Tuesday, March 30, 2010

Beware the Drifter

“To sleep, perchance to dream…” William Shakespeare

I drift through my days, invisible to all I pass. I am your average, non-descript feminine blob who is rarely, if ever, noticed. Do not pity me for it’s as it should be, as I’ve designed it to be. My choice, cherubs, an illusion that I’ve spent years perfecting. Those whose glance rests on me momentarily see only a pleasant smile, a vacant look, a slight nod of the head before eyes are dropped coyly, nothing memorable. Nothing to be concerned with. Nothing to dwell upon.

Ah but looks deceive and smiles hide so much. Dearlings, beware of what you think you know. Late at night, when you’re tucked all cozy and warm beneath the covers, snug as you sleep, I will visit your dreams. You see, once I’ve touched you with my gaze you are marked and I can find you any time I wish.

And find you I will, my pets, of that you can be sure. Some will be spared, my presence the soft, fleeting touch of gossamer wings, there but not. Those lucky few will wake with a sigh, a feeling of great relief settling over their souls as if they’ve been spared from some huge life-altering event.

Others I will trap, thrashing about in their beds as I blast their minds full of the unmentionable horrors already hidden deep within their psyches just waiting for me to come along and draw them up, out to the forefront of their paralyzed minds. The things that they never dare whisper even a hint of once they wake for fear of jinxing themselves and having all they’ve witnessed come true. With them as the victims. Ah yes, those are such fun to toy with, so much so that I often return for repeat performances until they are left too frightened to turn off the light, let alone close their eyes.

And then, then there are my favorites. The ones I appear to, rousing them from their innocent slumber to slake my desires. I am the incubus, the succubus whose need is unquenchable. Gender matters not in my choosing. My perverted little lovelies, you may think you hunger for the passion I possess, the pleasures I provide but oh how wrong you are. When I am through, and I am never truly through, I leave a trail of slack-jawed, drooling raw harshness, the likes of which you do not want to imagine. No, banish all thoughts of attempting to cross my path from your minds for you would never survive my particular brand of lustfulness.

Oops, it’s dark and I see that my old friend, Sandman, is already hard at work so I must be off. What’s that you ask? How do I decide who falls into which category? Ah, sorry. That secret I won’t divulge. I’ve told you more than enough already, warning you to think twice before dismissing anyone as inconsequential.

Dormez bien, mes enfants.

Monday, March 29, 2010

The Palmer Method

In the late 19th century Austin Palmer developed a system of cursive writing comprised of rhythmic motions of the arm and shoulder muscles without much finger movement. Although it was met with tremendous objections from major textbook publishers, Palmer’s Guide to Business Writing sold over a million copies in 1912. The method won major awards at various expositions at the beginning of the twentieth century.

Eventually Palmer’s style lost popularity and was replaced by a theory of teaching children to print first in order to give them the chance for written expression at as early an age as possible. Some have said this movement is responsible for the decrease in overall legibility of modern American handwriting.

So why am I yammering on about this today? Because my elementary school principal was very old school. When I was in fifth grade he decided my class would learn the Palmer method. Twice a week for half the school year he would come to our classroom and have us making pages upon pages of flowing circles to get our shoulders to move in the proper manner in preparation for our writing lesson.

I could do the circles though doing them properly was not as easy as you might think. When it came to the actual writing, however, I was a bit of a disaster. By then I’d already started writing my little stories so my bad handwriting habits were well-formed. I remember him struggling to find something nice to say as he told me to try harder to conform to the preferred style of letters. Yeah, that didn’t work so well but he was a very sweet old man who reminded me of my grandfather so I really did try.

I don’t know what made me think of it today. I was filling out a form as I do every day and having some trouble reading my own writing, again as I do every day, so I attempted the Palmer method. And you know what? It looks the same now as it did all those years ago. Perhaps my old principal would be proud of me for, though I don’t write that way all the time, what he taught me stuck and I do remember.

Friday, March 26, 2010

Once Begun - A Tale

Last night, at dusk, I went for a walk even though it was drizzling. Well, it was already dark and raining like hell but the other sounds slightly better. Not that I care all that much. Oh, I used to but not anymore. Not after what happened.

I left my house and headed for the train tracks. They’re not all that far away but far enough. It’s not someplace I normally go, even in daylight. I don’t know why. Well, yeah, I do. The tracks are creepy. And at night in the rain, even more so. But there was something pulling me, drawing me that I couldn’t resist. I had to be there.

By the time I reached the tracks I was soaked to the skin. It was chilly and I probably should have been cold but I wasn’t. Well, I’m not really sure. I might have been were I not so distracted. I walked on the ties between the rails. No, I couldn’t see them once I went a little ways because there were no more street lights. But they’re evenly spaced and walking on them soon became hypnotic.

I was lost in the rhythm of my steps. Oblivious to all else. Well, not entirely. I felt a presence. Following me. Tracking me. Pacing me. Perhaps I should have been afraid. But I wasn’t. Somehow I knew that although the situation itself was very dangerous, I was in no danger.

I kept going. I don’t know why. I just did. I walked with whatever it was trailing along behind me, never any closer nor farther away until I wasn’t compelled to keep going. It didn’t make any sense. Well, to me it did somehow and that’s what was important. I stopped and stood completely still. I waited for the sensation of it breathing behind me to fade. When it had, I turned around and stood for another moment. Then I followed the tracks home.

When I got there, I went straight upstairs. I stripped without turning on any lights and fell into my empty bed. Well, technically I suppose it wasn’t empty once I fell into it but you know what I mean. The window was open a few inches as it always was. Though I was chilled to the bone I couldn’t manage to crawl beneath the covers. Instead I rolled into a ball, shivering almost violently.

It wasn’t long before I knew I was no longer alone. My shivers became trembles. I stopped breathing and tensed, waiting for whatever it was to make its move. It didn’t right away. But I was certain it could tell that I was aware of it. It was as if we were both suspended, me – anticipating, it – prolonging. It took forever before I felt the bed shift under its weight. Well, not forever really but it seemed like it.

I was still curled up, fetal, awaiting the attack. Well, not attack. Not assault either. I didn’t know what exactly to call what I was expecting. I began to feel its heat when it moved closer. My breathing grew shallow. It was almost on me though not actually touching when it inhaled, sniffing along my body, scenting me. I remained motionless. Silent. Everything in me wanted to move, to turn and look, to touch. But I didn’t. I sensed that would be the wrong thing to do. So wrong it would end whatever this was before it began. And I wanted it too much to let that happen.

One large, strong hand clamped around my ankles, the other on my shoulder. The next second I was face down on the bed. A palm landed in the middle of my back, pressing firmly. I took that as a request that I not move. Well, not a request, a command. The hand slid to my ass. The other joined it, both squeezing. Kneading, almost but not quite, painfully.

I’d never been so instantly excited as I was by that one small act. Well, not that excited by anything, ever. I felt my wetness pooling the same time its hands stopped moving. It leaned closer and inhaled again. Deeply. The noise it made could only be taken for one of approval. Its hands resumed their torment. Yes, it was torment. I wanted it to touch me more intimately, not merely fondle my ass.

Finally it shifted, straddling my legs. It captured my wrists and stretched my arms above my head. That’s when I learned it was naked. Well, I had suspected but it took until then to be certain. His cock rested along the crease of my ass. He leaned forward and licked the nape of my neck. God, I’d never felt anything like it. His tongue was rough, the sensation it created, feral. I shuddered. He did it again. And again. I moaned, ready to beg if that’s what it took to get more.

But begging turned out to be unnecessary. He made that noise again, louder this time. After another lick he reared up, yanking me to me knees, angling his cock downward. It elongated as he slid it through my moisture. The anticipation of what was to come had me a little tense. Well, more than a little. I was vibrating with need, wanting. I might have attempted to push back against him had his hand not forced my upper body back to the bed, holding me in place.

Though it was dark, I knew he could see. My legs were pressed together between his, yet I was fully exposed. He drew back and impaled me in one swift movement, burying his cock balls deep. I gasped, crying out. He snarled as he withdrew and then shoved back in fully. I felt his girth expanding, thickening, stretching me as I’d never been stretched before. The strength behind his thrusts was amazing. Well, more than that. Incredible. Overwhelming. Like nothing I’d ever even imagined possible in my entire life.

On and on it went. Him pummeling me with his thick cock, thrusting with such power I might have been thrown from the bed had his claws not dug into my hips. I knew I’d be bruised beyond belief but I didn’t care. Well, not then I didn’t. I might later, once it was over and I had time to think. But at that moment nothing other than the bestial way I was being taken, used, fucked mattered.

Our frenzied coupling lasted an eternity yet was over in an instant. He growled as I screamed out my climax. With one final thrust he slammed his pulsing cock into my clenching vagina and I felt his warmth flooding me, filling me, mixing with my juices. He growled again as his body covered mine. His teeth latched onto my nape. Well, not just latched. Bit into my flesh, drawing blood, marking me as I knew without a doubt was his intent. He wanted me scarred.

He growled deep in his throat as his jaw clamped down. The pain was so exquisite I came a second time. In response, he ground his hips against me, forcing his still hard cock impossibly deeper. He lowered us to the bed. Well, collapsed on top of me, forcing me flat, trapping me beneath him. A distant corner of my mind wondered why I didn’t object to his weight. The rest welcomed it. I felt his tongue soothing the bite and sighed.

He rolled us to our sides, his cock still planted within me. His arms encircled me, hands caressing until eventually landing on my breasts. He tweaked my nipples with his claws, sending renewed shivers through my overly sensitive body. When I tightened around his cock I heard the same grunt of approval as I had at the beginning. Well, not just then. I’d been hearing it throughout the entire experience and knew it was a sound I’d come to savor.

I was wrapped securely in his embrace. The heat of his body seeped into me, adding to my satisfaction. We still hadn’t spoken. I knew we would, that he could, when the time came. I also knew he was different. Well, more than different. Not human. Something else. And now, after what had just occurred, so was I. There was no going back. My transformation had begun and I welcomed every bit of it.

Thursday, March 25, 2010

Busy Night

I was happily lounging in my living room last night until the shooting started. It was close to the back of my house. Damn close. So close I slid off the sofa just in case anyone else outside decided to shoot back. Yep, that really isn’t unusual for Reading these days. No way do I want to get shot by a stray bullet because someone hit my window instead of who they were shooting at. There were four shots in all, right behind my house.

I waited. No more shots and no sirens so I figured it was over for the moment at least. Then I heard talking in the alley. There were at least a dozen cops, some undercover, some uniformed. Hmm, no sirens means they were already in the area which had me curious.

Generally, shots fired doesn’t make the paper unless someone is hit. Last night’s did. It turns out that there were undercover sheriff’s deputies searching my immediate neighborhood for a fugitive. They were on a fire escape of an abandoned building that is often broken into when the shooting occurred. The deputies aren’t sure if the shots were intended for them or not and they didn’t find anyone when they swarmed the area afterwards. Which means it’s not over.

Less than an hour earlier, ten blocks away, a man was shot through his living room window. See? I’m not paranoid. In that case however, they suspect he was truly the target. Nope, didn’t catch that shooter yet either but from what was in the paper they may know who it is.

And then, an hour and a half later, there was another shooting in a deserted block on the other side of town. In that instance, an as yet unidentified man was shot once in the forehead. Even though it was on a street lined by abandoned buildings there was a woman who witnessed it. Yeah, I’m sure there’s more to that story,

And you thought nothing ever happens in Reading.

Wednesday, March 24, 2010

Go Away

There was a gathering at a local college yesterday to discuss the future of education. One of the issues covered was the growing problem with the pension fund. As in it’s no longer there at levels needed to cover those retiring because the fund lost a large percentage over the last few years due to economic conditions.

The state, which is so broke it has to suspend payments to its employees from time to time, has decided it’s up to each school district to cover their specific shortage. As I’m sure you can guess they are proposing raising property taxes to do so.

Um, no. Un uh. Forget it. Not doable. Why? Because I simply do not have it. I haven’t figured out how I’m going to pay this year’s taxes yet and now they’re wanting more? I’m tired of being punished because I work and have managed to secure basic shelter for myself. Pick on someone else for a change.

None of the places I’ve worked over the years had a pension fund. It’s up to me to provide for myself should I live long enough to retire though these days that’s becoming doubtful with how often they raise the retirement age. Why should it be any different for teachers? Don’t misunderstand. I respect anyone who has the patience and is willing to do such a thankless job. It’s the system I have a problem with, not the individuals.

No, I don’t have a solution. But this isn’t it. If they keep raising taxes I’m going to eventually loose my home because I’m unable to pay and then they’ll have absolutely nothing. It’s definitely time for them to come up with a different plan. In the meantime would anyone like to buy a mediocre house in Reading? It comes with 10,000 books, four cats and, oh yeah, me.

Tuesday, March 23, 2010


I sure am glad to see this day end.

I don’t know about you but the majority of people around me today seemed to be going through something extremely unpleasant. And whatever it was had them testy and miserable. So much so that I was ready to head home by 8:20 this morning and my work day doesn’t officially begin until 8:30. I stayed even though it pretty much went downhill from there. Aren’t you proud of me?

I really don’t know what it is that had everyone sniping so viciously at each other nor do I want to. I want to stay as disassociated from this entire mess as I can. Nope, don’t want to be involved in any way if I can possibly avoid it. I was having a good day when I left home and for the most part, still am. I really want it to stay that way too.

If the world is still at it tomorrow I’ll spend another day doing my best to avoid those who I know are caught up in this most recent drama, just as I did today. I don’t see that as a bad thing either. My turn to have a nice week is long overdue so dammit, I’m going to!

Monday, March 22, 2010

A Musing

Monday morning and most I meet are maniacal or melancholicly mopey

Malignant misery morphs the mob into myopic moppets maddened and maddening the miserly masses

Makers of this mess mutter as they muck about, meaning to muddy my mischievous mood

Mostly morose and morbidly masked are those marking my movement through this maze of miscreant misfits

Mention my moniker and make merry men more miserable than materialistic mavericks mired in marshes of monkey dung.

The misshapen missiles of mankind map the momentum of my monumental meanderings

Moral morons misconstrue their majority in the moats and moors of meaningless mirages

They are minor mobsters miscalculating the monsoons misting miracles around me, masking me from mindful meddlers

Monsters march, minute by moment ad millennium monitoring moguls for mutinous mongrels

Mournful misfortune manages mastery mugging mentors of their motivation

Miraculously, I maintain, and remain, mystical magical marvelous me

Friday, March 19, 2010

Post #700

Take Heed

I hold worlds within my head
And all the happiness and sorrow of the universe within my heart
I am the purest love
The deepest rage
The keeper of essential knowledge
The scripter of histories
The creator of pleasures
Magick flows from my soul
Through my fingertips
Out to the masses
Weaving its way under your skin
Into your minds
Wrapping steadily around you
Through you until we become one
I am silent
But I am a Goddess as old as the ages
My beauty is unseen yet unsurpassed
I walk among you
Touching you
Shaping you
Changing you ever so slightly with each pass
I am energy from before time began
Elemental power
I am a storyteller
And I am eternal

Thursday, March 18, 2010


I was having a decent day yesterday. I’d written a poem over lunch that I was happy with. I had a blog topic picked out, odd for others but not so much for me. I’d even had a fairly pleasant day at work. And then, within four minutes of parking Howie my day went from okay to annoying as hell.

I opened my front door to find a First Overnight FedEx envelope. Hmm, not expecting anything official from anyone so I had to wonder. Before I got any further however, I discovered my house phone was once again not functioning.

I did all the standard things Verizon suggests. Nope, nothing. I called the non-customer service oriented folks at Verizon and got the typical run-around, same as always. They’ll be over Friday sometime between 8 and 7 to attempt to fix it and so-freakin-what if I miss a full day’s work sitting around waiting for them.

After hanging up with the woman who could only be described as hateful, I tried one last thing, calling myself. It’s worked before though not yesterday. But the call did register as missed and then the little window in the phone showed “parallel set on”. Must refer to the one in some parallel universe because I only have one phone of that particular type in my house. The other is an old, old standard phone that functions when the power’s knocked out. Couldn’t find any sort of explanation for it in the manual either. Probably means somebody tapped into my phone and is on hold with someone in Brazil for hours on end that Verizon will then want to bill me for.

So after bouncing around the house for a bit and tormenting the poor cats I finally settled my mind enough to think I could be productive. I flipped on my computer and guess what! I had an internet connection with a dead phone line. Ha! Being magical is damn good sometimes, isn’t it?

Back to the FedEx envelope. It contained a check from a British health care organization for $3400.00 and a letter written in very poor English instructing me to email a certain individual regarding my payment. My first reaction was yay, I can pay my taxes. Then I laughed at myself and admitted it had to be some sort of fraud and no way was I giving them the chance at having my banking information. I considered one of those check cashing places that takes a percentage but decided that probably wasn’t a very good idea no matter how tempting it was to take their money and run.

Today I emailed all the relevant organizations, FedEx, the attorney general’s fraud office and the health care people in order to hopefully prevent these people from taking advantage of someone who might not realize it isn’t real. Yeah, I know, delusional. I also attempted to notify local authorities so that they would be aware that people in this area are being targeted but none of them, local or state police or crime watch, were interested.

Wednesday, March 17, 2010

March 17th

On this day in 1942 John Wayne Gacy Jr. was born in Chicago. Think you know the name but can’t place it? Need me to tell you who he was?

A successful business man. Manager of his first wife’s family’s KFC. Later owner of his own construction company. Involved in the Jaycees. Precinct captain of his local Democratic party. Parade organizer. All around good neighbor who threw fun block parties while dressed as a clown to entertain the kids. And one of the country’s most prolific serial killers. Ah now you recognize him.

While managing the chicken joint he was arrested and convicted of sodomizing one of his teenaged employees. Serving only 18 months of his 10 year sentence, he was released for good behavior. John Gacy returned to his childhood home to live with his mother and went about rebuilding his life.

First a contractor and then construction company owner, he managed to outbid competitors, often by hiring teenagers at lower wages. He remarried and went about successfully establishing himself in his neighborhood as a good guy.

But there were things that went unnoticed. While still on parole in Iowa, Gacy was picked up in Chicago for attempted rape and disorderly conduct. Charges were dropped when the young man failed to appear in court and somehow the fact that Gacy was on parole was missed by authorities.

In the early seventies Gacy was questioned when a few of his employees went missing. Questioned as someone who knew the boys and had seen them recently but not as a suspect. Again, his record never came out.

Finally a clerk in a pharmacy where Gacy was consulting, hoping to win a remodeling contract disappeared. The youth was to have interviewed with Gacy for a potential job. Police investigated, collected some evidence but ignored the rotting smell in Gacy’s home, dismissing it as a plumbing problem.

In examining a piece of evidence from Gacy’s residence the authorities discovered a ring belonging to one of the other teenagers who had disappeared. They returned and searched the premises again, this time checking the source of the stench more closely and finding bodies buried in the crawl space;

Before police could charge Gacy he confessed. To 25-30 murders of mostly teenaged boys, some prostitutes, some employees, some strangers, many raped and abused before being killed. During his confession Gacy said there were four Johns living within him. John the contractor. John the politician. John the clown, Pogo. And John who went by Jack Hanley who was a killer and did evil things.

All in all 26 bodies were recovered from Gacy’s property. Five more where found in a nearby river where he had dumped them. The jury didn’t buy the insanity plea, convicting him within two hours of beginning deliberation. He was sentenced to death in 1980, executed in 1994.

Just goes to show you clowns can’t be trusted. You never know what lurks behind the greasepaint.

Tuesday, March 16, 2010

Go Green

In all facets of your life. Yes, including your sex life.

The sex toy industry is hugely unregulated. Walk into a toy store and you will often be hit with that “new car” smell. Usually signifying new and clean however this is one time when that is not necessarily a good thing. It is entirely possible that the scent comes from phthalates which is a nasty and sometimes toxic substance used to soften plastic. Yeah, it might create something that feels good but the potential damage isn’t worth it.

This is one reason toys crafted from mahogany, stainless steel and glass are on the rise. All made from renewable materials, the sale of these items has experienced a tremendous spurt in volume. There’s even a Pyrex line that can safely be put in the microwave. Just be careful. Not too hot please.

Some other green items you can find these days include whips made from recycled inner tubes, neoprene handcuffs and organic lubricants that unlike synthetic lubes, lack the same chemicals found in antifreeze. Yeah, keep that in mind next time you’re choosing.

Even Trojan’s gotten in on the act by offering a line of biodegradable lambskin condoms in addition to their standard latex variety. But with condoms you can go one step further. There are brands that are vegan-friendly. They’ve replaced the dairy protein with cocoa powder. And in case you’re now wondering, no, not all of them taste like chocolate.

Monday, March 15, 2010

A Curse

Gamboling ghouls with spiked pikes
Deke and thrust
Thirsting for blood
Bold and cold
Holding out for souls
Torn and twisted from severed heads
Slaughtered herds of blind fools
Foolhardily following blindly the soul snatchers into the darkness
Harkening no warnings
Hearing no grumblings
Garnering no churnings from the undercurrent of consciousness
No conscience do the unconscious have
Through the gloom
To their doom they go
Sensing nil
Seeing naught
Stepping nearer to the steepest slopes of deepest death
Pied piper leading society’s lemmings to the edge
Sending them soaring in to the roaring rages of hell
Waging war on sagely sloths
That spoil the sacred soil with their oily souls
Better dead, I say
So slay them where they fall
Before their fate befalls us all

In case you're wondering, yes, the picture is mine. Taken Saturday at Charles Evans Cemetery in the rain. To see more of my pics, go here. Please leave a comment on something if you visit.

Friday, March 12, 2010

Techno Gizmo

Ford now has an Active Park Assist option available on a limited number of vehicles. You guessed it. It’s a button you push that will literally park your car for you once you put it in reverse at the proper moment. And that’s after it has found a parking spot for you. Yep, you switch it on when you’re at your destination and the system will scan for suitable parking spaces. It will beep when one is located. Once you proceed to the designated place, the monitor will beep again, letting you know to put your vehicle into reverse. That’s when the device takes over and whips you into the space. All you have to do is switch from forward to reverse as prompted.

Now before you get all excited about this notion there is something you should know. If you’re on a narrow street with something on the opposite side that your car could potentially hit if not extremely careful, the system will not engage. In other words, this does not eliminate the need to be able to park your car. It simply assists you under certain sets of circumstances.

So why would you pay an extra $600 on top of other high-end options packages that are required to have this system installed? Hmm, can’t answer that one because I wouldn’t. I live on one of those super narrow streets with cars parked on both sides and generally have no trouble. Oh sure, there are days when I can’t park to save my life but that’s me having a bad moment. Usually, when that happens, it’s on a wide street with plenty of room and an extra large space. Still, I don’t need some fancy gizmo to fix it. I have Howie. All I have to do is ask and he helps. And at no added expense. Sure is good to have a magical car.

Thursday, March 11, 2010

I Think It's Me

Today the UPS man told me he was scared for me. We were talking about the weather. Yep, real frightening topic, that. But keep in mind he was speaking with me and that sometimes changes things.

He commented how nice he thought it was. 60 and sunny. I disagreed saying ten degrees cooler and raining would be ideal. After staring, open-mouthed for an overlong second, he decided I worry him. Apparently rain is supposed to be depressing, not desired.

I attempted to explain how soothing I find it to stand in the mist, absorbing the magic into my soul but I don’t think he got it. Obviously he’s never stood in the end of a rainbow. If he had, he’d understand. Instead he told me I’m the only person he’s ever met who wished for rain for reasons other than to end a drought.

Sigh. I can see I have my work cut out for me here. It’s supposed to rain tomorrow. I’ll keep you posted.

Wednesday, March 10, 2010


Yep, it’s definitely spring. How am I so sure? I wore a t-shirt today, the first of the season, and just about every person I encountered had a conversation with my breasts instead of my face. And that’s in a shirt that wasn’t at all tight. It’s a yearly occurrence. I’m not sure why but people seem to forget they’re there over the winter, like breasts go into hibernation or something.

I have to admit after all these years of this happening it’s become quite amusing. I was very well behaved this year. I haven’t always been. There have been years when I would stop talking and just stare to see how long it took for whatever, um, gentleman I was speaking with to notice. But as I said, I behaved this year and didn’t intentionally embarrass anyone.

Before you ask, no, I am not posting a picture for you, though I do have one, taken last year after friend and fellow writer, Sommer Marsden commented on how difficult it is to take a good picture of one’s own boobs. With a shirt on! Jeez, minds out of the gutter here please. You’ll have to ask her what sparked that discussion.

Okay so how about you? Any odd traditions you have for knowing when spring begins?

Tuesday, March 9, 2010

It's Spring

Actually these snowdrops have been blooming since before it snowed but I think they’re pretty so here they are.

It is acting like spring here though. Way too early for my taste. I want more winter. I’m willing to compromise. I’ll skip the snow if I can have more cold. Lots more days of very cold coldness that is. Hey, my head’s been hurting for the past week. I need cold to make it stop. You can add layers but there’s only so much I can do with an ice pack. Yeah, I admit it. Having a never-ending migraine makes me grumpy. Get over it.

Monday, March 8, 2010

Get a Life!

Ever noticed that daylight savings time brings out the whininess in people? Or maybe it’s only those that I know. It’s still a week away and they’ve begun bitching about losing an hour of sleep already.

I have several suggestions which naturally they don’t want to hear. Some I can’t, won’t repeat here. Others I will. Go to bed an hour early Saturday night. Of those complaining, I can’t name one who has a set in stone bedtime. If that’s too much of a jump, start tonight. Turn in 10 minutes early every evening between now and then and you’ll work your way up to an hour. If the exact minutes you get to sleep are really all that important to you, you could sleep in Sunday. Perhaps a combination of both.

To me, this event simply doesn’t matter. My cats might let me sleep later if I go by the clock. The birds wake them at daybreak. It takes about 15 minutes for them to start being complete nuisances, pouncing on me, knocking things to the floor because they are awake and therefore must eat instantly. If it’s dark later, the birds won’t chirp and the cats won’t pest as early as they do now.

Other than that I really don’t care. Time is relative in my house, not specific. None of the clocks are set to the correct time anyway. There are some I might not even bother switching this weekend.

Friday, March 5, 2010


Yep. I went out in search of soup tonight. And found some! It was tasty though not as yummy as I’d hoped.

The best part was I went with Riley, her man and the Middle Child, home for Spring Break. Unbelievable. She’s a senior and this is her last semester. I think she’s fibbing. She was in middle school just yesterday. Besides, if that’s true then it means I’m old.

I don’t mind being old. Well, not really. But there are so many things I have yet to do that I want to do. I guess I’m just going to have to live a very long time and be active for all of it. Hmm, better win the lottery too since some of the things on my list are rather pricey. There are plenty of others that aren’t so I’ll be plenty busy while I’m waiting for that to happen.

Maybe one day I’ll even figure out what I want to be when I grow up. Other than happy, I mean. What about you? Any plans for your lifetime? Or is that too much of a question for a Friday night?

Thursday, March 4, 2010

Saving Happy

Knocked off the top of the world
Fell from clam happy
To kicked puppy sad
Only need an instant
To get feeling damn bad

A word
Sometimes two
Blocking out the sun
Killing the rainbow
Before it really begun

Grumpy, surly frowns
Scowls set in stone
Won’t make the trade
Dragging me under
Raining on my parade

Tried all I know how
Can’t keep the mood good
Gotta wait for another day
All my warm and fuzzies
Been chased so far away

Wednesday, March 3, 2010

I Want Soup!

Let me repeat, I want soup! I! Want! Soup! Oh by the way, did I mention that I want soup?

Well I do. Only I don’t have any. Not frozen, not canned, not even dry mix. Nope, no soup of any kind. (Scroll down and see the blog about eating all the food that’s been hanging out in my house.)

Options –

1. Call and have some delivered. No, I don’t think so. The places that deliver don’t have soup that I want. Yes, I admit I may be being somewhat picky here but the wrong soup will be unacceptable and is equivalent to having no soup at all since I won’t eat it.

2. Go to the bar on the corner where they serve most excellent soup and get some. I called and they have Italian Wedding soup. Um, borderline acceptable, though not my first choice. Besides that would require me getting dressed in clothes that are presentable enough to wear in public and Italian Wedding is not acceptable enough to bother going to that hassle.

3. Go out somewhere else, either another eatery or the grocery store. Believe it or not there are canned soups that would do tonight but see reason above. I’m comfy and there is very little, including the perfect soup that would inspire me enough to change.

Before you ask why I didn’t stop along the way home I’ll tell you. I didn’t take any money to work with me today so I couldn’t. So unless there’s a soup fairy willing to go foraging for me I guess I’m soupless for this evening. I may as well give up and head to bed now. Sad.

Tuesday, March 2, 2010


Monday, March 1, 2010

I'm Sad

The Olympics are over. Four years to wait. Sigh. Yes, I know the summer games are in two years and I’ll watch every minute of them too but they’re not the same.

As you already know, I’m an Olympics junkie. I’m old so I’ve watched lots of coverage over the years and I have to say I think NBC did an outstanding job this year. A great balance of events and human interest stories featuring both athletes and Canada.

For example, did you see the segment aired on Gander, Newfoundland that showed how the whole town of 10,000 pitched in to help when 167 jets carrying over 7,000 people landed at their airport on 9/11? I really hope you did because it was amazing, to say the least. If you missed it, search around and maybe you can find it. Trust me it’ll be worth whatever effort it takes.

I really liked the way NBC stayed with the coverage of cross country skiing events until everyone finished, not just the top few. The majority of racers knew they had no chance of winning a medal going into the race. They came to the Olympics knowing that but they trained their butts off anyway. They showed up and did their very best. It’s a matter of pride. In themselves and for their countries. Hmm, perhaps we should all take a lesson from them and strive to live our everyday lives more like that.

I definitely appreciated how NBC managed to limit or eliminate commercials in certain segments of the programming in order to show some things live without interruption. There have been years when there were so many commercials I became extremely annoyed and had to quit watching for a while. I can’t say that this year.

So even though the winter games of 2010 are over and that saddens me this will be a year I remember fondly. Thank you, athletes of the world, Canadian hosts, and NBC.