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HOW MANY IS TO MANY.
I JUST GOT MY 5TH ONE YESTERDAY THE NEEDLE PAIN IS IT JUST ME OR IS ADDICTING.

I drive a taxi here in Kingston. I’ve done this job for about 9 or 10 years now and have had few problems outside of a couple of shouting matches with obnoxious or drunk customers. I’ve been short changed, had a few runners (those who get out of the car without paying before I could hit the door locks). Been handed bad or stolen credit cards, been given bogus pay checks/cheap watches and other junk as security for a small unpaid fare, been threatened for no apparent reason, and had to clean up after an over imbibing imbecile.

But this past Sunday something much more important occurred. A driver here picked up a fare near the local YMCA about 6:30 on that Sunday morning. A few blocks away the person he picked up stabbed the driver repeatedly in the chest. This cab driver died a few minutes later. There was no robbery involved.

After hearing the news of this senseless killing I initially felt little emotion. Don’t get me wrong, I did feel for this man’s mother who depended on him to help and support her. I did feel for his friends since he was known as one of those “nice guys who never did anyone wrong”. The out pouring of grief and anger from virtually all the other cab drivers I’ve spoken too dominates most conversation. But in the end, at least at first, I felt there was little personal effect. My world felt unchanged.

But as the days moved on I began to discover a new wariness. There is a palpable sense of anger and fear in my day-to-day activities at work. I size up my customers, I run scenarios in my mind of defensive actions if anything were to happen from whoever I’ve picked up. I even tossed a short changing creep out into the rain - surprising even myself at the quickness of my anger.

I guess my arrogant sophisticated near uncaring bravado was just a front. I really do feel for David Krick, his mother and his friends. I also feel for all the rest of us who are waiting for the local police to announce the murder’s arrest. That bastard is still roaming the streets somewhere looking for another victim in his twisted ugly grotesque world.

The following was taken from the Kingston Whig-Standard’s website this morning.

"Krick may be the first taxi driver murdered while on duty in Kingston, although it is not a rare occurrence across Canada.

According to Statistics Canada, 11 taxi drivers were murdered between 2001 and 2005, while 10 police officers were murdered on duty in the same period.

Krick will be buried tomorrow in a public funeral being held at the chapel at Tompkins Funeral Home on Colborne Street, beginning at 11 a.m."

What a incredible senseless loss.

I'm not a freak, i'm not insane or anything along those lines, but i would much rather the company of someone older than me than younger or the same age, they aren't as immature and know how to have a good time more, i also find the older woman a lot more attractive, just something i feel a new member should let you know lol, might be weird so sorry.

Yes i am new on here, i'm not quite sure what to do so any suggestions too would be good, message me if you like the profile or anything.

Edd x

Is their anyone on this site that is a Amateur Radio Operator???
If so; What STATE or COUNTRY are you in?

It's funny how just about everything in a human being slows down as you get older. Not that I am experiencing this as you see, I am a young man, but I do observe people like crazy.
Your reactions are a little slower than they were before, you don't even laugh with the same rhythm anymore.
And the main thing is, when you sign something on a sheet of paper, your signature is not the same, and it's not even because you are incapable of writing.
You know when you first learn how to write in cursive, the teachers were always hard on you about making your handwriting legible. Then you write your name down on something, and it be so neat.
But the more you write your name now, the less you can understand it. Some people are so bad that they can't read their own handwriting. They be asking whose signature is this, not knowing that it's their own.
It's like at first, when you start customizing your own name in writing, you write all of the letters out in perfect cursive. Then, you write out all of the letters except the last letter. You just put a nice little line at the end of your name.
Then, as time goes on, you will soon write your name with less and less letters written out. It just be the first letter written out, then just one big line at the end of it.
That's not customizing your name anymore. It's more like refining your name. You know why we write our names out like that? BECAUSE WE ARE SICK AND TIRED OF WRITING OUR FREAKING NAMES, period.

Okay, I get love, but I don’t get the concept of romantic love. By which I mean the love they say exist between opposite sexes (my friend, I don’t roll that way and you know it). Romantic love confuses me not because I don’t know love, or that I have been denied love or “love”, perhaps it is the opposite.How will you approximate the love a mother has for her child with the one a woman has for her lover? But beyond all of these, romantic love deeply confuses me. I have read the Good Book to examine the meaning of love. On all counts the three kinds of love: Filial (family), Agape (platonic) and Romantic love meets all the criteria enumerated but one. Romanic love is not selfless; in fact it is the most selfish kind of love. You only have romantic love for someone when your interest intersects with theirs. She is beautiful; you have prospect kind of situation. Relationships these days are a legal business transaction with its accounting side, strategic management side, and legal department inputs. We do not choose our family and the obligation of love we have to them, but we choose our significant others. We switch between love and hate in a second- and to those that find themselves on our scorned path, hell hath no fury like their damnation

One amazing thing is that we all profess love, the ROMANTIC, only when there is enough paycheck, high univeristy degrees, all that. Sometimes I wonder why we can not pick a blind, a cripple, just disabled, on the street for a wife or a husband, except on rare cases. I think the word ROMANTIC LOVE does not exist, we only assume to be in love. I am confused! God bless and keep my Mama alive.

Guys; how many of you are actually serious about wanting to get involved with a woman that already has young children at home?

and it has been a full one. Created three samples of the Hurricane Hints with intro, extro and a choice of music and FX so the sales people can try to hook up a sponsor for them. Apparently we already have two companies interested. Completed a fully produced half hour of Artform, my program with artists, also for shopping around. The theory is I use my own slot to start things, like floating a balloon as it were and then produce them fully with themes, promos the lot and turn them over to the sales force. Even if they don't sell at once we can slot them into different time periods to get listener response as the 'night owls'who have given feedback on my live slot so far want to (wait for it) date me because I sound so warm and friendly!That's even worse than going by my profile because on air I am much more outgoing than I am in person. Give me another person in the room and I get them to talk!
I just watched a really dreadfully acted, directed, and produced movie called Red Blood.And the sound was appalling (I notice, used to do that job). I think my review will say don't bother unless you like to look at guys with really long hair...no that won't do, cause I like that and it didn't help.Filled the gas tank - for some reason I got much better mileage this week (maybe it really is good to keep the tyres at the recommended pressure),cooked dinner for my mother and me. Stopped in here to read the threads and post to a couple - caught the great Muppet denouement, sent a couple of flowers and have one email to write before bedtime. well, it actually is bedtime - one email to write before I avail myself of bedtime I should say. To be precise. hate being precise all the time - all the editing and control yesterday and today make me want to dance under the full moon - preferably in the rain. Have to wait until the 30th for the blue moon then skyclad I will be! Life is like a chocolate eclair, filled, covered and surrounded with luscious scents, textures and flavours. I love chocolate eclairs!

This morning I ache, each joint a song of how much it has done for me, how lithe, how limber I have been. Each tree I climbed and fell from, each dream reached for, way above my head just out of reach to make me leave the womb. In some places I burn, the lactic acid from this morning's dance drowning each muscle almost to the skin , a brushfire of exertion not eased by sweat. For so long, I would have lived forever, invincible, invulnerable a young immortal with feet that did not touch the ground and laughter that cascaded over admonitions that told me to slow down. I danced and swung from cup to cup, drinking Life with all its joy and pain embracing broken glass with the same passion I brought to velvet and to skin. I have wept tears drawn from me in floods by recognition of shared pain, and sometimes tears so salt they scored and burned my cheeks like acid in the wake of some momentary betrayal that for that moment was the end of Life for me. And yet, I breathed again, heart beat again and other moments came to set me dancing on my path. I have been a dream, a curse, a joy, a burden, an unmitigated bore depending on whose mirror I have stood before. And I have seen my inner self reflected in anger, tenderness and mindless passion; all those faces that are mine to claim and work with, seeking the face I had before I was born in every pool of water from the corner of my eye. So I ache and stretch and finger acupressure points, some soft, some hard, wincing at the tale the gentle agonies are telling, noting where I must find balance and direction and where the energy lies so thin I am a battery on empty. I stretch and ache and rejoice because each twinge announces that though, at last, I am mortal, I still endure.

Hi. This is very interesting. As a divorced mother of two, it's nice to see that some men actually give a good description of who they are and what they are about. As a non-smoker, it's next to impossible for me to find a guy to go out with. As my youngest gets older (she's a teenager), it makes me reflect on what I want to do when she's 18, which is just a few short years away. It would be nice to find a good guy to get to know and hang out with. He'd definately have to have a sense of humor though.