Heavy Blankets keep me safe

How many times do you wake up in the morning and instantly as the blur ebbs away from your eyes, a rhythm comes rushing into your brain? This my version of radio wake-up calls. It is not what I listened to the night before, it is not that simple. I kid you not my brain knows exactly what sonic caffeine I need injected into my veins the moment my matted hair raises off the pillow. Again it is not what I listened to the night before, it’s what happened to me the day before. What did I talk to God about in my prayers, what did I stare at my ceiling thinking about. My mind knows and when I wake up that next morning my brain has looked through the playlist in “Mitchtunes” and has picked the jam I need. That I need, possibly. Sometimes the song is a soundtrack to something I am trying to forget and get behind me. Sometimes it’s the background music to a temptation. Sometimes though it’s what “eye of the tiger” was for Rocky. Sometimes I am jamming that sound round and around three or four times post-shower, telling me it is going to be just fine. I’m gonna kill it, and that song is no longer a 4min sound bit but a friend. A friend that listened to me and was that running start needed to get over the terrible hill.

Incomplete set of examples:

- P.O.S. : I am angry at a circumstance/situation

- K.O.L : Horny or heart-ache

- Hospital Beds: Got knocked hard but no hope lost.

- Rocks Tonic Juice: pointless girl trouble, it’s negligible. Happy to hate.

- Sowing Season: it’s raining

THE HOT SEAT

The hot seat.
Not referring to the phrase used when “Who wants to be a Millionaire” was what everyone got together to watch at family friends house’s.

The hot Seat.
When one is in the computer lab and within viewing distance is someone very attractive and you look and them and they look at you. They finish before you and leave, to be replaced by someone of equal or increased attractiveness. With whom you meet eyes.

Cute and Creepy

Pretty girly

Pretty girly from far away

Pretty girly so much between us

No less than fifty feet of cold air and one window pane

Talking on the phone can’t hear your voice I’ll go insane

Pretty girly I bet you are really nice

Pretty girly could be single

Pretty girly

Pretty girly with long hair

Pretty girly could laugh at my jokes

We could watch seasons of your favorite show together at night

From our first date then honey moon to wake we wouldn’t fight

Pretty girly my steps close the space

Pretty girly our eyes met

Pretty girly

YOUR MOVE SUCKA

You head out to the date, you pick her up and she is looking very very fine, and obviously she knows this is an important date not that she needed to wear one specific clothing article but she meant to look sexy and she is succeeding. Things are going well, when you want to drive a joke home you stare her down with a big laughing smile while you put your right hand noticeably on her hip. She playfully hits you when you said something edgy. You guys are walking out to your car (which you have cleaned out for the date) but you lead walk with her to her passenger side. Through some positioning you are now holding her close around the hips; she knows what you are going to do. You know what you want to do, so like a seasoned pro, you do it. The Mac’in starts, you move onto the reclined passenger seat. But as you begin to nuzzle her neck you see something just outside public view, something only a man in your current position could see, a hickey. Now most men would recoil in disgust and horror but you are a Mac Pro, you don’t back down to no hickey.
You move over to her other side just a bit below the collar bone, you open your mouth a bit wider than normal and get sucking. You are going to make a bigger hickey than who ever left the last one. Once you’re done she gives you a sultry look saying I enjoyed that and you drop her off gentleman like at her door and go home. Three days later you find yourself with her on her couch watching some movie, you being the big spoon can see most parts of this sweet thang. Then in a message as clear as the color contrast between her silky smooth skin and the blue of a bruise, a hickey sits just inside her hip bone. Its huge!!! You don’t waste much time flipping this girl around and start what definitely was going to happen once the credits rolled. You give her a flower hickey, five hickeys grouped together to make one freaking huge one. Next time you see her, she’s got a hickey line around her left thigh. You retaliate with a tic-tac-toe game hickey on her right shoulder blade. Saturday night shows that your suck happy opponent can shade to make a 3D illusion orb with varying intensity hickey’s. This girl goes to church the next day with a van-gogh perspective hickey on her left ribs underneath her dress. She is no longer a girl but a chess piece between two grand masters.
You are giving the girl so many hickey’s, sucking her face and toes and everything between that your lips start chapping big time, and then they peel and start to bleed. You are in the computer lab one day when you look at the guy across the table. He looks up and stares and exactly what you zero in on, his chapped, peeling, bleeding lips…

SENDING OUT A S.o.S

The karma of ships. I know when I have hurt someone as we sailed on our own ship. I tell myself, it was just part of the game, my hand was forced, I had to abandon our ship sorry but I had too. It will hurt being alone tossed on the seas but, this failure is just one step closer to your success. Cheer up it will be ok without me onboard. But as the notches of my jumped ships pile up, I become aware that I may escape the storms but I may not escape the fate. So with a grin on my face and clenched fists at the end of my wrists, I say, well yeah she jumped your ship but that’s just one more S.O.S that you have paid for on this voyage. Will my karma of ships mean that for every capsize, and abandonment I cause, I must also endure? I don’t really care! My sails are full against the wind and I am on a F#*cking boat. Thus i continue my voyage.

Die young and save yourself!!!

You know what I hate and I hate and I hate even more? A meet up that leaves a bad taste in your mouth. It did not go the way you planned it, the way you envisioned it, the way you wanted it. Not so much like in 500 days of summer where he was totally let down, but where you are totally left thinking and freaking. Like, “wait what did that all really mean, did he/she want me there? Why did he/she act like that?” You leave the person’s house thinking you messed up, you just knocked a chip off the statue of David and now you are in some bad area. You are in the danger zone, and what will make you hate it even more is that it will not be less than 24 hours before you are allowed to know if you are freaking over nothing or not. That bad taste, that fear that you actually did mess up Michelangelo’s masterpiece will stay there. Every time you think of that person, the thoughts of fun and attraction that originally drove you to meet up with person will not be the first ones to pop, the immediate angst will surface. You want to fix it, take charge, but you can’t because you have to wait it out. Be Patient. Isn’t that the worst part of having a bad taste in your mouth, there is never anything close by to wash it away?

GIVE IT UP GIVE IT UP, DOWN

Things I can say to you but I don’t. This is not because I am not a talker. Far from it baby. People wonder how I am so skinny; I personally got a call from an ol’ acquaintance by the name of jen Aniston. She’s kinda built her popularity empire on a few indisputable facts. Her hair, how she got screwed by the hated A. Jolie and her wiles, and how incredibly she has the same body as she did back when we didn’t know that friends would go nine seasons. Anyways getting off topic she called me cause she wanted to know how to keep that body so people can keep looking at her exclaiming she got screwed by bradgelina ultimately ending with she still has great hair though. I told her get talking. That’s it that’s all there is nothing needed more than a tongue that whips itself into a vernacular frenzy. Granted she and anyone down with taking my advice may not be found the most enjoyable person to be around cause I don’t like a motor mouth girl but hey if it keeps you fit (British usage of the word) than guaranteed no one will care cause you got the necessary curves and everyone is shallow enough to go for that. That advice is complete crap and I don’t even believe in it but it proves my point that I like to talk. But I don’t talk about everything. I specifically choose not to talk about anything that will even remotely seem like I am bragging. Oh my goooooooodness I am scared of death of someone thinking that I am bragging. I’d rather be held down and made to watch someone lower a pissed off hornet held lightly with tweezers to my body to have it sting and sting me than get caught bragging. I choose not to talk about things I have done, where I have been, what I am doing and what I like. Unless it’s a completely heinous statement or I make a disclaimer joke at myself for almost crossing over that bragging/conversational line. I have things to brag about, I am a pretty interesting guy I can admit deep inside, but people don’t need me to tell them why. If my qualities aren’t obvious or findable I don’t have them I guess and so I don’t need to tell people what they are. Go ahead try to make me brag, you wont.