What about all the women who date the macho, "alpha" male. You know what I mean, the bum-slapping, engine-revving, plexus-flexing, sex-directing one-track mind, emotionally challenged emoticon winks, crooked glances from top to bottom, hey-baby-how-you-doin', talking out of his ass (CEO, President, 8", 150 a year after taxes and such).

I'd rather sing songs! But revealing your soul is not in the macho male's repertoire. Neither is recycling, doing the dishes, or listening - truly listening. An embrace need not be foreplay. But those things don't make me any less of a man, just because I care. So you can call me the the alfalfa male.


Once in a while, a bizarre childhood memory will pop into my head. I'm quite sure the memory is true, because I've recalled it many times over the years. Probably about 20 years ago, I was in my bedroom, while my older sister sat in the doorway picking her nose. As she ate the excavated treasure, she claimed, "it tastes like maple syrup," and suggested that I try it too. Whether she really thought it tasted like sweet sap is a mystery. I believe she was only trying to trick me into doing the same.


I just wasted $230 to pay someone to master my CD. All of the tracks were already done, and I just wanted him to sweeten the sound up a bit. But he took each track apart and put them back together and now they sound worse than before (except for one song, but I could have easily made the change). I've learned my lesson and will have to continue doing everything myself. But dropping $230 couldn't have come at a worse time... =(

Anyways, tonight I have to watch my friend read his poem at some anthology release party. So, I'm off... To think, it took me 3 weeks to write anything new, and this is all I have to say? heh!

This page is powered by Blogger. Isn't yours?