*sniff

Happy birthday Jeff =)

I am having the hardest time concentrating today. Grrr. wtf? I think last night totally fucked with me and I'm feeling the repercusions today. Radiohead is rocking my world right now. I know they get a lot of shit for being trendy or getting too much praise but fuck it, I really do enjoy listening to them every now and again. They are at least a different sound than every other bit of crap that is coming out of the radio nowadays.

I wake up every morning and turn on MTV just so I hear music to get me going and I always laugh that I wake up to either Avril, Ashlee or Lloyd. Same old shit. Same old bubblegum, cookie cutter, template-based trash every day and it makes me laugh every time.

I dated this one girl a few months back who was extremely rich and sheltered and suburban and every time she got in my car the radio was always turned to a pop station and the funny thing was, she knew every fucking lyric to every piece of shit rap/r&b song that played. And I wanted to kick her out of the car every time.

"What the fuck are you singing mang?" I yelled.
"Oh this song is my jam" she replied with a smile.
"You know that song sounded just like the last song right?" I retorted. "That is such shit. That isn't hiphop dude. It's garbage."

And she just laughed it off but it really bothered me. I can't stand people who don't know better. I understand if she enjoys it because it's better to like music than to not like it but grr, it got me so worked up. I'll be the first to admit, I try not to comment unless I really know what is out there with a certain genre of music. For example... I like Blink 182/Boxcar Racer. It's poppy but I like that dudes singing voice and the drummers musical ability. I also like The Offspring. Does that make me a punk afficionado? Fuck no. I simply just don't know what else is out there but I at least ask as many people as possible to suggest new groups for me to soak up so I am more well rounded.

But the thing was, this girl didn't even want to listen to my suggestions of hiphop/backpacker/turntableism music. And that was what pissed me off the most. She wasn't even open to groups that weren't created by rich music execs in suits. She turned away some of the most talented musicians just because they didn't get airplay.

*sigh

This blog got waaay bitter too fast.

I do have some killer bruises on my knuckles though. =) And when an office mate didn't want to get me a cup of coffee today I shouted out, "Look dude, I fight now, look at my knuckles. I'll fucking beat yer ass!" (jokingly of course) it gave me a smile.

My dog had a nightmare last night and crawled into bed with me. I love that furry little bastard.

JKREW: NOOOOOOOOO!!!!
careysutra: wow thats a damn shame liechtenstein??? I mean really...
JKREW: she can totally do a better country
careysutra: oh totally shes totally like prince william material
JKREW: or Prince Krew. Come on
careysutra: she can totally just get someone to give her a country....they would want her to rule it because shes so hot.
oh yes i forgot about him. wasnt he the one that got shunned by his family for fucking a goat...and the barn boy??? and now hes a bum on 14th and lex?? yeah i think thats the one
JKREW: no no, I think that was Princess Lair? yeah, she was giving head for Canal St. Fendi bags right?
careysutra: HAHAHAHAHA
god we are hilarious
JKREW: hahaha we should have our own morning talk show that starts no earlier than 11
careysutra: oh yes def
like really i think it would be so good
it would have to be cable
and it would have to be gossip only
JKREW: yeah and we would be total fashion whores on it talking shit about EVERYONE
brb, cancer time. *does MC Hammer dance
careysutra: oh yes no subject is taboo
and in my contract it would say that i get to keep whatever i want out of the wardrobe
JKREW: I just thought of the perfect name for our show!!!
Cracker and Kinky are TALKING SHIT LIVE!"
so hot

Always a pleasure =)

Dug this up from the ashes of my HD....

Ahhh, good ole suburbia! Where men are no longer judged by the content of their character but with the greenness of their lawn. Where any man can be a mans man if he has the Craftsman collapsable workbench in his garage. Where pegboard goes on for miles and the sound of powertools echo throughout the weekends.

Now I know some of you may not know what this little festival of testosterone may be like. Some of you may live in the city and not own a car. Some of you may own a vagina so the whole idea of this may be foreign. Let me try to explain how and why this occurs.

If you live in the suburbs and you are a man, you are one of four types:

1) The guy with the tools.
2) The guy with the great lawn.
3) The guy who works on the car.
4) The guy that comes and drinks beer with you while you work on your car/household project/lawn.

Now being that I live in a condo development, it kind of gets me out of practicing proper lawn care. But I do have a carport and I do work on my car. So from time to time when I need to get under the hood there always seems to be a conglomeration of the local married-with-kids type of guys that always flock to my open-aired 12x12x12 carport. A mans haven if you will. A place where all the men in the neighbourhood can escape the bickering of wives and the screaming of babies. Where you can drink beer and burp and smoke and scratch yourself without getting the talking-to by their significant others.

I have a light above my carport and with Dave's help with his significant knowledge of jerry-rigging, we found a way to hook up a dormatory mini-fridge to the light power source. And with the help of a ladder, one can get to the fridge attached to the rafters with duct tape and bungee cord and retrieve a nice cold beer. Import or domestic, can or bottle, its all there.

Its kind of the neighbourhood mens little secret. We all can take but there seems to be an unspoken understanding that you always put back what you take. When you live in a suburb such as mine, there isn't much left to do. You have already decided to settle down in the peace and quiet that is the suburb. You trade in your Harley for a minivan. You finally throw the little black book away in exchange for the latest Raffi CD. In certain circles, they believe that you simply give in to the whole domestic experience. That is where Dave and I come in. We live here because we got a great deal on the house. We are fairly close to work and like I said, it was cheap and didn't require a security deposit. We are the only single guys in the development. We don't own a Sams Club membership. We don't drive Caravans and we certainly don't have to trade in our beer drinking pot smoking ways for anyone.

So today I decided to adjust the boost on my car. I wanted to go from 14lbs. to 18. Not an easy task being that it requires removing the entire manifold and adjusting a few things underneath it. Should have been an easy 2 hour job. But after it started getting around post dinnertime, the men slowly but surly started coming out of their domestic prisons of laundry and soiled diapers. They came for four things. Male bonding, alcohol, talk of titties and asses and the sharing of the latest bowling scores. That and to look busy while I did all of the work. As I furiously worked on my car, one by one, they came. Like I was the sun and my gravity pulled the married men out of their homes. "Whatcha working on this time Jay?" "How was the weekend Jason?" "Saw ya with that new neighbour today you dog!"

They all crowded around the car but did no work. They simply looked busy and enjoyed the male bonding experience. They asked questions like, "That a 1/2" or a 1/4" socket driver?" and I would reply, "1/4" Steve." "Oh, okay, thats what I would use too!"

They just sat and stared or talked and laughed trading car stories or war stories or bating stats while I just kept on under the hood. So after about three hours of me working while the other men either watched with their arms crossed or smoked that "secret cigerette" all the while keeping an eye out for their wives, I finally was finished. I stood up to see all of the men talking not really paying attention to my achievement until the tried and true attention grabber was layed into action. The slamming down of the hood. I might as well lit off a stick of dynamite because when that 45 pound gloss black painted hood slammed shut, they all stopped everything. Conversations screeched to an abrupt halt. Beer sips were cut short. High fives were stopped midair. And all in unison, their eyes were on me. They knew what was to happen next. The test start.

Like kids on Christmas Eve. They knew what was to come. For this evening, it would be the epitomy of testosterone. The reason a man was a man. The reason why Sears has midyear tool sellathons. For tonight, the sound of horsepower, the smell of 97 octane gasoline and the whisp of a turbos blowoff valve would be heard across the land.

All was quiet then. Not one comment was uttered as I crawled into my drivers seat and shut the door. I slowly checked gauges and made a mental final checklist. And then it happened. I started the car. The sound of German metal slowly turning over, the engine finally catching and the throaty hum of the exhaust. All eyes were on me. They gave me the look that a child gives to a parent at a petstore. They knew what they wanted to hear and they wanted it bad. What was next to come would make the next week bearable. All of the dirty diapers and the nagging screams of their spouses would all be worth it in the next moment. I looked to one of them seeing through the windshield the nonverbal head movement. Moving up and down with eyes nearly squinted shut. Another mans mouth was nearly wide open with excitement. All of them telling me to do it. And then it happened. I stepped down on that right pedal with the strength of Zeus himself. Instantaneously all 445 screaming horses let loose. The car shook. The men took a quick breath. The turbos wastegate expunged its spent gases with a hiss that had never been heard before. And then the sound of 12 men exploded with screams of excitement and manliness into the night. High fives were given, beer was spilled. Fingers to lips made the siren cry for all men to hear. Some jumped up and down. Some stood absolutely still. Others didn't know whether to cry or to give their best effort at a "Whoooooo".

So with a few more tests all was said and done. What work was to be made on my car tonight was over. I slowly reached for my key and turned it to the off position. The engine slowly quieted down, the last throaty note exited my dual chromed turboback exhaust pipes, and the soft hiss of the turbo wound down to its resting postion for the evening.

As I exited the car and walked over to my tools, I received a few highfives, a random pat on the back or a congratulatory handshake. As for tonight, we were men. We talked about women and boobs and porn and cars and beer. Some of us drank, others smoked but we all were a part of something special. We were men. For 3 hours, we got to be what we were supposed to be. No one had to worry about taking out the trash or cleaning dishes or cleaning up baby vomit. We didn't have to answer to anyone and no one could take that away from us.

So as I gathered up my tools, we all traded our "see ya laters" or "I guess I gotta go check on the kids" or "Got a 8am meeting with the client tomorrow" but one thing was for sure, during the next week, we all could look forward to one thing; Sunday. A time for reflecting. A time for relaxation. But most importantly, a time to get away from it all and just be guys.

•••Reading this 8 hours later, this is kind of harsh sounding but I'll just keep up as to not erase a thought •••

Well, the Brazillian Death Flu (BDF) turned out to be Pneumonia. OR SO THEY SAY. Well, today is the last day of my medication and my body is still fucked up. Yesterday was probably the hardest day I ever had having to work or do anything for that matter. I was shaking, my legs were completely cramped up and I couldn't sit still for more than 5 minutes. I struggled through work and finally got home and passed out. Like PASSED OUT.

I woke up and was all screwed in the head and just left to go for a drive. I have no idea whats going on with my body. I've been running too long for the past few months and I guess it's just catching up to me.

I remember when the summer started and I was just abusing the shit out of my body. Going out every night, drinking every night, partying every night and now I'm just beat to shit. I thought about that a lot last night. When I was seeing Carey, we would do something every night for a few months. Not crazy shit but you know how it is when you start hanging with someone new. And it was either her or going to Bill & Leahs to do something. I only went home to sleep. I kind of miss it. I guess it's a sign that summer is almost over and that's depressing as fuck. I love summer. I can't wait for my birthday. One last hurrah at the beach with millions of dubs and all my crew.

Where am I going with this? Focus Jason. Ok, so yeah. Still kinda edgy this morning. Still shaking and my legs are screaming. I didn't touch alcohol last night minus a beer at dinner. Got my fucking car towed last night because I'm a dumbass.

And on my way back Jess rang me and we talked for the entire trip to my house. What am I doing. I shouldn't give her the time of day but I always pick up the phone. I guess I can't throw away the past for some reason. Funny thing I was free. That's the one thing I kept saying to myself when I was in my car driving away from our break up 5 months ago. "You're free." I screamed that shit all the way home with the windows down and the music blaring and the wind rushing through my car as I sped down the highway.

So many things I want to say to her right now. I'm in a bitter and confused mood right now so this may come out all fucked up and will probably be different tommorow but right now I'm amazed by her actions at the moment.

Did you really think you could have your cake and fuck me too? How dare you repetively ask me if I want to get back with you. Don't even start to give me altematums on deciding just so you can "heal" and "start to get over it". Fuck you. You should have started to "get over it" when you walked out my door. What the fuck do you think I have been doing for 5 months?

I'm sure she may have realised that she fucked up midway through and hoped to ring me up and I would jump on her sack like nothing happened but that is clearly not the case here. My eyes are open to life without her and I am doing fine. If I ... If WE happen to start talking again and patch up our clusterfuck of a relationship then it will happen when it happens. If it doesn't, it doesn't.

I can't even start to rationalize what I want to do about it right now. Maybe I subconsciously don't want to right now. It's not even confusion. It's just my mind basically repressing even a single thought of emotion about her which is strange because I've never done that before. Maybe she really did fuck me up that much.

But why do I keep picking up the phone?

Happy reading Jess.

*swoons

careysutra: your away message is disturbing
JKREW (Autoreply): Having sex with your sister. Back in two shakes.
careysutra: thats all im gonna say
that and you only wish you were having sex with my sister
JKREW: I could have had yer sister 3 weeks ago
careysutra: mm hmm whatever
JKREW: hahaha
careysutra: and dont think that because you have dead aim on a mac that your all cool "look at me i can talk to you with an away message up"
JKREW: haha
careysutra: man my brother had that shit before you were born
careysutra went away 12:37
Away Message: "Work...call the cell phone." 12:37
JKREW: dude, I had that shit before you're eyes were slanted
careysutra (Autoreply): Work...call the cell phone.
BAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHA I HAD TO COME BACK FOR THAT ONE
careysutra came back 12:38
careysutra: LOLOLOL
JKREW: yeah. What's up now?
careysutra: FOOF
OH GOD THAT WAS FUNNY
OH MAN OKAY IM OUT
JKREW: lates =)

Stoked. =)