Tag Archives: romance

Em

So I wanted to post a little sooner, and try to let everyone know what the dealio is with me and my uber importante life, but alas, I was all bogged down with things I had to take care of in that pesky old real world. So now instead of a lengthy buildup, with many a cliffhanger, laughter and tears, suspense and action, you just get a quick post updating, A big event has happened in my life. The woman I love is …. HERE IN NORTH CAROLINA!!!!! Booyah bitches, I got some tang! She came down Friday night, and will be staying here till next Sunday.

Let’s be real though, most of what we’ve done since she got here has been x-rated material that you don’t really want to hear about anyway, so instead of boring you with how we sat around and looked into each others eyes a lot in between the sex marathons, here are some pictures.

Here I am picking her up at the bus station. She traveled by bus so she could cross the border without a passport. Long story short, I was way too busy thinking about laying her down to remember to give her the rose I have in my pocket. Oops. She got it later, along with the other eleven. Everything worked out alright. And I know what you’re thinking, that’s a mighty classy shirt selection for the first time you get to see your woman. It’s true, I spent minutes upon minutes debating which shirt I should wear, and wisely turned down the “I’m with Stupid” shirt I first picked out. Although it would have been funny as shit, for me, it wouldn’t have been so funny for her, which wouldn’t have been funny at all for little Josh, if you know what I mean, and I think you do.

After taking her out for a nice dinner at McDonalds, I promptly took her back to the house and got her liquored up. Two fifths of Jose Quervo and a roofie or five later, we broadcast our first love making live on German fetish websites across the internet. Most of the burns have healed, but I still can’t get the donkey hair off the mattress.

If anyone can tell me where I have seen a dress just like this, please let me know. I keep thinking maybe Scoobie Doo, or the Flinstones, but I googled them, and it’s not quite right. Either way, she looks Florida grove gorgeous and absolutely glowing from the magic I laid on her the night/morning before.

Well I was going to try and explain how this made sense at the time, and it wasn’t just bat shit crazy from mixing tequila, beer, and Jager-bombs, but while Google image searching “pineapple man” I found two CRAZY things. First of all, let me introduce you to Table Heads, the fucked-up-est thing I’ve seen for a long time. I swear to god, if I ever see one of these people in real life, They had better hope they can duck back under that table faster than I can connect my fist with their face. Fuckin weirdos. Also, apparently there’s a comic book super hero named Pineapple Man. Apparently the comic book industry has used every good idea ever.

She’s my sweet little thing, she’s my pride and joy. She’s my sweet little baby, and her ears are crooked which makes her glasses cover one of her eyes in every picture. Stevie Ray eat your heart out.

No, we aren’t rednecks. We didn’t really put a kiddie pool in the living room to cool off. We put it rail to rail on the back deck like classy people. Jebus. Also, I realize that whoever made this kiddie pool probably didn’t really think much about the print, but REALLY? You couldn’t have hired a drunk second grader to draw you up a better jungle scene? Shit like that bugs me. Just not in this picture, cause I look pretty happy here. Two thumbs up happy in fact.

Side note: I have a wicked case of hitchhikers thumb. lame.

As you can clearly tell from this picture, when she farted on my chest, it stunk waaaaay more than when I farted on her belly, or her neck. This does not please me. I don’t like having the masculinity of my digestion challenged by some random Canuck beyotch. Eff that.

But then she soothed my bruised manhood (as in my id/masculine psyche, not my wiener) with a kiss and a gentleness she’s blessed with.

This was the last shot I took before I got swept away again by this wonderful woman. I can’t wait to post again and let you all know how my time-of-my-life vacation went. For now I’m too focused on soaking in every moment with the girl of my dreams. I hope each and every one of you gets a partner as romantic, loving, freaky, and funny as the one I have found. (By the way it took great amounts of finagling to convince her to let me post this picture on the internet, but in the end, my sweet God-like love making skills won her over. Still working on a few others. 😉 )

Oh, by the way, we got liquored up this weekend, and I thought it would be funny as hell to change our Facebook status to “engaged”. Emeralds best friend Talea told me not to go marrying her or knocking her up while she was down here, and I thought I would show her what happens when she tells me what to do. HAHAHAHAHAHA. Sorry Talea, didn’t realize you would actually freak out in a real way, but it was still hysterical. But we aren’t really engaged, so sorry to anyone who still thinks that we are. (BTW, my friends are apparently not total suckers like … you know who’s!) Adios people, see you when I am not busy getting mad crazy loving.

Love & Hugs & Kisses All Over

I’ve been trying to think of a good way to segue into my real topic here, and apparently when it comes to matters of significance I get writers block. I’ve thought and thought about how to say it in some cute, romantic, snarky, comical way, but I’ve come up with absolutely nothing. So like I always do when I can’t disguise my real feelings with a smoke cover of juvenile comedy and filler adjectives, I’ll just cut the bull shit and tell y’all what’s really going down in my life. I’ve fell in love.

Take a minute to think about how just a few wrong words can change the meaning of what I just said. I fell in love. I fell in love with a woman. I fell in love with a woman from another country. I fell in love with a woman from another country, that I’ve never even touched. (with my wang) See how quick that goes from romantic, to complicated, to perverted. When you limit your communication to written words you have to be careful to say exactly what you mean, cause it’s easy to read my words how you would say them, and not how I would say them. But it’s hard to misunderstand “I fell in love” when I cut out all the superlatives, cut out any catch, cut out any bull shit. The fact is that I fell in love, so come with me on my little journey through how this miracle came to be.

Y’all know the story of how I got here in the blogging world by now, at least the readers who’ve been with me for a while. If you haven’t, I’ll sum it up right now. My friends showed me Ask A Ninja, which linked me to YouTube, which got me interested in the internet for the first time. I then started my own YouTube channel. Then my friend Steph (can’t find your link Steph, hit me up and I’ll edit it in) showed me a post by Sundry, which somehow through a family and parenting content based blog got me interested in creative writing, which I’ve always loved. Then after a year or two of reading her blog, I decided to try my own luck at it.

So then through a series of links, which to this day I still can not retrace, I ended up at The Queen’s blog, which linked me to Talea’s blog, thanks to her hilarious title, and from there I linked over to Emerald’s blog. Now I realize this was a complicated route, but at this point I suddenly stopped and took notice. On October 23’rd I read her blog for the first time, and I was struck with this incredible attraction to her personality and the way she expressed herself through her words. This girl was obviously something I would have to check out a second time.

Here is Em in all her buxom beauty:

teh sexorz, fo rizzle and whatnot honky

Here is an exact transcript of the first sentence I ever said to her: “Despite my general distaste for the Indie scene in general, I loved your account of the evening. I wish I could get this post drunk and seduce it into a one night stand that ends awkwardly but still leaves both parties gratified.” Clearly, I was on my way to seducing her, by insulting her taste in music, and forcing myself on her post. (a gratifying sort of force mind you) I followed up this comment with these quite romantic words, if I may say so myself: “And take pride in how many people you pissed off. They were probably the bald deuche bags that blocked traffic with their charitable buggery. And forget about the grammar. Grammar is for class work and science articles. This is teh facking interweb noobs. Mother fuckers don’t have to grammarize shit if they don’t feel like it!” Wow, I can see the cornerstones of a solid relationship falling into place even as we speak. What sort of pillow talk should I woo her with now that I tried to date rape her post and cussed in four fake languages? “I like chicks with balls. (not actual balls mind you, the metaphorical sort of balls that don’t clutter up the paradice city that is the ball-less vagina)” Sometimes I amaze even myself. If you are a woman, or a homo man, please try and abstain from telling me how incredibly hawt I am right now, cause I know, and redundancy is repetitive and shit, I don’t need that. I’ll gladly accept money, or a child named after me. Shrines work too. (photo evidence needed)

But anywho, I started some discreet messaging between Emerald and myself, or possibly she started it. I can’t remember now. But I got a Facebook account to talk to her, and the other lovely Toronto vixens of course, but mostly her. At the time, both of us were in no way looking for a relationship. In fact, at that point I don’t think I had even seen a picture of her beside those ugly ass Halloween pics she posted, with the whole botched abortion costume. (gross, check them out) So I came to be friends with her, after getting out of a very disappointing relationship, feeling like shit, while she was still in some rather complicated relationship activities of her own. And we just talked like friends, sharing what we had been through, and what we were going through. Slowly but surely this grew into an undeniable attraction and bond between the two of us.

We began sending not only comments, but also long letters back and forth every day. This turned into two long letters every day. And then she convinced me to get on her IM network, and we began chatting some in the evenings. And then it turned into one long ass (as in has to be split into two letters to send) letter every day, and I would come home during lunch to talk to her for half an hour, and then rush home afterwards to talk to her for another half an hour before she got off work. (no internet at home, just yet, soon darlin) Then it bacame the letter, the lunch chats, and links, and several hours in the evening, with her staying after work just to chat with little old me. And we talked like people.

We skipped that first awkward few months of dating, because we had no time or use for any of it. There was no weird dress codes or date locations or activities. We just talked like people. Like peers. There was no awkward first kiss. There was no awkward first sex. There was no awkward feeling out of the other person on every level. We just talked like humans. We were irresistibly attracted to each other and we both knew it and neither of us really was going to say it. Because as you may know, or may even be thinking right now, internet relationships aren’t as real as face to face relationships. Well I’m here to tell you they CAN be much more authentic and heart felt. I never had any reason to try and pretty up my looks for her, she accepted me just as she found me. I never had to dull myself down one bit, cause she jived well with the things I poured out of my heart, just for her. I shared things I’ve never shared with anyone else. And likewise, she opened up to me. And we both loved what we saw.

Now let me just say right now that we are not completely compatible. There are things in our lives that are in total opposition. Our views on politics are dangerously opposite. But we recognize that and try to allow each other the freedom of will to choose whatever we like, without letting it cause arguments. She swings left, I swing right, and as far as I see it, though I can’t speak for her, I think we’ve both influenced the others views a little bit by explaining why we believe what we do. We come from different countries, from different cultures, her from the city, me from the country. She’s a Canuck, I’m a rebel flag waving, Dixie Land red neck. But we get along not agreeing on these things. She’s a vegetarian, I worship meat. But she respects my love for the tastiest food on earth, and likewise, I respect her choice not to eat meat or harm any creature. I expect her to respect my free will and not (try to, as if anyone could break my stubborn streak) force me to conform to her standards and beliefs. I’m not her puppet or pet. And likewise, she expects me to respect her choices, her beliefs, and her views on life, and I do my very best to do just that. We love each other for who we are, and not for who we want the other person to be.

And not only do we respect each others differences, we celebrate them. She has this zest for life that is hard to explain if you haven’t experienced it. We just yesterday had this conversation about living. Not living as in existence, but living as in to the god damned fullest with every breath you have left and every fiber in your being. She told me that she doesn’t want to live with me, she want to LIVE with me. And I just about jumped for joy, because I had never told her this, but I feel the exact same way. I don’t want to grow boring with someone, I want to live the greatest adventure in history with someone. I want a woman who will constantly challenge my thinking, my behavior, my intellect. I want a challenge, and she does too. I don’t want to sit down and watch Everybody Loves Raymond for the rest of my life, I want to go jump out of a fucking airplane while having premarital sex in the sky and playing the lottery and starting my own business, and possibly before I hit the ground, I’d like to learn to knife fight bears. I want a partnership where we accept the differences we have, but never accept anything less than the most the other person has to offer. Maybe we’re naive, but I’m lovin’ it like McDonald’s never dreamed of. And I’m having it my way like BK never though possible. (not to imply that anyone working at BK is capable of thought, of course not)

But in all the important ways (because face it, politics and what kind of food you eat are not that important, so fuck that shit) we are a perfect match. We believe very similar things about spirituality, and the meaning of life, and major religions. We believe similar things on society, and culture, and status, and all the things that go along with human interaction. We believe similar things on having fun, and being yourself, and our future together. We both have this vision of what our tomorrow holds. We both see us visiting each other, and us figuring out a way to make our lives work together. I love this girl so fucking much, it makes me dizzy.

Before I finally worked up the balls to tell her I loved her, I was hardly sleeping. I was a total wreck. I was afraid she would do like the other women in my life, and leave me unexpectedly, and my heart would be broken. So I wrote this long ass, super poetic, retardedly romantic letter to her letting her know how I felt, and then promptly forgot to send it, and my sister in law closed the window. So I just fessed up like a real man and told her straight up how I felt about her. It was scary. It was almost the death of me, But it was also the moment I learned she loved me too, and as much as I wish I could have maybe said it a bit more eloquently, it just got blurted out in frustration and stress, and then a huge wave of joy and relief passed through both of us. We knew, this was not just some internet crush, like in my post. This was something we are both working towards every day.

She knows all about my legal problems. Much more than I’m willing to share with you, my kick ass blog readers. I love you guys too, but not the same. She knows all about my alcoholism. She knows all about my bad skin, and my low income, and that I will probably be locked up very soon. (tuesday maybe) She knows things that no other person had ever known about me. Sometimes she even knows things about me that I haven’t shared with her, or am even cognizant of. And likewise, I know her burdens. the fact that she is willing to look past these HUGE disqualifiers is heart wrenching for me. I am so in love with this woman, after all this time, that I’m actively looking into immigrating to canada and finding a job there, and hopefully making a new life for us as a family there. I am more than willing to leave my close knit family, my awesome friends, and everything I’ve ever known, even my country to just have a shot at making things work with this woman. She’s not my girl, she’s my woman, and there’s a difference, cause this isn’t fucking puppy love, this is the only time in my life I have ever been so happy, and the only time I’ve ever taken big risks to secure my future.

We have never met in real life. I have never held her. I have never kissed her. I’ve never smelled her. I’ve never got a look at her poon tang. This isn’t about sex. It isn’t even about looks, since we started talking before we even saw each other. This is about me and another soul falling deeply in love, and not giving a fuck about popular opinion. Speaking of which, it’s your turn to make this subject yours. I want to know what you feel about internet relationships and their validity. Don’t worry about insulting either of us, we’re absolutely cool with your views. Whether you think it’s good or bad or fucking retarded, tell us what you think. I’ve heard both sides a lot. My brother Nate is tired of hearing me talk about this girl all the time, even though I’ve never met her. My sister in law is already as in love with her as I am, possibly about to steal her. My work friends think I’m an idiot, since my last relationship was long distance, and I got burned on that one. I’ve had people tell me “if you haven’t done the dirty, she isn’t really your girl!” Not true, and we will, as soon as I get out of jail, ad save up some money to go visit. For now, there’s no chance. And on the other side, I have my two best friends Kenny and Rachel, who met online and are now happily married. And I waited a long fucking time to see Kenny meet a girl who was right for him, and I couldn’t be happier with his decision. So I have both the good and bad represented in my personal life. Now that the secret is out, and y’all know Em is my woman, let me know honestly how you feel about it.

I love you so much baby, and you mean the world to me. Just to make everyone gag a little bit more, love and hugs and kisses all over! ❤

Tales from the front lines: Valentines day ’08

Holy bat shit Batman, I don’t know about you but this Valentines day seemed crazier than usual. I’ve got stories galore to share with you.

I don’t normally go for all kinds of mushy shit, but there was some unfortunately. My work buddy Kato proposed to his woman on Valentines day. (I’ve decided to call work Kenny “Kato” and “Kenny & Rachael” Kenny by his real name, cause it’s getting hard to remember which one is which and I can’t call both of them Kenny or you will all be confused as shit) First of all, he declared bankruptcy a while back, so he really should not have even been approved for a line of credit at Friedman’s Jewelers in the first place, but those suckers let his broke ass right through the system and gave him one of those little shiny circular things that chicks like. So his woman had to work late, and she was having an especially hard day with people getting fired and getting sick and all sorts of crazy shit. So when she walks in the door, she’s ready to collapse and almost in tears. I don’t know exactly how he popped the question to her, cause he didn’t really elaborate on all that. But apparently she said yes and she busted out the waterworks, which I’m pretty sure every chick does. And then she had to call up her mom. And naturally the mother wanted to know what the ring looked like over the phone. It’s got a round part that’s gold and a shiny rock on one side, just like every other engagement ring in the history of mankind, what the fuck do you think it looks like?

And then they had to call her two kids into the room and explain it to them. The oldest, who’s 14 I think just shrugged and said cool and went back to playing video games. (Not a big deal really, they’re all living together anyway) But the young one, who’s 11, and wired like a squirrel on meth, and borderline mental, well he didn’t take it so well. He started hyperventilating and pulling his hair. He started crying and said something along the lines of, “I don’t know. I just don’t know. I’m going to have to think about this!” And Kenny and his woman were like, think about what kid? Get in here. What are you talking about. Well apparently he thought that if Kenny married his mom, his daddy wouldn’t be his dad anymore. This might not be funny at a first glance. You may look at this situation and see a distraught child who’s upset about the shattering of his family, but that’s not what I see. What I see is a kid who’s confused in such a way that his poppa will get pisseder than all hell and start some serious shit with Kato. His exact words were, “Lets fix this before I have to tell my fiance I can’t marry her because I’m going to prison for killing her ex husband.” Kato’s a rather confrontational and violent person, so the idea of his kid going home to his poppa and poking the hornets nest was hilarious to me. But it’s all straightened out now.

Also funny about his getting hitched is the fact that’s he’s a fairly blatant racist. He’s gotten in trouble for spouting off the N word at work. He’s old school country, through and through. But he’s engaged to a Puerto Rican. I guess love is blind. I shared this story at the bar Valentines night and in return heard a pretty good race joke. If you are a sensitive Puerto Rican, tune out now. Why don’t Puerto Ricans do their own taxes? …. Cause you can’t sign tax forms in spray paint! Zing!

Anyway, so Kato had a good Valentines day, but my boss, Drew, didn’t fare so well. Here’s my best rendition of the conversation we all had:

Drew: Well I’m glad your bitch wasn’t so fucking crazy, I’m about tired of all this female shit.

Kato: So you didn’t get laid or what?

Drew: Hell no, fuckin bitch started acting the fool. I got her eighty bucks worth of clothes last weekend, and when I did I told her, ‘This is your Valentines day present. I’m not getting you any more expensive shit.‘ So she said all she wanted was just a card or something.

Me and Kenny: What are you? Stupid? That’s some amateur mistake bull shit dude. Everyone knows women tell you they don’t want any more shit and not to go out of your way, but they lie. They really mean get me all kinds of crazy shit and it had better be something expensive, something I actually want, and it had better be a fucking surprise. You can’t just get a card and leave it at that unless you want her to be pissed. There was a fucking flower stand at the end of the road on your way home dude. You could have pulled off in the dirt and gotten some thing for your woman from the Mexican chicks. They had chocolates and teddy bears and shit. Come on man.

Drew: Hell no. She said she was cool with a card and that’s what I fucking got her. I put it in the little red envelope and left a nice note in it on the end of her bed so she would find it when she woke up. So I got stuck with some paperwork from the girls in the office and I was ten minutes late. Ten fucking minutes! And as soon as I walked in the door there it is. There’s a big ass frog balloon that says some shit about love, there’s some chocolates, and there’s a new Dale Earnheart shirt. So immediately she walks in like ‘You’re late!’ And I’m like ‘Yeah, ten minutes late. I’m sorry I was working to earn you money to blow, Jesus can I get a minute to relax before you jump on my ass?‘ So she jumps in with ‘What, you didn’t even get me anything?‘ So I’m all ‘I got you almost a hundred bucks worth of clothes last weekend!‘ She said ‘Well you could have at least stopped and gotten something little.‘ And so I said ‘Well I’m sorry I didn’t get you a fucking balloon. Thanks a lot, now we’re both pissed off. I’m going to bed.

Me and Kenny: Dude, seriously, that’s just a dumb mistake on your part. You should have gotten that woman something shiny, you know they love that stuff. Tonight before you go home, just go get her a balloon or something and tell her you are sorry. She’ll probably forgive you.

Drew: Hell no. No fucking way. If I do that, then she wins. I’m not getting her a god damned thing, period. If she don’t like it she can go find some other idiot who will buy her a fucking balloon. Not me. If I get her a balloon I’m just going to pop it right in front of her. Like ‘Here you go baby here’s a balloon for you.” (makes popping motion and sound) Cause thats what she’s doing to me. That’s what all women do. There you are, just walking along in life. And behind you are all you hopes and dreams like little balloons. And sure enough, like taxes and death, some bitch will start following you around and one by one, she’ll pop every last one. ‘Oh what’s that? You’re tired from work and you just want to go out and hang out with your friends? (POP) NOT TODAY MOTHERFUCKER! Bwahahahahaha!‘ Fucking bitch, I’m about tired of all this naggin’ bull shit. I’m ready to stick my boot up her ass. And wherever she lands, that’s where she’s staying. Cause she’s not staying with me anymore!

Me: Hahahahahahahahahahaha! Idiot. Flowers are so cheap! Hahahahahahahaha!

Drew: Shut up and get back to work bitch. It ain’t that funny.

My own VD was filled with neither romance nor drama, but it was kind of fun. Kind of lame, but also kind of fun. I went up to my bar for Thirsty Thursday. But when I got there it was transformed into some sort of romantic diner. There were red table cloths and expensive menu’s with food they never serve. There were candles and shit. I turned right around and left. Screw that shit. Who the fuck goes to the bar for Valentines day? Not people who are celebrating love that who. Lonely people who don’t have anyone to dine with. I just wanted to get drunk with my friends, but love was ruining my evening. More precisely, the woman who took over control of my bar is ruining my evening. In fact, she’s ruining Judd’s in general, and she needs to be stopped. But that was a task for a different evening, for the moment I was just looking for someone to hang out with.

So I hopped on my scooter and headed to the neighborhood across the street to see if Kenny and Rachael were doing anything. As I started considering my options, I realized that I don’t have very many friends who aren’t in relationships. At least not close enough to go visit on my scooter. So I pulled up to their house and through the window I thought I saw my sister in law. I pulled around back and knocked and when I entered I saw not only Kenny and Rachael, but Nate and Sami and another girl from the neighborhood. They were all excited to see me, and excited that I was going roller skating with them. WHAT? Yes, roller skating. And not drunk roller skating, the sober kind. All the girls were super excited, and all the guys were mostly just pissed. Especially about the sober part. But off we went anyway.

Now on the way they informed me that the only one they could find that was open on Valentines night was in the middle of the ghetto. Great. Here I am with my Hank Williams Jr. shirt with a rebel flag and everything, my freshly shaved skinhead looking haircut, and my generally hostile honky demeanor. It was going to be a long night. When we got there, after chugging several beers in the car, I was immediately greeted by a mountain of a black security guard. He patted me down and cleared me to go through (not sure why exactly pat downs are needed for a skating rink, but not a good sign) and somehow he missed my utility knife that I keep clipped to my pants at all times. I forgot I even had it on. So as we are walking in, the Carolina Rollergirls were leaving. I was kind of bummed that I didn’t get to see them practice their skating, partly because they are so hot, and partly because they are so violent, and partly because it would have given me something to do besides actually skate. As in: watch their sexy asses go around in circles.

They may not be models, but their ass kicking gives me a chubby

So we were left with nothing to do but skate. That was boring. There was the regular assortment of weird adults who hang out at rollerskating rinks waaaay too much. there were three or four black dudes practicing their faggy hip hop moves on roller skates in the middle of the floor. There were the slutty ghetto chicks who like to shake their ass like hookers, but while moving around in a circle. There was that one white guy who has on some sort of team jersey for some sort of ridiculously gay roller skating team. There was the pixie cut lesbian who figure skates all night, whilst simultaneously doing some sort of tae bo dance move thing. She was weird, but for some reason I kind of wanted to do her. Perhaps it was my subconscious mind telling me that anyone who could lift their leg that far behind them probably had all sorts of Olympic kegel muscles. Who knows.

After about an hour of listening to urban bull shit music everyone got tired of that and we went to go get drunk like we should have to begin with. I got a free chicken wing out of the evening though, and I savored every crispy calorie of it. Plus our regular bartender was absent that evening and his replacement was some much better looking female. I mean, Jeremy is pretty good looking, but I’d much rather look at chicks, especially on Valentines day. The night ended on an especially pleasant note. At the bar I picked up this hot chick named Rosie Palm and went home for a massive orgy with her and her five sisters.

Overall I had a pretty good Valentines day, at least I survived it. Next year I’m picking up a hooker and banging her to Air Supply when I first wake up, just so I can get all the romance out of the way and spend the rest of the day having fun however I want. I hope your VD was filled with beer and someone else’s bodily fluids, happy black history month everyone.