My Engagement Photos Will Look Something Like This

People are going to murder me for saying this, but the new trend of "magazine style" engagement photos is really lame. These pictures never look cool. The couple is either in front of a fountain, skipping along a street, or in some other trite setting. They are contorted into any number of cheesy poses that look awkward, unnatural, and monotonous. 55 pictures of staring into each other’s eyes, awkwardly embracing in front of a fountain, or dreamily walking down a boring street? Um. Ya. Looks great.

My friends tell me that when I plan my wedding they are going to remind me of my diatribe against engagement photos. Go ahead. Print out this blog post and save it for later. But you better laminate it because I’m never getting married. I will mostly shack up with some dude, who I will subsequently mate with, but I will never walk down an aisle unless someone drugs/drags me. So, unless you have a steady supply of Rohypnol and a strong arm, I’m not doing it. Cuison I was born. Cuison I will always be.

However, if I were to ever get married (Lord knows I’ve been engaged more than once. Ya, ya. Those stories are for another day.) and commence to get engagement photos done, they would look something like this.

And as for bridal photos, I'll do something like this.

Because seriously, when I get married, the nuptials will take place in wintry landscape located in hell.

So I might as well go all out, right?

My Case for Matt Damon

Time and time again I have to defend my obsession with Matt Damon. If you don’t like Matt Damon, then something is wrong with you.

Seriously. Look in the mirror. There is something wrong with you. He has a palpable charisma that radiates from the screen. He is a political activist. He is a committed husband and adoring father.

These are the obvious reasons why he is awesome. Here are a few more:

1. He won an Oscar for screenwriting.

Ever heard of Good Will Hunting? How do you like them apples? People like to snidely say he didn’t win an Oscar for acting. I know. Thanks for the clarification, smart ass. I’m a writer. I’m impressed by talented writers.

Most screenwriters don’t look like Matt Damon and most screenwriters don’t win Academy Awards, making a guy that looks like Matt Damon that won an Academy Award hotter than any of these two independent factors alone. Make sense? Forget it. It’s not your fault.

2. Jason Bourne

I really don’t think I need to say anything further.

3. He has historically been one of the most bankable leading men in Hollywood.

This mother fucker sells tickets. You put his name on a blank poster and people will come. I'm not the only person who likes Matt Damon. Millions of people love Matt Damon and will spend their money to watch him.

4. This. Seriously, how awesome is this

5. Boston boys always bring it.

The Jack White (Karen Elson) Conundrum

So, what happened? Jack White produced his wife’s album and that intense time together led to their demise?

I can promise you three things.

1: I will never have a husband.

2: I will never make a record with him.

3. 1 and 2 are null and void, if Jack White is my husband.

Thus, my Jack White pseudo-theorem makes no sense.

Sorry, if I’ve wasted your time.

To make up for stealing 15 seconds of your reading life: Watch the video to a song that may or may not have contributed to their split.

And in all seriousness, working intensely especially in a creative venture is relationship suicide. Next time you want to break it off with your sweetie, but can’t figure out how, write a screenplay, produce a film, or record an album together.

The battle for creative control will drive that last nail in your relationship coffin.

Has Jack White not learned from his last failed marriage? Stop trying to make your wives rock stars. It will end badly. Hence, R.I.P. The White Stripes.

Let Me Take Your Picture

Like I’ve always said: Guys come and go but naked pictures of them last forever… And will be mass texted, mass emailed, and passed around for all my friends to enjoy.

Dude sexting has been brought to light by the Rep. Anthony Weiner’s sexting scandal. He sent pics of his exposed wiener to chicks all over the country that he didn’t even know personally. It’s usually chick sexting that gets all the hubbub, but Weinergate is a media scandal sensation.

At the MTV Movie Awards this week, the cutie, Reese Witherspoon, spoke out against the ills of naked photography and slammed the wannabe chicks with wannabe sex tapes. (Wannabe because seriously, Kim K and Paris: Your sex tapes were boooooring.) Naughty Americans and Brazzers could make better videos than that on a bad day with their second string team, broken down equipment, and a fluffer who sucks (no pun intended) at fluffing.

Witherspoon gave one tidbit of advice that I believe is the most important part of cell phone sext-ography:

“If you took naked pictures of yourself on your cell phone, you hide your face, people! Hide your face!”

This should be a message for both men and women.

Welcome to the Digital Age! Glad you could make it. Remember: Never before in time have we been able to rapidly transfer information to each other in a blink of an eye.

So, don’t be stupid. Hide your face.

Since we are on the topic of crotches, I will leave you with a Jack White crotch shot. Jack White is rumored to be the biggest c&*k in rock. If only he would sext someone, so we would know for sure.

Revisiting the Old Crazy

Don’t do it. From my crazy “are we in goddamn New Jersey?” weekend, I’m gong to say: Don’t try to work it out with an ex. It’s not going to work. You were exes for a reason.

What happens is that tired old bullshit from last time resurfaces this time, but you don’t know it’s resurfaced. All the pent up hate and remorse from the last time, jumps up on your ass on a simple afternoon on the beach. One minute, you are happy as two stupid clams. Next minute, your ex is pulling out everything possible out of his ass to make you feel like shit. He may even set the shit up in advance, which I like to call the premeditated fuck you.

Only people who have been stewing over some shit you did or some shit you said will bust out a premeditated fuck you.

It happened to me. The best explanation I could get for his premeditated fuck you was: “That’s what you get for talking shit to me about other guys.”

Hmmm. Okay.

His premeditated fuck you was severe, what crazy people do, what people who secretly hate you do, what people who want to humiliate you in public do, what your ex will do when he wants to really fuck with you, etc, etc…

He made his point. This was his pay back for the other guys in my past/present life. Regardless, yawn. This was just like last time only amped up on crack cocaine.

In summary: Don’t reason with the unreasonable. Go out and find yourself some new crazy. Don’t waste your time revisiting some old crazy. No point in that. (Unless he’s a musician. Then, well… You can’t help revisiting that a few times. No one can really fault you for that.)

I’ve been crushing on Bill Murray since 1984.

You might be wondering 1984? What?! Yes. I developed a little crush on Bill Murray when I was about six years old. Remember Ghost Busters? Ok. Well, I thought he was swell in that. Funny. Cute. Strong leading man.

Yup. And you know that bedroom scene with Sigourney Weaver and she’s all over him? Well, I was six so I really wasn’t sure what that was all about, but boy, did I want to know more about it.

Then, I grew up. I developed crushes on Keanu Reeves, Matt Damon, Jack White, Paul Walker… You know my roster. And then: “Lost in Translation” happened. I thought: Oh my. It’s Bill Murray again. And Scarlett Johansson is living out my dream.

So, yeah. I’m crushing on a sixty year old man. You talking shit?

It so happens, that Mr. Murray lives here in Charleston. Many of my friends have had Murray sightings. But, a couple of people I know made a trailer (It’s fake, but funny!) with him. I cried because how could people I know work with him and I was not there. Okay. Probably because I would try to distract him and bone him somehow. That is a good point.

I commend Barnfly Productions, Butcher Media, and all the other dope people involved for putting this funny little trailer together. I wish I would have thought of it myself. Applause. Hugs. (Ummm.. Pass my info on to Murray if and when you get a chance. Wink wink.)

Here's the awesome-ness.

New {fake} Trailer from David Walton Smith on Vimeo.

To Snoop or Not to Snoop

I’m not usually a snooper. I don’t do it. But to each his or her own. I don’t look through dudes' phones, computers, pockets, drawers, wallets, etc., etc. I don’t do it because I don’t want it done to me. Not that my behavior will somehow affect what some guy I’m seeing behaves, but I like to function on karma. I cringe when a guy so much as hands me my phone. If a dude wants to look through my cell phone when I get up to go to the bathroom, he deserves the inadequacy he will feel when he finds what he finds. (Errrr. Umm.You know... Not that there’s anything there to be found.)

I was over at my ex (not really my ex because we were never together together but only kinda together)‘s apartment. I was using his bathroom and saw through the crack of the bathroom cabinet a black and bright pinkish thing.

All I could think was: That fucking asshole! I was pissed. I was irate! However, I did not open the cabinet to see what this black and pinkish thing actually was. I knew, goddammit. I knew what it was!

It’s some chick’s makeup bag. That fucking slut!

I finish up in the bathroom and climb in bed, but I say nothing. Not a word about the slut’s makeup bag. First of all, we are not together anymore and have, for the most part, been estranged from each other because if you know us, we are both crazy mentally dysfunctional people when we are together. We are either madly in love or desperately trying to kill each other. We are that bat shit cuckoo for cocoa puffs crazy about each other that we can move from love to hate in a matter of 15 seconds. Hence, this is why we were together but not together. We couldn’t keep a steady state of emotions for each other longer than two hours. True story. Go ask someone who had to hang out with us. -Those poor people.

Anyway, I get in bed and act like nothing happened. We have a nice pleasant evening and in the morning, I’m still quiet about the makeup bag.

But for the next week, I stew about the makeup bag. I imagine what the slut looks like and what kinds of things they do together. I envision walks on the beach, romantic bike rides at sunset, lovely brunches on Sunday mornings. I’m angry. I’m going to kill him. That asshole. That slut. I hope they are happy together. I hope they get married. I hope they have dozens of children. Dozens! So that her slutty uterus falls to her knees. (Mind you, I know that the chick is not really a slut. She’s probably really nice. It’s just that with him any girl that isn’t me is a dirty skank.)

By the time, I saw him again, I couldn’t hold in my anger. I let him have it. Of course, I really can’t say anything because we are not together, remember? But, I said: Fuck it. I tear him a new asshole about his little girlfriend and her stupid makeup bag. I ask him how long they’ve been together and how cozy their relationship must be since she leaves her things at his place. How cute. How fun. Hope you two burn in hell together.

He sat there in the usual way he sits there when I yell at him. He says, “Go look. Open the cabinet. It’s not a makeup bag.” He smiles. He is goddamn laughing!

I yell, “No! I don’t need to. I know what I saw.”

Then, I actually go the bathroom and open the cabinet.

It’s not a makeup bag. It’s a magazine. A car magazine with black and neon pink writing.

A car magazine?

That fucking asshole! Then I begin to rationalize how it’s his fault that I suffered the imagined tryst. But, when I get out of the bathroom, he’s still sitting there with that look on his face. He's still smiling. And then I remember this is why we were together but not together and will never really be together. He makes me crazy. It’s that kind of love where it’s too much, too intense that it can’t be functional. I adore him, but really detest him too, for reasons to be disclosed at a later date.

If in this one instance, I had snooped and had opened the cabinet to see what it was I could have avoided the entire fiasco.

So, I may revise my absolutely no snooping rule for the sake of my future guys and future ex’s (but not really my ex’s because we were never really together together.)