Tuesday, June 29, 2010

Why getting older sucks

Come on in, the larder is low, but I do have some smokes for those of you that partake of the demon weed. And despite the harried and expensive few days it has been, I'm quite happy with them overall.

So here is a list of things that suck about getting old:
  • Hair sprouting all over the place. In my ears? Seriously?! Like I need more impediments to trying to hear what crazy shit people are saying.
  • Hair changing colour. I'm OK with the gray in my beard, even in my hair. People doubt what I say a lot less when I've got the gray beard and sides going. But down there?! Yes, down there. Actually that's where it changed first. Apparently my nuts got old before the rest of me.
  • Age-ism. I try really hard not to look at 20-somethings as stupid kids but they keep doing stupid shit and acting like retards so I have no choice but to go 'Stupid kids.' I honestly think I have more respect for teenagers than I do the 20-somethings.
  • Longer recovery times. When I was stupid kid (read 20-something) I could drink all night, work all day, do dangerous physical activities, drink and fuck all night and then still wake up after two hours of sleep over two days and wonder what I could get into the next night. Now I work an extra hour at work, and I need to crawl into bed by 9pm. If I don't I'll need a nap the next afternoon or be grouchy. And don't get me started on what happens when I play sports. I think my 15 minutes of football the other weekend which left me winded for a good hour is proof enough I'm not at my peak physical condition.
  • New music seems stupid. Lady Gaga? What the fuck? Have we crossed out so many names that baby talk for a skinny, big nosed, flat assed, stupid cunt is used to name her? And don't get me started on what happened to rap.
  • Long winded stories about what it was like when I was younger. Like a meg of ram costing fifty bucks! FIFTY BUCKS! And dot matrix printing on long sheets was good enough for us! 2400 baud modems and text based MU* games! None of these fancy web-based, 3D, fully orchestrated monstrosities!
  • Forgetfulness. Did I mention the stupid kids? Fucking stupid kids. Retards.

That's aging. And I didn't even get into the free fall of all those tasty meals that have grafted themselves to my various body parts. No one needs to hear about that mess.

Wednesday, June 23, 2010

Good times

Come on in and enjoy the weather. The fire is low, but I think I've found what I need to set up a nice spirit lodge, maybe we can all have a good cleansing sweat.

So high school. My Little Bear will be going into it next year. And she's already got all these horrible pre-conceived notions and ideas and various things that make me want to scream, but instead of going on and on about how troublesome it is to be the father of a teen, instead I'm going to tell you a strange story. One so strange I am apparently the only one who has ever had this happen to them.

I had a good time in high school. I did. Not because I was popular, because I wasn't. And not because it was the best time of my life, because it wasn't even close. But I had a lot of fun in high school. I played tons of sports and enjoyed my classes, had few conflicts, enjoyed my time in band and choir, joined everything I possibly could and without a doubt enjoyed the vast majority.

Maybe this is because I had gone through a world of hurt before I even got into high school and had an idea of who I wanted to be. Maybe it was because I had a mother who taught me to be an independent thinker. Maybe it was because I was a stubborn idiot who didn't know any better that high school was supposed to be this angst filled pressure chamber of social pitfalls and self-doubt.

I got drunk, I got high, I got into fights, I got insulted and humiliated, and I had incredible triumphs and accolades. Overall it was a satisfying experience. I did good things, I did bad things, I did smart things, I did stupid things, I did embarrassing things, I did amazing things.

I think perhaps the few things I didn't do were get involved with girls, I was pretty much oblivious to the apparent legions of chicks who wanted to be with me, and take myself very seriously. For all my considerable flaws, I think the one thing I've always been able to do is not take myself all that seriously. I mean sure, I'm passionate and I get caught up in the moment at times but when all is said and done, I've always been able to laugh at myself, and take a step back and see when I'm just going too far. And then laugh my ass off at myself.

And I kinda hope some of that has rubbed off on my little bear. She tends to have a fairly good humour about herself, and I'm hoping she won't buy into all the bullshit social politics and labelling that occurs, and just does what she wants to do and be who she wants to be. And realizes, that while high school can be fun (for like ... me and that one gay guy who was accepted at his Catholic school) it isn't the be all end all of life's experiences. Oh and to laugh like you've just escaped from an insane asylum at yourself.

Tuesday, June 1, 2010

Dreaming of You

Come on in, the smoke is swirling, and within it are dreams...

Sitting in the theater, I can feel you start to fidget, which is odd, I look to your face and I can see you appear impatient, almost annoyed. I raise an eyebrow, and you just grimace and shake your head, shoving your chin at the stage. I resume watching the play, having a hard time paying attention because you keep moving.

After a few minutes you seem satisfied, and your posture relaxes. Your foot hooks around mine and you grab my hand. A smile is shared and we lean against one another as the actors move about, their story unfolding. The end is sad but fitting and you hold my hand tight as the applause ends and people begin to stand up. I again raise an eyebrow, curious; you just shake your head and we let the rest of the theater exit. Once it is down to a few people here or there, some talking, most still slowly moving to the exit, you wink and wiggle your foot.

Leaning over and looking at your foot, I see your underwear, purple and sheer, see through, a pattern of flowers in the lace, hanging from your ankle. A short burst of your low laugh startles me as it is so close to my ear, and you nibble at it. I turn, and we kiss. Slow, lips touching, our hands still held, my free hand reaches down to collect the favour you've left me, your free hand presses to my chest. Our lips press then part, like a subtle vibration I can feel your tongue lightly touch my upper lip, mine then chases your tongue back. You pull away.

Not often do you get that wicked look on your face. But when you do... If angels could sin, this would be it.

We finally start to exit the theater, you walk ahead of me, bodies close, as my own physical reactions are somewhat obvious. And you seem to be taking pleasure in continuing to tease me as you rub against me with accidental swipes of your hips and ass.

I calm somewhat, but am still feeling on edge, my body is hyper sensitive as your fingers brush inside my palm. Every scent around me seems to be magnified. The smell of your body is carried to me in surprising drafts as you move. Soap, sweat, arousal. No perfume. Just you.

I am unceremoniously yanked sideways as you dart through a door. I have been so caught up in my own sensations that I haven't noticed you testing doors for an open one and inside we go. The lights are off but I can see a row of windows high up, the room is not large, letting street light in, but it is so bright where it shines, the rest of the darkness is impenetrable. It is the darkness where you take me. And the darkness is where we find one another.

It is the smells, the taste, the touch. Our eyes are useless, it is the rest of our senses that make it so intense. Breaths come in short animal grunts, bursts of exhalations, sharp intakes of pleasure. Absurdly, I worry we won't find our clothes afterwards. The noises we make must surely be audible outside the room but there is little concern for the world outside our bodies.

When we finally do leave, I almost expect to be greeted by a crowd holding up signs with numbers, applause, shouts of encouragement. There is no way passion like that could go unnoticed. Instead, the lights are out, a few people move about cleaning up. We exit as quickly as possible.