Okay… I’m growing a little tired of the 140 Character limit…

Every once in a while I get tired of trying to craft everything single little update into a meezly 140 characters… It’s just not natural. I’ve looked into a handful of different services to get around the limit (tweetlonger.com, hellotxt.com, etc.) but it feels like you have to sign up for so many different services just to cross-post properly. So, being the relentless bugger I am, I’m trying to use this malcontent with said 140-character limit as incentive to get back into blogging more often. I miss it but don’t feel like I have as much time for it. Maybe this is a good first little step… :^)


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Like I’m suffocating…

I feel like I’m slowly spiralling further and further into this depression I just can’t shake. It’s been getting worse over the past few years and lately I just feel like I’m losing it. Like I’m out of control. Like I’m suffocating under the weight of it all.
I am, for the life of me, trying to figure out what I can do to get better. How I can redefine myself or what I do, to overcome this feeling.
I rarely feel happy. I have fun and happy moments but overall I feel overwhelmed by this life that feels completely out of control. Or at least my control.
As I eluded to before, I’m very good at wearing the happy mask, through-which very few people see.
I used to not need a mask.
I really want to be able to take it off… it’s been feeling quite heavy lately.

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Me and Kevin Bacon… 4 degrees… really?

So, my wife, Ladyshark, had a slow day at work today… she spent a good deal of time waiting for customers to come in to the store. Meanwhile, she and her co-workers were chatting about a sales competition that was held held over the Christmas. One of the girls had one the “Top Gun” for Canon camera sales which won her a quick $200. Cool.

Of course, as group conversation go sometimes, they kept going off on tangents, from camera sales, to Top Gun the movie, to Tom Cruise, to Scientology… and eventually somehow made it to Kevin Bacon. And, of course, once the conversation hits Kevin Bacon, the conversation invariably leads to at least some mention of the game Six Degrees of Separation.

Well, today, one of Ladyshark’s other co-workers was wondering if she could possibly be within six degrees of separation from Kevin Bacon. So, they hopped onto IMDB and started searching. Turns out she was! She was exactly six degree away.

Here’s the path: She knows Ladyshark, Ladyshark is married to me, I was in a movie (Touch & Go) with Ellen Page, Ellen Page was in X-Men: The Last Stand with Kelsey Grammer, and Kevin Bacon appeared on Frasier.

How cool is that?!?

So, anyone who knows my wife in person, is six degrees of separation from Kevin Bacon! Anyone who knows me is five! I’m only four! Crazy!

I know, I know… big deal.

Still, it was a fun little thing to discover today.

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I want to go back to the way it used to be…

I’m always worried about my entries being engaging enough for my neighbours… it never used to be that way… I used to get excited writing about whatever I wanted to or felt at any given time. Part of the problem is (and no offence to you guys) I know people on VOX that read my blog so, some of the things that bother me, that weigh heavily on my mind never get shared because I don’t want to offend people or hurt, shock, or insult any of the people I actually know.

Sooo… (I know some people are going to roll their eyes at this) I’ve created another blog. An anonymous one. One I’m not sure I want anyone to know about yet. It almost feels like it should have it’s own neighbourhood. One that won’t judge me for what I write. That way, I can keep writing but keep things and thoughts separate.

The other blog will at times seem harsh, selfish and one-sided. People may not like it… but that’s okay… It’s not about them… It’s about me and my need for an outlet.

Hopefully, that way I’ll be able t get back to my former VOXing self.

I miss that guy.

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“Charlotte’s Web” has shaped my life more than any other book…

My wife, Ladyshark, and I were driving around yesterday, running errands while listening to music on her new iPod. Right now, the yummy little device hosts a number of songs we both enjoy and a number of songs from our respective past, and very different, musical tastes. You see, we have a four-and-a-half age difference between us. So, back in the day, we both grew up during very different musical… “movements” (for lack of a better word). She, followed the “alternative” music scene, and myself, more the dance/hip-hop side of things. We took turns overruling each others song choices until we happened upon songs that we could agree on.

At one point, Ladyshark looked at me smiling and said, “You and I would not have hung out together at all if we went to school together growing up.” I replied, “You got that right. You were cool and I wasn’t.”

And when I say I wasn’t cool, I mean it… I was a big ol’ wannabe. Huge. Yeah, I had my friends and we had a lot of fun hanging out together. It’s just… I so desperately wanted to be cool — someone who people looked at and wanted to be like. I was lucky enough to find out, at the unbelievably mature age of seven, that I was not cool. Nor was it likely that I would ever be cool (actually, in hindsight, I mightn’t have removed myself from “cool” potential had I not pined so desperately to be cool).

It was grade two (or second grade as some of you might call it) not long before Christmas vacation. All of the students in my class had put names into a hat to exchange gifts. I had selected the name of a small girl in my class, KL. I didn’t really know her very well so, I wasn’t entirely sure what she might like. My mother helped me pick out a gift for her and after looking for a while, we decided on a book, Charlotte’s Web. Soon it was the last day before Christmas vacation. The day of our class party. It was finally going to be the time to exchange gifts. I was excited to see what I would get. I was anxious but even more excited to see how KL would like her gift.


She didn’t.

At all.

In fact, she hated it.

Thankfully (I guess), she didn’t actually inform me herself.

Still, the message certainly travelled like lightening. I still remember that specific moment like it was yesterday. As soon as the message had reached me, I instinctively looked over to her corner, only to have the reality of the words confirmed with the look of disgust on her face, and the faces of her friends standing around her.

I was utterly and monumentally crushed.

I felt like crying every last drop of moisture out of my scrawny little body but couldn’t. I desperately wanted needed to escape that moment but couldn’t. My classroom was what we used to call a “portable” — a kind of “temporary” stand-alone classroom separate from the main school building — and it was freezing outside with snow everywhere. Plus, our little pre-Christmas class party had just started. All I could do was sink into my chair, fold my arms on my desk and attempt to bury my face in my sleeves.

I couldn’t eat or drink anything.

Classmates who hadn’t yet heard what had happened kept coming over and asking me what was wrong. I just told them all that I had a headache — which was not uncommon for me. I even brushed off my teacher with the same lie just so I didn’t have to talk to anyone about it. She believed me and left me to my sleeves until the party was over.

Thankfully, being the last day before Christmas meant it was a short day.

I don’t remember any other details from that day other than the conversation with my mother about the “success” of the gift. I described the whole pathetic story to her and begged to know why we couldn’t have gotten her a better gift. A gift that she would have loved. A gift other than the one we had chosen for her. Any gift. Looking back, I can see my mother really did try to make me feel better. She just did not give me the answer I wanted to hear or an answer that could I process as valid at my age. She explained that we simply did not have enough money to buy anything more expensive for her gift, that Charlotte’s Web is a great story, and that the book was a good gift.

I was crushed again.

From that moment on, I was brutally aware that we didn’t have as much as everyone else did. I felt like a lesser person. I didn’t want to be a lesser person. I wanted to be someone that could be disgusted by receiving Charlotte’s Web as a gift. I was obsessed with becoming cool. I didn’t want to be me. I hated myself for a long time. I gave my mother a hard time when I couldn’t get the latest Nike shoes — which she eventually broke down and bought me (sorry Mom).

I have been plagued by that event for my entire life.

Even though I had, in essence, figured out how to move past it a long time ago, situations still seem to have a way popping up that make me feel like I’m seven again. I HATE it when that feeling comes back. It still feels that same as it did that day. Even though I am official against “cool”, I still desperately want to be someone that people look at and say, “Wow, I want to be just like him.”

In an earlier and unrelated conversation, my wife had laughed saying that I’m just like a little kid sometimes. For instance, I’ll do something and she’s noticed that I’ll look to see anyone’s watching, like a little kid looking for someone’s approval or praise. That’s why, Love. That’s why.

We had to read Charlotte’s Web later that year. I remember the teacher asking if anyone had read it yet. Nobody had. Little Miss KL did, however, shoot her hand into the air excited to be able to exclaim to everyone that she already owned a copy. Much to the praise for the teacher and her cool friends.

You’re welcome.


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I was a big boy this morning…

I went potty…

Let me explain…

My morning ritual with Little “L” usually involves me getting up around 6:30 AM (after hitting the snooze button a couple of times) and bringing the little guy downstairs for his morning milk. Well, as Mother Nature would have it, like clockwork, I always have to use the washroom right after I get the milk ready. So, I plop Little “L” on the couch, turn on a bit of early morning kids television programming for him and go on with my business. He’s usually perfectly content there until I’m done.

Well, this morning, almost right after I sat down, I hear him start calling me, “Daddy, where are you?” “Daddy’s using the washroom, Buddy.” So he walks over to the washroom and pushes the door open (I should probably fix that latch) and asks, “Daddy. What are doing?” “Daddy’s just using the toilet, Little ‘L’.” “Daddy poo?” “Uh, yeah little guy. Daddy poo.” “My see, Daddy?” “No Little ‘L’. You don’t need to see. Little ‘L’, stop it, buddy. You don’t need to see.” “Daddy pooed and peed?” “ Yes, buddy. Daddy pooed and peed. Stop that Little ‘L’.” “My sticker, Daddy?” “No, buddy. You only get a sticker when you poo or pee.” “No. My sticker na pooed and peed Daddy!”

At this point he ran out of the washroom and returned a short time later with a sheet of stickers of characters from the kids show Thomas the Tank Engine, and said, “Pick one Daddy… Daddy pooed and peed an a sticker na pooed and peed!”… exactly like I usually do for him. Little “L” was soooo excited that Daddy just went pottly just like he does.

I chose the Bertie the Bus sticker.
I wore it all day.


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