talking to yourself is a sign of intelligence, didn’t you know?

Me: You really should write something on your blog. It’s been like, a week.

Me: I know but I’m feeling creatively challenged. Honestly, I’m a little low & lonely these days and I don’t want to spread my nasty germs all over the internet. That stuff is contagious, you know.

Me: So… just don’t write.

Me: Yeah, but now the site is up and there’s no excuse. And I’m overwhelmed because since I’ve moved to Montreal, I’ve received so many kind emails and gifts and I have yet to respond to anybody. I feel like a bad person… and I got this new camera and I haven’t had time to process any of the photos… and I was given bongos for my birthday and I haven’t banged on them yet… and…

Me: Hey! Why you gotta be that way? I think you should make like Otis and try a little tenderness.

Me: See, this is why I haven’t been writing… because that is the kind of nonsense that comes out of me when I try too hard.

Me: Why don’t you tell a story. Ooh! I know, tell the story your sister shared this weekend. The one about the guy down the street.

Me: I guess. But I’m always scared of offending someone. What if they think I’m mean?

Me: Just tell the story already!

Me: Well folks, it goes something like this. My sister lives in Verdun, which is sort of considered the slums of Montreal (the other side of the tracks so to speak), which is far from the truth but you could say that the place has personality and with the personality package comes a few characters. Small price to pay for affordable rent 15 minutes from downtown Montreal.

So… my sister is walking home the other night and what does she see but her neighbor… wearing no clothes above the waist. Now, if only he were a Matthew Mcconaughey look-alike, we would all be wiping the drool off the corners of our mouths right about now. Alas, this man was more of the Philip Seymore Hoffman variety in Along Came Polly, which in and of itself is just not good… but it gets worse. The dude is standing in his front yard for all to see, shaving his big beer belly.

Me: Was he using a Bic or an electric shaver?

Me: It was a dollar store Bic, my friend. And he was dry shaving from one side of his belly to the other in big swoops – you could practically hear the blade scratching against his gut. Michael is already envisioning the slow motion scene with exaggerated sound effects for his next movie.

Me: Eeeewwwweee!

Me: I KNOW! You just don’t see that shit every day.

Me: Nor do you want to.

Me: True that. But maybe the poor guy’s carpet belly overheats in the summer and he didn’t want to get the kitchen floor dirty with his shavings.

Me: So, you’re saying that he was doing it out of consideration for his wife?

Me: I have to spin something positive on this.

Me: I personally think the whole thing is a little disturbing but to each his own… and I appreciate your attempt at kindness. Still, you may have now offended anyone with a beer gut, hairy belly, dollar-store bic owners, their wives and all Verdun dwellers.

Me: It was your idea. Besides, it was either that or sending out invitations to my very own pity party.

Me: Nuff said.