And hiding Psychos

I've always been very guarded. One of my overwhelming fears is being in a relationship.  Weird, right? I've always known that my career was important to me and being an individual even more so.  I have seen people time and time again morph into something they aren't simply because they were involved with someone else.  It terrifies me.  So I have been independent to a fault. I have very rarely even entertained the idea of letting someone into my life in the "boyfriend" manner.  Recently my teenage cousin committed suicide and I was completely lost.  I met a guy and he didn't know me or give me that look that everyone who knew and loved me gave me.  I couldn't handle that look.  It instantly broke me and I needed to be strong for my family.  He had/has a wonderful sense of humor and we connected instantly.  He held my hand and allowed me to be me, not just the girl that had been devastated by a recent tragedy.  And all of my guards went crashing down.  Oh, fuck! I let someone in.  He held my hand when we watched movies. I fell asleep laying next to him (even with my huge snoring problem) and I felt amazing.  Things were good. We had a pretty regular communication.  Then we didn't.  A whole weekend of not knowing what he was doing. Oh! And I would like to think I wasn't that girl. That crazy psycho that overanalyzes every word. But, no I went there.  And cue in FB (another reason for my break from the ever ready social media) and I found out things were being left out of our communications and it made me so upset.  We went for drinks after and thats when I got broken up with. WHAT?!? I had let someone in enough to break up with me.  And I raged. I was mean and ugly and not pretty at all.  Then I realized that having someone see that side of me was kind of amazing.  I mostly missed having that.  I missed having my hand held watching movies or getting random texts when he was thinking about me.  And I knew that I had been missing something big my entire life.  And now I think I will be open to it. To being involved. With someone that respects my dreams, but will let me fall asleep across their chest listening to their heartbeat and put their ear plugs in because I can shake a roof off of a house...

Off the Grid

I deleted my Facebook account a little over 24 hours ago. I recently lost my cousin and was having a rough time with staying positive anyways.  I made it a goal two years ago to only post positive or funny stories because I think too quickly Facebook becomes a dumping ground and get so negative.  Then cue in getting dumped and my inability to filter things when I am hyper emotional.  I knew it would be bad and that I would say things on there that would not only add to the "crazy girl" persona I had taken on the last few weeks but would be mean and hurtful.  So I disabled my account.

I didn't realize how much I looked at Facebook.  In the last 24 hours, I have pressed the FB button on my phone no less than 20 times.  I thought about creating another one so I could FB stalk a certain someone and told myself to get a grip.  I am hoping this much needed break from social media will help me get back to interacting on a more personal level.  Either that or I will become a hermit.

I've come to need an audience for my life.  I guess I can hang a white board around my neck and then write witty sayings on it.  Hopefully random strangers will give me thumbs up so I can ease my "like" withdrawals.  I will keep you posted on how it goes...

Sponge-Bob Self Asorbed Pants

I am a pretty avid hookah smoker. I come from a long, long line of smokers and it has always been pretty gross to me until my friends finally got me to try smoking a hookah.  It was fruity and minty and nothing like cigarettes. And I love it.  It also has little to do with my blog tonight, but I thought I should start out with mentioning that since my story starts with me smoking a hookah tonight....

I am very animated and I talk with my hands.  I was smoking and talking to my Uncle and Aunt on the patio and I knocked the hookah over. The coal went into my lap. I grabbed it an threw it.  I managed to burn not only my hand, but a large majority of my Mum's expensive patio furniture. My first reaction was, "Oh, No! I just fucked up my Co-Ed Softball season!". I wasn't feeling bad because I had once again burned my Mom's shit (I had a hookah tragedy with my Mom's rug and her extremely awesome wood floors previous), it was about me.  And I realized I am a little more self absorbed than I would like to admit.  This coupled with some recent events and a couple of drunken melt downs this week made me think about my issues.

I went to lunch two weeks ago with my best friend from high school.  We sat down and a young guy walks immediately to our table. I said hello and asked him if I knew him and his response was, "No, but I would like your number." I stammered and looked around and kept asking him if it was my number he wanted.  It was very ridiculous.  I finally agreed to give him my number and then glanced over to another table of my friends who were laughing and knew they were teasing me.  It was funny and we all had a good laugh.  Then recently my best friend has found and formed an awesome relationship with a really amazing person and it sent me into a bit of a crazed funk of "Why not me???". 

I am super giving. To a fault we can say. It makes me happy to see my friends happy.  It is so easy for me to give everything.  But I suck at letting people take care of me, too. Even something as simple as a compliment is hard for me to receive. I am a really great friend.  That's what it comes down to. If anyone tries to get closer to me than a friend, I shut down.  I build walls bigger than Berlin. What the hell is my problem??? I would like to say it was because I didn't go to Prom.  That's the root of all girls' issues right? Um. No.  I got asked to Prom by a really amazing guy and I told him that he should ask my friend because she really wanted to go and I didn't really like to dance.  When it comes down to it, I was super insecure and I didn't want to squeeze my ass into some fancy dress and look dumb (but look out world! Thanks to my love of drag queens and some awesome advice by RuPaul I wear any fancy dress and rock out fake eye lashes any chance I get these days).  It all comes to down to me cutting my shit and being open to the possibilities. And realizing that thinking about myself isn't always a bad thing.

Also my mad skills at patching burn holes. Sorry, Mom. 

And Delusional

Did I talk to you about the guy I thought I was dating earlier this year? I'm pretty sure I have 7 rough drafts making fun of the situation that I stopped because I just became that whiny girl that was trying to be cool and funny about how I got my first dick pic.  And it basically ended with an, "Awww!" and "That girl should get a tele-novella".  The problem isn't that I don't enjoy laughing at myself.  I do it all the time.  It was just one of those stories that I couldn't just tell without playing the victim. And I hate victim stories (good luck with the next two Hunger Games movies - bitch gets real annoying, real fast). Sorry for the spoilers.  Ha! No, I'm not.  And that comes to my post tonight.  I don't know what the fuck crawled into my deep, black, rich coffee this winter (what can I say, I like my coffee like I like my men...unsoiled).  I think I was feeling the pressures of being in my thirties and enjoying the fuck out of life.  I need to settle down, right? So I go and start sexting a 23 year old.  Perfectly legitimate response.  Only he has his life together more than I do. He had an awesome job, owns his own house, and is nice to his family.  Except I was being used (I know right!?! A chubby girl first).  Which would have been cool, except this dummy always made me feel like Pretty Woman but without Richard Gere.  No girl wants to deal with Stucky, dumb ass! After making all of the dumb girl mistakes of not hanging out or meeting new people because I was in an "it's complicated" situation (hello, red flag!) for way longer than I would like to admit, I cut off ties with this selfish bozoo. I spent several days listening to Bruno Mars "If I Was Your Man" on repeat.  I think in some f-ed up way I just wanted someone in my past to feel this way about me.  I mean after years of crazy self esteem issues, I finally am in a place where I love myself.  I'm kind of a bad ass. But then the more I think about me and my past, I have no regrets. And I don't want to be some one's regret.  I want them to have learned something from having me in their life.  I don't want to be a constant torment.  And I want to release those that have crossed my path.  It just wasn't meant to be at the time.  And life is full of crazy curve balls.  Who knows who might just get thrown back into your batters box.  What I take from the song now is treat people well.  I'm enjoying this beautiful life.  And I would like to someday say I actually let down all of my ridiculously placed walls and just loved.  Even the stupid painful moments.  Because it's all crazy and it should be fun.  No regrets.

But a great song:
http://youtu.be/ekzHIouo8Q4

And Phallic

Dating.  Daunting at best. It has never been my strong suit. I'd never really considered being independent as a bad thing until a few years ago and I heard some psycho-babble describing personality types.  There were the usual suspects - co-dependent, sadist, masochist, controlling, and needy (shudder) - and then they described the "independent to a fault".  And I realized I had a problem.  You know I am carrying 72 bags of groceries and someone politely asks if I need help, my first response is "No! I don't need help, I need more arms!".  Okay, not that bad, but I have trouble letting people in.  If someone gets remotely close, I brick up the walls. My personal goal over the last three years has to been actually try dating.  Not bar hook-ups or one night stands (I might have minored in those in college), but hey let's go out and get to know each other type dates.  I have no practice in this area of my life at all.  I'm great at making new friends or talking to the strangest people I can find, but dating - no bueno.  I think the small talk awkwardness is just a little too much to bear.  At my age, it's a little embarrassing to try to navigate.  Throw in our technological world where everyone communicates through text, email, Facebook, etc., and I am an outright disaster. Throw in my fucked up sense of humor that does not translate via text unless you know me and we have a recipe for a reality show. Add in the craziest part of modern dating: The Dick Pic.  And while I find it insanely funny, I don't get it. What are you supposed to do with a picture of a penis besides laugh hysterically?  This may be why I am what is called "Super Single" and I need to learn a useful spinster skill (besides drinking) like knitting, cat sitting, knitting for cats, knitting for cat sitters, or karate.  They say the world is a crazy place. I'm not sure "they" have ever been on the World Wide Web...

Ashes, Ashes, we all...Write Down?

The five year old version of me would be appalled at my life. It's true. I came into this world with a stick up my ass (ask Pauly or Will or Mom - they will tell you stick in the mud doesn't even fit. More like stick in the motha' flippin' concrete!). I was bossy as hell and I knew everything. Five year old Brandy lived in a world of Black and White. Right and Wrong. I knew everything and then a little more and I expected everyone else to adhere to those standards, too. For instance: I was in second grade and my brother was in first.  Someone started stealing his lunch every morning while he was out playing on the playground. I read a lot of Nancy Drew books at a young age, so I set up a trap to capture the culprit.  Which meant I staked out the "backpack" area while all the other kids were out playing on the jungle gym. I watched this kid dig through and eat several lunches and I brought fruit-roll up evidence that he dumped in the garbage can from my brother's lunch straight to my teacher with a paper towel so we could dust for finger prints and catch this sorry SOB (sure this was the mid 80's and there was no CSI on TV, but I was a sleuth and I knew this evidence would be damning as hell).  I marched right into my teacher before class, evidence in hand and demanded justice! She assured me she would "talk to him".  What?!? Um, hello! Stealing was WRONG!!! I wanted a grade school trial where we busted this criminal and I got to present my case (unbeatable!) before the entire school! The teacher had to call my Mom to get me to back off. Yeah. I know, no one likes an eight year old that thinks they're a supreme court justice.  It never occurred to me that this kid was hungry, that he probably didn't get enough to eat at home, or that he didn't have the "sweet treats" my Mom always packed us. I never thought about his reasons for stealing lunches, only that I knew that stealing was wrong.  Like I said, black and white.  Me today??? I am 340 shades of gray.  I definitely have grown out of my Nancy Drew self.  At eight years old I knew I was going to be a big shot attorney fighting all the injustice in this world (even though my Mom told me she would rather me be something respectable, like a prostitute).  I had a life plan. Graduate at 21 from an Ivy League school, partner by 25, maybe decide to have kids around 28, but have a live at home husband because I was a career woman.  Flash forward.  Somewhere between High School and my long, long college career, I not only took the stick out of my ass, but threw it so far into the Nevada sagebrush that I will never find it again (you're welcome). Like I said before, I live in the gray.  I laugh all the time and I am grateful everyday for that. I am independent to a fault, meaning super single. I went to college for the better half of a decade and finally found my calling as a story teller.  The arts, who'd a thunk??? Ha! Seven days before my 32nd birthday and I am living at home with my recently divorced Mom because starting a business in the arts blossoms only under the the term: FREE RENT!!! That's right, I just started a business with my best friend (more like my sister) and life is funny, stressful, and amazing all at once.  I'm navigating being 30ish (that's what I like to call it), pursing my dream, living back at home, and trying (somewhat) to date in the technological age (dick pics, really?).  I hope what follows is a commentary on those times.  I'm hoping for lots of laughs.  In the words of Jerry Maguire, "Who's with me???"

Could you pick me up some beer?

I imagine the clerks at CVS think I am not only a lunatic, but a raging alcoholic. It's an easy place to stop on my way home from work to get beer, chapstick, wine, bubble gum, vodka, or if I'm feeling naustalgic, a 40.  While getting a shopping cart full of booze this afternoon I was getting a , "Jesus! Lady" look from the cashier and I had a great conversation in my head explaing to him the need for so much alcohol:  I'm 30 and I just moved back home with my parents (thus the bottle of vodka).  My brother is 29 and he, too, just moved home (thus the two 24 packs of beer).  My Mom just had her two adult children move home (thus the two BIG bottles of wine).  This is logic!  They say you can never go home.  I think it's more accurate to say: You can go home, just be ready to consume large quantities of alcohol. Haha. 

If They Only Dripped Wine

Long time, no post, my friends.  Sorry about that.  My goal is to get back into writing with a passion.  That's the idea, right?  I have that.  My goal is to make you laugh or at least smile (I'm talking to you hard asses out there). I'm trying to harness my inner Hemingway.  Not sure I really have that, but I am half-drunk, and that was his thing, so I can't go wrong. Now we have to decide on a topic.  I have little neon stickies on my desk, but nothing to stick them to.  I have a million ideas running through my stubborn little gourd but not sure what to pick as my next project.  I am focusing on forgiveness right now, so maybe I should talk about that.  I hate to get too preachy to y'all, though because I've been there. This awesomeness, this zen, this peace that I feel now didn't happen over night.  I can't tell you to blink five times and cross your eyes for 45 minutes and you will be happy.  It doesn't work like that.  Things have to "click" for you. It sounds weird or cheesy, but it's true.  You have to be ready to be happy. To laugh. To accept good.  All of that from a pad of post it stickies? They're neon and I love bright colors.  They  remind me of the hair bands I loved as a kid (not the kind that held my hair back, but Def Leppard, Motely Crue, and Poison) and I get excited.

What makes you laugh?  Look around you and see the positive that you associate with your surroundings.  If the things around you don't make you smile, throw them in the trash! Because nothing makes me smile like saying, "Fuck that!" and throwing stupid stuff in the trash can!

Just Writing Thoughts

I'm rarely at a loss for words.  My roommate lost a loved one a few days ago and I don't know what to say.  It's one of those situations where words just aren't enough.  I've never experienced a loss on this level, so I have no experience to draw from to try and find the right words.  I'm out of town, so just being there isn't possible.  It's hard for me to even call because I don't know what to do.  I feel lost and unhelpful.  And it sucks.

But They Feel Gravity

I'm coming up on my two year mark in California.  Man, is that ever weird to say.  It's been a crazy journey.  I think coming out of film school, we expect to be instantly recognized for our genius and handed millions of dollars to make our brilliant minds blossom onto the big screen.  Ha! PA jobs aren't even easy to come by.  I jokingly say, "You've got to give head to get ahead."  Sadly, it's not far off.  Filmmaking.  What a trip.  You learn very early on that all the Hollywood glamour has very little to do with the actual production of a film.  And if that shit was important to me, I would be in a very different career path.  Filmmaking is tedious to say the least.  I always laugh when my friends come onto set for the first time and then leave after an hour.  I can see how they think it's boring.  It's certainly a slow process.  And it is a lot of hard work.  So much sweat and man power goes into making a film.  There's a lot of hurry up and waiting going on.  It takes a very patient person to be in this industry.  But I love it.  I have from the beginning and I can't see myself doing anything else.  That's why I'm still here.  I'm still trying to pave my own path.  Good thing I come from a family with really strong work ethic.  It keeps me going.  It's hard sometimes not to freak out or give up.  There is a lot of pressure out there to be in certain places at certain ages.  And I've never been one to really give a shit about rules or conventions, but that doesn't mean I don't feel the pressure.  But I've got to harness Frank Sinatra and Sid Vicious and do it my way, right?

Navigating New Territory

I joined a gym.  This isn't the first time, but it's the first time I've seriously used my membership.  Gyms are intimidating as hell.  Especially to chubby girls, like me.  The machines, the beautiful people, the mirrors (they're everywhere), it's a lot to take in.  I've always started out with good intentions, but I always end up feeling ridiculous or too silly to ask for help.  But I guess I've finally gotten to the point that getting in shape is more important to me than caring if I look a little ridiculous.  The good news is, after two months, I have some insight into gym culture.  I will let you all in on what I've figured out so far.

So we all know the stereotype of the Meat Head.  The ripped, protein-shake chugging, beef cakes that look pretty hot until they open their mouths.  They're there, but I don't find them nearly as interesting as the girls that go to the gym to meat these assholes.  I never really believed that girls (in full make-up and hair all gussied up) went to the gym and just half-assed it so they could meet guys until I witnessed it first hand.  These girls look amazing.  I will give them that.  But it's not because they work out.  They come in packs.  And they usually stick to the stationary bikes so they can sort of pedal a bit, but they are there to watch the Meatheads.  I guess it's the gym version of a Snow Bunny.  I don't know, and it baffles me.  They don't come everyday.  Mostly on the weekends and you can't miss them because they're giggly as hell.

Next, we have the weekday morning aerobics classes.  Cue the housewives.  This crowd is pretty obvious. They only come during the week and to classes that happen while the kids are at school.  A pretty fit group.  A little gossipy, but it makes me laugh.  These classes are my favorite, because they are the least crowded and let's face it,  Moms are nice and I don't feel like they're sizing me up. Haha.

Oooooh! And let's not forget the Cougars.  These huntresses have to stay in shape.  Young, virile men aren't looking to get Couged by an older lady that isn't sexy as hell.  And these women know it.  I've been in the middle of some serious Cougar chats at the gym and you dudes don't know what the hell you're getting yourself into.  These women are professionals.  They are going to eat you alive.  And I'm gonna sit back and watch the show.  I think it's fascinating.  Maybe I should be shooting a documentary on this shit.  I do know these women can run circles around me.  While I'm sweating gallons, deep breathing, and turning bright red like a freakin' cherry tomato, these babes are slightly glistening and preparing for the prowl.  It's good to have something to look forward to if I get my ass in gear...

Then there's my peeps.  People that actually need to be at the gym and they waited a bit too long before realizing it.  We're easy to spot.  Bright red, dripping with sweat, gritting our teeth.  I want to high five all of them.  It takes a lot of guts to get started and I'm proud of us.  Haha.

Okay so maybe I really only talked about the different groups of women at the gym.  Truth is I try not to check out guys at the gym.  I'm already intimidated as hell being there.  And the last thing I want to to do is draw any attention to my super sweat drenched self.  It's not cool at all and I really am not at the gym to meet dudes.  I think I would start to lose my nerve if I thought I had to make eye contact or even talk to the men at the gym.  Maybe once I get over this phobia, I can break them down more for you.  The only guy I can really talk about is the one in my Zumba class and his girlfriend makes him go. So there are two things I can write: I feel sorry for him (especially since he is the only male and the instructor makes him come up on stage every time) and that he is a way better dancer than I am (which is kind of sad).

I think I've ranted enough about the gym.  Feel free to ask questions!  I am a fountain of info. Haha.

Especially When Melting

In the middle of making some major changes in my lifestyle, I find it funny to look at the things I am having trouble letting go of.  I don't know how to untangle myself from these images, ideas, habits, and labels.  I worry about losing some part of myself.  I don't want to be less me, yet I want to be more than I am.  Evolve as a person.  We become comfortable or at least complacent in the terms used to define us.  The funny one.  The drunk girl.  The loud one.  The fat chick.  The loud-drunk-funny-fat girl.

Somewhere in this mess is the person I want to be.

Punches in the Gut

Man, I am cranky today. I didn't wake up that way.  I've just been dealing with A-holes all day and it's starting to rub off.  That and I am having major cramps.  I'd like to say that the bitchiness associated with the female mensus is false, but it's not.  I'm a raving bitch today and it's no small coincidence that my period is involved.  I'm trying to make myself write something nice.  It's not going so well.  I think I've deleted about three paragraphs already.  There is a really pretty orchid blooming accross from my desk right now. Does that count? 

Let's think about something awesome:


Ice cold beer.  Now I'm feeling a little better.  This positive thinking shit really works.  Just looking at that picture made me feel pretty happy.  Now we can talk about something that makes me laugh.  Me at the gym.  It's pretty comical.  I tried a Zumba class.  It was ridiculous!  The room was packed and all of the women looked pretty sexy working out.  I on the other hand was a lost, chubby girl.  You want me to do what with my pelvis?!?  Not to mention the profuse sweating and the bright red face.  And lucky me, there are about a gazillion mirrors in the room.  So if there was a moment where I thought, "Hey, I think I'm getting this."  All I had to do was look up and realize, "Oh, no kit kat, you don't!".  Haha.  Someday.  I think it's important to be able to laugh at yourself, right? 

Much Like Mothers

Now that I'm well into my adulthood (by age at least), I am able to have a different relationship with my Mother.  It's pretty rad and often times hilarious.  My Mom was a pretty strict parent.  She was a parent instead of trying to be a friend when I needed her to be and I think that is the foundation for our ever growing friendship as I inch my way toward my AARP card.

I can pretty much talk with my Mom about anything and since my brother and I have a sense of humor that has been politely described as inappropriate, my Mom has been exposed to some shit.  Most of the time, she laughs it off.  There is one subject, that my Mom will not discuss and she will leave or get pissed until we change it.  S-E-X.  That's right, sex.  My Mom will not talk about it, nor will she say the word.  She spells it.  And I'm okay with that.  She is, after all, still my Mother.

This does lead to moments where I know she's going to get mad.  One time my brother and I somehow were making fun of something and an Alaskan Pipeline came up (think messed up sex acts. IE: Rusty Trombone, Dirty Sanchez, etc.  Use Google if you really need to know the details).  And my Mom overheard us and asked what it was.  My brother instantly clammed up (pussy) and I told her she didn't want to know.  Well she wouldn't let it go and so, like ripping off a band-aid, I blurted it out.  Her jaw hit the floor and she gave me a disgusted snarl.  She said, "I don't like that!"  Which, of course, sent my brother and I into hysterical fits of laughter.  I finally managed to add, "That's a good thing, Mom.  Because if you did, you'd be a pervert."  She quickly stomped inside, leaving my brother and I to our laughter fit.

All in all, my Mom is a pretty good sport.  And I don't know anyone who has as much good karma built up in the Karma Banks as her.  So, Cheers! to awesome Moms!

Like John Connor

I've been 30 for almost a month now.  And I find myself surprised (pleasantly) at how much I am loving it. It's a huge weight off of my shoulders to just let go of all the craziness and garbage I put myself through in my 20's and start fresh.  The me I'd wished I was at 19.  I thought I knew everything at that age and fuck if I'd listen to anyone who told me otherwise (sorry, Mom! I was an obnoxious ass).  So I thought I would write a letter (more of a list) of sagely advice to my 19 year old self (kind of like Terminator, but without the pressure of world annihilation or animosity towards robots.  I love robots).  Here we go:

Brandy,

It's okay to say "I don't know" if you don't know.

Love yourself, first and foremost because A) You're rad and B) if you don't love yourself how the hell is anyone else supposed to?  You will feel empty and spend time, energy, and money trying to fill a void that can only be filled by the ability to look at yourself in the mirror and say, "I love you" and mean it.

Be nice to people.  Treat them with respect and kindness.  Please and Thank You go a long, long way.

Laugh.  Hard and often and from the belly.  And don't give a shit if it annoys or disturbs anyone.  Deep down, they're just wishing they were laughing, too.

Sorry to say it, girl, but you're not going to find happiness in random hook-ups from the bar.  And no matter how progressive or empowered you try to make yourself feel about them, they really just make you feel bad about yourself.  Admit it and move on.  Not only do you deserve more, but you want more, too.

Don't say you'll "never" do something.  The universe loves to make us eat our words.

Bottom line, Bitches are Crazy!  This includes you.  Guys can push women to unspeakable lows.  Never underestimate your ability to cross lines, babble, or just plain scare away the opposite sex.  The sooner you recognize that you, too, can easily travel down "nut-job" lane, the easier it will be for you to not.

Your ability to give whole-heartedly to those you love is an amazing quality, but don't forget it's okay to receive, too.  And don't stand for being taken advantage of.

Listen to your Mom.  She's a smart lady.

Find your own way.  The beautiful thing about living in the modern world is you can make your own rules.  There are a million ways to live.  Don't do it by anyone else's guidelines or conventions.  Do what works for you.  Do what makes you happy and fuck the rest.

Love, love, love,
B-Ran

Shit.  If my 19 year old self reads this it will probably cause a break in the space-time continuum.  Damn.  Maybe I do need a robot and there is always the pressure of world annihilation.  This is all good research for my 40 year old self to pass on.  Thank God I have 10 more years to figure it all out.  In the meantime, I'm Brandy, I'm 30 and I'm trying like hell to play it cool...

Midnight Story

I'd been fascinated with the wild colors of their camp for as long as I can remember.  Bright, full of life, and in such contrast to my village.  It was hard to look away.  They came through every year and I secretly looked forward to it.  The people of my town never made eye contact.  "Wild" my mother would say, shaking her head and making the sign of the cross.

I'd tried to sneak out once as a boy to go watch them but my mother caught me and gave me a nasty beating.  She never looked at me the same after that. It was like she knew.  I think she thought the devil himself had crawled inside me.  And maybe she was right.

It was years later that my fate was sealed.  Some friends and I were leaving the tavern when we noticed the flicker of their fire in the distance.  We never spoke, we all just started walking towards their camp.  Moths to the flame.  The women were beautiful, barely clothed and they danced with seductive grace.  I was paralyzed by the movement and my heart kept time with the beat.  One by one, my friends moved closer.  I stayed where I was until I saw her.  Dark Goddess.  Her eyes sparkled a brilliant blue and I couldn't look away.  I walked slowly until I reached her.  My skin burned as she pressed against me.  Her body was a perfect combination of soft curves and hard muscle and she smelled like smoke and spice and rain.  Her gaze was piercing, like a dagger through my heart.  Two stars twinkling in the night sky.

When I heard the first scream, I knew something was wrong, but I couldn't stop dancing and caressing the woman in my arms.  The screams were like a distant dream and I must have been aware of my friends falling one by one to the ground, but I did nothing.  Then as if being slapped awake, I found myself surrounded by the other women, their faces dripping with the hot, red blood of my friends.  I looked, pleading to my blue eyed angel and I was once again paralyzed.   Pleasure and pain coursed through my body as she bit me, bringing me to my knees.  I watched as she drained my blood, her eyes turned dark and I knew this was my last moment.

Funny how I wish now that it was.  I woke, nauseous, in a wagon moving west.  There were at least a dozen men and we were all in cages.  We were all the creatures' firsts.  Their life blood.  A bond is formed the first time they drink and they need us to survive.  She has to feed from me, less often as time passes on.  We grow no older, time stacks on time.  Only the firsts can father their children.  We see the girls from time to time.  Blue-eyed beauties.  I don't know what happens to the boys.

I escaped once, but didn't make it far.  I became so violently ill, I couldn't move after a distance.  She found me easily. She cursed at me and brought me back.  It was the only time I've ever seen a flash of emotion cross her dark face.  Pity.  Maybe I'm not the only one who's trapped...

Points On A Map

The girl sat with the map unfolded in front of her.  Her journey leading to her current point marked carefully in red.  The marks were not straight lines, but a combination of zigs crossing zags and loop de loops.  The progress she had made was great and she took small comfort in the ground she had covered.  But she still had a ways to go and her next move was uncertain.  Her sense of direction was unreliable at best and all ways held promise.  The fact that she had stopped and pulled out the map at all was interesting as it always caused her memories from the past to bubble up.  Literally.  The map was funny that way.  And as they floated and danced in front of her, all she had to do was reach out and pop one to send herself catapulting back in time.  As you can imagine that caused a slight delay in her journey.  The bubbles were so very hard to resist.  Some were bright and shiny, some dark and gloomy, some colorful, some iridescent.  And almost on cue, she raised her hand, finger extended, to a large, oddly shaped bubble and POP!

Int. Dining Room - Night

A family sits at the table eating dinner,  MOTHER, FATHER, DAUGHTER, SON. An awkward blanket of silence fills the room.  The family eats.  PPPPFFFFFFFFFFTTT!!!  Father farts.  Mother pauses, glaring at father then continues eating.  Daughter and Son stifle smiles.  They continue eating.  PPPPFFFFFFTTT!!!  Father farts again.  Mother slams down her silverware.

                                                    MOTHER
                                       Enough!!! There is Gas-X
                                       in the bathroom if you need it.

Daughter and Son exchange glances, trying not to laugh.

                                                    FATHER
                                       It doesn't bother me.  I like to fart.
                                       Why? Do you have a problem?

The children loose it and laugh as Mother stomps out of the dining room.  The sound of dishes crashing in the other room is heard.

End Bubble

The girl laughed until she cried.  She slowly folded up the map as the bubbles started to float higher and higher out of her reach.  She smiled to herself as she put the map back in her coat pocket.  She held out her arm and spun in a circle until she lost her balance and fell.  Her eyes open.  She points to the North.  Or was it the West?

Even As They Fall

I love apples.  Crisp, sweet, delicious.  Ambrosia, Golden Delicious,  Honey Crisp, Maiden's Blush.  It's no wonder Eve took a bite.  And I don't blame Snow White one bit, either.  I mean let's get real.  The Garden of Eden was probably Bo-Ring!  I like camping as much as the next girl, but naming animals and hanging out with Adam day in and day out???  All while being taunted with shiny, bright "forbidden" fruit?  She lasted a lot longer that I would  have.  And sure Snow White had to spend a little time in a coma, but the outcome was well worth it.  Can you imagine picking up after 7 dudes with short man complexes???  That hag did her a favor.  So it looks like that old saying, "An apple a day keeps a girl from ending up barefoot, pregnant, and in the kitchen" (or something to that effect) is true.  Any way you slice it,  apples are pretty awesome.

But Their Intentions Are Clear

A few months ago, I made the decision to cut red meat out of my life.  And I had never really got an inside peek at what vegetarians really go through.  And how in the hell do Vegans eat out at all?!?  I ordered corn chowder the other day and didn't even think twice about it.  Corn equals vegetable which equals no worries, right?  Wrong.  I forgot that everything is better with bacon!  Shit. 

And of course, my smart-girl self had to cut out red meat right before coming home for the holidays.  Have you met my family???  Can we say Car-ni-vores?  It's basically like a cow living with a trio of T-rexes.  The minute I said I no longer ate red meat, I could see my family sizing me up.  Like I was getting weak and they could take me down and devour me if need be (which, I might add, has made me pretty nervous here in Elko.  The temperature has been pretty cold at night.  If there was a freeze in, I wouldn't last the week).  My Dad cooked some Elk meat the other night and wanted me to at least "try a bite."  I said, "Sorry, Dad. I don't eat red meat."  And he said, "Elk is really lean."  You're right Dad, it is.  But it's also really red.  And let's not get started on my brother.  He has always thought he had an evolutionary advantage over me and I basically just confirmed it in his book.  He said to me, "You're not going to turn into one of those vegetarian pussies, are you?"  Oh.  Not in this crowd, cupcake, not in this crowd.

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.