I am sitting here in a strangers house.

Doing respite for some lady and her 14 year old adopted son. Its an odd feeling. Strange leather couch. Borrowed internet.

They are both in bed and it seems the entire downstairs is mine. If the feeling ever overcame me, I could steal everything in here. The TV, the computer, the XBOX...and just leave. Nobody would know and only the police would be a little wiser.

What a strange job this is.

Sexy black people dancing.

wow

I want to buy some plants.

My apartment is desperately missing some sort of leafy presence and I predict this week is the week where I introduce my breath to their pores.

I had some Peace Lilly's sitting in my last apartment and they were an incredibly sight. In addition to having this minimalist, one flower only feel, the Peace Lilly's also boast the BEST air purifying treatment an apartment can get. Now, Im not necessarily one for plant elitism, but how could you possibly go wrong with something like that?

Smell good my sexy laminate house for the attack of my green love is near.

By the time you read this, I am probably in Tofino.

We dont have a rented room, a place to camp nor a tent for that matter so I am not entirely sure what we are going to do. Probably find an empty spot on the sand. Most likely. I dunno. Either that or sleep in the impending rented kayak.

1 car, 2 cousins. The journey begins.

Gone

Its my birthday in 5 months.

I just thought Id remind myself.

Honestly, its not like I have ever actually forgotten what day my birthday falls under, but I fall into an odd pretentious when the day rolls around. I tend to "forget" to tell people when the day rolls around.

"What? Happy Birthday? What are you talki.....OOHHH RIGHT HAHAHAHAHAH....THANKS MAN I TOTALLY FORGOT!"

This, in my new found douche language, translates into:

"Look, even I really appreciate and even secretly pine for the warmth and affection you are showering me with but I am going to pretend to be really fucking cool and not give a shit in an incredibly passive way ok? Ok."

Lets face it. I care that Im older. Maybe not in the most literal sense but I feel that my metaphorical understanding of the universe requires me to address this issue in some sort of affectionate tone. After all, it is another year of experience. Another year of understanding, living and loving. There is something to celebrate no? After all, the worlds environment is condensed into my brain through an ever evolving filter of reason. Maybe that in itself is something to rejoice and give thanks in.

Sigh. I think Im too early for a midlife crisis.

I have been quacking like a duck lately.

Now, Im not entirely sure what this means, but excluding the underlying possibility of the avian flu taking a horrendous turn for the worse, I believe I have grown, mentally jaded. A lost brain, arguing once again, for its yellow brick road.

Some may argue that this habitual response to unavoidable environmental factors is not necessarily a turn to negative regime. After all, the duck is the more charming species of the animal farm, and truth be told, who in their right mind would have it out for a duck? A mole I can understand. Nobody likes a mole. A duck on the other hand. Fucking quack, am I right?

Alas, even within these affirmed consents of understanding, I feel a disjoint. No human should feel the need to act like a duck. I ask, what possible hole does a quack fill that alcohol does not? Is it the pure cadenced sound of 2 hard constants ramming each others throat that gets me all fired up? A hard Q slowly filling up the back side of K.

So hot right now.

Sometimes I wonder about all the time I wasted quacking and ask, what else could I have achieved? A cure for Cancer perhaps? Nay, a revolutionary new source of power! To be completely fair however, quacking has led to a net increase of joy within my life. There is nothing more satisfying than confusing the most sane of individuals with a good hearty quack.
 
Oh my wasted youth.

Because the internet is an awkward place.

How do you blog your life?

I dont quite get it. Should I write down notes on my day to day activities and then re-iterate them to the audience in piece by piece meals?

Should I tell you that I started to watch season 7 of Entourage today? Well I did. And it looks like Ari Gold is hooped with the NFL.
What about the avocado sandwiches that made their way into my mouth? They were delicious.
Or how about time where I walked shirtless through Save-on because I forgot to put a shirt on? The counter lady yelled at me.

Sigh.

I dunno. Maybe I should just stick to the TV.

Famous. Famous. I want to be famous.

I  want to be a Hollywood star living within some silicone bubble wrap of fame and misfortune. It would be an interesting existence I suppose. Paparazzi click tapping their cameras while Gucci suits give way to the brilliance of neon light.

The grey goose martini begins to overflow while the red lipsticks beside me chatter their incessant talk. A scandal it seems, has brewed its final juice. What will my many friends ever say?

The autographs begin to appear un-mistaken within the folds of a restaurant napkin. The jittery 19 year old nearby jumps up and down in harried excitement. An eternal love fashioned, courtesy of MTV.

The life of a celebrity, oh what a life indeed.