March 1/09 Pulling a post out of my ass on a Sunday morning.

I can’t resist throwing in some puppy shots I took to send off to Hildy’s breeder in Quebec for an update on how she’s doing.

I was hoping to get up here the last piece I did for FAB, however they are a little behind on their, what I must say, is a horrible archiving system.

Last night upon exciting my AA meeting, I bumped into someone who, I would have thought to be the last person to read my stuff, complimented me on it. It seems to be not too often someone will take the time to express kind words as they are to complain, so I was very appreciative of her feedback.

I always feel a disconnect with what I produce and put out there. Once it’s out, I feel disassociated from it, as if someone else had done the interview, or wrote the article.

After I get through my next barrage of major expenses I will be focusing on my voice. Years ago I did some vocal training because I was doing so much public speaking and I wanted to be able to project more.

In those few weeks I could hear the difference in my voice. Upon my first un-microphoned appearance at The 519, the auditorium, I could hear my voice echoing off the walls without any help.

Now I no longer want to be heard from blocks away, although it does come in handy in embarrassing 15-year-old bitch cunt girls with babies riding the TTC.

Once while working at MAC, I had to use my voice on some woman who dared to get up and smudging her eyebrows as soon as walked away to get something.

“You sit down right now, and if there is something we need to fix with your eyebrows we’ll get to it write a way.” I ordered in a kindergarten like way.  She listened.

I have lots of MAC stories. I got away with murder. I’m pretty sure it was because I was a guy, but I also think it was the comic in me that knew how to deliver lines in a way that we could all laugh.

I’ll finish with this little one. While at one location, chez la Baie, or The Bay, there two stores, one at the concourse level, and the other on the first floor.

A woman approaches the counter and looks at us working at the counter, and asked, “What’s the difference between this store and the one downstairs?”

To which I replied: “About one floor.”