/Andreas

What manner of man is this?  From whence cometh he?  Just who the h*ll is this "Freedom" of whom they speak?  Could it be that he is from some other world?  Is he the long awaited . . . nah.

Seven days a week, I am an angry Black man. What, then, is an angry Black man?  This angry Black man is a man who is tired of racism, and racial discrimination, especially towards Black Americana.  This angry Black man is sick and tired of Black Americana using words that degrade Black Americana.  Since you all know the words of which I speak, I will not print them on the page.  A few days ago, I decided that I will figure out some other way to bring attention to one particular word, when necessary, without writing it down.  Taking his lead from Richard Pryor, Freedom will no longer let it be a part of his vocabulary (not that it was ever used that much by Freedom to begin with).  We need to obliterate those things which hold us down,  which hold us back, meaning the things that we do ourselves that hold us down and hold us back.  I'm not a fan of anarchy, so don't go out there wiping out those other folks who hold us down.  That was NOT my meaning.

During those seven days a week as an angry Black man, I find time to write.  I have a novel that is close to being complete, and I will soon post a long excerpt from that very same novel for your literary entertainment.  The novel is entitled "Midnight Redemption" (copyright 2005  freedom).  The story concerns a private detective, Mike Drummond, who is rather inept at his job as a detective, but, is superb as a bounty hunter.  His finesse at bringing fugitives to justice keeps him knee deep in danger and waist high in "benjamins".  He is on the trail of an international murderer who recently arrived in Philadelphia.  Like all pulp fiction detective stories, there is an extremely desirable damsel-in-distress who just happens to fall into the arms of an ever-ready Mike Drummond.  You will not want to miss such an exciting tale of mystery and international intrigue, so, don't make me come looking for you.

Freedom is a father.  Freedom is the proud father of two children who will be graduating from college in May of 2009.  Freedom says that it has been a long uphill struggle to pull it off, but, he has always lived in a village, and there were plenty of elders and kin to help see him through.  Freedom says that he would not trade the journey that he has taken with the two of them for all of the tea in China, nay, all of the gold in Fort Knox. Wait - does Freedom realize just how much gold is in Fort Knox?  Does Freedom realize that he could BUY two more graduating kids?  Somebody wake that man up!!  Please!

Freedom is retired, and has no plans on doing much of anything else in life besides writing, travelling, and enjoying the company of a beautiful Black woman.  Yes - Freedom is heterosexual.  Sorry, guys.  Freedom is lazy, but, that's because he can afford to be.  He says that he has put in his time, and has stepped aside to give the young bucks a chance at earning a living.  After all, Freedom is not greedy.  But, Freedom is lazy.  He once adopted the motto "Batteries included, no assembly required", which pretty much described Freedom's outlook on life.  That phrase was later dropped for the ever-popular "No pain. no mutha f*ckin' problem".

Come play with me, says Freedom.  I won't bite, except sarcastically.  Freedom says "I promise not to hurt you, but, your feelings, now, that's a different story".  Freedom wants to be your friend . . . unless you're a moron.  If you are, then he just wants to insult you.  And, what does Freedom say about passes?

copyright  ©  2005  freedom

freerealm@gmail.com

Flava of the Day is "Poetry Man" by Queen Latifah

]]> http://jameswatkins.wordpress.com/?p=149 Fri, 18 Jul 2008 19:23:52 +0000 jameswatkins http://jameswatkins.wordpress.com/?p=149 I have in my right hand, direct from my home office, tonight's top ten list: Top ten signs you've been watching too much reality TV.

10. At the last family reunion, you voted off your brother-in-law.

9. You've installed a video camera in every room of your house.

8. For chocolate and peanut butter, you'll strip naked.

7. You've named your children Ozzy and Sharon.

6. While in personnel meetings, you inexplicably shout "You're fired!"

5. You purchased William Hung's CD.

4. While your neighbors were on vacation, you sneaked in and completely remodeled their house.

3. When you have guests over, you serve Madagascar hissing cockroaches.

2. You're actually interested in "the simple life" of Paris and Nicole.

1. You know the story behind each of these signs (Seek immediate help!)

Actually, "reality TV" has nothing to do with reality. Read more.

Before you start doing random punches and kicks to the air(or people you just plain don't like), You should first come up with

Read: How to Master Martial Arts with Ease

However, since I have moved on from Kearney, finding time to write has been very difficult. I think that is even evident on this blog. In Omaha, I was the only full-time minister of a small church and was working part-time at a hotel reservation call center to make ends meet. Here in Maryville, I am the only staff member of a quickly growing campus ministry. Time to write is hard to come by.

And writing is a lot like pooping. You need to do it often to keep things flowing. If you don’t poop for awhile, things become backed up and pooping becomes even harder. Constipation ensues.

I feel as though I have “creative constipation.” I have a lot of ideas rumbling around in my head. They are disorganized and shallow, but they are there. And because I have not been regular in writing, it’s hard to get anything to come out on paper now. And that’s terribly frustrating when all you want to do is get something out.

Anyone ever suffer from creative constipation?

(use me...don't abuse me)

As if it isn't bad enough that I am forced to spend 8-9 hours a day in this cube jungle with all of you, I now have to wonder who leaves behind the butt resin on the restroom toilet seats. I realize that this sounds crude, but how would you like being the one to walk into a restroom stall and see it first hand?  

Why is it so hard for adults to pick up after themselves? I'm trying really hard not to judge here and not ask where this "resin" is coming from. Instead, I only ask that after you are finished with your "business," you turn around, flush the toilet and make sure that you didn't leave anything behind. It's only fair to everyone else. This also goes for you lovely ladies who must enjoy peeing on the toilet seats and/or leaving your "business" un-flushed for everyone to see. Whether you're acting out because you weren't held enough as a child or are doing it for attention in hopes of receiving some kind of praise for a job well done, it needs to stop.  Outside of the K9 world, marking your territory is seen as just plain gross.

They say that men are dirtier than women, but the women I work with seem to be working really hard to catch up!

You can dirty-up your bathroom all you want at home, just please pick up after yourself in the restroom at work.

Fonte: Sponholz

In the summer of 1991, we were sharing a house in the Fire Island Pines, along with Kevin Sessums, the journalist and writer who was then Staley's boyfriend, and several others. Sessums was a close friend of mogul David Geffen, who was also on the island that summer.

One day shortly after Staley began planning the action, Geffen walked up to Staley on the beach and pressed a wad of $100 bills into his hand. It totaled $3,000. "Be careful" Geffen advised. Then Geffen made Staley promise not to divulge Geffen's role in financing the action.