banger and mash

I've got so much to say about girls, relationships, and sex, but can't properly explain myself because Manic has turned me into turned me into a fucking jittery-handed monster and I'd probably end up writing non-sensical shit.

Speaking of which, something I should bring light to: my segment in Talkin' Schmidt about ex-girlfriend etiquette has been receiving some flack lately. I don't really care. Every single guy I've talked to about this subject has fully agreed with me. One thing I will grant the female viewers is that, because of editing the segment due to time restraints, a lot of footage was cut, which probably would have helped in the explanation.

It all really boiled down to jealousy and attachment. Like most men in relationships over six months, we tend to view our women as "my girl". You look at her from across the room and say "that's my girl", which is a mentality that stays with you long after the relationship has ended. You see it in the movies all the time: when the divorced wife begins seeing another man, the ex-husband usually loses his mind with jealousy. It's not much different in this case. You become attached to that girl on so many levels that when it comes time to separate, most of the feelings for that person remain engraved on your heart and slowly fade like hieroglyphics.

So in my case, when I see an ex-lover with new man, what the fuck did you think I'd feel? I'm not some cold-hearted knucklehead with no concept of sentiment. I look at the guy and say in my head:

"If you hurt my girl, I'm going to rip off your cock, marinade it for two years, and then serve it to you in a restaurant and you'll think it tastes good".

What I said during the segment makes full sense. It's only human to be jealous of some man touching your girl. And although it may have been me that ended the relationship, I have every right to still feel strongly for the well-being of ex-lovers. Even so, I always remain civil when in the presence of the two of you - I shake hands and make you look really uncool - but just remember that the jar of brine is never too far away, if you catch my drift.

escape from the city

fuck it.



i get tired of people, in the general sense, quite easily. i circle streets at night and realize what a dismal thing humanity really is. i haven't quite decided whether life is truly difficult or impossibly easy, and i don't lose sleep over it.

i've decided to send out an open invitation to all girls who are interested in cutting all strings and moving to the country with me.

we'll wear denim, sleep in, kiss a lot and have a dog.
i'll drive you into town in my truck when you want, and i'll pick up the paper.
we'll build a library in our bedroom and our floors will creak louder than the weather vane on the roof.
things will be quiet most of the time, until we decide to spin records and dance.

no experience necessary. only requirement is that dirt under the nails needn't be a problem at times.

the secret machine

Sunday's, believe it or not, are usually the most eventfull day in my week. I'll try to put myself into harms way as much as possible.

After clearing my head from last nights mosh-fest with a good old sleep in, I decided it was time for a proper meal. I settled on a breakfast of homemade hash browns, bacon, carmelized onions, creamed spinach, and fried eggs. This took forever because I haven't fully figured out how to make perfect hash browns yet (recipes are my enemy). I cook by trial and error.
Once I was done eating I called my mum and lovingly wished her a happy Mother's Day. She deserves every bit of it, because I have the best mum on the planet, no matter how much you argue with me.

Now, something I usually do with my Sunday's is to go for a nice long walk. This walk usually starts somewhere around St. Clair station, as I will take the subway up there on the Yonge line, just to walk home. However, I decided this was too short for my liking and headed west on Bloor St. I had a savage headache at the time. Listening to Stockholm Syndrome on full blast didn't help too much either, but who cares?

Upon walking into the Annex, I decided visit the local BMV. Here, I do as I usually do in any book store: walk to the travel and maps section. To be totally honest, I have no idea why this happens. It is simply the most attractive section of any book store to me. I think books on travel and maps are romantic and mysterious, full of honesty and curiosity. I have a serious love for old world exploration maps. I'll go into further detail about this love at another time.

Around this time, I got a call from John Bean. Oh John, my friend. We decided to meet up for a pint a half an hour from the time of his call, so it was time to get some food first.

I stopped by the local Ginger to grab a quick bite. It was here that I also experienced my latest panic attack. I should first mention that panic attacks are nothing new to me. I used to get them quite predictibly when I was young. I couldn't watch an IMAX movie without having a freak-out session. The sheer size of the screen would cause panic. Yet they have become less frequent, thankfully, over the past several years. But by god are they horrible. It feels like a bad drug trip without the excuse. With drugs you can at least convince yourself that there are powers at work that are beyond your control. When it's a straight-up panic attack it's scarier because it's just you and your mind working against each other.


These are your usual symptoms:

• Rapid heart beat, pounding heart or palpitations
• Sweating
• Shaking visibly or inside
• Choking sensations or lump in throat
  
• Smothering or shortness of breath sensations
• Nausea, bloating, indigestion or abdominal discomfort
• Dizziness or unsteadiness
• Feeling light-headed
• Derealization (feeling unreal or dreamy)
• Depersonalization (feeling outside yourself or like you don't exist)
• Fear of losing control or going crazy
• Paresthesias (numbness or tingling sensations) in face, extremities or body
• Chills or hot flushes
• Skin losing color
• Blushing or skin blotches

However some symptoms are more present than others, the major symptoms I experience are Derealization, Depersonalization, and Paresthesias (and not because they are all big words). There may be others but I am almost always alone when they occur.

Basically, try to imagine that your head is floating, severed from your body, and that you aren't even present existentially. The only way to remind yourself that you have arms and legs is to either attempt moving them or to pinch them, just to remind you that they are still there. Anti-gravitational pull seems to take effect and you'll feel like you're about to be sucked into the ceiling at top speed. You can't read, you can't hear a thing, and the person you thought you were is reduced to a pile of functionless matter. Everything shakes, and everything is scary; even the comics section of the paper you so dearly love.

Luckily, the thought of seeing John kept me grounded enough to stomach my meal and meet him at Bathurst station.

Long story short: we went to the Green Room, downed a few jugs of Tankhouse, and chatted each other up. John is a great listener. He lets me chew his ears off. We talk a lot about film, hip hop, girl problems, old friends, modern day technological problems, and things that make us laugh - amongst other things. Our usual policy is: meet for a beer when the sun is up, leave our beer when the sun is down. Tonight was no different. John is one of those friends that I know I'll be checking out girls with when we're 60. I can just see it coming.



Regardless, that was my Sunday. How was yours?

the wild

Lately, after several large-party hangout scenarios, I've continued to unravel things that I truly stand for, and against. Par example:

Within the past few years, I've noticed somewhat of a rapid resurgence in the use of racial slurs and general racially-charged name calling that I thought was on its way out with our grandparents. Now, I have tried to understand this phenomenon (and trust me, it is) from many points of view, including the one about how racism is not as serious as it once was, making it a more widely accepted brand of comedy. However, like anything, there are limits. I hear and see these same limits being pushed every day. I don't think I've ever felt as uncomfortable as I have over the past year about these issues. I was raised in a home where discrimination was not even a frame of mind and not once did I ever hear my parents or siblings crack a joke surrounding ones race, except for the one about bad Asian drivers when my sister got in a car accident.

Now, I know these jokes are delivered with harmless intentions by most of today's youth, but this exact frame of mind has held racism a priority amongst modern cultural dilemmas for decades. It is something that I seriously will not stand for and have never found amusing. For instance, just the other night I said to someone "If I had a gun I'd shoot your fucking dick off," after said person referred to a young black girl as "darky". Disgusting. I can only take so much more of it.

Another serious dilemma that I won't stand for is chauvinistic behavior towards women. This is another issue that should have been out the door a long, long time ago. The fact that such disgusting behavior is still present amongst many "gentlemen" makes my fucking blood boil. Which brings me to my next point...

The humiliation of jocks. This is the stuff of my dreams. Nothing gives me more satisfaction than keeping that American Eagle frown right-side down. As far as I'm concerned, most of these unenlightened zeroes take up far too much space on this continent and serve no purpose other than keeping the beer and khaki industries afloat. So guys, a little heads up from old Andy: I will take your girl aside, dance the shit out of her, and give her right back like a true gent while you grip your pint and wonder how legs move like that. I will smile, and probably wink at you, and you won't like it.

But what would motivate an individual to do such things? Simply put - revenge. I was fortunate enough to attend multiple schools that were full of meat-heads in the making. We all know the type: bullies, goons, cooliosos, jocks, thugs, dickheads. The kind of guys that will end up snorting blow out of their polished briefcases before going home to measure their dicks in front of the mirror before watching the big game or cheat on their wives. These are the guys that I like to mess with strictly for my own personal gain, and I really don't see anything wrong with that.