Slap & Tickle

I am not depressed…

A friend came up to me and asked if I needed someone to talk with. I was a bit taken aback because I have never needed anyone present in order for me to talk. I am a constant running conversation that people just happen to walk into and out of.

Often, in the middle of a conversation, I will make reference to some off the wall subject and the person I’m talking to will give me that ‘look.’ (You know, the one that says they are worried that I’ve lost my ever-slipping grip on reality). How do I explain that while I’ve been talking to them for 20 minutes, they are at the tail end of a conversation that began two hours earlier? You just wandered into a pre-existing conversation, buddy. While I may be talking to you about an employee situation, the conversation began earlier when I wondered what I would look like bald… all over; then if I could have any super power, what would it be; to why I continue to hate Lani O’Grady (and, in fact, the entire cast of Eight is Enough, especially the dad); and slipping into what would the world look like if the sky was green and trees were blue; leading to how cool shag carpeting used to be; and finally, why cheese is such a silly word.

So when you are complaining about what a fricken nut-job an employee is and I say “just like Dick… as in Dick Van Patten?” don’t act like I haven’t been discussing this already. You just weren’t there. Trust me, this conversation will be going on long after you've left the room.

Anyhow, back to wanting to talk…

Apparently, Scott (one of the sad few who actually reads this stuff) read my blog and thought I seemed depressed. Looking back, I realized that I may have seemed depressed—but I’m not. I’m just bitter. There’s a huge difference—I’m not exactly sure what that is—but none-the-less there is a difference.

I decided to check into the last few entries and after looking back , I want to extend to you from the bottom of my heart, my sincerest apologies. Christ, what drivel. So sorry. Poor Chris… So depressed. So depressing…

If you’ve read them (and managed to get past all the type-os and grammatical errors) I’m so sorry for you. God Bless You for attempting to get through all that. Jeez, I thought I was only a little bitter—I’m pretty fucking depressing to boot.

I have now made an executive decision that from this point forward I will stop being depressed and start being positive! (Hurray for me!) So let the positive spin begin!

[crickets chirping]

Um… I’m sure I can think of something positive to say. Something. Positive. Something. Pos...

Okay! Got one! That script I was working on? I stopped writing it... because it totally sucked. Okay, not normally a happy thought, however, I’m writing a much better script now! It’s a hair's breath from soft-core porn, but at least it’s something near and dear to my heart. That’s a good thing, right?

Funny thing… I just type the word porn and there’s a smile on my face. Good lord, I am such a perv. (I do not think of that as a complaint or something to be depressed about, it is merely an observation. Please do not judge me as depressed or bitter at being a perv, as it is strictly an observation, not a complaint).

I think need to add a little sunshine to my day (to keep me on the happy trail of joy), so I think I will go home and watch some porn… that will perk me right up (no pun intended).

See? I’m a happy l’il camper! Positively the happiest little pervert around, as I’m going to go home and watch some porn… all alone… talking to myself the whole time…

Ah, Crap… now that’s depressing.