The BGA

I was ontime for work this morning (the first time this month) and the girl from lacoste was late.

Yesterday i worked on a madcap fashion shoot for Susanne Schubert’s Umsteigen. her clothes are getting nicer and nicer, and she’s such a sweet girl. as was my assistant, more like the only reason i was able to accomplish any work at all, the diligent and amazing Arwa, my hero my idol. Also the Models deserv some credit, emily had her shit down pat what with being a seasoned pro, but Nissa, my sweet little elf, did an amazing job, and percervered despite the hell i was putting her gentle spirit thorugh (am i having a west coast moment or something), with all on the: "ok now relax the shoulder, and the corners of your mouth, but don’t move anything else. ok now flex your toe, but dont move your leg…. ok i’ll just do it for you. dont move….. ok look in the lens… the lens, and don’t look away at all. dont blink, dont breathe, suck in, back to the lens!!…."

we got some pretty hot stuff out of that little dirty elf.

So this weekend was lani’s birthdaybash!!!! what an extravaganza, hopefully i’ll have some photos to post (if the now far away haig… as an aside.. it’s sort of odd that we had a ‘go back to the country you came from’ party for him, when he like isn’t even allowed back into that country and his family lives in a different one now, where he’s also not allowed to go back into unless he goes to a whole other country first and then asks them permission from there…) anyways, it was a fun party despite the inevidable sad sentimental conclusion.

actually come to think of it the party was bookended with tempertantrums. just before people started to arrive i had just gotten home from a tiering and hungover day at work. by the time i finally got home put on some comfy clothes and started to make lani’s cake ( a double decker brownie cake separated by ice cream and berries) it was like 8:45 (the first tear of guests was scheduled for 9:00pm)

looking into the brown batter, i channeled nelly furtado and felt all powerless, and as it turns out the secret ingredient in delicious brownies is heaving sobs…. salty tears can make all the difference cut to an hour and a half later there are 15 people downstairs laughing it up with cocktails, and i’m upstairs soaking it up with my pillows.

anyways the party was way more fun after i got my makeup on. a friend of mine brought this cute boy as a "gift" for me to kiss (i can write about this cause i know he ‘the gift’ is no longer on friendster… aka if your privy to both sides of the story, keep your damned mouth shut) he seems sweet, and in a mariah carey moment i would have traded my malteese terrier to make out with him, (even if he’s a mini, leila!)  Note* to all boys (especially the ones who reduce me to mumbles because of their quick witted banter and charming smiles… you know who you are…. don’t you?), and girls who want to make out with me, if we’re at a party give it a try, usually i’m game.   But back on track: ‘the gift’, before any kissin was to take place, he was re-rwapped and re-gifted, or at least re-possessed and taken home with my not so giving friend, and i resumed to flirting with straight men with lame girlfriends, OH FUN!

in the wee hours the party split intwo, the psychadelic drug ingesters (lots of fun, some rather sentimental insight, and wicked good impersonations) and the radical marginals, also fun, but in a more exclusive kind of way. The marginals like tha same music and perverted sex as me, the psycadelics like laughing until they pass out from lack of oxygene like me.

anyways the party was fun (the cleanup sucked and was single handedly administered by yours truely (although i ought not to complain cause i told lani that if i found her cleaning i’d cut her hands off, like they do in regent park)

Sunday i had dinner with my aunt and uncle and grandparents and this time the conversation was pleasant and totally not about gay marriages or pedophelia or anything that might get me all upitty. and my cousin christiane, made a real good point about the previous weekends conversation: i am in a sense really lucky to have grandparents who are comfortable enough with my sexuality to talk about the politics and actually listen to my perspective, and my granny is so full of sweetness, i could never really be mad at her.

my aunt having spoken with my mother was in the know regarding my liza minelli the night before was all sweet and like attentive, meanwhile her son my hot hot hot 15 year old cousin has gotten so muscular form rowing that his torso is the same size from front to back as mine is from side to side, all i can say is thank god i got him to take his shirt off for photos like three years ago when he was still cute in the little boy way and incapable of beating the living shit out of me. and my other cousin elissa, oh bless her heart, she’s the opposite, small enough that if she turns sideways you need to strain to see her at all. she sat beside me at dinner and pinched me everytime my voice grew too shrill or my sentences too long, she’s got some wicked editorial skill. she should probably take a look at this she could help me devide it between inside outside voice.

Rose and her douchebag boyfriend have finally broken up once and for all. thank god for that. he was a nice guy, i enjoy the week of the child, by the by, happy birthday mattie. but like c’mon children do grow up unless some tragic accident cuts their lives short (inside voice)they don’t spend their lives blaming everything else for their problems, and copping out on honnesty and using guilt trips to keep from examining their own roles in their lives…  i know rose wouldnt say it, so i have. and also now you’ve got some extra insight and hopefully insentive to read her blog, cause it’s so good i cant even deal.

All the ladies if you feel me help me sing it out, a guy or girl who lays guilt on you for wanting some affection or demonstration of their alleged feelings for you is a cold scared person who is most likely not ready to be involved… at least not with you. if (s)he is all squeemish about being yours, it’s about you and the whole, holding out for something better shit, kill it with the skillit. If youre not getting amazing sex out of the aquaintanceship i suggest you move it along. although i’m the last person who ought to give relationshiop advice.

to that end i suggest that everybody get real comfortable with bing single. relationships are for losers.

dont let that deter you from sending me love letters and propositions,

still hoping, BGA.

mercury has gone retrograde.
BGA

Ho Hey!

Whatagwan, girls say what wha?

It’s real pretty round

montreal

right now, the freezing evil winter is melting away and the sun is shinning bright. I had a day off and didn’t need a coffee until like 3:00 pm.

I finished season 1 of the O.C., OMG, the show has proven my theory correct, no one can ever be too rich or too thin.

Speaking of thin rich people, I was getting ready to return the DVD’s to movieland, when Lani was all like: "Yo!, whatagwan child?" and i was all like " regrettably i’m returning the o.c.."

So she’s all " screw that. first off, we’re keeping the O.C. and second we’re going to a glamorous fashion show at the hotel godin" and I’m like "ok."

en route lani tells me that a photoshoot i had worked on with a more notable photographer, in the hotels elegant bar for the cover of Azure (which featured yours truly hanging at the bar with a fancy drink) has been eightysixed (does that mean thrown away?) the second time this year i pose for photos for some canadian publication only to be rejected at the last minute, photographers beware do not ever include me in your photos, cause somehow it’s gonna be a disadvantage (in this situation, a 6 hour stressful shoot results in nothing more than a paycheck)

So we get to Bar Godin, this time as spectators for some montreal fashion week local designer parade, and as the show starts i start to feel real bad for the designer and models strutting and posturing for the photographers, who happen to be stationed directly in front of me, aka, my mug will behind all of the bone thin models, aka i will look like a fat americain behind them and the photo editor is gone be like all, either we ditch this pic, or blur out the background, including that sad looking fat guy.

About the too thin too rich thing from before, i was totally lying, being too thin can be nasty if youre not on tv. The models in the show, seemed like nice girls, but their bodies were more freakish than mine (and i"m  a hairy 6"4′ with an hourglass curves) These are bodies, that ,were they subject to any physical activity aside from strutting, might very well develop some muscle tone and become useless.

but aside from being IV drip skinny, these girls were save for 3 of them, like flat out ugly, gnarly faces, unbelievable.  i know it’s very mean and shallow of me, but i resent that being tall and having zero percent body fat (and that includes tits, cause lord knows the only girls with boobs, had bought them) is enough to qualify even the ugliest of girls to walk the runway.

Ok so when this show finishes, and p.s. the booze they’re serving us, i suspect is not booze at all, but instead a really sweet fruit drink, and the strange buzz i have is not in fact an alcoholic one so much as the beginning of a headache induced by the extreme amounts of sugar in said beverages, we go across the street to the theatre juste pour rires, were there’s a big budget real live televised fashion show about to take place.

Getting into the first one was relatively easy, as we were coming through the doors, Alana is all polite to the door man and tentatively mumbles "we’re here for the… and as she’s trailing off i shoot her a death stare and try to explain that the door man doesn’t give a shit, and that if we’re not supposed to be here, that will be the number one give away, so try and play it cool. I take no chances at the second door we have to cross to get in the bar, and lead by example.

at a quick pace and with good posture, i walk towards the door, barely making eye contact with the guy at door : just enough to not be rude and to show him, I’m not asking for permission. unfortunately lani is not as quick a learner as i had anticipated, and i hear her once again, declaring, in a manner that sound more like a question why she is here, i look back trying as hard as possible to say "shut the fuck up" with my eyes and make a mental note to start whipping alana into assertive no nonsense shape.

The second show, the big budget one i mentioned before, is guarded like fort knocks, six security guards at the door, so now i say to Lani, no stutt

erin

g no falt

erin

g we’re here cause we’re supposed to be, but given the potential for humiliation, lets wait for a more discreet moment.

we each use our jobs as the bait, "I was sent from ’such and such’ company….. I’m not on the list …. well yes, F (the girl) in PR said she took care of it… oh thank you, I’m gonna have to talk to her about that." no problems, and I’m in the door, I look back and see Lani looking worried, give her a buck up expression, which she does so i pay her no more mind and go to the bar.

we go into this fancy as runway room, with like bleachers and  TQS’ "FLASH!" crew interviewing old french ladies, and i start to read the designer’s mission statement: "Global Gypsy" the shows title is the translation of the designers experiences traveling around the globe, from dance party to dance party (it lists all of the trendy cities he’s visited, sao paolo, copenhagen ect… he says that the collection reflects a well traveled woman, and references the archetype of the gypsy.

The show is ok, the prettiest model look plus size in comparison to the rest of them, but she’s still skinnier than anybody sitting in the fashion bleachers, but all of that quickly fades to the backround of my mind as we go back upstairs and encounter what I can only describe as “The Promised Land” and I aint no jew.

On the side of the room (the important side, I might add, consid

erin

g it’s proximity to the bar) is a mammoth fountain sending out cascades of liquid chocolate. A Chocolate fountain! And at the bar… free champagne…

So things got a little messy I was recognized by the mother of some thirteen year old I apparently had a profound effect on. I downed about 9 glasses of bubbly, and made a sufficient as of myself. And now it’s official, I want in. I want to be invited to all the chocolate fountain free champagne parties.

So if youre throwing a party like that, give me a call. Or if you just want to drink champagne with me.

I’m gonna try my luck again tonight.

Rose I love you. Glad you got rained off the barge and we will talk ce soire mon amour

BGA

Rose is on a barge, Kate works like a dog, Vanessa’s finishing up with school, krista’s moving to BC, Haig to Dubai, both my sisters are in LTR’s (eeeew i cant decide whats grosser that i wrote LTR, or that both of my sisters are happay cause some other person is all like: "i love you") My parents are in Peru,  arno just might have fallen in love this weekend with some little boy, Catto’s is still far too cool for me, arwa is either in pointe claire or at school, nissa moved in with paul, and guess who he started to dance like. Lani’s got Doerks, school’s got teachers, kathy lee’s got regis, and Kanye’s got jesus! Demi and ashton have a baby on the way, denise has got her baby , charlie’s got his ho and his blow….

get it? got it? good.

I am alone, all i have is seth and sandy cohen. and i don’t even have them, cause i’m at a part where seth is with summer, and sandy is all like maried to kirtsen, even ryan and marissa have managed to resolve their trust issues (i am totally still watching season 1 so all of you thursday night regulars can eat a dick, waiting seven days is so for big ugly losers)

my cousin chrissy, she’s got work and a dvd player, like me (only she has oodles and oodles of sincere friends) but she said it was dangerous to rent the oc, cause you start expecting to run into mischa barton or to get a ride to work in someones range rover, and  be like all dissapointed cause the only black tie event on my schedule is garbage day.

So the M.I.A disc is supposed to finally drop twomorrow after being pushed back like 19 times, i swear i wanna give that record company a piece of my mind.

I bet anthony and the johnsons would never pull a stunt like that. so this weekend is alana riley’s 26th birthday, and saturday night is going to be a big PARTY at my place. Dress code in effect dress nice and or slutty.

ok i’m out for now, i miss the oc, i feel cold and alone, like my father was a theiving loser and my mom and shoaholic hussie bitch and my boyfriend is chino trash with a heart of gold.

BGA.

and you better run, run run, run run, to me, better run, run run, run run.

So i am so sick and tired of actresses on fashion magazines, models need their jobs, it supports and industry. Actors are stupid and I’m way more interesting and equally appealing as say, Cameron Diaz, or J Lo right? Gwen stefani is the worst isn’t she?… she went from hero to zero in no time. I mean i still enjoy her chezafied catchy tunes and them harajuku girls, but her outfits are getting worse and worse and if i read or hear anymore about her stupid life and how being married makes her feel like a woman or how she can’t deal when people stop focussing all of their attention on her. Bitch get used to it, cause i’m back on the scene and my favorite colour is green.

But back to the topic at hand bitch ass spotlight stealin bitches who always play the same shit role landing cover spots on fashion magazines and endorsement deals that were usually held out only for foreing girls who were incapable of acting due to their prior commitments to anorexia and subsequent incapacity to remeber lines or render satisfactory delivery.
Models need their jobs, Their Starving! (p.s rose first made that joke in a pharmacie in campbel river in november when we saw yet another cover featuring the ever hidious Jennifer Aniston)
AND like actresses cant even pick their own outfits. if you see any of them on a day their stylist has taken off, they look like freekin all those spoilled kids who wear designer workout clothes, uggs, messy hair and big credit cards. Actors aren’t fashion, their self promotion, and fashion deserves better, so do all those slav girls who are in Vanity fair this month, i liked that role reversal, give the VF cover to a bunch of barley literate eastern european cinderella stories who get on well with karl lagerfeld, instead of some young lady who just got her tits out for her latest role as someones hard done by (possibly raped, for that gritty reality feel that garnners so many nominations) girlfriend.
but really all this is just a preface to voice my outrage (or rather agasment) over the fact that beyonce sang like 4 songs at the oscars.
1. The oscars is for actors, Beyonce may have made sortof cameos in a couple lousy shitbag films but she is still a long way from the oscars (not that i give a shit about the oscars… i just felt bad for minnie driver)
2. What about the people who performed the songs (sans chezzer maria callas wannabe outfits prolonged stares into the distance and overall melodrama of BK, i might add)
3.That bitch should have been watching the oscars being telkevised from her boyfs high roller bar, instead of stealing the spotight from the people i really wanted to see like Gwyneth and J lo and Johnny Depp, Robert Redford and Faye dunnaway, you see i didnt see those people at all save for j lo and Guinky, but i saw beyonce everywhere and MR. and Mrs. Knowels and Jay z too. well

Beyonce is pretty but i think i’ve had it, she’s gonna have to make some pretty hot songs to win me back. but i want songs not photo ops at awards shows she has nothing to do with.

So last night i went to hudson to have dinner with my grandparents and it was great, until nearing the end of the meal my little old catholic granny is like all, so what do you think about gay marriage?

i’m like, can we not talk about it….
but then we do anyways
So blah blah blah, basically what i think her and my grandad wanted to hear was me say, civil union is great, but marriage is a coveted tradition and is a bond made exclusively between men and women, but alas i do not feel this way at all
I was like all, to be frank, i dont care much for marriage in the first place, but i dont look down my nose at people who do. but given that this is a debate involving things like equal rights and cultural oppression and one of the most blatantly accepted form of bigotry I do have an oppinion.
The sacred "tradition" of marriage is hardly the issue, % 50 or whatever (am i avril lavining my statistics there?) of marriages end in divorce and most of those are probably not like… oh honey it didn’t work out, better luck next time, right.
and my grandad bust the tired old, "the definition of Marriage in the dictionary is blah blah blah genetics, blah blah blah, history, blah blah blah, man, woman, fire, water, children…"
and i’m like "What freekin ever this debate has never been about semantics, it’s about homophobia. the value and meanings of word change all the time" (see: the term Ghetto, in Me & Diana Krall against art school)
so the whole thing went on and on (my cousin Chrissy was doing her best to simmer down hot tempers while inserting her diplomatic two cents that was worth more like $50.00 (thanks chrissy)) and all the same tired faulted logic like: two men cant make babies… " oh but they can with surogate mothers, or adoption, the same way straight people do if their infertile"
I’m just tired of being asked to agree with every old hetero i know whose all like" but dont you think you gays are going a little too far?" No i think all you old farts are acting like little kids who are afraid that sharing will diminish their happiness.
I don’t. i was just like "grandpapa, what is at risk… what is so thretening to our culture about letting gay people use the term marriage to describe their union" he had no answear so i went to the kitchen to do the dishes and let chrissy finish up.
but like enough is enough, Im tired of this, i want marriage to be outlawed. no one should be allowed. if someone is finacially dependent on you declare it, if you wanna have a family draw up a just in case we seperate clause or something. but fuck those white dresses and naive promises (oops i mean … sometimes genuine and heart felt) and words like tradition or definition.
But like really can someone tell me what is at stake? why homos sayin i do is a threat? if you can you can have it.
BGA signing off

today’s post will be short, for two reasons, yesterdays was too long and i don’t have tons of time today.
First off today is Kate’s birthday, Happy birthday Kate, Im very happy youre alive.
Last night was Sarah B’s big night, she just turned 26, we had a little extravaganza in her honor, and was it ever. hopefully I’ll be posting images from the party soon. Meanwhile over cake jess informed me that romy is no longer part of narrative spinning, or actually i think she said “I ditched romy and you can spread the word” maybe something a little different but she said it was important that i stressed that she ditched the bitch and made the switch. meanwhile
It’s Saint Patrick’s day, a day of…. of…. Well I’m not too sure, I myself have never participated…. Wait is St. Pats like unsympathetic white people pride day?
So I look Good old Patty up on the the good ol’ internet and came up with like 19 different stories. 1st. Saint Patty , well it’s so good I’ll just paste it:
The person who was to become St. Patrick, the patron saint of Ireland, was born in Wales about AD 385. His given name was Maewyn, and he almost didn’t get the job of bishop of Ireland because he lacked the required scholarship. Far from being a saint, until he was 16, he considered himself a pagan. At that age, he was sold into slavery by a group of Irish marauders that raided his village. During his captivity, he became closer to God.
Ok so that’s the beginning right…. The Catholic Church site I found was all like ‘he came from a rich family and studied at these prestigious schools and became a bishop or an apostle or something. Oh and they say he came from a roman family.
Then the history channel is all like: he was a poor Irish pagan and when he became like a shepherd and in his endless hours of solitude finds god and begins what is too become a longstanding love affair.
So they all take him to Ireland as a lonely man who found god in his endless solitude blah blah blah, from there he decides what Ireland is missing is God, and devotes the rest of his life as a missionary to proselytizing all the pagans, what will later be referred to as his ridding Ireland of it’s snakes (but like duh snakes are totally not even indigenous to ire Ireland)
So basically we drink or rather you drink cause some guy maybe a Welsh maybe Irelandinian or maybe even Roman… decided the voices in his head were right and that he should change the country’s mind about their culture. He sounds like a schizophrenic with a God hardon (and a slight case of conditioning). And like isn’t religion like still totally causing mayhem in ire Ireland.
Bottoms up, ……. speaking of gay Irish people where the hell did Sinead O’Connor go?
On that note I love Rose and Kate and everybody else except Haig, cause he won’t let me say: “You Fat Irish Fuck”

First off, One day left before Strong Eye becomes a woman, so if you forgot to get her a luxurious and expensive birthday gift, now’s the time, send her happy birthdaywishes @ contactkg@hotmail.com

now back to me and my girlfriend, Diana Krall. So story goes like this: Abbas and i used to be friends, we met in queer theory class in 2002, along with another vanishing act named Romy. So blah blah blah we end up talking about Diana Krall’s right or lack thereof to cover songs made famous by Billie Holliday.

Abbas took a hard line (or at least i remeber it that way) saying that being white barred her from singing songs associated with "a heroin addicted poor old black woman" I don’t know how much heroin and age had to do with it, and P.S. i had no idea billie was a crack head, but i felt it was deffinitly a question of race, agency, representation and which sort of identities are allowed to represent ones as charged and revered as Billie Holliday’s.  So I asked how he’d feel about someone like Beyonce  (considering in that cultural moment B was poised to take over the world the way she since has) doing a cover version of a Billie Holliday song, and guess what there were no objections. Romy and i were not convinced.

Fastforward to 2005

Abbas no longer replies to my e-mailed desperate pleas for attention or awknolegement that we are more that casual aquaintances. Romy has been awal in my life for at least 5 monthes, barring the occasional story from jess. Diana Krall and the late Ms. Holliday have become a tired punchline about Abbas’ and my capacity for argumentation.

One snowy night i have a chance meeting with the seldomly seen Haig, he and i re-open the debate over a bottle of red and some pot, and after he finishes maulling me in a way that could only be described as the gayest thing of all time, (and i mean homo) he makes a good point that Abbas never quite managed to,

Diana Krall is a total privileged sell out for GM.. ok now were getting somewhere… next, Billie Hollidays most memorable song, according to haig, is Strange Fruit (a dramatic and chilling song about a lynching) (i’ll admit this was all news to me.)  (up until this point my argument had been : that for our generation Billie Holliday was, for many people living inside the status quo: backround music to create atmosphere in posh coffee shops and poorly lit winebars, gap soundtracks, and any manner of compilation, strange fruit was usually omited from these venues. I felt it was possible for a person recieving this kind exposure to relate with the lement over lost love that is often dealt with in cafe soundtrack and want to include it on their album of fromage jazz standards, be them po or rich, black or not)

Haig tied Lady H to a politic and D Krall to an opposing one…. BUT What about Beyonce, well B’s still black so she can potentially relate to, in some capacity racial oppression (although that makes me beg the question, am i, as a white person, incapable of relating in a meaningfull or genuine way to racial oppression?) so she gets a carte blanche. "But…" i ask, "Beyonce has done adverst for Mc Donalds, Pepsi, Tommy Hilfigure, she has a babrie doll, and is starting a clothing line, Beyonce knows the devil as well as Diana Krsall does, they sit side by side at el diablos opulent dinner parties?" "she’s Black and thats enough", "… ok"

So after i took a very discouraged piss i found my exception to the new race rule; ani difranco, surely she’s not a sell out and is as visible as a diana krall, albeit to a whole nother demographic. I raced(pardon me) back to haigs embrace to see where ani could stand, we agreed it was a lot harder to feel absolutes about someone as explcicitly involved in identity politics as the number one late nineties lesbo cliché herself. and though we had no certain conclusion about ani beyonce and billie holliday, we did decide that it would me more appropriate for Ani to cover Nina Simone, for instance Mississippi Godamn, than an Oscar friendly Beyonce, but ideally it wouldn’t be Ani, it would be some more mainstream black woman who herself had been decidedly political in her self representation for instance Lauryn Hill or Erykah Badu.

So i though we had finished that and then….

Haig tells me i shouldn’t use Ghetto as an adjective, "can beyonce use ghetto as a descriptive qualifier?" Haig said no, but MTV.com says yes

MTV.com not too long ago posted thye angry rantings a many a P. Oed young ghettoians (or is it ghettoneese?), incenced that hillary duff had dared reffer to her experience of recording a song in the washroom of a recording studio as ghetto, "how dare she, she’s not from the ghetto"   well pardon me neither is Beyonce or Usher or Alcia Keys, or B2K,  and nobody flinches if i take the piss out of the suburbs desppite the fact that I have never once resided in them, does anybody else smell a double standard?

So Candice slowley but surely won me over with her "it’s not about race as much as it is about class sensitivity" "but kids in the suburbs have problems that are beyond their control, they are not necessarily related to finacial stability…"

"kids in the ghetto have those problems as well, and they have the finacial instability thing to boot"

Ok so i cant say ghetto MTV will let any non-white person say it, but Candice and Haig wont, unless youre really from a ghetto.

I think my whole interest in this relates to the idea that young people for the most part parrot the prevailing sentiments of pop culture right.

In toronto where i grew up I remeber hearing people being like all, I’m not white, I’m Jewish… I’m not white i’m Italian or whatfreekin ever….

Nelly furtado is worried about being "painted whiter than she seems"

catch my drift… people don’t want to be white… even though they are. White is totally unsympathetic, and i’m not like oh cry me a river us poor white people, but i understand why white kids who listen to nelly and clipse wanna say ghetto and any other manner of words that are mainstays of hiphop vernacular.

So obviously my feelings about parroting and participation are ambivalent.  I welcome any opinions, (so  long as no one is trying to make me seem foolish, in which case i will delete it and kick you off my page… and that goes for every situation… i am a sensitive leo, and i hate being made a fool of)

so yeah no one lives on an island, and i have no answears.

and Rose i still love you, even though youre an unsympathetic white person… so am i.

Oh Ro!

little baby roro, my neediest of needy friends, How i love you and the fact that no matter what or how far away from you i am i know you need the shit out of me. very comforting. Maybe not the same way that you need any of your bushmen with their coursing testosterone and apparently distinct and singular hetero phermones (yet another reason i am the worst candidate for a blog… i can’t spell worth shit), just wait i’ll juice up your nan yet!

and monica you bet we can go out for a drink, thursday is payday.

Now for more of what you came here for…. me

It feels kind of desperate to post confessionals on a web site, but i feel like why bother hiding it, i am somewhat pathetic and desperate.

I hate right now, i feel like i’m running my fastest only to move one or two feet forward. This place makes me feel stagnent, and i’m way too young (i swear i am relatively young) to stay still, it’s like fish, i’ll drown if i stay still too long… what kind of a jackass makes a commitment to a baby cow killer anyway, apparerntly this ones does. mooo

If you live in a hot fun place with booming opportunities for a young lad like myself to get rich quick with nothing except ambition and unbriddled talent and beauty, oh and did i mention this boy can’t spell either.

I should contact oprah’s people, I want to start a spinoff magazine from O!

I want to appear the cover of every isue of OOH! magazine, a bi-monthly/bi-polar/bi-O!digradeable collection of hot stuff mostly with absolutely no diets (except for a self induced barf instruction manual)  no inspirational stories of overcoming adversity. infact copy rule number one will be that the words "inspiration", and "overcoming adversity" will be categorically banned. along with the adjective "gritty"

i am currently accepting "change my life" donations, patrons and other no strings (i’ll make exceptions for handcuffs, leather bindings, chains and some other coard-like materials, on a case by case basis) attached forms of funding.

I wanna be a rich pop singer who gets to make fun videos with lots of young naked sexy people, doing stripper dance moves, and promoting non-violent  orgiastic parties in the suburbs for bored and curious youth.

In fact screw drugs, Calling all bored adolescents, screw pot, hash, mushrooms, LSD, and other accessible passtimes , focus your attention on fucking. Get plenty of connies some lube and fuck anything you can get you hands/mouth on, and once you get good at it, call me.

ok i’ve made my daily contribution to humanity.

BGA signing off.

It’s sunday morning and I am at work, it seems i am the only person here, which makes me wonder why i am not deep in sleep under my warm covers, occassionaly rubbing myself. It’s sunny this morning, i love masterbating in the sun… it always makes my freezing cold room feel warmer. but no such luck today. so i’ve settlede for a cheese croissant and generified musak versions of outkast in les ailes.

I probably shouldn’t keep a blog, cause i’m a boring ass mofo. in addition, i have a feeling that i am the only person who will read this.

It’s strange how some people leave your life and it takes a while to be like all; I am happy that youre gone now cause i can see i’m so much better off, and then it’s all about the random, unmotivated cameo appearances, well who asked you?

Why now… I guess or i suspect it’s a little bit of get even for all the ingnore i dealt you, but fo real, that is totally my right, and like take the hint anyways we did so good with the i ignore the shit out of you thing anyways so i don’t care about your life where youre at and how much you grown up. you smell bad and so do all of your friends, So make like a tree and leave.

I had a dream two days ago that  jennifer lopez was going to be hosting a talk show,( actually i think she will in real life and i just read it in people or something) anyways in my dream her first guest was the president of the unites states.

I wondered what she’d ask him, but all she did was talk about her new life with Marc Anthony in the suburbs.

SPOUSAL ABUSE IS NO LAUGHING MATTER.

bga.

Hi there anyone who is indulging me. It’s saturday morning in a very cold march. I have the day off and plan on having some fun with nissa and a green screen. also it’s kiki’s birthday.
I wore my makeup to bed last night so i can’t see right out of my left eye, anybody got any suggestions on how to get goopy mascara off of my iris? message me
So yeah it’s a cold winter, the last i will spend in this godforsaken city, before i move somwhere with a tropical climate like miami, l.a., japan, or toronto.
I miss rose and we could drown all of the natives (and i mean like residents… not like aborigionals) of Victoria and caravan only the good stuff back in.
I’ve blogged
BGA