I think I’m still feeling the scorched tingling of good old burn out. I have negative 3 motivation and I’m antsy as all fuck. I haven’t not traveled in this long since… I don’t even know. I don’t mean the little weekend jaunt, I mean eating things I can’t pronounce, drinking water that must be chewed before swallowed and getting so lost that I’m surprised when the barely functioning bus chugs it’s way across a boarder and I am forced to get out empty my backpack for a guy with a gun. I feel stagnant, or as though I’m waiting for the other shoe or bomb or hit of acid to drop.. I need to change something or do something or something something. In passed days, this feeling would mean that I’d be packing up and moving to another city or apartment or country, or cutting all of my hair off, or getting a new tattoo. I’d be doing something.

Instead, I’m sitting here doing that irritating tap tap tapping on my desk. My eye is twitching and leg is shaking. I’m fidgeting as if I’m covered in lice and open scabs, and I’m beginning to annoy myself.

And I wore the totally wrong bra today.

So let me set the stage for you…….

Me, in my office, professionally dressed (read as; not like this) and conducting my usual business. Creepy older locksmith guy comes into my office to let me know that he has completed the required work and that he will mail out the invoice. Great. One professional to another, job completed, time to move on, so one would assume.

One would be wrong.

I am wearing a blindingly white dress shirt. It’s so white that it can be seen from space, or from the deepest recesses of Paris Hilton’s empty head. Creepy 50ish year old locksmith guy says; “Ok, I’m all done. I gotta go clean up now. Unless there’s a white shirt anywhere that I can use?”

While saying this he has the most lecherous grin I’ve ever witnessed outside of the prison system and is groping the air to mimic grabbing my boobs.

This is a little section that I will call “Things that Kim loves.” Revel in a positive post my pets, we all know it’s a rarity around these here parts……..

Friday nights in this house have been centered around Mr Music himself, Elvis Costello. (I mean, besides the obvious beer & steaks or wine and pasta or booze and forgetting to eat) I fucking LOVE this show. Seriously. It’s not the crappy same old, same old, of the host asking a few random questions about their guest’s next tour and then the band hitting the perfectly situated stage and playing their up coming single. I hate that type of show. I can’t count the ways that I hate it. One two, buckle my shoe, three four, I fucking hate you.

Elvis Costello’s Spectacle is a whole other beast. It’s as though you’re sitting in his living room. His guest is a friend and they’re chatting about mutual friends and their shared passion for music. The guest reaches down and picks up a guitar and plays a song. Not necessarily one of his own, maybe just something he loves. Maybe Elvis sings back up, maybe they do a duet. Maybe Elvis just sits there, 2 feet away in the same stools they were just chatting from, and watches. Through it all, you feel as though you are privy to a personal moment between friends.

Elvis hanging out with James Taylor, swapping stories with Elton John, sitting down with the boys from The Police and letting them get bitchy with each other if they want to. A couple of Fridays ago I saw Chris Christopherson, Nora Jones, John Cougar Mellencamp, Roseanne Cash and Elvis Costello jam together. Are you fucking kidding me? When do you ever get to see shit like that? Last night I watched Dianna Krall sit at a piano and sing a classic Joni Mitchell song. I watched Elvis, his wife Dianna and Elton John do “making Whoopie” while Dianna smoked it on the piano. There are no long winded interviews, no “formula questions” and pat answers. It’s stories, funny moments and memories. It’s intimate, it’s quirky, and it kicks ass. If you haven’t yet checked it out then you either a) have no appreciation for music, or b) are an idiot.

Elvis, Dianna, if you’re listening…. Should you ever feel the need to fly Steve & I out to clap madly and grin like lunatics, we’re ready. I can have us packed in 5 fucking minutes flat. BC is just an air Canada hop skip and a jump away. No, really. I think it’s a great idea. It’s a new show so we could be like weird groupies/ walking, talking, blogging billboards.

Seriously, fly us out. I mean it.

First off….. Happy fucking May 1st or as Susin & I like to call it; The bloody month of May or Mayhem. Growing up and as young adults, everything horrid happened in May. Not just irritating stuff, I mean gut wrenching, crap right on your head, baaaaad stuff. So much so that we banned each other from any sort of travel in the bloody month of May. We think that we broke the curse a few years back, but I have to admit, I get that bubbling diarrhea rumbling in my bowels every time this fucking month rolls around…….

Secondly….. If you work with a bunch of insane women, it is not advisable to leave your office with your facebook account logged in or you may come back to a tidal wave of messages congratulating you on the pregnancy that you were unaware of. So if I know you via facebook let me be very clear; Despite what my status update shouted from the mountain top, I AM NOT PREGNANT!

Thirdly….. Well, there is no thirdly.