Lord, folks.

I’m currently coming out of what I affectionately refer to as “The Grand Funk Train-Wreck of ‘01″….that sense of “Siddyness” that has disappeared for so long is finally rushing back to me, and I couldn’t be any more chuffed.

It’s about fucking time, honestly.

To me, the small things, count. I could be faced with a huge ordeal, and it really won’t make me do much but shrug my shoulders and get on with it. When it comes to the matters some would classify as trivial, though, I’m at a loss for words and actions. I’m not terribly sure if this is a liablity or not. Time will tell.

I’ve had some wonderful feedback from some of you folk. Thanks very much for your correspondence, do keep it coming.

Ass-kissers, y’all.

Flattery will get you everywhere.

Just have a look at the oft-mismatched and crazy-clad Elton John. Kissie-koo to you, Mister Elton. However, I’m rather certain he wouldn’t kiss back, since I’m sure his lipstick traces are no more since his last application, since they’re now marked indelibly upon the ass of Eminem…

But hey. Whatever floats your cock.

As for me, I’m a tad nervous right about now. I can’t remember if I swallowed my lone source of birth control or if it slipped out of my mouth and dissolved in my juice.

Hey Sid, you silly bitch:
How would you like your eggs?
Sunny side up, or scrambled?

fertilised?

Sperm has a decent shelf-life, and my sexlife is…fertile. Let’s all pray that I won’t have to pay for it, Hoover-style. I may be engaged, but I will not have a pre-pre-pre-pre-honeymoon child. I’m going on the Shot. The sad thing? I am extremely well-versed on safer sex and contraception…but I’m in a loving, STD free, monogamous, condom-hating relationship. Shit. Guilt-trip me, would you? Pity Party at my email address.

Slap me around. Please.

Other than that, how are all of YOU doing? Let me know. I’m rather curious, as my own universe of relatively egocentric for many reasons at the moment, and I’d love to know.

Hit me.