The Cameraphone Diaries

Cute, or creepy?

2005-08-19T02:14:00.000-04:00

Anyone who knows me, knows that I have a thing for anime. Anyone who knows me a little better knows that I have a crush on Naru Naruseguwa from "Love Hina"; a totally girl oriented, totally hilarious anime complete with cutsey girls who speak japanese but look like they're from Riverdale, and one hapless wannabe college student who apparently doesn't mind gettin' the shit kicked out of him for no reason.

I came upon this today. The video shows a practitioner of the art of kigurumi, or more specifically, 'Dollers.' Dollers dress up as their favorite anime characters, mostly girls.

I don't think I have a crush on Naru anymore...

...

...

...

...

Naw, I'm just kiddin', how could you not love a face like this?

I'm back!

2005-07-26T12:33:00.000-04:00

Well, I'm here everybody and wouldn't you know it, I arrive in California in the beginning of a heat wave. I feel like the abominable snowman in the Bugs Bunny cartoon; "Gosh it's hot". Ah well, can't complain. Or at least no one in charge of weather conditions would be willing to act on my whining.

The first couple of days I stayed with my dad which was fine except that he has now ruined my appetite for what used to be my favorite mexican food: chorizo. You'll find this hard to believe, but I didn't know what chorizo was until pater opened his big fat yap. We were walking down the street for some reason or another, I think it was to buy a bed for him since I was essentially stealing his old one out from under him to use in my new digs. He said:

"It's brains."

He just had to tell me this after I informed him that I loved chorizo. "Eww" I exclaimed, then I got to thinkin' about it. Hell, I loved it before I knew what it was, why not now? I told him this and the matter was dropped.

Two days ago I went to a little mexican restaurant and ordered two chorizo burritos and a chicken quesadilla and took them home prepared to chow down; but as I unwrapped the first burrito, my dad's words shot themselves into the memory center of my brain, down my esauphagus and finally leaving a huge gaping exit wound in my hunger.

"It's brains...it's brains...it's brains..."

Great. Now I can no longer eat the stuff. Thanks a lump, dad.

I'm gettin' my revenge now, though. My dad, the computer genius, the man who worked with Steve Jobs himself, the man who has personally built dozens of computers, does not know how to take a self portrait on his own cameraphone. Observe:

Take that, you hunger killer you.

I'm Moving To California

2005-06-26T12:48:00.000-04:00

Sorry about the lack of posts folks, but I'm moving to California in July and it's taking up all my time. There will be no regular posts until I've moved, although I will post something eventually. Hang in there.

By the way, no anonymous commeting will be accepted on this blog anymore. If you don't want to leave a name, don't leave a comment. If you don't leave your name, your comment will be deleted.

Today is International Webloggers Day...

2005-06-14T17:48:00.000-04:00

...and what better way to celebrate this day than to submit an article to The BlogSoul Project!

Want to share your spiritual experiences? Click here for information on how to submit an article to the Project.

Calling All Bloggers!

2005-06-10T23:15:00.000-04:00

The cameraphone is down for the time being both because it's hella expensive to have them emailed to me and also because I've been working on my new blog, "The BlogSoul Project, which brings me to my needing your help.

In my last post I mentioned that I would create a new blog full of articles written by bloggers about their spiritual experiences which would eventually be made into an ebook or maybe even a paperback.

Well now the blog's up and I am calling for bloggers to share their experiences.

I'll even offer up a subtopic, in the form of a question. Here it is:

Have you read a book or seen a movie that has greatly impacted your life on a spiritual level?

There ya go. Use the question to come up with an article or use your own ideas.

When you're ready to publish your article, email me here to recieve instructions on how to get your article on the blog.

Send me those articles! Let's make a book!

Hell Week!

2005-05-29T11:22:00.000-04:00

God, what a week! If you'll allow me to whine for a moment, then we can get down to business...

First, the owner of the property that I manage has some problems with the gas company about payment so we went without water for a few days. Then, more payment problems with the water company itself so two days after the hot water is cut off, the water itself is gone. In between all this, I have a problem tenant who I tried to evict and he went crying to the owner. Who told him that he could stay an additional week and this is what he got for his compassion:

So now I gotta paint over this garbage and I come to find out that the asshole kept his keys and has been coming in regularly while I'm asleep and seeing his friend who also is a tenant. That's okay, I got something for his ass. I took his stereo out of his old room and replaced it with a note that said "(name), if you come back here you will go to jail."

The next day the keys were left on the porch.

heh heh.

Anyhoo, the water is back on, I'm showering regularly again and all is good with the world except now I have this incredible smoldering anger inside of me that doesn't seem to want to go away. I'd love to find this little turd on the street and show him what a forty year old man can do to a twenty something punk like him. But that would do no good, 'cause I'd wind up in jail again or worse (and more probable, who am I kidding?), in the hospital.

I'm meditating and whatnot, and that seems to be helping but the anger is still there. It seems to hide behind something in my heart and then when I'm least expecting it, it jumps out: "Boo!"

Alright, my rant is over. I want to talk about something else.

I've been tossing around this idea about putting together an ebook featuring articles written by bloggers for bloggers (and anyone else who cares to read it) about spirituality, and maybe other topics for future editions. Sort of a "Chicken Soup for the Bloggers Soul" kind of thing. I also figure if the ebook is popular, maybe turning it into a hard copy book maybe though BlogBinders or something.

The reason I'd like to do this is threefold:

Stories like the above make me wonder how others handle crises,
I'm far too lazy to write a whole ebook by myself and,
I'd like to make a little money at this internet doohickey and I bet others would too.

I was thinking about starting a new blog and using that as the starting point. I'd need editors, contributors and all sorts of other 'ors' I've missed. Anybody who is interested in helping out in the creative process or any other aspect, or even if you hate the idea, please leave a comment or email me here.

That's it for now; I gotta go paint a wall.

I've been tagged!

2005-05-23T22:11:00.000-04:00

Tag! I'm it!

The lovely and talented Helen has tagged me for a meme, and I couldn't be prouder. I've been looking at these bloggers who've been tagged and I've been gettin' all jealous. Now I can be the true blogger!

Here goes.

Total volume of music files on my computer:

47. Embarassing, I know but this is a brand new computer and I lost a lot of files in the transition.

The last CD I bought was:

Antonio Carlos Jobim and friends

Song playing right now:

Prelude: [Inutil Paisagem/Triste/Esperanca Perdida] [Medley]

Five songs I listen to a lot, or that mean a lot to me:

Paper Bag by Fiona Apple
I'm Feeling Good as sung my Michael Buble
Hey Mama by The Black Eyed Peas
Every Day is a Winding Road by Sheryl Crow
Pencil Thin Mustache by Jimmy Buffett.

How Darth Got His Groove On

2005-05-20T00:07:00.000-04:00

Hey! It's just a movie, dude!

Spoiler Alert: anyone who has been living in a cage for the past sixteen years and doesn't know the plot to this movie stop reading now.

This movie is about how Anakin Skywalker became Darth Vader. There, I said it.

Okay, so I just got back home from seeing "Revenge of the Sith", or "Episode Three" as the nerds call it, and I am glad I did. See, I'm not a big Star Wars fan mostly because when the first movie came out (or the fourth if you wanna be a nerd about it, nerd) my mom wouldn't let me stand in line for three days. I don't see why not, I was thirteen for chrissakes. Anyhoo, by the time I actually got to see the movie on Showtime five years later, special effects had greatly improved so I was unimpressed.

But, as I saw my friends all huddled together discussing going to see it today, I got jealous and included myself and boy am I glad I did! Ah, fight scene after fight scene with minimal romance. Just the way a movie should be made 'cause you know what kinda movie we men's men like to see: the kind where shit gets blowed up real good.

The location I was at didn't have many costumed nerds at it however. Mainly just the ones shown in the picture. I guess most people felt a little uncomfortable dressing up as a movie character in a shopping mall.

My verdict: four lightsabers up (pardon my innuendo.).

How I Got My Theme Song

2005-05-19T12:04:00.000-04:00

I'm not afraid...I'm not...what the hell was that?

I’d like to talk a minute about fear.

When I think about fear, I think about my fear of bugs and rats and dogs and strangers and crowds… ahem. As I was saying fear is a big part of my life and it’s exhausting to pretend that I’m not scared of every little thing that crosses my path. Don’t get me wrong, I’m no pussy but I do have a healthy… well, let’s say a healthy respect for things that I don’t understand; and ladies and gentlemen, I understand very little in this world.

Here’s a partial list of things I’m afraid of: dogs, insects, rats, portabello mushrooms, heights, strangers, crowds, reptiles, feelings, driving in Atlanta, white people, some internet porn sites (www.clownrape.com), communication, relationships, being glanced at, being looked at, being stared at, and my mom.

Sometimes my fear manifests as anger and I want to challenge everybody who pisses me off, and that’s a lot of challenging, ‘cause a lot of people piss me off.

How I managed to stay alive this long, I’ll never know.

Some things, like dogs, insects, rats and my mom are full fledged phobias; others I just don’t like very much. I choose to be a mature human being, however, so I always try to do at least one thing everyday that I’m afraid of so I can conquer my fears. It works for the most part. There’s a colony of carpenter bees on my front porch that I no longer run screaming from every spring, so that’s something. I also don’t get queasy around portobello mushrooms anymore.

This particular fear abolishing exercise is what got me my own theme song.

A few days after my birthday back in ‘03, I just happened to be up early enough to listen to the Morning Show on 99x here in the ATL. Their big promotion at that time was the big Jane's Addiction concert at the Fox Theatre. So I’m listening to the radio when one of the DJ’s announced that he was taking callers for two free tickets to the show and that the winning callers had to have the most pathetic love life story.

I figure, “hey, I’d like to go see Jane’s Addiction, and I’m not dating anyone now, I’ll give it a shot.”

Honestly, I never even expected to get through. Many times in my attempts to reach the request line, I’ve gotten that annoying busy signal. But it rang twice before the program manager picked it up:

Him: “99x, what’s your story?”

Me: “um yeah, I just haven’t been on a lot of dates lately.”

Him: “Why’s that?”

Me: “Well, I just get a little nervous asking -

Him: “’Kay, hold on.”

So I hold on. A few minutes later I’m on the air with what used to be my favorite DJ’s and one of them asks what kind of car I drove and I told him that I didn’t drive. He asks me, kind of incredulously, “why not?” and I say that I’m afraid of driving in Atlanta.

Anybody who’s driven in Atlanta knows what I’m talking about. Hell, Atlanta’s most famous citizen was mowed down by a taxicab on Peachtree; and I swear, people who live here drive the highways like it’s the frickin' autobahn or something.

What the hell was I thinking? That just got the ball rolling. Within minutes, I was cast as the most pathetic loser in Atlanta and possibly the world, but I got the tickets, dammit.

The most embarrassing part? Angie Aparo, a very talented singer songwriter happened to be on hand and was asked to write a theme song to “help me out with the ladies”, and came up with this.

Click here to hear my shame.

When it was over, the DJ asked me what I thought. I told him I didn’t think it was gonna work.

Whatever. Now there’s this song floating around the internet and I’m sure that I just pushed it around the cyber ether a little more, but at least there’s some explanation behind it now.

Besides, the tickets were second row center, the girl I asked to go with me was hot and Jane’s Addiction put on a kick ass show, so I kind of feel like I’m the winner here.

Cheeseburger in Paradise

2005-05-13T23:39:00.000-04:00

There's something in my eye!

It's not easy holding down two jobs; even if you're allowed to fall asleep at one of 'em. At the boarding house I manage there's a bipolar who complains that the house rules aren't being followed properly, while breaking those same rules herself; nobody washes their own dishes; I found a freakin' bra on the kitchen floor and I have reason to suspect that one of the tenants is dealing dope from his room.

At my other job which I'm not allowed to mention, except for the fact that I'm a barista at a major coffee shop chain, it ain't any easier. I deal with customers who think they're better than the person they're hurling money at; I can't get my boss to step up the promotion process; and let's face it, all the joe I'm swallowing can't be good for my blood pressure.

So what's a guy to do? Escape.

Fortunately, I was able to hear some great tunes from my friend and co-worker Robert, who happened to be playing at our place of employment the other day. Nothing like sitting in a comfy chair sippin' on a decaf grande mocha while shouting "Freebird!" at the top of my lungs between songs.

I'm just kidding. It wasn't decaf.

My boy Robert has a great voice which wasn't surprising to me since he and I share the same penchant for belting out showtunes in the middle of a crowded coffee shop. Plus, he knew all the Jimmy Buffett songs I requested from him, so his esteem went up a notch in my book.

All in all, I was able to make my temporary escape. Now all I gotta do is get a cop to come search my tenant's room which is ironic, since I just got off parole. Geez, am I ever gonna escape the law?

Did I Shave My Head For This?

2005-05-10T01:43:00.000-04:00

I'm Slim Shady, the real Slim Shady...

Back in '93 or '94 I was a singing waiter at a place called "Malibu Jack's" at the Underground here in Atlanta. An incident involving a now defunct festival for black college students and a standing ovation (don't ask), forced me to give up my singing career for what I thought was forever.

So naturally, if I was gonna stage a comeback to my singing career I should start with karaoke.

Karaoke: noun: the Japanese term for singing badly in front of total strangers for no apparent reason other than to celebrate your suckiness. Or at least that's what the definition should be in my case.

Who is this guy?

Okay, here's the real reason I decided to try to rejuvenate my singing career: today marks the first annual Freedom Day festivities for yours truly. What is Freedom Day you ask? Why, Freedom Day is the first day in nine years that I haven't had to avoid going to a bar for fear that my parole officer might find out. That's right. Today, I was officially off parole.

This means that I no longer have to be in my place of dwelling before midnight. I can now legally get drunk (even if I don't drink), I can leave the state or even the country without permission and I can even start the whole process over again by committing another crime if I wanted to.

Yeah right. There are many reasons for me to stay out of jail but the most compelling one is this: jail sucks! Gee, I'm sorry if I'm not being straightforward enough about that. It's just that even the most minimum security of America's jails and prisons just... well, they suck. You come when they say, you go when they say, sometimes you have to wait till they say you can use the bathroom. Commit another crime my ass. Crime can kiss my ass. I'm scared straight, G.

I said that I only want red m&m's! I'm goin' back to my trailer!

So to celebrate, I got as many as my friends as I could scare up including minor celebrity Rob Solomon (of American Idol infamy) and told them to meet me at The Star Bar for karaoke Monday.

Fun was had by all, mainly because Rob fulfilled my wish of hearing him sing "Don't Stop Believing" by Journey and his wife, the lovely Cassandra Dear forced me to sing "Copacabana" by Barry Manilow, because she is evil, and her spell cannot be broken by mere mortals such as I.

Next time I'm gonna make her sing. I'll make her sing "Baby Got Back".

Devil Lady and her zombie minions

Sing it like you mean it at The Singing Station!

Holy Frijoles!

2005-05-06T20:24:00.000-04:00

El Zorro is alive and well!

Yesterday was Cinco De Mayo, which is a Mexican holiday and I'm ashamed to say that while at one time I knew the significance, these days I'd be lucky if I could remember my own phone number.

I was walking in the outdoor mall known as "The Battle" here in Atlanta when I was accosted by these young mariachi hooligans. They were no match for my superior skills, however and they were so in awe of me that they begged me to pose with them so they could tell their friends and family back home that they had met the famous "El Loyo" which, embarassingly enough actually means "The Hole" in Spanish.

Exactly what were they trying to say?

It doesn't matter at this time, because I'm only writing this drivel to keep me in practice for writing regularly. I'm gone. I'm dog tired and this is about as creative as I can be tonight.

What, you thought all my posts would be gems?

I'll post something better soon, I promise.

P.S. Before I leave, I'll explain why I blacked my face out. It's to keep my anonymity. We wouldn't want my friends and family to be endangered would we?

No, that's not true. It's really because I take one ugly ass picture.

2005-05-03T20:15:00.000-04:00

And when they grow up they make a great snack!

When I'm not feeling secure with my own self, I like to do things that allow me to make fun of myself; like burst into a broadway showtune at work, or wear the "Scream" mask I bought two halloweens ago around the house or buy myself some Sea Monkeys like I did a few days ago.

Years ago, when I was 5 or 6 I had Sea Monkeys. Twice. I murdered the first batch by just forgetting they existed, and not feeding them or becoming dissatisfied that they didn't look like the picture on the card, I forget which. Probably a little bit of both if that's possible. The second batch was taken to my second grade classroom and fed there which was fine with me. At least feeding them wasn't my responsibility.

Those suckers got huge! I remember sitting in class and staring at them when I was supposed to be listening to whatever Mrs. Smith was teaching us at the time. I liked to watch them wiggle around that water. Mrs. Smith hated me ignoring her.

This new batch was almost a disappointment. I purified the water for 24 hours like it said, but when I dumped the little packet of eggs in it, I saw nothing but green water with little bits of powder and what I assume were Sea Monkey eggs. I almost chucked the project right then and there but I decided to wait until the next morning to see what I could see.

Sure enough, with the aid of the magnifying glass included in the package I saw tiny little dots propelling themselves through the water. I know they weren't just debris, 'cause they were going against the flow of the water.

At least this one time I didn't follow my first thought and I exercised a little patience. With a little patience I can watch my new little pets grow and I bet that with patience comes the ability to take care of another living thing. In other words, responsibility.

Are you a forty year old male or older? Going through a mid-life crisis but can't afford a sports car? Do like I did and go through your second childhood by getting your own batch of Sea Monkeys at ThinkGeek.com! Tell 'em Loy sent'cha!

I'm no prison bitch (part 2)

2005-04-30T12:04:00.000-04:00

When we met last I was telling my tattoo story. Hopefully you've been panting for more.

So I'm standing in the doorway of this cell watching a very big man making torturous faces everytime this other guy pokes him with this assuredly dirty (or at least not properly sanitized) homeade tattoo needle and the strange thought comes: I want a tattoo.

Actually the thought didn't manifest in quite that way. It was more like: you know, I've never had a tattoo and I never wanted one, but I wonder what it would be like to get a tattoo but I don't want the usual naked lady riding a huge penis or a dragon or the devil but I want a tattoo!

Something like that, but with more ADD.

So I arranged for payment (three hostess fruit pies and two ramen noodles, the currency of jail), and met with the artist and we worked out this design, shown below.

Would a prison bitch have the balls to have the nerdiest tattoo?

Now, I consider Einstein my hero but to this day I still have no idea why I chose the frickin' theory of relativity to etch into my arm. I worried briefly about the choice of design but nobody gave me too hard a time. In fact, in a way I think it added to the toughness factor: would you mess with a guy who had the nads to wear such ink?

So the liquid hepatitis (I mean ink) was made, the lighter flame was applied to the staple and I steeled myself what I thought was going to be the worse pain in my life.

I was right, but the pain was at least four times greater than what I thought and here's the kicker. The tattoo didn't fully take, so the artist had to go over it again!

I've thought about expanding it some, like superimposing a yin yang symbol over it or something. Any ideas?

BodyJewelry.com The #1 Body Piercing Jewelry Website on the Net Today

I'm no prison bitch (part 1)

2005-04-27T18:39:00.000-04:00

What're YOU lookin' at?

When I was not much younger I was locked up in the Spalding County Jail in Griffin, Georgia. I had written a bunch (I mean a bunch) of bad checks due to a nasty little crack habit I had acquired. While I'm not a small fellow, I never really liked to fight, so I would just put my mean face on and hope nobody messed with me. For the most part, that tactic worked. I only got in one fight and even though I tecnically lost (I foolishly let him get too close to me, there are no fair fights in jail), nobody ever bothered me in that particular lockup again.

Once, when I was walking around the cell block I passed an open door and saw an acquaintance getting a tattoo.

Before I go any further with the story, let me explain the conditions surrounding the jailhouse tattoo. First of all, in the county lockup general population, personal tape players are not allowed. The motors in those Walkmans are what is used to make the tattoo 'guns' you see in all those prison shows like 'Oz' and the like. I don't know how it was done, and it doesn't matter; we didn't have one so we had to improvise.

First you had to make the needle: a sharpened, straightened out staple usually did the trick. The staple was then placed on the end of a toothbrush and melted in place so it didn't move during the artistic torture. Once it was set, a thread was wrapped around it to hold the ink while it was being etched in the skin.

Speaking of the ink, Oh God...

One would think, or at least hope, that the ink was simply taken from a ball point pen or something but we were not so lucky. First, the backs of two legal pads were taped together and the resulting cylinder was placed on another legal pad back. Styrofoam cups were placed inside and set on fire with a smuggled lighter. The resulting soot was scraped off the cardboard, mixed with shampoo and voila! Now you had hepatitis. I mean ink.

The needle would be dipped into the ink and then poked into the skin until the mark stayed. Don't fool yourself folks, this process hurts! And here I was watching this torture process happen, wincing in sypathetic agony with every grimace this bozo made as he was poked.

And once again, one of those strange thoughts came into my head.

I want one of those.

WTF!!!!!

Since this is a pretty long story and I want to at least pretend to be intriguing, check back in a day or two for part 2 of this story.

BodyJewelry.com The #1 Body Piercing Jewelry Website on the Net Today

I am forty years old.

2005-04-26T17:19:00.000-04:00

Thirty five years ago I had what was probably my very first alcoholic beverage. It was a tasty concoction named 'Cold Duck'. I remember drinking some and asking at least three adults for more before my mom caught me and made me stop. I don't remember being drunk or bursting into hysterical tears when the New Years gunfire began. Unfortunately everyone on my mothers side does, as they remind me every chance they get. I did not have a drinking or drug problem.

Twenty five years ago I smoked my first joint. I didn't get high, but that didn't stop me from smoking another one the next day and getting different results. I did not have a drinking or drug problem.

Twenty years ago I was in the Marine Corps and drinking heavily, borrowing money from other marines to go to the bars to get drunk. I did not have a drinking or drug problem.

Fifteen years ago I snorted my first line of cocaine. Soon after that, I no longer bothered with paying rent or buying food. I began living on the roof of the nightclub I worked at. I wasn't homeless, my home was on the roof of the nightclub. I was merely houseless. I did not have a drinking or drug problem.

Ten years ago I was a full fledged crack addict. I was working but still homeless. I knew where the best crack and never worried about where to get my next meal because I knew what churches served food and gave bus tickets (aka the 'Tramp Trail'). I had low self esteem, I smelled bad, and I would pray for death when I lay down to go to sleep and get angry at God when I woke up the next morning. I was beginning to think I had a drinking and drug problem.

Five years ago on April 19, 2000 I had a strange knowledge: not that I would die soon, not that I needed help, not that I was a crack addict but the only certainty I had was that the next day I would go to rehab and sit there until I was admitted. I had five dollars in my pocket. I went to the shelter and laid down to sleep. For the first time in a long time I didn't pray for death. The next morning at 4am I woke up and checked into rehab. I still had the five dollars.

Last week I saw that someone had dropped a bag of weed here:

I paused, looked at it, hesitated, snickered and stepped over it and went to the train station to go to work.

Today my landlord trusted me to deposit his rents into his account (I manage his boarding house).

Next month I am officially off parole in the state of Georgia.

I'm not bragging about these things, it's just that sometimes I'm a little hard on myself and I need to remember these things to remind me how grateful I truly am.

Get control over alcohol. Our 3 week course will help you change the way you think about alcohol to regain control. Click here.

King Solomons Secret.

2005-04-21T02:52:00.000-04:00

Unless you've been in a cave somewhere, you've heard of the media phenomonon known as "American Idol". I try to miss it myself, unliess I can latch on to someone who's actually been on it so I can at least have a fleeting glimpse of fame vicariously. Squint a little at the picture above and you may recognize the almost famous Rob Solomon, the projectionist from Smyrna who may or may not have given Paula Abdul a headache. It looked like that to me when he auditioned for the show in New Orleans.

It's not that Rob's a bad singer; he's pretty good in fact. I've heard him play with his now defunct band, "Made In China" a couple of times and I've enjoyed it immensely. I've even heard him sing karaoke and he brought the crowd to it's feet. He's just not 'Idol' material and he knows that. He just wanted an excuse to go to New Orleans and meet the judges.

I've never told him this and if you tell him I said it I'll call you a liar to your face, but I sort of look up to him for his determination to do whatever it is he wants to do. If he wants to sing a song by Journey on karoke night he does it. I have to work up the courage to do it. If he wants to make a short film parodying the horror genre, he does it. I have to beg for a bit part and once I get it I screw it up royally (If he gives me permission, I'll set up a link to the movie "Unseen Force". It won't get an Oscar, but it's pretty good up until my part comes in).

So, I've decided that I'm going to do some of the things that I want to do, like learn to play the guitar and sing songs that cause people to leap out of their seats and give me standing ovations, or buy a maxi class twist 'n go scooter or maybe even learn to ride a motorcycle.

I'm starting right now by keeping my mind on positive things and reading inspirational self help books by Bill Ferguson and Brian Tracy. I'm using software like GoalPro and PlanPlus. With the help of tools like this and more, maybe I can learn to get what I want as well.

Click here for your Free CD of 21 Success Secrets of Self Made Millionaires