August 29, 2009


-Cross Canadian Ragweed . . .

I'd build a ladder to the moon
There I'd carve your name
If it would brighten up this room
But you know that anyway
I can't be the rock
Not today
Sometimes i wanna pop
Sometimes i wanna say

I'd like to breakdown, but I can't find the time
You're all lookin' to me
To keep it in line
I hope i can keep it in line

Sometimes i slow it down
To hear what I haven't heard
And when the darkness rolls around
I scream out the words
His picture's on my wall
He looks about my age
I wonder if he ever broke at all
I wonder if he ever had to say

I'd like to breakdown, but I can't find the time
They're all lookin' to me
To keep it in line
And I'm gonna keep it in line

It's gonna work itself out
It always does
At the last drop of doubt
Just like it never was

I'd like to breakdown, but I can't find the time
They're all lookin' to me
To keep it in line
And I'm gonna keep it in line

Just like every single time

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August 28, 2009


The following are questions that came up for me today:

1. Why, in a crowded courtroom full of litigants would you call a seat? I came into Motions court today and sat down at the first open seat I saw. There was no handbag, briefcase, file, jacket, sweater, nametag etc . . .etc . . . sitting on the seat. there was a folder on the empty seat to the left. I sat down. A man comes flying over to me and says "I was sitting there." It was his file in the empty seat to the left. Was I supposed to know this? Was I wearing a clairvoyant sign today?

2. Is it possible to both love and hate someone at the same time?

3. Is it possible to daydream about a different life and not affect the outcome of the present one?

4. Is it just me or is this phrase: "sinfully pleasurable schadenfreude" the best phrase ever? I use it whenever I can. I think I like it because no one here in my office has the slightest idea of which I speak.

5. Is it strange that the following words have entered my vocabulary and are now firmly parked within it? geekstacy, geekgasm, awesomesauce, win, fail, epic, OMG, LOL, and STFU?

6. Can you be a true fan of the Holy Grail and not know from whence the phrase "huge tracts of land" comes? I think not.

These are just some of the questions that go through my mind. Now . . . what should I have for dinner?

1. more ribs
2. something Italian
3. something Asian
4. cake

Feel free to talk amongst yourselves.

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August 27, 2009


So yesterday I was informed that my mother is never speaking to me again because of something I have in my will . . . . MY FUCKING WILL!!!

Like I need anymore shit on my plate. . . .

Breathe deep. . . breathe deep . . .

When i am depressed, I cook. A LOT!

On Sunday, I parcooked three racks of ribs, cooked an 11 pound brisket and made brownies. Yesterday I made a pie. . . . yes, another pie. And nachos, and some korean food. . . . I still have a refrigerator full of food.

I took pie to a friend . . . he said it was good. I don't eat anything I cook. Nothing. I don't even taste it. I don't eat when I am depressed. I did, however, eat half a watermelon today for breakfast. I have no idea why.

My parents have disowned me because of something I wrote in my WILL!!! They will get over it . . . but I hold a grudge. I do.

Seriously contemplating moving to antarctica . . . alone. . .

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August 20, 2009

Pie . . .

That's right . . . I said pie.

I am the queen of pie it appears . . .

My pie will make you go weak in the knees . . .

Why does this post suddenly sound so dirty? *evil laughter again*

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August 18, 2009

Another Day

Today is indeed another day.

Peace ya'll.

I think I'll crawl into this air conditioned corner and take a nap.

But . . . in the event you are in need of entertainment - I am told I bake a mean cobbler so, if you are a cabana boy (or a handsome and very rich stranger) with a fan and a tropical drink, you are welcome to come up to my place . . . for a piece . . . . *insert evil laughter*

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August 17, 2009


I've been stressed.

I feel like giving up. I think that is bad, Yet . . . here I am. Not willing to put in the effort to maintain.

Got a friend who thinks that some of this is self-induced. maybe it is all me. Maybe I'm to blame. Seems easier right? And yet, I'm still not willing to put in the effort to maintain.

I've got a house to paint, a job to work, a brief to write.

Tomorrow is a new day right?

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August 07, 2009

The End Of Summer

Summer is nearly at a close. I always get particularly melancholy at the end of summer. As a child, I loved the summer. It was my time. I was cute, always looked older than my age (now? I look younger . . . go figure). Summer meant fun, it meant being young. The end of summer was like the end of an era - one you couldn't possibly believe could ever see a repeat.

As a teen, some days I'd put on a bikini, saddle (maybe) up my horse . . . his name was Ralph . . . and ride. I'd ride for hours and hours and hours. I'd find a pretty spot and let Ralph wander around and I'd just lay on his back and catch some rays. I was very flexible then (still am).

Other days, I'd lay on a chaise in my yard listening to music as loud as I could crank it and flaunting what the good Lord gave me and what a teenage girl didn't have the sense to cover up.

My mom was always out in the yard - pruning her prized roses. I had a friend - he'd been my friend since we were in preschool. He'd ride his bike to my house and when my mom wasn't looking, he'd pick one of her roses and lay it on my window sill - it faced the road. He was always so sweet to me when no one was looking ;)

The summertime meant swimming all day at the local spring fed pond. The lifeguards were always cute, the music was always loud, and the atmosphere was perfect. Or it meant boating at the lake, swinging into the river on a rope swing, or marshmallows at night, or cruising for boys at the mall or in the McDonald's parking lot . . .

As I got older and could drive, summertime meant marathon days with my beau. We'd meet up in the morning and part late at night. We'd get drunk, play cards, sit on the shore of the lake or argue about the genius of Bob Dylan.
Summertime meant all his "boys" would show up on the porch with their instruments. We'd set up a porch band. My sister and I would sing - she'd play bass sometimes, I'd play rhythm guitar or easy lead sometimes - if my boyfriend was being nice. We'd get wasted and play all day. Then at night we'd light fireworks and run around the yard like we were wild and free . . . and we were.

Summertime. It was beaches and sand, music and cars, beer and burgers. It was fireflies, and soft kisses in the dark, it was tanning oil and bikinis. Motorcycles, horses, boats, and marshmallows. Hay lofts, hay bales, horseback rides in the dark. Fire pits, guitars and best friends. There was no rhyme or reason . . . Summertime was simply youth - that moment in time that you could stop on any given day and bottle. It was bliss.

I don't feel young anymore. I'm not old, I just don't feel young. My last two summertimes have been filled with stress and pain. So the end of this summer is particularly melancholy.

My son is growing up before my eyes and I can't stop it. My family is falling apart at the seams, and I can't stop it. I'll never again, giggle long into a summer night with my sister about nothing or cruise the beach together giggling about the brave souls who bare all these days. . . This summertime wasn't filled with laughter and fun the way it was back then.

So, these last few weeks of summer, my plan is to try to recapture an old summertime. Tonight? I'm going out with my biker friends (don't tell mom - though I promise to wear a lid), I'm going to get a beer and make a toast by the lake - maybe even act the fool and jump in.

Maybe tomorrow, I'll saddle up an old friend and take a long, long ride. Or, maybe I'll restring my guitar and sing a bad rendition of Wish You Were Here . . . Maybe I'll flaunt what the good Lord gave me and I've still not got the good sense to cover up ;)

Or, maybe I'll just sit in the black of my back yard and count fireflies in the dark, sip a glass of wine, and toast my baby sister.

Summertime's about memories, feeling young and vibrant, so before this summertime's lights go out . . . I'm going out to get me some memories made. I'd like to feel whole, young and wild again . . . if only for a moment in time. That teenage bliss you should be able to bottle and sell? When the only thing that mattered was what color bathing suit would match your toenails? I'm looking for that - just one more time.

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August 03, 2009

In the arms of another . . .

Ha! right! I must be out of my ever-loving mind!

I have a good friend to whom I speak every few days . . . and see every few days . . . and generally tease about his lack of a girlfriend after all these years.

Boy is seriously hot . . . like scalding hot. Rippled chest, taut ass, nice hair, pretty eyes . . . THE WHOLE NINE FRIGGIN YARDS! Oh and baby boy can dance! he is my dance partner whenever we are out . . . yumkins.

But the ladies, they don't line up. He is convinced it is because the ladies go for the jerks and he is not one. He treats his women fine and they treat him . . . well like the piece of meat he is *wink, wink*

Anyway, we were discussing over a beer the other day, his lack of a steady mate and the current state of mine.

So, cause he is seriously hot ladies!, I asked him, "are you picky or are you looking for something unattainable? cause the women folk should be lining up!"

He didn't think so, so we talked about his past relationships and lo, there was something wrong with the ladies in each of them. Of course, as we can't all be perfect ;)

Now, this particular hot piece of man-meat and I flirt endlessly, but we are just friends, NOTHING MORE. Hell, he flirts with the granny on the corner. He's hopeless - but he is cute and fun so there's that! Oh . . . and you can bounce a quarter off his ass - or crack walnuts with it . . . trust me . . . truuuuust meeee!

I don't fancy myself anything particularly wonderful, but I'm not butt-ugly. I've got a few extra pounds around the middle, but I'm working on that. I've got a good head on my shoulders and nice hair, exotic color and eyes . . . hell, the girls work overtime . . . so, basically, what I'm saying is although I'm not all that and a bag a chips . . . I'm also not a bag over her face girl either!

So I asked, young and hunky . . . "If I were single, would you be interested?" His response? A flat out no. No thought required. Just no. I didn't ask for him to elaborate because, truth be told, I'm crushed. I've no reason to be crushed, as I'm not interested either . . . but a girl has little more than her vanity somedays.

Shit, he was there when the boys were pouring beads over my head cause the girls were out there and proud of it. . . I'm not without my attributes . . . and the secret ones - even better! (not that he . . . or any of you . . . would know! *snicker*)

So, I'm crushed. Talk about a blow to the ego. I think I'll go over here and sit in the corner with a tub of ice cream. Course that won't stop me from taking the piss out of him about the fact that yet another woman has dumped him . . . I'm beginning to wonder if he isn't all that between the sheets . . . ahem . . .

Too bad too, cause I am . . . ahem . . . HA! Oh yes . . . I am . . .poor boy . . . will never know the asian invasion. poor, poor boy . . . *snicker*


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