Wednesday morning

So I was in the shower this morning, having a vodka martini while washing my hair, and I thought "wouldn't it be great if I had a girl to do this for me?"

I mean wash my hair, not drink the martini, I can do that myself.

So after heading outside and kicking some homeless men so I could steal their change cups for cash, I ran into a Starbucks and ordered my daily non-fat iced venti caramel macchiato with an extra shot of espresso, then had the barista stir it with her tongue. You didn't know Starbucks did that? Well you've probably never asked, try it next time.

I sat down and fired up my laptop, first browsing a couple porn sites to see if my under age cousin was getting any work... then opened up blogger.com and started to write.

So by this point of the blog, you probably want to shoot me in the kneecap with a small girly handgun…

Let me give you some more ammunition...

* I've never stolen a car without returning it with a full tank of gas, two tickets to a Chargers game, and a gently used baseball bat in the trunk. Just kidding, who can afford Chargers tickets these days? Come to think of it, who can afford gas?

* I know the difference between a fine kilo of pure Colombian yay, and a shopping bag full of icing sugar, so don't try and double cross me like my first four girlfriends, specially the last one.

* Everyone hates mimes, but not me. I respect someone who knows when to shut the fuck up and listen. If we all did that, there'd be less war. Then again, if there was less war, ....Hollywood.... would start making more movies about teens trying to lose their virginity before college. I lost mine in 8th grade to my parent's chubby french Canadian cleaning lady, how come no one makes a movie about that?

* My booty call thinks I'm an asshole. Partially because I keep getting her name wrong. I'm bad with names. If we sleep together, and I wake up and call you Betty, Sally, or Billy-Jo, don't be offended. I have the same problem with phone numbers, so if you wonder why I don't call, it’s because some nice family in the 'boonies is getting non-stop booty calls at ..2am.. in your place.

*Don’t worry about that though, as I never sleep with the same girl twice. You wouldn’t ask DaVinci to paint another copy of the Mona Lisa, would you?

* I get mistaken for Ricky Martin almost everywhere I go. Not Ricky Martin the gay singer, Ricardo Martin the assistant custodian at the local High school

*don’t be blond. I’m tired of blonds in this town (like any of you are really blond anyway, pshh, Grow some self-confidence and go back to your natural color.)

Sure blonds have more fun. Blah blah blah, but brunettes try harder, and I respect a woman who actually puts some effort in, blonds just have it too easy.

* I don't care where you live. I have a car. I like driving. Have some ice cream and pie waiting for me and I'll drive to Julian (well, it'd have to be homemade pie if you live in Julian, Ca)

* I’d prefer if you ARE married or have a boyfriend, Look I’m not going to sit around picking out new cutlery from a catalog with you, or help you walk your tiny little dog. You should have a steady boyfriend or husband for that. I’m like a roller coaster, fun to ride by yourself (or preferably with your best friend or sister) but terrible for trying to have a dinner party on.

Well, that’s it for me.


PS. If I’ve piqued your curiosity, you should know that it’s Ok for you to email me,

Don’t you want to know if I just talk the talk, or walk the walk?

PPS. Please include a photo of yourself, preferably in a dress, but failing that, underwear. And failing that, track pants and a dirty t-shirt always work.

PPPS, Both my parole officer and my therapist have given me the thumbs up to date since the accident.



=]