Friday, October 15, 2010

Serious lack of motivation for this.

Well internet... Its been quite a while since I've managed to have the inspiration of tearing someone or something into shreds, and as of extremely recent, I've started to feel the need of expression of wit and, anger... It isn't targeted at anything specific at the moment, its more a feeling that is just geared towards the world and life in general.

Why is it that there tends to be a lack of balance with all things that go on. There is either a severe degree of complacency meaning neither happy or, angry, attachment or, dissociation or; there is an ultimate amount of extremes, full of love, bliss, joy, and failure, distrust and, drama. A wise friend of mine recently proclaimed his love for life, and announced their marriage and happiness...

I know without a doubt if I made such a commitment, I would divorce life, ask for a refund or, at least force it to sign a prenuptial agreement.

Life? If your listening out there in the middle of the internet, I really would like a hand up!! I'm not asking for a hand out, nothing free, I don't mind continuing to put all the efforts into the maintenance of miniature successes that I do in fact take some pride in, I have no fears of doing the work to get the payoff, I'd just like to not be handed a double edged sword at all time... Life? If you are friends with karma, could you please tell him that I deserve a little better then what has been served to me on this tarnished platter of bland, flavorless, discounted tidbits of anti-satisfying food-stuffs?

I look around at all the other minions of humanity, and many of them have been given the shaft, and yet they deserve it. They are laying in the bed that they've made. There are those that are dealing with what they've been dealt, and now they are reaping all the smiles and laughs that they're rewarded with. I want that. A clear definition and easy line to understand...

I'm too pissed off to continue for I don't want to throw this phone under a bus.




Joshua FACT!
NNP!
cynicaldigestion.blogspot.com

Monday, March 15, 2010

SIP Lounge... Should be CRAP lounge

 http://siplounge.com/ 1117 Granville Street Vancouver, BC, (604) 687-7474

The night, February 14th, 2010.

The mood, a high degree of romantic tension and the beginnings of love in the air. The people, Joshua FACT, and his brand new (as of mere hours earlier) girlfriend, Harley FRESH.

To set the mood of the night, it began quite eloquently with a beautiful stroll through the downtown core of Vancouver. Harley was only visiting for the weekend, so much of the evening previous was spent touring around the city on a nice adventure that only lovers can experience. Leading to a very romantic moment shared at the middle of the Burrard street bridge in which we giggled, kissed, blushed, talked, and lead to the instance of which I decided to 'man up, and grow a pair' and asked her to be my girlfriend.

The air was ever so slightly chilly for that particular night, with a light breeze that makes a man hold the girl in his life with the might of Hercules, and the will of Zeus to make her comfortable in the evening breeze while passing smiles back and forth with furious passion in the night.

We decided to celebrate the occasion, which only seemed to be the most appropriate thing to do on such a day of glory and victory, and continued to find a place suitable for us to fully experience the moment of the night.

The hunt begins.

After a failed attempt at finding a decent champagne for Harley to drink at Licorice, we decided that because it was the season for the Olympics, that there would be a good chance of finding a great place to go on Granville street.

We walked, We found, but we weren't ready for the entire experience. What started off as a very sweet looking little spot right on Grandville St. turned out to be the worst experience of any possible experience during a night of romance.

To start, as we walked up to the door, we were greeted by a man large enough to consume an elephant as a snack and strong enough to crush a honda civil like an empty can of beer. He kindly instructed us to the door girl, who advised us that there was a $10 cover charge to get in. I asked, "Oh my! Who is playing here this evening?". The reply was something along the lines of, 'no one, you just have to pay to get in'. All we wanted was to sit for all of 15 minutes and spend some money. Little did I know that there were lounges with cover charges that offered nothing in return. After a quick moment of consultation among ourselves, we decided to go elsewhere, when the door girl offered us a place to sit outside that wouldn't require the entrance fee. Okay, we'll sit outside, it isn't a great solution, but it's one that will work for the situation.

We sit, have our beverages, that consist of a single glass of cola, and a single glass of $9 champagne. We do our best to enjoy while sitting outside on this, now chilly, February evening.

And then the bill comes...

Billed to us was a total that came to $19 and change. Now, to my avail, I fail to comprehend how $9 + $2.50 can equal $19. So I go into further inspection of the bill...

Included on the bill, of charges that weren't discussed, was an %18 required tip!?!? What the fuck is that horse shit!! There was a liquor tax as well... To my understanding, that tax is only to be charged at bars and at liquor stores. Not at a lounge/restaurant, but I could be wrong. Anyways, in light of this massive bill, I leave $20 and wait for change. The useless, classless host brings some of it, but shorted $0.21. Now under any other circumstances, I really wouldn't give a crap about the $0.21, but given that I've already had the option of leaving a tip striped away from me like a slave being torn from the mother land, there was no way in hell that I was about to leave a single extra cent behind. So we sit and wait. The girl comes back and asks if there is a problem, "Yes, you've short changed me $0.21, and I'd like my money". "0.21 cents?" Scoffs the woman.

I will not go there again.

That's a lot of advantage being taken. And I will NOT stand for it!




Joshua FACT!
NNP!
cynicaldigestion.blogspot.com

Sunday, February 7, 2010

Internal changes are causing more external dismay.

So roughly 2 months ago, I take a traditional shower to cleanse the body in preparation for yet another droning day at my less then moronic place of employment when terror strikes.

As it turns out, I get aroused during my self cleaning, and pay absolutely no attention to the fact that I'm growing a raging huge mega boner. The continuation of the shower leads to the washing of my feet with whatever soap that I could find in there as I was struggling with shampoo in the eyes as well.

I wash foot number 1. As I lift my other leg to wash foot number 2, I lose my sturdy grounded footing and slip.

CRASH!! Right on the boner. Pain like I've never known before comes throbbing up from my swollen member, shooting spasms course through my veins, and the world halts for a yelp that falls upon ears that aren't present to hear.

After several minutes of pain, I'm running late, so I clean up the mess and trot off the work like a good little corporate worker bee...

I have had yet to have the time to have enough care to get the beast inspected by trained medical professionals until just this afternoon. Decidedly, as it was also a good time to get some other things checked out, I go on my way yonder to the irking community medicenter for the standard run down and full examination.

The place smells like urine and homeless persons as I find out that it's also a methadone dispensary, and the place is swarming with homeless and sex trade workers.

The papers get filled, filed, clip-boarded and passed down the line, I'm instructed to "wait for the next available nurse" as per usual protocol.

Ashley, very nice looking nurse. Young, clean, very professional in composure, and very reassuring to not be awkward while directing the interesting medical ballet that is about to be induced on the bathing suit parts of my body.

She takes blood, only mistake it would seem is that she chose the wrong vein and punctured in a fashion that is leaving an impending bruise on my arm. Requested urine in a cup, I'm always up for a challenge to pee in one of those little things without dripping all over it. Visual inspection, all is normal, happy, healthy, and honestly in that nice clinic rooms lighting, quite pretty. Physical inspection...

Her face dramatically changes from a friendly, warm, comforting smile to an immediate glare of confusion. She leaves the room suddenly, and returns to tell me that I must see a doctor, and she's made the appointment for me in 1 hours time. Does not offer any reasoning as to why. Gives me a little card with the clinics phone number, as well as her direct exchange number on the side of it.

I leave to find coffee, cigarettes, a drink, something to help me distract myself from the thoughts that are rolling around my skull of all of the what if's.

45 minutes pass, it's time to return. The doctor was quite swift in getting into the notes that the previous original inspecting nurse had written in their eloquent medical short hand. something along the lines of 'corpus spongio´sum pe´nis a column of erectile tissue forming the urethral...' I zone out from the depth of 15 syllable words spouting from the doctors mouth that are far beyond the range of my vocabulary.

I ask "could you please slim down the medical jargon and explain to me in a way that I'll understand, and try and give me some reassurance?" She replies, "Well, it's not an STD and it's not a cancer." and continues with some more $10 words.

I ask again, "please, in the simplest form of an explanation please?"

The doctor pauses. Think for a moment. "Well Josh, you broke your penis."

I can't hold in the laughter of shock from that statement, and I do give silent applause to the doctor for being able to keep herself from laughing along with me. "Where do go from here?"

She instructs that she's going to make a referral to a Cock Doc to check it out a little farther.

I am the only person I know that has somehow managed to successfully break their penis.

Tuesday, January 12, 2010

To all the ignorant fuckers on the skytrain!!

I can understand having pleasant conversation between friends while riding on public transit, I do it frequently.

The one thing that seems to be forgotten more frequently, especially at night, is that it is PUBLIC transportation, and it's easy to offend those people around that have no other choice other then to be forced to grind teeth in the agony of baring witness to the meaningless ramble about lame hockey talk.

Who in their right minds actually idolize people fro playing hockey so much that they feel the need to yell, swear, shout, holler, and argue about what player is better then the next, and what team is better then another. These public transport cocks that hold the airwaves hostage are losing the sense of where they are and the ideas of respect for the rest of the world goes out the window. The topics of the sport utterly upset me to no end, who actually needs to hear about the salary of the referees??!! Who cares who has more injuries or anything?!?! If I was a religious man, I would pray to whatever god that I believed in to help these hairy backed drunken gorillas to man up, grow a pair, remove the mental tampon, and learn how to act in public and to learn about some kind of an intellectual topic aside from sports and the size of one another's sticks.

There is the potential to lead through the strong degree of opinion and strong views, but the goals are diluted.

I know this entry is short, but enough has been said.

Wear your own clothes, not someone else's name. Fuck off!


Joshua FACT!
NNP!
cynicaldigestion.blogspot.com

Sunday, January 10, 2010

The effects of the oblivious heart??

There are very few things that should hold any degrees of impression on the well being and happiness of ones self. Some are necessary and a few are optional.

Shelter, clothing, food, water, self love and external affection.

The only thing that should have a variable outcome and therefore the highest amount of pressure is external affection. There are two parties involved to be able to achieve that as a fifth element of happiness thus making the inevitable variable.

The major problem with this, is that it becomes such an acceptable topic of thought and discussion when one is unhappy with their current situation, however, it remains a totalitarian topic of 'the ultimate taboo' to discus the real sense of emotion. One can easily say "I didn't like her" or "She flaked out on me", "I'm not into a relationship right now". On the contrast, it would seem that one can not and should not make a proclamation of desire to the opposition of needs. One can't say "I have love, but no one to give it to".

Due to the social political nature of class, judgment, outward appearance, and social rankings of the city I reside in, it becomes even more of a punishable offense to admit such feelings or needs as a man. A straight male, as I am, has an even tougher time trying to maintain dignity and pride, while being expected to 'bottle it up'. We are supposed to be a progressive society, and yet its more then frowned upon to express oneself to a woman that is in line for modern courting, it will inevitably be a cause for rejection if the balance of flirt to expression is thrown off in the slightest.

A man can admit to 'liking' a girl, or even 'loving' a girl, but the big social no-no is to announce that one is looking for love and not just a lay. The double standard is the anti-idealistic principle that we men with feelings have to live with. Women can openly talk about and admit their want for happiness through mutual love between a man and a woman, but a man can only lust for practicing the fine art of unwed fornication.

Is it so wrong to rate 'pillow talk' higher on the scales of pleasure over and above 'knocking boots'?

How can a man find love if he's forbidden to look?


Joshua FACT!
NNP!
cynicaldigestion.blogspot.com

Monday, January 4, 2010

A small token into the mind of Mr. FACT on a day to day experience.

I'm really ADHD'ing out and it's a little freaky. Everything is pissing my off.

I don't know... It's like some kind of a mild OCD tangent... I'm really pissing me off. Just relax and think of something happy?? I try, and then get flooded... I'm trying to just calm the fuck down. I should blog or something, maybe. I guess here is my answer to that thought. Sometimes writing helps, but I'm so fuckin' antsy that I don't know if I could sit through that. Plus the more freaked out I get, the more geeked out I get with an obsession for perfect linguistics. It might just push the tangent over board.

It's all good. Don't blog. Go for a walk.

Have you ever seen 'The Aviator'? It's got Leonardo De Caprio in it. He's an OCD aircraft inventor, and he goes all crazy with the compulsiveness and then eventually the obsession kicks in so much that he looses the ability to function socially for long lengths of time. I don't quite feel crazy to that extent, however; I do feel a little bit like a wired meth head right now. It's almost like that same grind, the pacing, the insanity, the nervousness, the heightened speed of thought, hyper aware of the surroundings and all the other parts that come along with. I've only been sleeping like 2 hours a night for about a week, not because I'm not tired, but because I just can't fuckin' relax. Sorry to be all weird and shit, but I think that some degree of interaction is keeping me distracted from the bouncing leg and fidgeting.

Have you tried cleaning??

Yes, everything is spotless... I'm only sorry I guess because I'm really not used of reaching out for a 'rock of solidarity'. Usually I am that rock for so many others, always being leaned on and never really needing to lean. Or at least that's what it seems like. It's more likely that I really should be leaning a little more then what I have been though. You know, just a little bit here and there, keeping me from flipping my lid so much.
My jaw hurts from clenching so much, I smell horrible from sweating so much. My hair is dirty and my clothes are gross. I've seen better days.

Have a shower. A cold one.

Is that what would help from mething out? Some people have described the two as a very similar experience. Maybe it is, I really don't know. All that I have to understand their mentality is being told that it can be the same over stimulated and under-stimulated parts of the brain that are effected in a similar manner. I think the hardest part in all of this is knowing that aside from medication, there is nothing that I can really do. It makes me feel like I'm actually a crazy person. Amanda was always able to sooth the embarrassment in reminding me that I'm not crazy, and that it's just an imbalance. I don't know if that actually makes me feel any more secure or not.

If this is similar to meth, I really can't understand why anyone would want this though. I feel it as a curse, not a blessing. And some people actually take Ritalin to get high... What the fuck is that?!?! I've taken it a couple times when I was a little kid, and I hated it. it kept me feeling so numb to the world, so bland to everything, over relaxed and lazy to the extent of being nothing but blank. I know that isn't what happens to a regular person, but I would rather be crazy then put under some kind of a chemical restraint.

All I know is that I need to keep myself distracted and keep my mind stimulated and challenged, occupied and not vacant. I need to keep the tangent to a minimum. Usually sleep deprivation helps as an alternative means to medication, however this time is a little more intense then the usual course of the temporary flair of loony bin insanity. I have to remember that this is nothing but a flair up, and not the way that it always is.
The idea is that hopefully through some kind of communicative means of mental release and vocalization, there should be the post effect of natural calming and relaxation. The one, of many things, that I refuse to pursue is medication, therefore, No Ritalin, No medication, No negotiations. Not only is altering my present state of mind completely against all of my personal morals and boundaries, I means that I would also have to go talk to a shrink about all my ‘issues’, their derivatives, my past, my present, my outlook on the future. It means that I would have to spend some lengthy amount of time on a lame ass couch sweating my hyper self-awareness out to a random doctor who would undoubtedly sit in his chair, ask probing questions, exclaim “Mmmmhmmmm” quite often, and ultimately offer no advice beyond a prescription pad and a pen.

I know that there will be change one day, but I don’t know if I could handle it when it gets here….



Joshua FACT
www.factandfiction.ca
NNP!