Sparkle, sparkle, little bat

I like spider plants.  They're interesting.  With tons of "little baby" plants hanging from them, just waiting for the opportunity to grow on their own.  Pretty cool.  I actually like real spiders as well.  People have a tendency to freak out when they see them.  I don't get it.  I think they're quite beautiful.  And beneficial.  They kill insects that spread disease like mosquitoes and flies.  I think they get a bad wrap from black widows.  Insect or not, we should all be wary of creatures that kill their mates.  And what would have happened to Wilbur in Charlotte's Web if it weren't for that crafty spider friend of his, Charlotte??? 


I guess the lesson here is that just because something looks scary doesn't necessarily mean that it is.  Take that old German guy on Monster Squad for example.  He was creepy as hell, but he ended up holding the key to sending all the monster's back through the black hole.  This does not apply to Carrot Top.  He looks scary as hell and I have yet to find any evidence to the contrary.  Maybe the lesson is null and void now that I think about it.  Some scary things are cool, but some, well, aren't.  Feel free to pick and choose at your discretion.

And They Don't Have To Worry About Wrinkles

Okay. I admit it. I am turning 30 in two short months.  If I had attempted to talk about this even two months ago, I would have started hyperventilating.  Why, you ask?  I had to stop and think about that one.  It isn't the mortality factor.  I'm not afraid of dying and I've been a firm believer for sometime that there are things in this world far, far worse than death.  It's really not an aging issue.  I still look like I'm 12.  I don't regret my 20's.  I had fun,  I learned a lot, but I wouldn't want to repeat them if given the option right now.  So what in the hell could be causing my freak out??? 

It can all really be explained by how I was looking at it.  I was so overwhelmed with the negatives that I didn't even bother to look at the good stuff.  What a jack ass.  Sure I'm not where I want to be exactly career wise, I don't have a family, blah, blah, blah.  Who give's a fuck?  I have the support to follow my dream, I have the most awesome, loving, supportive Mother in the world, bad ass friends and family, and a sweet apartment that I love with a roommate I can live in complete harmony with.  My life is pretty rad.  And once I said that outloud, my crisis over the big 3-0 has completely diappeared. 

So bring it on, 2011.  I'm ready.

Reflections of Color

I remember asking my Mom what her favorite color was when I was little and she would say, "I don't have a favorite color, I like them all."  My brother and I could not accept that answer and we would make her pick one and then we would tell her what our favorite colors were.  I now know exactly what my Mom was talking about now.  I can't pick.  My favorite color depends on my mood, but I love them all.  I have a preference for black, but more so how it's complete absence of color makes everything pop out in brilliant vibrance.

Red makes me think of blood, flowers, sexy lips, and Raphael (the ninja turtle).  Green reminds me of my Mom (her yard - she has the most amazing talent with plants),  tall trees, Green Man, and monster skin.  Yellow makes me laugh with it's bright loving rays.  I think of daffodils and their awkward grace.  Blue, deep and dark before a storm.  Pink and Orange mix in a Nevada sunset that makes me catch my breath.  Purple, deep and rich and royal.  Brown the thick luxury of earth's soil or the smell of a great cup of coffee.  All of them make me smile and I find it impossible to choose just one.

Moments of Clarity

This is a story I wrote based on a dream I had.  It was a strong dream that I felt compelled to share.  Take from it what you will:

I have this room that I go to.  My place across all time and space. It's more of a cave, really.  And beautiful.  It sits just under the surface of the sea and there is a huge crystal window that allows the light to filter through the water in delicate, wavy rays.  It is calm and safe.  Rather than dark and damp, this room is cool and inviting, covered in spongey, soft moss.  This makes the room a soft, loving green.  It has a huge ledge, a window seat of sorts, next to the crystal window where I like to sit and think and watch the creatures of the sea.  Sometimes I am there alone, sometimes not.

On this day, though, I find myself sitting across from Archangel Lucifer. There is no fear, only love.  Angels are described as blindingly beautiful creatures, and Lucifer is no different.  He has wings of a rich, deep purple, dark and lovely and almost black.  But it's his eyes that make me catch my breath.  They are so dark and deep and they speak volumes to me without even a word uttered.  And I know with every fiber of my being that we are friends and have been across the span of ages. I know this, yet I am only consciously aware of my last 20 some years.  I look at him with his grace, beauty, and love and I become sad.

He asks me, "What's troubling you, Brandy?"

I think for a moment and reply, "I've heard things about you, Lucifer. They say you've fallen."

He leans his head back and laughs.  A deep belly laugh that fills the room and I can't help but be put a little more at ease, finding myself grinning through my concern.

He replies, "And what do you feel? Here." He points to my heart.

"That can't be true," I smile.

"Exactly.  Lucifer. It means "Light of God." God's light can't fall."  He grabs my hand and I sigh in relief, knowing it to be true.

"They say your sin is Pride," I whisper.

Again, he smiles and says to me, "That is not my sin, but the sin of man I carry.  Humans are capable of great good and great evil.  But rather than recognize and accept that in themselves, they needed an outside force to blame for the bad."

I am humbled and I reply, "That is a huge burden to carry."

He squeezes my hand and says, "I carry it gladly in hopes that it will help humanity move out of darkness and into a place of only light and love."

Light of God.  I am relieved and I know that he looks after those who are lost and I say so.

"Yes.  If you feel lost, you only need to call on me and I will light your way," he answers.

I feel happy in the knowledge that I have just gained and I lean my head on his shoulder as we sit in the silence that friends that have known each other for ages can comfortably do and soak in the sun as it filters into my cave through the water.

-ly Competitive

I have a huge problem with Bejeweled Blitz on freakin' facebook.  I cannot stop playing it.  I sit down for five seconds at my computer and before I even realize what I'm doing, I am playing that damn game.  I admit I am a procrastinator by nature. This game has weakened my resolve even further.  And I have to have a decent score up on there or I feel like people are judging me so I not only play, but continue playing until I have a score I consider slightly above average to excellent (I only have maybe five friends that play regularly, so I'm not sure where this is coming from).  

This is why I had to give up Tetris.  I couldn't stop. And worse, with Tetris, I couldn't blink.  I would continually play with burning eyes.  If you saw me during this period of my life, I wasn't always stoned, I was in a serious relationship with my playstation.  I finally stopped playing when the damn game kept taunting me with, "single." "Single." "SINGLE."  I get it!!!  I have no life.  I need to stop spending so much damn time playing Tetris!  At least Bejeweled Blitz pumps up my self esteem by constantly encouraging me with such phrases as "Awesome!", "Excellent!", and my personal favorite, "Spectacular!".  I feel that this game really knows me and chooses extremely accurate adjectives when commenting on me and my skills with matching jewels of the same color.

Maybe someone should stage an intervention...

A Perfectly Frozen Moment

I have this shampoo.  It is thick and gooey, like honey (and I'm not talking about honey from a squeezable bear here.  No, this is the kind of honey you buy at a farmer's market off of the side of some out of the way road that you didn't even mean to turn down.  In a mason jar.  Flowing amber heaven, but I digress. Back to the shampoo) and it's dark purple with a perfect lavender swirl.  And it is thick and heavy in your hands. But somehow not sticky and it glides into your hair and coats it in loving, purple-honey, gooey, goodness.  And when you have this amazing thick ultra conditioning shampoo in your hair and the steam from the shower surrounds you in a clean, warm fog and you stop and take a quick drink of your ice cold shower beer that is in complete contrast with everything else around you, you have one of those moments where you think, "Life is pretty sweet."  It's the small things, cupcake. Or so I'm told...

And Extremely Cool, Like New Traditions

They holidays are but days away.  And gone are my days of unpleasant get-togethers that are more work and trouble than their worth.  My family has made new traditions.  One of my BFFs, Clara, always says, "Your friends are your chosen family."  And staying true to those words, I now spend Thanksgiving in Reno with amazing friends.  A Misfit Thanksgiving, if you will (think Island of Misfit Toys but with toys that swear, smoke, and drink a lot). We spend four days laughing our asses off and enjoying the hell out of each other's company.  I look forward to Thanksgiving all year long.  This year is going to be good.  We have David and Kristin, our gracious hosts (and by gracious, I mean told at gun point that they were going to once again be hosting this amazing holiday), my Mum, my bro, my roomie Kim, and sass expert, Emily. Any more awesome packed into one house, and I'm sure the world would implode.  So here's hoping your holidays are going to be as bad ass as mine (don't break your back here.  Truth is you should start small.  Shoot for an iota of how awesome my holiday is and then keep building momentum from there.  Maybe bring your favorite pet this year or cut the sleeves off of that sweater your mom knitted for you to wear to appear at an optimum bad ass level. Things can only get better from there).

Cheers!

And Unwavering, Unlike Me

Forgiveness is one of those things (at least for me) that is great in theory, but very, very difficult in actual application.  I've worked really hard on myself this last year.  And locked away in the confines of my beautiful Burbank apartment, I'm a pretty nice person.  I make myself laugh (not that that was ever a problem) and I imagine dealing with the people that have hurt me the most it a gracious and kind manner.  After all harboring all this anger and resentment only hurts me.  I know that.  But then, recently,  I actually found myself in a room with some of those people and fuck it all if I could be nice.  Or even punch down the anger that bubbled over at the very sight of them.  Ugh!

And I guess in the end, the person that I'm most angry with is myself.  How could I have let these draining people in my life?  Why can't I just let it go already?  Why do I care?  So I'm writing this as a final release.  And I feel pretty good sitting here in front of my computer.  I just hope the next opportunity for practical application goes off smashingly.  Until then, I forgive myself.

And yes, I know this post is emo as hell.  Paul and Will, just let it go.  You too Rake...

Like This Dream

I knew this moment would come someday.  It's the unspoken part of the job description.  That's the problem with being on the inside, you become a liability.  And I didn't just slightly mess up here, I'd fucked up bad.  The worst part was I knew it would be up to him to clean up my mess and take out the trash.  The trash being me.  Knowing it was him, I panicked and ran.  He complicated things.  I couldn't just gracefully look him in the eye and accept my fate.  I was afraid he would actually be able to do it.  Shit, I knew he could that's part of why I fell for him.  If he pulled the trigger, my heart would break.  And that, I couldn't handle.  So I did the cowardly thing and bolted.

I went to the only place I knew.  Home.  I didn't lock the door or turn on any lights.  I just slowly slumped down to the floor next to the refrigerator and waited.  I knew when he entered my house.  He didn't make a sound, he never does.  It was his smell. Man. Spice. Honey.  Instantly my stomach exploded with the fluttering of a thousand butterflies.  My heart raced.  He came directly into the kitchen and sat on a chair.  I couldn't see his face.  "You ran," he said.  His voice thick with hurt. I peeked around the table and the hurt in his glittering black eyes knocked the breath out of me.

The phone rang.  I got up and slowly walked to it, thankful for the interruption.  "Hello," I said as I walked toward him.  "You're home?" the voice asked as I reached out and touched his neck.  I couldn't help it.  I was desperate for the contact.  He didn't turn.  "Hello?" the voice asked.  "Yes," I replied in a whisper. "Stay put.  We're bringing you in." Click.  Silence. I slowly hung up the phone.

"I know what you've got to do," I whispered as I slowly ran my fingers through his hair.  He finally turned and looked at me. He stood up from the chair and pulled me hard against him.  His kiss was rough and demanding.  He steered me toward the patio and ripped off my shirt as he pushed me outside.  "I can't wait.  I need you now."  I knew he could still do it.  Even during the very act of making love and I didn't care.  As he pulled away from me to remove his clothes, the dreary morning crept around me like a cool blanket and I shivered.  My body was cold with craving until he slammed back into me.  I didn't care about anything in that moment.  Not my neighbors, my future, my life.  He was pushing me closer and closer to a heaven I was no longer sure existed.  And then I realized we'd passed the point where he could finish the job. Together, we only had one option: run.

Especially For The Elderly

I have a lot of gray hair.  I have since my early 20's.  It's one of those weird things that people are always shocked about when they notice (if I'm slacking on the dying thing).  They always exclaim, "Holy Crap! You have gray hair!".  I know.  It's a genetic thing. Both my Mom and my Grandma were gray before 25.  It is in complete contradiction to my "baby" face.  No one ever believes how old I am.  I got carded to buy Nyquil at the grocery store last week.  Really?  I don't even pass for 18?  That seems a little harsh.  Last spring I got carded to buy clear spray paint.  That's right, CLEAR.  So not only do I look like a young hoodlum, but I am going to leave my invisible gang signs all over the city, causing panic and confusion.   Sigh.  How am I supposed to become the crazy old lady down the street if I'm stuck at 15???  Guess I'll have to live to 403...

But Pleasantly Cold

I am going to let you in on a little secret.  I am a total and complete sucker.  There I said it.  I don't know why I have such a hard time with such a small word. No. N-O.  It only has two letters for crying out loud! I for some reason unknown have the hardest time telling people no.  Even if I do manage to tell someone no,  a little pressure and I crack.  And don't get me started on cute little kids selling things in front of grocery stores.  Even if I only have $5 to my name, I will give it to them.  Someday (hopefully soon)  I will master the art of gracefully declining.  Until then, yes you can have five dollars,  yes I will pick up your dry cleaning, and YES I will wash your car (it is really dirty).

You Can Use Two to Knit a Sweater or a Story

I woke up to my mom vacuuming the other morning.  Long gone are the days when the ol' parental units tip toe around to prolong the peaceful quite parents with little ones only have the luxury of experiencing while their children are sleeping.  I lay still, begging the band marching in my head to give it a rest.  My liver, Billy, is not impressed.  That's right.  A hangover.  Knowing the only thing that's going to help is four ibuprofen and an entire bottle of Ruby Mountain Spring Water, I drag my sorry ass out of bed and head upstairs.  Slowly crawling to the top, I hear (be mindful the vacuum is still running) "Oh, yeah!?!  Take that, bitch!" I see my mom flailing her Dyson around in the air like a sword.  "Get over here, motherfuckas!"  Not sure exactly what is happening, I blurt, "Mom. What the hell are you doing?"  She jumps back startled, then shuts of her vacuum.  "Oh, sis. I didn't see you there."  I smile, "What's goin' on Mom?"  She says, "Not much, just vacuuming up flies."

Haha.  I bet those flies never even saw it coming.  I sure didn't.

Fear of Them Keeps Me Up at Night

Finally, I was able to fall asleep last night.  It had been days.  After two, I am worthless.  People talk to me and I barely hear them.  The days roll by like fog.  I've had insomnia for a few years now.  It's one of those weird things that comes and goes as it pleases.  I think it might be the Universe's way of teaching me empathy for zombies.  That way when the Zombie Apocalypse happens, I will know how zombies think and be able to take my place as the most bad ass zombie hunter in the New World!

There are quite a few things that I am looking forward to when the Zombie Apocalypse happens.  For one, if someone pisses me off while I'm driving, I can just ram them.  And I won't have to wait around to file a police report or worry about if it is going to make my insurance go up.  Sure, I'll miss things like air conditioning and "It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia" but I'm sure it will be worth it.

When that big SARS breakout happened a few years back, I was concerned that it was happening before I was mentally prepared.  But then I thought about it for a minute and came to the realization that I didn't have to worry.  The Zombie Apocalypse isn't going to start in China.  Their food is too yummy.  It's going to start someplace that has contributed nothing to the world so far.  So, I'm thinking Canada will be responsible. 

Obviously not sleeping gives me a lot of time to think about these things.  Let's hope, for your sake, that I am able to sleep for the rest of the week...

Polar Bears Use Them as Weapons

Okay.  So I used to have a blog.  I enjoyed it.  It was like a journal, but one that anyone could read.  It was a bit cathartic.  And I wrote more stories and scripts when I was blogging, so I'm starting up again in hopes of finding my motivation to get it in gear.  Writing wise.  This is the beginning.

I guess I should put down a few things to get us started off on the left foot here (which I think could possibly be the "right" foot in a manner of speaking, but is often overlooked).  I am a bit unhinged.  Bat shit crazy it seems.  Well, maybe not that crazy.  It sounds like that could get a little wild.  Especially if it's a fruit bat.  I curse like a sailor and I drink (I was going to say too much here, but I think it's better described for me as just enough.  For you, however, it would be far too much.  Mostly because you don't have a champion's liver (unless you're my brother reading this- This is NOT as challenge!!)). On that note, now that I'm blogging again I should probably have a breathalyzer attached to my computer so that I can avoid drunken mishaps.  They happen.  I do become bloody brilliant when I drink and I often times want to share that brilliance with the world.  I can't have you all running off with my bad ass ideas. 

I think that's a pretty good start.  So I will just say, "Hello, everyone.  And welcome back to my public ramblings."