La Feroce Bete

Seven is Steven without the T.

2012-01-14T19:50:00.005-05:00

Seven is complete. Seventh Heaven. Seven Dwarfs. Serven. Seeven. Sehhven. Sewwwwwww. I'll just consider my seven month slack - whole; therefore giving me divine excuse. I don't have much to binge. Eh.. not totally true. I say so much in my head. I spit and stutter. I stand for awkward minutes in the frozen food aisle trying to decide "healthy vs. spicy boneless chicken wings". If there aren't any judging glances I go with the TGIF appetizer special! If I am surrounded by evil I choose the escape shuffle to the wine aisle, select the best Malbec for a TGIF special, glance around the corner, and return to said aisle for Happ-i-Tizer pick-up!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JuSPC-Ja6nM

“Suspense is worse than disappointment.” Robert Burns

2011-06-16T19:43:00.005-04:00

I would never describe myself as depressed. However, I do have a tendency towards self withdrawal. At times I am unable to slide through disappointments and concerns in order to act cheerfully or participate in the joy of others. Mostly this selfish behavior is targeted or not targeted at my friends and family. It's not my normal behavior. During these gloomy episodes, I can step out of self and see my wretched demeanor but have no desire to do anything about it. I think I want to be alone, but when I am, I no longer feel that way. I have narrowed this personal phenomenon down to when I have been disappointed in, hurt by, or frustrated with those closest to me. Everyone gets the grey fury. I have to change. It's not fair to me. Or them.

Best paired with Pina Colada - Two Straws

2011-05-26T19:43:00.007-04:00

My letter writing skills are far less advanced than the imagery and focus of great poetry, but I guess that comes from a traditional expectation of being feverishly honest or more typically romantic and pink.

I am neither.

I cannot brutally tell the truth because I do not like the way it sounds in my head. If I tend to exacerbate my emotions into themes it is best assumed the guitar solo will carry you away into my fantasy.

However, in the midst of this truth, beauty, freedom, and love: I write.

To you.

It wouldn't be fair to compare you to anything less than a force of nature. The kind of force an artful brunette, flushed from early morning's arduous love-making, cannot predict with what appears to be Elvis burnt into her pancakes. Her trailer parked visions of the Holy Madonna are no match for you.

You, strong and unpredictable as a tornado. Uncertain and damaging as hail.

You sweep through backyards carrying hot coals and cold beers - always covering your tracks.

Most of my evenings are spent watching for you in the sky. Scoping the horizon for an ominous cloud signaling your arrival. In any other daydream this cloud might bring doom and destruction, but these lazy summer days welcome the fresh wind and thunder loving.

My skin tingles, you blow through my hair, and I smile.

The judge who will be sentencing us today just found out the dance studio where his wife has been taking tango lessons for the past year has been closed for eight months. Last known instructor goes by the name Juan, prefers fuzzy navels, neon lights, and blondes.

"Two hundred miles!" He bangs his gavel. "Round trip." There is nothing to do but serve our time, and hope we'll get off. On good behavior. The sweat on his brow smells like cheap whiskey and reminds me of past time served. The restraints are all too familiar and I refuse to be led down that cold fluorescent hallway again.

I will be the file in your cake.

The tattoo of hidden duct work in your prison walls.

Be my look out.

My bribed guard.

My shadow and perfectly planned opportunity.

Break me out.

Follow me to the water's edge and disappear with me from sight and smell.

Resurface with me on the shores of Mexico.

We'll blend.

We'll toast.

To the moon and our enigmatic existence.

2011-05-23T17:15:00.008-04:00

You made the full moon linger just for me ~ do that with your kisses please!

Coffee to a Tees!

2011-05-11T19:12:00.000-04:00

With Pin and Inkhttp://http://withpinandink.blogspot.com/ has created fun and all natural cotton tees with our LOGO! Check them out and find out how you can order your Coffee to a Tea-shirt!

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2011-05-04T17:49:00.006-04:00

I want to be your sanctuary. Not your priest.

I am a heap.

If I am honest - I want you without all your mess.

Twirp, Tweety, and Carl

2011-05-04T14:30:00.005-04:00

They each have two fluffs and look just like old men.

Their eyes are still closed so when we touch the side of the nest, their fat little heads wobble on their 'stretched to the limit' scrawny necks!

One little guy didn't make it. :(

The nest is getting smaller and smaller, and they can see us now. And we can pet them. Mama and Papa Robin don't seem to mind at all.

2011-04-27T18:47:00.002-04:00

I'm mad I was knocked over before I could let go of the handle bars.

I'm glad you didn't wait until I was coasting, arms out, and heart exposed.

You were only thinking about you. About how you felt. Your problems. Your fears. Your anxieties.

The whole time you never asked me about mine. You never asked me what my fears were. What made me anxious.

They are that you won't want me.

That I won't make you happy.

That I won't make anyone happy.

So I'm mad because when you knocked me over, I fell.

High Fiver Robert Zimmerman

2011-04-21T19:14:00.000-04:00

Make You Feel My Love

When the rain is blowing in your face
And the whole world is on your case
I could offer you a warm embrace
To make you feel my love

When the evening shadows and the stars appear
And there is no one there to dry your tears
I could hold you for a million years
To make you feel my love

I know you haven’t made your mind up yet
But I would never do you wrong
I’ve known it from the moment that we met
No doubt in my mind where you belong

I’d go hungry, I’d go black and blue
I’d go crawling down the avenue
There’s nothing that I wouldn’t do
To make you feel my love

The storms are raging on the rollin’ sea
And on the highway of regret
The winds of change are blowing wild and free
You ain’t seen nothing like me yet

I could make you happy, make your dreams come true
Nothing that I wouldn’t do
Go to the ends of the earth for you
To make you feel my love

separation anxiety

2011-04-17T19:18:00.004-04:00

you make me use words that taste like vending machine pickles. words with calloused elbows in sweat shops fabricating rips in the knees of my bargain bin cargos.

words no one ever gets away with.

Coastal Boy

2011-04-13T19:04:00.008-04:00

I want to judge a chili cook-off and give you a prize for being hot. I want to take to you the fair, ride the wheel up to the top. You're the smile I fall asleep to and the bod I dream about. Tell me how you'll kiss my body 'til I'm begging you to stop!

You're my only sunshine, make me happy when I'm blue. Hold me tight my only sunshine, don't let go 'til I say to.

I want to drive you to the country tie you up inside the barn. I want to take you for a ride on my tractor 'round the farm. You're the eyes I fall asleep to and the man I dream about. Tell me how you'll win me over with your looks and boyish charm.

You're my only sunshine, make me happy when I'm blue. Hold me tight my only sunshine, don't let go 'til I say to.

You can sail out near that island we can see from the bay. You can hold me close and kiss me 'til the boat starts to sway. I'll be the face you fall asleep to and the girl you dream about. Whisper sweet things in my ears while I look at you and say..

You're my only sunshine, make me happy when I'm blue. Hold me tight my only sunshine, don't let go 'til I say to.

Don't let go 'til I say to.

Hello Little Birds To Be.

2011-04-13T15:52:00.003-04:00

It Rains for Me

2011-04-03T18:21:00.006-04:00

I knew you were talking about the rain when you said it would be alright.

But I opened my eyes anyway and kept to the horizon.

Salt water and bullshit stung my face.

You said once the rain stopped the water would be smooth.

Like glass.

So my soul gave my conscience the thumbs up and went in search of calmer seas.

And found them.

2011-03-24T19:34:00.006-04:00

It's agitating that she is fretting about not having butter for the biscuits when it's taking everything I have to not call and cancel the whole thing.

I expect I could blame it on the lack of butter, but he would know immediately it's because I am afraid.

That's dramatic. And presumptuous.

I would never use butter, or the lack there of, as an excuse for anything. And he wouldn't know - immediately.

But isn't butter an easier explanation for the past 30 years.

Wayfarers and Such - Exercise #2

2011-03-10T17:14:00.008-05:00

Dark men in dark corners can be overheard whispering such things as "Passion should be stirred by simply buying fruit at the market." This is exactly why Woody Allen spends two weeks a year in Paris. One would assume life as a pair of Ray Ban Wayfarers would be all visions of gumdrops and celebrities, but if you're Mr. Allen's concaved black rimmed glasses, you may not have a stomach for all the passions of the romantic city. "Psst, Iris!" "Psst." Iris peers over the edge of the provincial vanity she’s sitting on to see Black Sock with a Hole in the Toe, mangy and old at best, on the floor trying desperately to get her attention. With an heir of annoyance, Iris snaps, "I don’t know what it is about this city that makes you a sentimental basket case, but if I have to hear one more time about how Brad Pitt almost bought you right off Mr. Woody’s feet on a dare, I’m going to scream." Black Sock with a Hole in the Toe said, "Mais non, haven’t you been listening to Woody talking about changing his image? He’s been desperate for so long to stir his personal pot, I would think you'd be slightly more concerned than you appear." "If I were to freak out every time Woody mentioned changing his image, I'd be in a 50% OFF loony bin." Iris' confidence was built on years of public recognition. She was almost as famous as the producer himself! Woody hadn’t been photographed in 30 years without her. She had mastered capturing the light and angles of his face to please the paparazzi. "I’ll admit your confidence brings a slight comfort, but I would stake my threads there was talk of big chang..." "Shhh!" Iris cut off Black Sock with a Hole in the Toe just as Mr. Allen emerged from the shower and picked up Iris and placed her on his nose. She wasn’t just a part of him, she was him.

The Original Artist

2011-03-02T15:35:00.022-05:00

Psalm 19:1 The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of His hands.

As my focus shifts from one ambitious tree to the next their branches begin to emulate rivers. Each limb surges forward creating tributaries and creeks. Blossoms dance like campfire. Buds crackle and illuminate rosy shoulders. They are still and calm like sand banks to the eye, but chirp and flutter like a mighty current. Canaries in canoes sway against the breeze. Happy tubers grasp branches and avoid dark nooks. As my senses catch up to the warm sun against my cheeks I wonder at the similarities. God must have known how we would assimilate his creation. He knew the resemblances would be his artistic signature.

It's natural to follow artists we love. Even if we are not great art critics, we recognize the works of those we find appealing. We know their style because we like it and it speaks to our senses. We gravitate to their interpretations of reality.

Have you ever thought about how the first artistic interpretation was spoken from God's lips, THE original artist, into being? We are just a room in His museum. His work is below us, above us, and around us. It is clearly His. We would know it in any gallery in the universe. We would know it in any pawn shop, street stand, corner market, or art festival. God doesn't even have to sign his name and we know it's His.

But would we recognize an imposter? A fake?

The greatest artists are recognized by their style, special signature, and in some cases careful examination. There are many forgers out to recreate the works of great artists in order to deceive and manipulate, but the experts who have studied the artist, know the art and its authenticity. They know because they are familiar with every stroke, every dot of the eye, and every wrinkle in the canvas. When we pray and study God's word He reveals to us special evidence that helps us recognize His creation and will for it.

Hebrews 11:3 By faith we understand that the universe was formed at God’s command, so that what is seen was not made out of what was visible.

Hebrews 13:8 Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today, and forever.

(New International Version, ©2011)

Validation

2011-02-24T17:25:00.004-05:00

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Cbk980jV7Ao

It's Against The Law To Pawn Your Dentures In Las Vegas

2011-02-23T17:59:00.003-05:00

Flutterby!! ~ A 2005 La Feroce Bete Post

The names of Popeye's four nephews are Pipeye, Peepeye, Pupeye, and Poopeye!

No piece of square dry paper can be folded more than 7 times in half!

Over 2500 left handed people a year are killed from using products made for right handed people!

A 'jiffy' is an actual unit of time for 1/100th of a second!

It's against the law to pawn your dentures in Las Vegas!

There are more plastic flamingos in the U.S, than real ones!

Bats always turn left when exiting a cave!

You'll eat about 35,000 cookies in a lifetime! Wow!

A giraffe can clean its ears with its 21-inch tongue!

Slugs have 4 noses!

In Tokyo, they sell toupees for dogs!

In the year 2000, Pope John Paul II was named an "Honorary Harlem Globetrotter."!

Men are 6 times more likely to be struck by lightning than women!

The original name for the butterfly was 'flutterby'!

It is against the law to mispronounce the name of the State of Arkansas in that State.

In Tennessee, a law exists which prohibits the sale of bologna (sandwich meat) on Sunday.

There are four cars and eleven lightposts on the back of a ten dollar bill.

House Near a Mill to John and Elaine

2011-02-18T19:46:00.018-05:00

Dear John and Elaine,

I am so very honored you thought of me when it came to the care of your pets and home.

I was intent on following your written instructions to the letter and settling into your poopsies' routine. I wanted to make sure I acclimated to them and not them to me. After feeling my way around and re-introducing myself with a string of indecipherable ramblings about how cute and sweet they were, I walked with them from room to room.

Your house made me want to name it or maybe just sing it out like an old Southern Hymn (this is where I pictured Cherry pews, stained glass, and Sister Berta in a thin white dress fanning familiar spirits and harmonies).

Plaster walls forgive me
Hardwood floors release me
Just As I Am, Just As I Am

I listened to the tub quote Kahlil Gibran's friendship prose as I brushed my teeth. Sweet Pea and Little Bit blamed the Nag Champa and porcelain pitcher for mixing up the postcards in the kitchen, but I know it was them.

In the evening Emma, Sam, and I talked about the day while love notes pinned to cork boards flapped like white cafe curtains. Your high ceilings playfully threaten to tie us to the moonlight with ribbon and wrap us all with twine to the sun. Sam teased them back as shadows passed and Emma crossed them off her list.

Most hours I thought about flipping through your books. While the lights were on they appeared stacked together in purposeful pillars but once the lights went out I could here them playing chicken on each other's shoulders.

Just before I turned in, I heard Emma snoring and Sam's fan and all the house listening to an encore of porch chimes clonking ancient stories like Shaman aboard a train.

Your house is rich and kind; which I imagine, as I tend to do - is a mirror image of your souls.

Thank you for letting me fill your shoes and bowls. Sam and Emma delighted me and Sweet Pea and Little Bit renewed my faith in snobby kitties.

Your home is a confirmation for humanity. Every room captures love.

Your walls and fridge represent passion and creativity.

But your passion for West Greenville demonstrates humility, faith in mankind, and love. Love to be experience and shared by all... who live.

Again, Thanks.

~Aubrey

PS. Sam passed gas so badly, Emma and I had to leave the room and convene in the kitchen for prayer.

Some Suicides Are Never Recorded - a writing exercise.

2011-02-14T15:29:00.015-05:00

if I suffer at this
typewriter
think how I'd feel
among the lettuce-
pickers of Salinas?
I think of the men
I've known in
factories
with no way to
get out-
choking while living
choking while laughing
at Bob Hope or Lucille
Ball while
2 or 3 children beat
tennis balls against
the wall.
some suicides are never
recorded.
C. Bukowski

The aroma of fresh brewed Brazilian Peaberry swirled around inside her nostrils with almost enough authority to distract her from the blatant glances of disapproval. No matter how she tugged the man-made materials they kept their pucker. A returned glare from tired eyes confirmed she was quite aware of how ridiculous she appeared. Sporting an ill fitting acetate/polyester blend leisure suit on this balmy afternoon paled in comparison to the last ardent?.. 24 hours.

Just a day before Sadie was sketching a cityscape on the light teal plaster wall in her downtown apartment. She had been anticipating this day off for weeks. That morning she rolled out of bed, grabbed a cotton tank - leaving her PJ bottoms on the floor next to the chair that had become a temporary wardrobe. Sadie wasn't as particular when it came to her bedroom as she was with the rest of her apartment. She liked the old cracked tub in her bathroom and the creaky wood floors in the living room and keeping everything tidy showed off those special amenities. The complex had been built in the forties and fit her like a glove. She spread her plans out on the carpet. Her paints and water bucket sat on a drop cloth she had spread against one wall.

Two pots of coffee and four skyscrapers later, Sadie heard a strange thud from the unit above. She was used to the familiar raps and thunks that came from Mr. Bukowski's third floor studio, but this one was different. It had purpose. The rhythmic pounding normally associated with Mr. B's one man Foxtrot, was unlike this thump that clotted her thoughts and swelled in her brain until she couldn't concentrate on brush strokes and had to check on her hermit neighbor.

Mr. Bukowski had lived in apartment 3B for 22 years. Everyone called him Mr. 3B. Sadie liked him from the beginning. But she liked most old people. They delighted her and always had wonderful stories to tell. She learned he was divorced and had two sons. One son lived in Taiwan and worked placing orphans with American families. The other son, his youngest, was adventurous. He would write every month about a cliff-hanging escapade he was on and where he was headed next. He was always travelling from one natural phenomenon to another. Mr. B was proud of his boys. He missed them but they always kept in touch. Lately though, he seemed disconnected. He still checked in on Sadie, but he kept conversation short. She knew he hadn't heard from his youngest in a couple of months.

Sadie went to the corner of the room between her only two windows and knocked on the water pipe a couple of times. Three knocks meant I'm home and safe. Five knocks meant goodnight. She had been communicating with her neighbor like this for years. Most of the tenants thought Mr. Bukowski was weird because he never left his apartment, but Sadie knew better. He was very concerned for her well-being. He insisted she let him know when she was home. Sadie didn't mind. She cherished him and always checked on him too. Although recently, grumpy and distracted more suited his demeanor. Two knocks were just a hello. And he would always knock a happy beat back, but today she got no response.

Panic gripped her and without thought to her bear legs, she bolted up the one flight of stairs and pounded on his door. "Mr. Bukowski." "Mr. B, It's Sadie." Sadie pressed her ear against the door, but heard no sound. Instead her senses broke into a memory of her college friends huddled around a campfire roasting marshmallows... "Mr. Bukowski!", Sadie yelled louder. She ran back down to her apartment and rummaged through her junk drawer for the spare key he had given her. When she returned, the memory had manifested into white smoke. She struggled with the lock but it was the door that seemed to be stuck. She yelled for help and continued to throw her body against the wooden barrier. With a bruised shoulder, a deep breath, and concentrated determination, the next jolt jarred the door open. Flames surged toward her but she could see Mr. Bukowski on the floor just a few feet away. Sadie closed her eyes tightly and ran toward his still body. She thought she heard sirens in the distance.

Bright light forced itself on Sadie's retinas. She tried to focus on the images around her. A northern accent had her shoulders pinned down and was telling her she was a brave and very lucky girl. Voices around her were barking orders and taking charge. Sadie let her eyes close again.

The unusual clothes were the first thing she noticed. She itched. All over. Immediately Sadie knew she was in a strange room. A small woman, who she identified as another neighbor, sat sleeping in a chair close by. A feeble sense of humor grasped Sadie as she noticed their suits were identical in style. Sadie got up and without the hindrance of an IV, left the room.

It was morning again and the sun was shining. She was tired, thirsty, and confused. All she could think of was Mr. Bukowski and his body on the floor. She could remember running towards him. She remembered trying to wake him and someone running in after her. She knew he was gone.

As Sadie walked back to her complex, she saw the trucks first, and then the rubble. Sadie and 14 others had lost everything. She turned around and walked to the closest coffee shop. She couldn't shake the feeling that the fire had started somewhere in Mr. Bukowski's heart, but she would never really know.

2010-11-07T18:13:00.001-05:00

2010-10-26T23:40:00.001-04:00

It is better you are there and I am here.

Because of the physical smile his words create. See, you smile.

2010-10-26T18:55:00.002-04:00

“Now tequila may be the favoured beverage of outlaws but that doesn't mean it gives them preferential treatment. In fact, tequila probably has betrayed as many outlaws as has the central nervous system and dissatisfied wives. Tequila, scorpion honey, harsh dew of the doglands, essence of Aztec, crema de cacti; tequila, oily and thermal like the sun in solution; tequila, liquid geometry of passion; Tequila, the buzzard god who copulates in midair with the ascending souls of dying virgins; tequila, firebug in the house of good taste; O tequila, savage water of sorcery, what confusion and mischief your sly, rebellious drops do generate!” Tom Robbins

Five Things

2010-10-16T16:46:00.009-04:00

Close your eyes and imagine you've ship wrecked on a island. There are waves, sun, gawky seagulls, sand, and seaweed. Imagination or not, the ship has run up on some rocks you can't see because they're under the water and you have to swim-slash-wade through the shark infested tide to the shell infested shore. It's not pretty and at this point neither are you.

The game says you can pick five items to help you survive. "Only five", you say! Most dudes you ask will include matches, a trap, some kind of tool, etc.. There are many versions to this game and surviving on the deserted island has never been a part of mine. My imagination goes quickly to the rescue and how I'll look when that Navy ship sends a vessel of it's best looking sailors to save me from my doomed life of loneliness and sugar free coconut lattes.

My five items represent a whole different kind of survival.

The first of my five objects is a worn pair of blue jeans. They fit well, hug my booty with perfection, and are just dark enough to give that slimming affect at any angle. I can dig clams, shimmy palm trees, and jump up and down when I see a dinghy on the horizon. Whether torn, worn, or frayed, these blue jeans won't betray my Cosmopolitan ego or my need to protect my gams from crabs, bugs, or creepy volleyball heads.

Item number 2: My deep orange Pashmina. It was gift that brings out the green in my eyes. I wouldn't think of being rescued without it. The mere brightness of it's hue would signal rescuers from across the sea while also shielding my delicate skin from the glaring island sun, crabs, and the crisp starry night. This stunning orange wrap could also be used as a fishing net - if for some unsightly reason I was stranded for more than a week. Which, by the way, is the longest I've ever gone without food. Eight days tops and that's considering I have lemon juice, cayenne pepper, and maple syrup. You might have heard of the Lemonade Cleanse, or as I like to think of it; Preparation for Deserted Island Scenario.

Number three is very near and dear to my heart. And my lips. Cherry chap stick can be found in two out of three purse pockets, my night stand drawer, the worn blue jeans' left pocket, every room in my home, and work place. I do not go ANYWHERE without it. And that especially includes a deserted island. The sun is harsh and these lips are moist and if I were to ever meet a crab without it, he'd be sorry. Scarlett O'Hara was quoted in Gone with the Wind as saying, "As God is my witness.... If I have to lie, steal, cheat or kill. As God is my witness, I'll never be hungry again." My personal Tara story ends with, "As God as my witness... I'll never have chapped lips again." This is not the moment in which you pass judgement, it is the moment in which you say, "Amen."

My fourth possession is a silver cherub pendant. I hardly leave home without it. It hangs around my neck in glamour, in tradition, and as a promise. It's my personal rainbow. I believe the first thing Noah did on dry land was have a rainbow tattooed on his shoulder to remind him of God's promise that he would never destroy the world again with a flood (fitting, considering I'm stranded on an island surrounded by water). My silver cherub is not a tattoo, but reminds me just the same that God will take care of me. Deserted island, vicious crabs, or not I find much comfort in God's promises.

Last, but not least, are my white strips - Five Minutes to a Brighter Smile! I could be dressed in rags, sun burned from head to toe, worn blue jeans soaked in salt water, and angry crabs hanging from each lobe, but if I maintain a smile whiter than the sun these pearly whites could signal a ship of hot sailors from 6000 miles away. "I am ready to be rescued and pose for Cover Girl!"

Just because your five items don't include ice skates for a potential root canal, a palm frawn hammock, or a human hair crab net doesn't mean you'll never be rescued. It just means you'll have much less explaining to do.

Go ahead. Figure out your five items. Everyone should think it through once. It's all about being prepared. For anything. (wink squid ink)

2010-09-28T20:54:00.002-04:00

i float above you unangelic

lifted from your belly

Biscuit!

2010-09-28T18:56:00.006-04:00

For the first time in my life true responsibility has prevented me from accomplishing something.

I used to believe that 'adding hours to the day' was something you just said to make conversation. Because, well, everyone is busy and has too much on their plate.

But what I really thought was, "If your priorities were straight, you would make sure you had time to do what you wanted.

So, in consideration and genuine effort to not be an ass, more hours in a day would be great.

OK, I'm a jerk. But so are you if you exaggerate on how busy you are. Everyone can relate, so don't talk like you don't have time for Facebook. Everyone has time for FB.

If you can't find time to work on your 1000 piece Audubon puzzle. That. I believe. And seriously, who wants to do that anyway, unless it's been raining for three straight days and the cable's out.

Requiem of a Bird

2010-08-20T20:10:00.008-04:00

I snagged a feather with the corner of my eye.

It conducted something in the fifth all the way to the ground.

When I looked to see the bird that had traveled such a distance.

The sun blotted out his disposition.

Dirty and Repulsive

2010-08-19T18:13:00.005-04:00

While balancing on his good leg he wedges his crutch between the door jam and the door. The bell rings hard with every jolt. The maneuver has been perfected, but not without intruding on morning's natural lull. Above the low vibration of grinding coffee he speaks, "Woo." "How you doin' this morning?"

In an effort to mask my disturbance I answer, "I'm good, Rodriguez, How are you?"

"Oh, I'm fine My blood sugar was low last night and I'm on my way to ther-py You tired I know you tired You work hard Can I have some water god bless you."

Sliding a glass of ice water across the counter I tell Rodriguez that it is 7:30am, I am not tired yet, God does bless me, and he'd better get moving if he wants to make ther-Ah-py on time.
He says, "Yes ma'am You good to me god bless you I know you tired You date black men Where's your mama That other one working today god bless you."

He leaves - forty five minutes later. Now I'm tired.

Rodriquez is a man in his late thirties who had a great job delivering furniture with an upstate business for eleven years. A moment of random, violent crime changed his life. He was robbed and crippled for $3.28. They kicked in his knee and drove away. He couldn't work. He started drinking and smoking crack.

Rodriguez lost hope.

He waves, walks a few steps, and waves again. He's smiling a wide crooked smile. His teeth are brown, and crowding his mouth. He doesn't brush them because his house does not have running water. It doesn't have electricity either. He waves and smiles and waves and smiles and thinks bad thoughts. His mind is corrupt and he'll do anything for a can of beer.

At first it was easy to give him water. He was polite and guarded. He would drink and sit quietly. Customers came and went hardly noticing he wasn't like them, but every day that passed gave rise to familiarity. I began to discover who Rodriquez was and who he had become. His ease with me brought about change. He felt more comfortable, less inhibited. HotRod was getting on my nerves. He talked constantly: stupid questions, rehearsed apologies and blessings. He was a rogue. But I was no longer naive.

I smiled at him less and less. I didn't return the friendly foolishness. The water became a chore. His very presence was agitating. His dark side repulsed me. I would avoid eye contact and turn away.

Then one day a customer commented on how beautiful Coffee to a Tea was and asked "Why in Heaven's name were we in West Greenville?" I answered the way I always do, "God led us here."

But did He really? I began to examine my situation. Did God lead me here to prove I have what it takes to make a business work - AND in the most challenging area I could find? Did He want to humble me or make me appreciate what I have? Was He involved at all? Am I actually blaming God for where I am?

Rodriquez doesn't care why I'm in West Greenville. Neither does Joseph, or Otis, or Mike, or Eddy, or Allison, Cody, Gordon, Jennifer, John, Elaine, Anthony, Stan, the artists, the business owners, the residents. They would go on with or without me.

But I wouldn't. West Greenville has changed me. When I go to bed at night, I fall asleep naming them one by one. I think of them always. I love them and want to be invested in their lives. Some of them are easy to love, while others are not. I ask God and he gives me this:

Jesus said, "I tell you the truth ...'For I was hungry and you gave me nothing to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me nothing to drink, I was a stranger and you did not invite me in, I needed clothes and you did not clothe me, I was sick and in prison and you did not look after me.’ They answer, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or needing clothes or sick or in prison, and did not help you?’ He replied, ‘I tell you the truth, whatever you did not do for one of the least of these, you did not do for me."

Rodriquez still gets on my nerves. He's still dirty and repulsive. But I love him, and if I love him I will treat him as those I love. I will give him water until he bursts. I will answer his stupid questions and tolerate his lies. I will love him because I love my Savior who first loved me - dirty, repulsive, me. I am no better than the 'least of these'. Jesus didn't say to me "whatever you do for them and don't worry, it will be easy..."

He said, "Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind. This is the first and greatest commandment. And the second is like it:

'Love your neighbor (The Rod Squad) as yourself.' "

2010-07-29T18:56:00.001-04:00

I miss you.

Mundane Musings are anything but mundane.

2010-06-09T19:18:00.002-04:00

Exercise is hard enough and writing about is no picnic. Follow this guy's exercise journey through his blog. You won't be sorry.

http://richhefty.wordpress.com/

2010-06-02T19:05:00.004-04:00

Sunglasses
No Woman No Cry

Honey

2010-05-08T19:33:00.009-04:00

She rubbed her eyes to the southern Florida sunrise
Said, "I can't see the city lights from here."

Struck art and love in Louisiana blocks from lullabies and voodoo tears

Rooted dark blue under the Carolina moon
Orange clay made everything the shade of poor

Sweet tobacco dirt between cool tough toes
Cotton bowls, green bean rows

She blinked her eyes to the southern Baptist sunrise
Said, "Jesus, make me free."

Broke tradition and bread with Yankee pride to root honey hues amongst thorny bloom

Planted her soul and family below a rainbow
Hope rocks, faith rolls

She opened her eyes to the southern Carolina sunrise
Said to the mountain, "Move."

Braced wildly against life and mediocrity in the West to sew solid love in streets caked in doom

Staked and anchored by a shoeless memory
Solely planted for purpose, joy, and hope.

With faith entangled between her fingers, she moves.

Intensity is..

2010-05-06T18:42:00.001-04:00

Pinot 0: Intensity 1 - I'm listening through a closed door at my mother and sister discussing plans for her upcoming wedding. Well, I say discussing, but it's more like my mother raising her voice and giving my sister the "it's not all about you" speech. I wish I could say this is the first or last time I'll hear this speech, but it's used when it's needed and changed to the "it's your wedding, do what you want" speech when altruism is suggested with pure motive for future references of manipulation. "Excuse me, but I specifically recall telling you to do what you wanted because it's your wedding and the only one you'll ever have, Lord willing." "I will NOT be blamed if a strong wind blows the linen table clothes, not my idea, off the tables, when I vehemently suggested raw silk." "I WILL not be blamed for this."

Pinot 1: Intensity Tied - My father, the man who can watch paint dry, is desperately trying to appease my mother whilst, preventing tears out of my sister. Not an easy job. My mother automatically assumes the worst (and to her credit the truth) and sees a coup. She's about to be defeated by pure majority. Not on her watch. Switch motive. "I was only making this suggestion, because as an Executive Chef and Caterer to Charleston's Elite, your cousin Barry knows what he's talking about. And if he's willing to cater your wedding (famous shrimp and grits included) than you're the one that's going to tell him you are not interested. (Side Note) My sister HATES shrimp. Has ALL her life. If there was one food, you could associate to her loathing, it would be shrimp - and my mother knows this. (End Side Note)

Pinot 2: Intensity 1 - I can't hear them as well now. My mother is no longer bellowing demands and guilt - she's in fact flipping intensely through a magazine plotting her next maneuver. My father is sitting quietly, as usual, as my sister gives a heartfelt plea for her sanity. It's touching really. I've since let the Pinot stoke the inner peace that lies within. Wait. My mother is speaking again.

Pinot 3: Intensity a fleeting heartbeat...

Crack Magic

2010-05-03T18:13:00.003-04:00

You're on to me with your birdshit stains and scuffed Mary Janes.

My Secret Diet by Anna Fields

2010-03-21T20:36:00.003-04:00

Check out Confessions of a Rebel Debutante author, Anna Fields, in Marie Claire.

2010-03-15T19:05:00.004-04:00

Don't make me regret saying cheese.

Cheese. Cheese. Cheese. Cheese. Cheese.

Fromage. Gouda.

That's not my photogenic side. Turn me, twist me. Take my side.

Fill in my blank stare.. I know ____

Not your block of film, white and black.

I am your frame.

All you need is one.

The perfect one that screams at you in the dark.

"This is it."

The one.

Her breasts are too big and pull at the garment rather awkwardly.

I like it.

It's not what we're looking for, but I like it.

2010-01-21T18:13:00.005-05:00

For hours I could stand in the corner of my kitchen, against the granite cool. I am secure and tight in my space with grape in hand and feeling rather different. My thoughts flow rapidly like the Mississippi after cold cold days. I place my hand on the counter top to brace for my next daydream. I play out future moments, sing the words to Train, and stir rice. I'll do it again tomorrow night. The future moments will change and rolls will reverse like the tide of the great Mississippi. And tomorrow it will be rice. Again.

irish car bomb

2010-01-18T20:31:00.003-05:00

omg.

I sat there and sat there. Had another drink. Another. I waited for that feeling. That alcohol induced "I still don't give a rat's dirty follicle what you're saying, but I've moved passed caring" feeling. It didn't happen. Not soon enough. Not until I was up, and ready to go home. "Okay, thanks for an evening." "We'll have to talk about doing this again sometime...."

Here are the three doors:

Behind Door #1 -

Great guy. Great job. Great personality. Available.

Behind Door #2 -

Again guy. Great job, but been there done that. Personality. Available.

Behind Door #3 -

Unavailable. Period.

Certainly, this isn't difficult. "I'll take Door # 3"

-The sunglasses get me everytime.

A flash of light!

2010-01-15T20:35:00.001-05:00

Whimsical Wednesday

2010-01-13T16:35:00.002-05:00

I have this thing for gypsies. I don't know. But I like 'em. So here's a short poem about one of them and me.

I met a gypsy along my way. He said, "Hey little girl, would you like to play?"
With no hesitation or fear in my heart, I lept for great joy and jumped onto his cart.
His wagon was filled with most sparkly things, red stones, pretty scarves, magical wings.
I asked the gypsy, "If ever he flew?" The answer that followed was mostly untrue.
With a gleam in his eye he turned back to the road and steered the great wagon and its magical load.
I crept near to the wings, for they glimmered with shine. I touched them, caressed them, and wished they were mine.
I heard music, great music. Song filled my mind, I never heard the gypsy creep up from behind. The wings shook and fluttered as though they would fly, but it was too late once I heard a deep sigh.
I was pushed with a force to the edge of that floor and would have fallen right out for there wasn't a door,
But the flutters and glitter and sputters, and magic, attached to my shoulders and saved me from tragic.
I flew from the wagon, into the great sky, leaving that gypsy without a goodbye.
I flew and I flew, and I never came down, because gypsies abide in any old town.
If you're thinking I lie, just look deep in my eyes -
Not a sign that I'm tipsy when I speak of the gypsy.

"The Edge... there is no honest way to explain it because the only people who really know where it is are the ones who have gone over.” H.S.Thompson

2010-01-12T19:39:00.009-05:00

Pull me back from that which I step too close.

If I must, better to go over than to lose.

Being that of reason; straight and cutting.

Live on.

2010-01-11T18:26:00.004-05:00

my chest rises and falls out of grace
evil smears calamity in recess
my conscience is reason light, alibi tight
i gulp tempest thoughts and finger the wrong fight
my whitewash tongue sings peace and songs of freedom
scattered seed and flowing rivers wild
it is the wrong season, a misinterpreted night
i taste your tempest thoughts and point to failing sight
a salty sea swallows our right
my starry starry night deceives me

2010-01-07T21:55:00.003-05:00

Exude Christ and walk away from me forever.

"When I get this feeling it's hard for me..."

2010-01-07T21:27:00.005-05:00

It sucks that I'm sad and that you don't have to deal with it. All you have to do is sign off.

If I really said what I thought, you couldn't take it.

You're so snarky, but you're fragile and I would hurt you.

And I care about that.

And that makes me want to hurt you more.

There is no such thing as a stupid question.

2010-01-07T08:49:00.005-05:00

"What happens when it snows?" I ask.

Pennsylvania bred - Southern by the grace of God answers,

"Depending on the balance of surface temperature and latent heat of the ground, the snow may stick or it may melt on contact. This is the technical answer.

The more practical answer is: people will lose their collective minds. Bread and milk will be completely gone from grocery store shelves, Kmart will sell out of snow chains (even though they will simply stay in the box as they sit in the car trunk until grandchildren find them years from now and ask Poppy what these are), and everyone driving in front of me will cautiously proceed at 7 mph—until I change lanes. Then they’ll gun it, spin out of control, and regain traction once they spin into my lane.

This….is what happens if it snows."

*you can follow Penn boy at http://richhefty.wordpress.com/

I Want To Rock Your Gypsy Soul.

2009-12-13T23:15:00.011-05:00

With no intention of starting a conversation, I walked away. I felt uncomfortable like a bad note in the middle of a violin solo. Chills and a familiar ache pricked me. No. It was worse. I felt like I was bleeding. Wounded by an elbow to the lip in a mosh pit. A mosh pit in slow motion ramming and diving to a familiar tune..

.."Johnny rosin up your bow and play your fiddle hard. 'Cause hells broke loose in Georgia and the devil deals the cards and if you win you get this shiny fiddle made of gold. But if you lose, the devil gets your soul...."

I sat down waiting for the ringing in my ears to stop. Clarity was improving slowly, but inside regret still rocked unsettled.

I don't know what I should have said. I barely make it out the door every morning confident the earings I'm wearing do not require a necklace.

If I'm being totally honest, which I'm not, I don't know love. I know what love is and how to spot it, but I don't know it personally. So when asked anything about it - other than how to make it stay, which consequently will get you regurgitated Tom Robbins - I know nothing.

In my own terms I have been in love. Once. Maybe twice. But really once. I could probably be in love again if the timing and circumstances were different. They aren't though.

Your future or mine.

2009-11-30T20:23:00.008-05:00

Open your eyes when one of these reminds you of you. Greatness. Courage. Art. Love. Lust. You blinked at lust. OK, which one is more likely to catch the kissing disease? I might tell you to look the other way while I use the bottom of your glass as an orange juice kaleidoscope. It's not hard to look past the pulp and see the universe laid out like Tarot origami. I can read the pulpy shapes and see your future. I'll say, "It's in the cards." You won't believe me, but you'll nod and lay a quarter down.

2009-11-15T14:54:00.002-05:00

"Philosophers have argued for centuries about how many angels can dance on the head of a pin, but materialists have known all along that it depends on whether they are jitterbugging or dancing cheek to cheek."
— Tom Robbins (Jitterbug Perfume)

The End of Struggle

2009-11-14T23:26:00.003-05:00

This is the west side. Our side. Not your sunny side up white collar pancakes and dreams. We are the puppy mill. The last stop. Harder veins, tagged trains, jacked brains. You don't fit in.

We don't see the litter. And I didn't crawl out from under this rock yesterday. Add it to the pile. Burn it to the ground. Stomp your feet. Drag. Waste. You won't fit in or stand in line at the clinic.

We are the generations. This is the west side. Our side. Not your hayride white collar lattes and creams. Push back. Stomp. Fit in. Try looking the other way or looking me in the eye.

This is the bad side. Our side. Not your All You Need Is Love two disc set. Take your sad eyes and see my struggle isn't against flesh and blood but against principalities, against powers, against darkness.

Clutter for sale!

2009-11-09T18:10:00.002-05:00

Today I will straighten my room. It is getting quite cluttered and the disarray makes me twitch. All day I tidy counters, wash and put away dishes, and clean up behind people. I can’t stand a messy work area. It makes me crazy. Literally the walls begin pushing the clutter closer to my already tweaking brain stem. The only reason my room breeds neglect is because I am too tired to be neurotic. My brain shuts down long enough to help me feel my way to bed. I don’t - no, won’t look around. My bed is tidy. Even if it is not made, the sheets and bed spread are pulled tight and pillows aligned. The clutter won’t disrupt my sleep. It will, however, cause a total mental meltdown when I get to work and look for a space big enough to SET A PURSE.

One of those last moments.

2009-11-03T21:16:00.003-05:00

She spooned me while I wept. The cool air anchored me like her arms around my waist. I was leaving. In a few short hours it was Destination: Palm Beach. I had a job waiting for me and life was making one of those hard left turns that force gravity to leave a seatbelt mark across your breast bone. I would survive, but not without scars. The only time I’d spent away from home was college. For me, college was three years of self mutilation both mentally and academically. Palm Beach was going to be different. A new chance. An opportunity to discover who I was and what I was meant to do. An escape.

My car was full and ready. But I wasn’t. I had said my goodbyes for weeks. Not once giving in to the fear, I prepared. Daydreams had window treatments selling themselves. My toes would spell success in the sand and the days would be counted in lime wedges. I’d spend cool nights on the beach and brush shoulders with Rod Stewart on Clematis. I had it all worked out. I only needed to get there.

It was my last shift behind the bar. The people across from me, I saw everyday. I was invested in their lives. They were friends. Co-workers. Drunks. Lovers. The crumpled cash they stuffed in jars paid my rent. I celebrated their birthdays, new babies, anniversaries, and cleared DUIs. They helped me move and I smiled for them. I smiled through a smoky haze for their bad days and lost jobs. I smiled for new loves and broken dreams. I smiled to mask discontent and an aching heart. A cold beer and a smile were stronger than any blood covenant. I did this everyday.

But now I was leaving.

Before the night was over I would memorize the bar and the faces in the room. I breathed the familiar blend of martini olives and cigarette smoke. I listened closely to the chatter and bagpipes in the background, intent on branding my memory with the very things I wanted to leave behind.

I saved my last goodbye for him. I had prepared my speech a dozen times. Tim Rice could not have composed a better background soundtrack. But I don’t remember it. I don‘t remember any of it. I remember him. But I cannot recall a single moment of our goodbye. It’s a total blank. It changed my life and I can’t even remember.

But I do remember her and how she held me for hours that night. I sobbed for him and for the end of the chapter. I kissed her hands and told her what she meant to me. She blanketed my body with strength and comfort and let me absorb a friendship that would permanently mark the blank slate before me. One last time before it all changed, I smiled.

Sara

2009-10-12T21:34:00.002-04:00

My friend Sara is a writer. She's also beautiful. In every aspect of the word. And I am proud of her.

http://misadventuresofmommy.wordpress.com/2009/10/13/writing-prompt-i-remember/

Seven months and counting...

2009-10-12T19:03:00.004-04:00

"How long before I get in. Before it starts. Before I begin." Coldplay

seven months ago:

January

We began renting our space. The neighborhood was new. The crack hos were a shock. Sort of. The kind of hard work was still physical.

seven months and counting:

October

We have successfully established ourselves as one of Greenville's competative restaurants. The hard work is hardwork.

It's funny how a year ago I would have spilled my beer on you and laughed if you had said I would be the owner of a successful bakery and coffee shop. Now there's no time for beer. No time for telemarketers. No time for The Hills. But there is time for reflection. And it is good.

No Poetry Gary Jules

2009-08-21T17:13:00.002-04:00

"There's no poetry between us"
Said the paper to the pen
Something's burning in the attic
That her tongue will not defend
Through the arc of conversation
Past the teeth behind the smile
Down the miracle mileTo the bottom of the ladder
Paint your eyes and hide the tatters
What's the matter baby?
Could we go downtown
To the middle of the world?
You were always such a pretty girl
And you told me I was beautiful
"There's no poetry between us"
Said the paper to the pen
"And I get nothing for my trouble
But the ink beneath my skin"
If your clothes are getting weary
And your soul's gone out of style
Blame the miracle mile
And the bottom of the ladder
Paint your eyes and hide the tatters
What's the matter baby?...I'm coming too

Coffee to a Tea

2009-05-24T18:09:00.008-04:00

I know it's been months since I updated but I have been a busy bee!

Just thought I'd post some pictures of the completed and open coffee shop and bakery.

We've had some great free advertising from newspaper, magazine articles, and internet write-ups! We've had much traffic from these interviews and stories.

We keep three different cakes on the counter at all times and serve and light lunch menu.

Our decor makes a relaxed and inviting space for coffee drinkers, bloggers*, and hungry patrons.

If you live in Greenville, SC you owe it to yourself to visit the Wild West End. If you don't live in Greenville - Come visit!

*free Wi-Fi

Butter Pecan

2009-05-23T22:36:00.003-04:00

I eat, sleep, and bake.

I love it.

I am SO tired when I have to face a 15 hour day at 6am with one eye frosted shut.

But I love it.

I measure the raw, clean, pure ingredients.

I mix and whip.

I get to spin all the day's dirt off on mix 10.

My favorite. Cause it's fast like me.

I pour, bake, test, bake, test, and SLAM!

If no one's blood pressure spikes I'm slightly disappointed.

But there's always tomorrow. ;)

Boy howdy!

2009-02-15T18:03:00.003-05:00

I'd be lying if I said, "I've never felt this way." -ha.

King of Pain?

2009-02-14T18:51:00.002-05:00

Sneak Peaks

2009-02-11T22:32:00.007-05:00

How do you spell CHAOS?!

C.o.f.f.e.e. S.h.o.p.

It is a mad house. Mad car. Mad purse/travelling office.

Here is one of four chairs we've picked. They are super comfy and I love the color. We're still looking for some accent pillows. I can't wait to sit in this chair. Or any chair. I can't wait to sit.
Lucky and I went furniture shopping for HOURS. We found 8 couches we love. We have room for one. I tell you - Garden Ridge has some great deals. I don't shop there often but they really came through for us today.

Just a few progression shots. Can't show ya everything. We want you to be shocked and amazed. And appreciate it like we do having seen the dreadful 'before' photos.

Little by little.

Can't judge a counter by its dust. In fact, you couldn't have judged anything. EVERYTHING was covered in an inch of sheetrock and sawdust. Ma lungs!

Big stuff is a comin'!

Life doesn't stop for big plans, but we work hard and diligently to make our way. The end of phase one is really just the beginning of a completely different life for us. Ready or not.

Ferociously Yours

Love Poem

2009-02-08T19:12:00.011-05:00

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways...
by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of everyday's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with a passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints,--- I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life! --- and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.

Green with Envy

2009-02-08T10:54:00.007-05:00

KitchenAid Artisan 5-Quart Stand Mixer

Technical data
Color: Green Apple

Power output: 325 watts
Speeds: 10
Bowl capacity: 5 qts.
Body material: Metal
Bowl material: Stainless Steel
Manufacturer: KitchenAid
Country of manufacture: USA
Tilt-up head: Yes
Dough hook: Yes
Pouring shield: Yes
Outlets for attachments: Yes
Height: 13.9 inches
Length: 8.7 inches
Depth: 14.1 inches
Weight: 27.9 lbs

*This is on my bakery wishlist. We have two already, one being 5X this size for giant cakes, but this one is so pretty and it would be all mine. So since it is not a necessity it will have to wait. But I will remain firmly fixed upon it - green apple of my eye.

I Art February

2009-02-07T12:42:00.016-05:00

"Art arises when the secret vision of the artist and the manifestation of nature agree to find new shapes."

~ Kahlil Gibran

Last night, February 7th, was First Friday in West Greenville, an event by local artists to open their studios to the public. A fire eater performed and American Grocery exhibited spun sugar art - so cool.

This was my first event and it was fantastic. There were so many wonderful people to meet and the artists had some fabulous works displayed. Cake Squared provided cake for the event and we even bought some wonderful little cake pedestals from Knack.

The buzz of our new cafe is spreading and the West Greenville crew is pumped and ready for some excellent coffee and cake.

If you are ever looking for something to do on a Friday night, First Friday is EVERY first Friday. It's a happy and refreshing evening with art, wine, light refreshments, and entertainment.

GreenvilleSouth.com

Play that funky music white boy...

2009-02-02T19:44:00.007-05:00

After reading this post secret, I secretly check my mailbox everyday for a mixed cd.

Not a secret anymore.

"The Secret" is out.

2009-02-01T15:39:00.003-05:00

The Secret saved my life!, December 4, 2007 By Ari Brouillette (Kensington, CA United States)

Please allow me to share with you how "The Secret" changed my life and in a very real and substantive way allowed me to overcome a severe crisis in my personal life. It is well known that the premise of "The Secret" is the science of attracting the things in life that you desire and need and in removing from your life those things that you don't want. Before finding this book, I knew nothing of these principles, the process of positive visualization, and had actually engaged in reckless behaviors to the point of endangering my own life and wellbeing.

At age 36, I found myself in a medium security prison serving 3-5 years for destruction of government property and public intoxication. This was stiff punishment for drunkenly defecating in a mailbox but as the judge pointed out, this was my third conviction for the exact same crime. I obviously had an alcohol problem and a deep and intense disrespect for the postal system, but even more importantly I was ignoring the very fabric of our metaphysical reality and inviting destructive influences into my life.

My fourth day in prison was the first day that I was allowed in general population and while in the recreation yard I was approached by a prisoner named Marcus who calmly informed me that as a new prisoner I had been purchased by him for three packs of Winston cigarettes and 8 ounces of Pruno (prison wine). Marcus elaborated further that I could expect to be [...] raped by him on a daily basis and that I had pretty eyes. Needless to say, I was deeply shocked that my life had sunk to this level. Although I've never been homophobic I was discovering that I was very rape phobic and dismayed by my overall personal street value of roughly $15. I returned to my cell and sat very quietly, searching myself for answers on how I could improve my life and distance myself from harmful outside influences. At that point, in what I consider to be a miraculous moment, my cell mate Jim Norton informed me that he knew about the Marcus situation and that he had something that could solve my problems. He handed me a copy of "The Secret".

Normally I wouldn't have turned to a self help book to resolve such a severe and immediate threat but I literally didn't have any other available alternatives. I immediately opened the book and began to read.The first few chapters deal with the essence of something called the "Law of Attraction" in which a primal universal force is available to us and can be harnessed for the betterment of our lives. The theoretical nature of the first few chapters wasn't exactly putting me at peace. In fact, I had never meditated and had great difficulty with closing out the chaotic noises of the prison and visualizing the positive changes that I so dearly needed. It was when I reached Chapter 6 "The Secret to Relationships" that I realized how this book could help me distance myself from Marcus and his negative intentions.

Starting with chapter six there was a cavity carved into the book and in that cavity was a prison shiv. This particular shiv was a toothbrush with a handle that had been repeatedly melted and ground into a razor sharp point. The next day in the exercise yard I carried "The Secret" with me and when Marcus approached me I opened the book and stabbed him in the neck. The next eight weeks in solitary confinement provided ample time to practice positive visualization and the 16 hours per day of absolute darkness actually made visualization about the only thing that I actually could do. I'm not sure that everybody's life will be changed in such a dramatic way by this book but I'm very thankful to have found it and will continue to recommend it heartily.

Thanks to The Life and Thoughts of the Future David Garcia

The night the lights went out in Georgia.

2009-02-01T11:36:00.006-05:00

A friend and author of Confessions of a Rebel Debutante, Anna Fields, poses a question on her blog to all women.

Are you a rebel, a deb, or both?

My initial response is to whoop a rebel call because I wasn't a debutant. I didn't attend the balls or eat the cookies - that was normally for girls whose families had more money. But I was a "quality girl" raised on the right side of the tracks in a good Christian home. So after some introspection, I change my answer to both.

Being raised a lady held the same rules as those debbing. Stand up straight. Be gracious and courteous to others, hospitable, and kind. I learned how to be a good hostess, how to set a table, which fork was which, never to cross my legs at the knee and how to properly behave in mixed company. These instructions gave me confidence and ease in any social or private situation. And as a southern girl I was taught under no circumstance to cause a fuss, make a scene, or embarrass myself or anyone else - all things can be settled in private or eventually the good Lord will deal with the perpetrator and justice will prevail.

I don't always behave the way my mother or grandmother would have in the same setting, but I am more inclined to hold my tongue and chose my battles. If it's none of my business, I generally stay out of it. I won't cause a scene just for the sake of drama, but if I have something to say or feel the need to set someone straight, I will. I don't think there's anything wrong with a little bit of embarrassment where a swift kick in the rear is needed. And if a little public humiliation doesn’t do the trick than I’ll leave it to the good Lawd or their mamas’, which ever one gets to them first.

Fight what’s worth fighting. Strength of character and a southern tongue are powerful weapons.

Julia: Excuse me, aren't you Marjorie Leigh Winnick, the current Miss Georgia World?

Marjorie: Why, yes I am.

Julia: I'm Julia Sugarbaker, Suzanne Sugarbaker's sister. I couldn't help over hearing part of your conversation.

Marjorie: Well, I'm sorry. I didn't know anyone was here.

Julia: Yes, and I gather from your comments there are a couple of other things you don't know, Marjorie. For example, you probably didn't know that Suzanne was the only contestant in Georgia pageant history to sweep every category except congeniality, and that is not something the women in my family aspire to anyway. Or that when she walked down the runway in her swimsuit, five contestants quit on the spot. Or that when she emerged from the isolation booth to answer the question, "What would you do to prevent war?" she spoke so eloquently of patriotism, battlefields and diamond tiaras, grown men wept. And you probably didn't know, Marjorie, that Suzanne was not just any Miss Georgia, she was the Miss Georgia. She didn't twirl just a baton, that baton was on fire. And when she threw that baton into the air, it flew higher, further, faster than any baton has ever flown before, hitting a transformer and showering the darkened arena with sparks! And when it finally did come down, Marjorie, my sister caught that baton, and 12,000 people jumped to their feet for sixteen and one-half minutes of uninterrupted thunderous ovation, as flames illuminated her tear-stained face! And that, Marjorie - just so you will know - and your children will someday know - is the night the lights went out in Georgia!

So, I'm both. A rebel and a deb.

How ya like me now?

2009-01-29T20:12:00.012-05:00

The bathrooms were 60 years of paint and irregularity. After 4 hours of scraping and a special primer called 'Gripper' (bc it sticks to ANYTHING) we managed to create a blank and sorta crap free canvas.

I painted these bathrooms for 2 full days. "It's all in the preparation." says my dad - a perfect and painting perfectionist. I frown.
Cara. Not taking a break.

Paint on the walls.

A new floor!! No more poop and circumstance.

Finally, we see signs a new counter. Demolition is OVER. It's amazing what even a frame does for the mind's eye.

I love wood tones!! And I love how incredibly messy our work environment looks on film.

We have been cleaning, painting, building, painting, and scraping superflous crap off of things that have no reasonable explanation for the superflous crap they hide behind. What we see is a clean and functional envirmonment emerging. Emerging from beneath the CRAP!

Coming soon to a coffee house near you.

This is how I feel on Sunday.

2009-01-25T16:42:00.004-05:00

Nerd is the Word

2009-01-24T13:16:00.004-05:00

I like that nerds like critiquing things that no one else would think to critique. Like car horns and juice boxes.

Cup of Crazy

2009-01-23T12:08:00.012-05:00

The walls were a hot mess. Nasty for one and old poly-something panels everywhere. The new wood tone makes me happy. We want the feel to be organic, warm, and inviting.

This is the corner where the bathrooms are located. It shows the contrast of colors. They change during the course of the day depending on the angle of the sun. Most of the painting is done and we're still somewhat sane. But that is certainly a matter of opinion.

We've bought some beautiful chairs to match our decor and will have some original artwork on the walls. Lighting is something we plan to have some fun with like the perfect accessory.

I'll have more photos soon. I'm at work without my computer and am limited to the photos I have downloaded.

And the winner is... ME!!

2009-01-23T11:59:00.005-05:00

Many thanks to Two Dog Pond for her weekly contest.

I won last week's contest - name this necklace - and Two Dog Pond is sending me a free necklace.

Drop by and check her out! You'll love her art and can play to win.

http://twodogpond.blogspot.com/

Excuse me while I adjust my band-aid.

2009-01-18T19:56:00.004-05:00

I'm at work and I have 8 minutes left on the clock. I'll be blowing by the other cube dwellers so fast their bobble heads will spin. I'm grabbing a six pack of corona light on my flight home and plan to jump into a hot shower to cleanse my scalp of corporate flakes.

We're putting the paint on the walls tomorrow at the cafe! I'll take pictures and share the love. Have a great evening everybody.

And if I don't stop by tomorrow, Happy Inaugural Day!

Shawty

2009-01-18T18:01:00.005-05:00

Life snuck up on me.

One minute I’m sitting in the sunshine across from my best friend on the back deck drinking a beer and doing a crossword (which by the way was almost everyday – so this isn’t a 'one time at band camp' sob story), and the next I’m driving past her work wondering how her weekend went and if she went out of town or not.

I’ll want to call her right then, but then think, “Well, she’s in work I’ll wait.” Then of course, life happens and I forget. And then by the time I remember it’s Cole’s bath time or bedtime or my bath time.

And then after a few days it gets harder to call because I feel so badly about not calling. It would be a lot easier if I could call her up and say ”Hey, I’ve got a half an hour let’s meet for coffee” but our schedules and responsibilities are so off course it’s mostly impossible.

She works during the week. I work during the week and weekends. She’s got Kaiser who’s on a completely different schedule than either of us and I’ve got my mom who doesn’t nap from one to three.

It’s driving me crazy. I want to talk and lounge around. I want Mexican. I want to play with the little man and watch VH1. I want to co-write crappy blogs and share my Ann Curry disdain with someone who understands. I want to watch Cops and dog Tom Cruise. I want to play Find the Fascist. Wow. Yep, I want to hide HITLER!

The awful feeling hits me at least twice a day. Maybe more often when I’m alone and less distracted. The sensation in my mind and heart is absence. After the initial assault realty reminds me that it isn’t going away anytime soon.

I think about her everyday and I’m not mad about the way things are, just sad. My feelings about her haven’t changed and I love her as much today as I always have. And I know she misses me too. That makes it a little less hurtful.

But it won’t be right until I’m able to balance my schedule better with hers. I’m ready to have some free weekends. I’m ready to call her up and meet her and the Bean for lunch; do whatever we want to do.

Grab a crossword, some sunshine, and my favorite company.

The "Before"

2009-01-16T08:57:00.010-05:00

Tucker's Soda Shop was opened in 1950, by Jack Tucker and his wife. The soda shop was a local hang out for mill workers and surrounding residents. Mr. Tucker would cash the mill worker's paychecks every week. There is an old iron safe in the back room that was once robbed for all the cash it contained. The robbers cut a hole in the roof, dropped through and with dynamite, blew the safe open. You can still see the burnt residue around the old latch. I'm researching the details - most of which come from old patrons who pop in to see what's happening to their hang out of days gone by. There are so many stories and fond memories.

Mommom standing on the front deck of Tucker's Soda Shop. This will be the first name and business change since 1950. The Small windowed area to her left, your right, was the old nook carhops used to get out of the weather and pick up their orders.
This is a shot of behind the old counter. There is lots of old caked on grease. Must insert 'vision' here.
Talking with the designers. All pictures have been removed from the walls and the holes patched. Yikes -ah!
Mom taking a break. It was super cold. No heat because the gas company hadn't been out yet.

Just a couple of pictures to give everyone an idea. I'll try and keep up with the progress. Thanks for all the prayers and good wishes!

~Coffee to a Tea~

2009-01-12T18:59:00.003-05:00

The proposed grand opening date for Coffee to a Tea by Cake Squared is Feb 2, 2009. That's less than 3 weeks away. We've picked a color scheme, brought in the designers http://www.inspiro8.com/ , and have plenty of bodies ready to get down and dirty.

We have to clean, remodel, order equipment, sample, order product, and train. We are fortunate to have three former baristas in the family and two who managed coffee shops. We will have an in house bread maker who sprouts and grinds his own grain and bakes preservative free breads. Everything we serve will be all natural down to the sugar substitutes for coffee and tea.

We are negotiating with local businesses to use their products and services to promote Shop Local Greenville. The Greenville bike trail is soon to be running right down Lois Street past our building and the West Greenville art district is growing and gaining popularity by the day.

Please keep us in your thoughts and prayers as we enter the unknown and attempt to create our vision. We need all the support we can get. The days are long and full and we find ourselves running on adrenaline and caffeine! I'll continue to keep you posted as we make progress and draw nearer to our first open day of business!

Muffins Don't Sell Themselves!

2009-01-12T14:14:00.002-05:00

My Interview

2009-01-11T16:11:00.002-05:00

Interviewed by Kathleen Young

1. I see you live in South Carolina. Are you a native of the state? What's your favorite thing about living there?

I love South Carolina. I love that the mountains are at my fingertips and the beaches are a few hours away. I love our provocative past. I love our perfect seasons; cold winters, gorgeous springs, hot summers, and crisp falls. I love Moon pies with Pepsi, Palmettos, and Crescents, but my most favorite thing about living in Greenville, South Carolina is the people. Tradition and hospitality rise to the occasion. And there’s always an occasion.

2. How did you come to work at your current job and why?

I currently have three jobs. I am the Vice-President of Cake Squared Inc., a brand new designer cake company, a frontline tech at a communications company (my frontline job supports me financially), and am currently opening an all-natural coffee bar in Historic West Greenville. Cake Squared has been incorporated less than a year and is showing great promise for success. My mother is my partner. We are artists and bakers, but first and foremost visionaries. My hope for the near future is to quit my communications job and rely solely on cake and coffee!

3. What would be your favorite film, double-feature?

My favorite film of all time is Moulin Rouge. I love the music and the art. The film’s creative license invokes and the love story inspires. I laugh, I cry. I watch again. And if I had to have a back-up it would be Tommy Boy.

4. Before blogging, what was your mode of personal expression, if any?

It’s hard to say. I’ve always liked to write things down. I paint, draw, and have dabbled in some sculpting. My roommate and I had a quote wall in our apartment where we wrote whatever we felt like and encouraged our friends to do the same. I loved that.

5. Apart from loved ones, what is your most treasured possession?

I have a Brazilian cherry headboard my dad designed and built for me. It’s unbelievably beautiful. I will always cherish it.

Here's the directions:
1. Leave me a comment saying, "Interview me."
2. I will respond by emailing you five questions. (I get to pick the questions).
3. You will update your blog with the answers to the questions.
4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the same post.
5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.

Re-Post .....Ants Marching

2009-01-11T12:47:00.004-05:00

I am reposting this blog as a dedication to my lovely little friend Marie-Lisette.

Original Post : October 18, 2005

I saw a big ant hill today that made me think about ant farms.
Thinking about ant farms made me remember when I was a kid and my sister and I had one. It was cool back then...I think.
Which reminded me of my sister's pets that seemed to die a lot.
Which reminded me of a little girl I used to babysit.
She had about 7 hamsters.
Not at the same time. They all unfortunately met untimely deaths.
The first one died of fright. Apparently they don't like being thrown in the air (go figure. but no one told the 6 yr old)
The second died of hamster cancer. I don't know.
The third was playing in the yard when it seized an opportunity to escape and disappeared forever under the fence.
The fourth died in a bathtub accident. She was bathing it and with fierce objections from me, a horrified onlooker, she swore it could hold its breath, does it all the time.
The fifth was eaten by a neighbors' dog during a most lovely tea party.
The sixth died during a school science project. I never got the full details.
Number seven never made it home. Something about a suicidal plunge out the window of a moving mini van.

Sette, you are my muse! <3

Full Moon - January 11th - 3:28 - Sunday

2009-01-10T18:02:00.003-05:00

"Take two cups and call me in the morning."

2009-01-10T14:04:00.012-05:00

I am a lover of coffee. I love it in the morning. I love the aroma and the way it's rich warmth coats my insides. Coffee wakes me and makes me feel good about the day. I love it in the afternoon. I love the way it sooths my weary mind and gives me a boost for the remains of the day. I love it in the evening. A hot cup of decaffeinated coffee shakes off the long day.

Coffee rocks me and rolls me.

I love coffee and coffee loves me back.

1. Researchers from the University of Scranton released on August 29, 2005 that coffee is the No. 1 source of antioxidants in the American diet. Black tea is the second.

2. The latest research has not only confirmed that moderate coffee consumption doesn't cause harm, it's also uncovered possible benefits. Coffee may reduce the risk of developing gallstones.

3. Coffee discourages the development of colon cancer.

4. Coffee improves cognitive function.

5. Reduces the risk of liver damage in people at high risk for liver disease, and reduces the risk of Parkinson's disease.

6. Coffee has also been shown to improve endurance performance in long-duration physical activities.

Source: Harvard Health Publications, Harvard Medical School, 2006.

7. It makes me happy. In The Pharmacological Basis of Therapeutics by Dr. J. Murdoch Ritchieh, he reports.... On the positive side, caffeine produces "a more rapid and clearer flow of thought," and allays "drowsiness and fatigue. After taking caffeine one is capable of greater sustained intellectual effort and a more perfect association of ideas. There is also a keener appreciation of sensory stimuli, and motor activity is increased; typists, for example, work faster and with fewer errors."

8. You can feel pretty good about yourself when indulging in a hot, steamy cup of black magic. Coffee is a mild stimulant, is packed with antioxidants and can stand head to head with most other “health” beverages in your local health food store.
The problem with the calories in your coffee is not about the coffee at all. It’s about what you add to your coffee.

10 calories - Regular cup of coffee, no cream or sugar

9. Drinking coffee appears to lower the risk of developing skin cancer. A research team at Rutgers, The State University of New Jersey, has shown that a combination of exercise and some caffeine protects against the destructive effects of the sun’s ultraviolet-B (UVB) radiation, known to induce skin cancer.
The caffeine and exercise seemingly work together in killing off pre-cancerous cells whose DNA has been damaged by UVB-rays.

10. Fiber found in coffee is soluble fiber. You can’t see it, but it plays a very important function in our health. In fact, it’s dietary fiber of the soluble kind that helps prevent cholesterol from being absorbed by the intestines.

11. Gary Arendash, a researcher at the Byrd Alzheimer's Institute in Tampa, Florida, says, "The remarkable thing is that a simple cup of coffee appears to have more effect on preventing Alzheimer's than the expensive pharmaceuticals currently being used to treat the disease."

12. Researchers say results suggest that caffeine as well as other elements in coffee may work separately as well as together in lowering the risk of type 2 diabetes by preventing insulin resistance.

13. Coffee does increase your brainpower. In a world filled with expensive supplements claiming to boost memory and intelligence, you'll find it reassuring to know that you can save some money and increase your brainpower naturally, by drinking my favorite beverage...coffee.

So drink up. Feel good about it. But don't forget to carry a stick of gum. Not everyone loves coffee breath. Sa-na-na!

..i feel stupid and contagious..

2009-01-04T12:10:00.000-05:00

Teenagers are retarded.

My niece is 15. She's is an absolute social nightmare. Her hair isn't blue and she has no facial piercings, but she has the ability to stand in a room and with one comment suck every bit of common sense out of it in a matter of 30 stupid teenage seconds.

How is this possible? Was I like this in my teen years? Were my friends like this? MY parents!? Are teenagers getting worse or are am I just now maturing to a stage of social awareness that makes me want to stick the closest foreign object into her ear and poke around.

She got out of school on her Christmas break on a Friday. She went to her friend's house that evening and stayed until Wednesday, Christmas Eve. She got her presents, ate the feast, played the games, and left the next morning for her friend's house until New Years Eve. On New Years Eve she brought her friend back with her to eat the feast, play the games, watch the fireworks and leave with her the next morning to be gone until school starts on Monday.

She says she doesn't hate us. We're not all her "parents" so she can't use that flippant excuse. Lots of teens have a "cool" aunt. Even if it's not me, she has more than one option. We pay attention to her, we buy her things, accept her the way she is, compliment her, tease her, love and hug her, and even threaten her occasionally to be the best person she can be. What part of that does she not want to be around? Do we mean nothing to her?

No. Who? We. We mean nothing.

Now, there are some signs this is strictly teenage behavior and not to be feared for eternity's sake. For example: when she likes an article of clothing she wears it every day, appropriately or not. She speaks quickly and inaudibly like she's incapable of opening her mouth. 'Like' has become the most important word in her vocabulary and Twilight has become the life she'll never lead.

As for other behaviors that heed concern or squeeze my brain through her fingers of teen perception she shows a shaky needle on the crazy scale. Whoever said, "no question is a stupid question", never answered my niece.

A typical conversation with my niece goes like this-

Niece: All reminds me of hall, but not if you add pass. Cause that would be hall-pass and my parents said I'm not allowed to ask the teacher if I can have a hall-pass.

Me: They wouldn't say that if there was no logical reason for them to be concerned about your abuse of hall-pass privileges.

Niece: Well, I don't really need to go to the bathroom 4 times during class. But what they don't understand is that Edward visits Bella when she's in the bathroom to talk about love and stuff and why they can't be together because he's doomed to the sacred awesomeness of the night and sometimes it makes me feel better about myself if I can go to the bathroom. I like to wear tight shirts because it drives the boys crazy. I mean no i don't. What? Sometimes my friends and boys say I talk too much but I can't help it. So my friends and I (after I correct her grammar) are designing our own spring dance dresses and mine is going to be just like Bella's but different. Well, not really like hers at all, but it's going to be sorta like hers. The color will be different but I need the shape to be all funky because that's the way my friends and I like to do things.

~Now insert LIKE into that paragraph 48 times, wherever you want, doesn't matter, and read it again and that is how it sounded before I deciphered it.

There are too many citations and not enough patience to validate her weirdness and lack of savoir-faire. I guess there is nothing to do but give it time. See it out. Try to correct her when it's important and make her feel as conventional, average, and normal as the other cracked-out teenagers. And pray she'll eventually grow into a human being.

More Celebrity Jeopardy

2009-01-04T09:30:00.005-05:00

Celebrity Jeopardy

Alex Trebek.....Will Ferrell
Robin Williams.....Jimmy Fallon
Catherine Zeta-Jones.....Lucy Liu.
Sean Connery.....Darrell Hammond

Alex Trebek: And welcome back to Celebrity Jeopardy. Because of what just happened before during the commercial, I'd like to apologize to all blind people and children. That said, let's take a look at the scores. Robin Williams has set a Jeopardy record by buzzing in 2,000 times and never answering a question.

Alex Trebek: Catherine Zeta Jones has no score at all because she's mostly been talking about her recent marriage.

Alex Trebek: That's beautiful. And finally, Sean Connery's also here let's move on to Double Jeopardy where the categories -

Sean Connery: Not so fast Trebek.

Alex Trebek: I really thought that was going to work.

Sean Connery: Well, you were wrong, you mountebank. I pose a conundrum to ya, I riddle if you will

Alex Trebek: I don't want to hear it.

Sean Connery: What's the difference between you and a mallard with a cold? One's a sick duck and I can't remember how it ends, but your mother's a whore. [ Laughs ]

Alex Trebek: Wonderful. Let's take a look at the categories. They are: Potent Potables, Point to your own head, Letters or Numbers, Will this hurt if you put it in your mouth, An album cover, Make any noise, and finally, Famous Muppet Frogs. I should add that the answer to every question in that category is Kermit.

Robin Williams: Thank you, yes, Kermit. Yes it's like Kermit and John Wayne goin, "It's not easy being green, pilgrim." It's like Schwarzenegger,"Ya, I'm Kermit the frog, ya that's me, Schwarzenegger Kermit."

Sean Connery: Boy, you might be legally retarded.

Alex Trebek: He has a point. All right, Catherine Zeta Jones we'll start with you.

Catherine Zeta-Jones: I'll take Giraffes for a billion.

Alex Trebek: Let's just go with Letters or Numbers for 200. And the answer is "five." Is five a letter or a number? The number five, is it a number? [ ring ] Mr. Williams.

Robin Williams: Oh, it's a beautiful thing yes, right now there's a guy at home goin [ motions a remote control w/ his hand ] what the hell's goin on there, why don't you change -

Alex Trebek: Thank you. Thank you. [ ring ] Mr. Williams, you already rang in.

Robin Williams: Yes, it's a beautiful thing, though. Monica Lewinsky's at home goin' [ screams ]
Alex Trebek: Thank you, thank you, anyone else. [ ring ] Mr. Williams, I hate you.

Robin Williams: But I love you! It's like Jesse Helms and Michael Jackson going, "Yo quiero Taco Bell!"Alex Trebek: You are a very sick man. Anyone besides Mr. Williams? [ beep ] Five is of course, a number. Catherine Zeta Jones, sadly, it's still your board.

Catherine Zeta-Jones: I'll take TV shows that did stories about my wedding for 300.

Alex Trebek: For the last time, that is not a category. Sean Connery, why don't you pick?

Sean Connery: Well, the game is afoot. I'll take anal bum cover for 7,000.

Alex Trebek: That's An album cover, not anal bum cover.

Sean Connery: I can read, Trebek. That says Anal bum cover. I've spent five years of my life trying to invent an anal bum cover, failing to do so is my greatest regret.

Alex Trebek: You have lead a horrifying life. The category is An album cover and the answer is: The Beatles White album is this color. [ ring ]

Robin Williams: Oh, the Beatles, oh yes, what if they were the Volkswagon Beatles? Then they'd be in the back going, "I wanna hold your farfigneugent"

Alex Trebek: For the love of God, shut your mouth. I'll tell you what, let's just go to final Jeopardy. And the category is, you know what? You guys just decide. You each ask your own question and answer it. There's no way you can get this wrong, because you're asking the question. Ask yourself anything at all and then answer it. You'd have to be the dumbest people in the world to mess this up; and now let's see how you managed to mess it up. Robin Williams wrote: Nothing. Because he stuck his pen through his own hand.

Robin Williams: Yes, you know what it's like, suddenly it's like a Shakespearean actor who's gay going, "Tell us for york I" [ Trebek grabs pen and sticks it deeper into Williams' hand ]

Alex Trebek: Don't ever come here again. Catherine Zeta Jones, asked herself this question: What sound does a doggy make? Fine. And you answered: [ Blank ] You didn't know the answer? You couldn't answer your own question?

Catherine Zeta-Jones: It was hard.

Alex Trebek: Unbelievable. And finally, Sean Connery asked himself: [ Show half a picture of a horse having sex w/ Trebek ] Ok, I, I think I know where this is going. Let me just see here, [ Looks over podium ] Yeah, yeah, that's a horse having sex with me. Ok. That's beautiful.

Sean Connery: Come on, you pansy, let the people see my work.

Alex Trebek: No, we're not going to do that. Ok, I quit, again. Good night.

Celebrity Jeopardy

2009-01-03T18:09:00.000-05:00

Sean Connery: It looks like this is my lucky day! I'll take "The Rapists" for $200.

Alex Trebek: That's "Therapists." That's "Therapists," not "The Rapists." Let's skip "Therapists" and try "Household Objects", for $400. And the answer is, "You usually drink water out of one of these."

[Sean Connery buzzes in] Sean Connery.

Sean Connery: A leather glove!

-SNL

Live Long and Prosper

2009-01-03T11:08:00.000-05:00

If you've ever worked in an office environment you know that personal expression is exhibited by cubicle decor. Whether you're in finance or communications your office cubiwalls set the stage.

Creative display is sometimes manifested by a photo screen saver of the Black & White Playa's Ball, an air brushed mystical fairy calendar, a meticulously arranged frog collection, or a plastic cacti/ficus jungle. Every office building is a canvas for the people that work there.

Some offices even have a penchant for Meerkats and Llamas. ;)

If you work in a technical support office you are more likely to find an impressive array of Star Trek posters, Star Wars' figurines, and Batman. Why Batman? I'm not absolutely sure, but I think it has something to do with his black bullet proof rubber suit. Yum. Even Trekkies find Superman and Aqua Man's flamboyant spandex emasculating.

What they don't find machismo threatening is having a man crush on Mark Hamill and Leonard Nemoy. Speaking fluent Klingon and being a card carrying member of STARFLEET: The International Star Trek Fan Association is even cool.

I don't mind your strange trekky ways or your Star Wars humor. I can even understand your curiosity for galaxies far far away and agree that gold bikinis are hot, but I'll never really "get it".

Medical offices are completely different. Just as strange but with less influence from the Force. Ziggy and kitten posters rock these cube walls. You can find kitten calendars, Ziggy pens, notepads and no one in that office has a problem a cute kitten can't solve. So hang in there and enjoy those custom sewn chair pads and trash bin coozies.

Corporate offices tend to lean towards professional personality-which means stifled personality. Framed photos of fishing trips and sorority reunions replace cracked out kittens and crocheted tissue box holders. Functional calendars that are neither fun or funky hang in perfect alignment above printers. Matching metal mesh pencils holders and paper trays sit at a right angle to coffee mugs personalized just like everyone else's with the company insignia.

Warehouse offices are for the most part a disaster. Desks are piled with papers and chewed pencils. Ratty posters from the 80's of red Cameros and bikini clad babes can be found on the walls if you push aside janitor sized key rings and bottle opener collections. The only calender is two years old and singed from the over flowing ashtray. The leather swivel chairs are busting foam and the space heaters' cords are frayed.

If you've never worked in an office like this you haven't worked. Or played. Or survived the cold harsh winters of the warehouse.

So whatever your work environment, style it up! Nothing says "don't approach me" like an over-sized stuffed Meerkat holding your mechanical pencil collection.

Right, Sara?

2008-12-29T15:06:00.000-05:00

if i could spell, i'd be dangerous

2008-12-15T17:07:00.000-05:00

I'm FA-reeeE.zing.

I would be wearing my winter coat if I had use of my arms whilst in it. Unfortunately, I look like the kid from A Christmas Story sitting behind a cube wall flailing around in my chair. Every time I pick up my pencil or reach for the keyboard I spill a cup of coffee.

So - I have wrapped my scarf around my shoulders, layed my gloves across my thighs, and accumulated hours of "break" time making sure my coffee never reaches room temperature.

I'm STILL cold!

It is 40 degrees outside. It is cold outside. I am INSIDE. A shelter.

Webster:

shel.ter:

1 a: something that covers or affords protection b: an establishment providing food and shelter (as to the homeless) c: an establishment that houses and feeds stray animals

2: a position or the state of being covered and protected

I am not homeless, nor am I a stray, but I do see the word protection listed twice. Apparently, this office building does not consider itself a "shelter" and does not promise protection from frost bite, pneumonia, chipped teeth, muscle lock down, 2nd degree esophageal burns from chugging hot liquids, or sexual harassment due to nipple explosion.

I've even tried wearing my gloves. But my keyboard froze 6 times and I was even accidently spelling a word correctly here and there.

I don't know what to do. I'm at the end of my frozen extremities. It's either thermals or permanent brain damage.

Thou Dost Protest Too Much

2008-12-06T19:13:00.000-05:00

In my chair

2008-12-06T09:43:00.000-05:00

If you have read my other blogs you know I spend twelve hours a day for three days in a chair. So I have decided to push the limits of my confines and record how many things I can do in my chair as opposed to grumping on about what I can't do. If you read something you feel stretches the physical realms of chairdome, shut your trap. It's my chair. And I'll do what I want.

1. Balance on my butt.

2. Day dream about being out of my chair.

3. Facebook stalk. (could be you)

4. Stew about how Ann Curry made it down from Mt. Kilimanjaro.

5. Leg lifts.

6. Breathe burnt popcorn. No one ever gets it right. Ever.

7. Plot about destroying microwave with stapler, so no more burnt popcorn.

8. Apply lip chap repeatedly.

9. Freeze.

10. Starve.

11. Count how many times Sergio walks to the break room. To burn popcorn.

12. Sergio is my "code" name for him. And he's on trip #7. He's been here 2 hours.

13. He's actually wearing a path into the carpet between his cube-o-cot and the vending machine.

14. Forget what I can do in my chair. Who cares. Sergio is up again.

15. His cell phone just went off and he's not there to answer it, mute it, or catch it before it vibrates onto the floor.

16. His disgruntled neighbor is now yelling out for him, b/c she's taking all the calls. She can see him flirting with a frontline tech across the room. He's been cube stalking her all morning and now has her barricaded. His arm motions tell me he's giving her tales of his anaconda.

17. Anaconda is NOT code.

18. He's back in his no work zone. But I think he's eating. Burnt popcorn.

19. He can see me watching him, but I don't care. I think it's fascinating. Like Animal Planet.

20. Oh. Up again. Coming my way... Gotta g*!^&*%&^$%@

Aubrey's Blog Club ~

2008-12-01T18:19:00.000-05:00

Relevant or Ridiculous? (long post warning)
Posted by Rich on November 28, 2008
As with many areas in my life these days, High School Musical seems to be the nexus of my latest rant/pet peeve/consternation.

No, I’m not going to complain about the HSM franchise and its ubiquitous appeal to children all the world over. The issue isn’t even the fact that the related soundtracks somehow made their way onto my iPod—for the kids’sake only. I’m actually going to give the kids from East High a pass on this one.

My gripe is actually directed towards Christians. Can’t understand the connection? Let me explain.

A couple nights ago, my wife rented some movies for my children since they will be out of school for Thanksgiving break. One of these movies was titled “Sunday School Musical”. As she told me what she had rented, I wondered if it was just coincidence that the title so closely mirrored “High School Musical”. When she got home with the movies and I looked at the DVD cover, I realized there was no coincidence. The cover art was designed to look just like the Disney product…only with a slightly different color scheme. And of course, they changed the word “High” to “Sunday”. Obviously this would make ALL the difference in the world. The fact that the tag line for the movie was “They put the ‘Hip’ in Worship” only lessened my expectations further. Not wanting my own jaded opinion to affect my children’s review of the movie, I kept my mouth shut.

After I came home from work the next day, I asked my daughter if she had watched “Sunday School Musical”. She had, and she liked it. When I inquire about her favorite part, she told me that it was a song called “You’re not the boss of me”.

Fantastic. What a wonderful life lesson for my daughter to take from a musical about Sunday school. Candy-coated anarchy. (Ok, maybe that’s a stretch. Maybe.)

Thankfully, I think she gave the movie about as much consideration as she gives me when I tell her that spending her birthday money on another Barbie is just wasting it—since she has 37 of them already and they all look exactly the same. Naked with irrevocably damaged hair. But it did get me thinking.

Why do Christians feel that by tweaking something that was successful as secular entertainment, they can somehow make it acceptable for Christian audiences but also relevant to society in general? “Sunday School Musical” is but one example. In the local Christian bookstore, I saw a display for Guitar Praise—a video game obviously mimicking the hugely successful Guitar Hero game series. The look & game play are exactly the same as Guitar Hero, but instead of playing famous rock standards, you play Christian worship songs. It’s the same—but different.

Now before you think that I’m going all “Holier than Thou” on this subject, let me tell you that I own Guitar Hero. I’m actually fairly good too. So as a Christian, should I automatically want to play Guitar Praise instead of Guitar Hero? I hope not. Because I don’t.

In the spirit of brevity (strategically placed after the 514th word of the post), I’ll cite just one more example. Church signs.

Seemingly all the rage in Christianity today is the drive to have the most clever, pithy saying possible on one’s church sign. I’m sure this started with original sign messages like the good ol’:

C-H-C-H . What’s missing from church? U-R

Haha! Clever. Funny. Makes me smile. But from there it’s gone downhill.

Rather than think of original sayings, churches just began taking various marketing campaigns for consumer products and changing a couple words to make them applicable to the church. Or so they thought.

Topping the list of my personal most hated church signs is:

For all you do, this blood’s for you

Is that seriously supposed to make a non-believer want to visit that church? Are they supposed to think “Gee, those Christians sure do have their finger on the pulse of society. There’s something different about them, and I just HAVE to find out what it is!”

I think not.

Sadly, if there are Christians like myself that feel these attempts to simply take something the world produced, change a few words, and re-market it as “Christian” come across as lame & ineffective; is it any wonder that many non-Christians claim that the Christian faith requires you to check your brain at the doors of the church?

The way I see it, Jesus came to this earth and brought a message that was different. His message was strange, yet attractive to unbelievers and it drove the religious leaders batty. He came to a religious establishment (church) that was consumed with following The Law for their salvation, and he basically told them that The Law was now useless for that purpose. He didn’t tweak their rules a little and claim to have a “New Way”. He turned everything they knew completely upside down. He then called us to follow Him—to be the Light in the Darkness.

He didn’t call us to be the “Fun mirror to the world”. You know, the kind you hold up to something so it can see its reflection…only it’s a reflection that is slightly altered by the funky shape of the mirror.

Fun mirrors don’t change anything. They just make people laugh before they walk away.

This is how I feel on Sunday.

2008-11-30T14:37:00.000-05:00

No Alibi.

2008-11-30T11:21:00.001-05:00

The future is something which everyone reaches at the rate of sixty minutes an hour, whatever he does, whoever he is. ~C.S. Lewis

Time has been on my mind a lot lately.

I suppose it is because I feel there is so little I get to control. I realize how much time I’ve wasted over the years. How much time I had to do whatever I wanted and chose nothing.

All those moments of nothing could have added up to something.

There are whole years for which I hope I'll never be cross-examined, for I could not give an alibi. ~Mignon McLaughlin

I am working two jobs. To pay my bills, I work three to four days a week, 12 hours a day. This has to be on the weekend because week days are devoted to my other job. During these twelve hour days I sit, and sit. My back usually hurts from the two positions I am able to achieve and still be physically capable of doing my job. The coffee is a mockery. I am yelled at and demeaned by co-workers, all the while missing the weekend activities of friends and family.

This is what I do 36 hours a week. I’ve been doing it for almost a year. I hate it. It not only makes me an emotional zombie, but a physical one as well. It’s not healthy and I am unhappy.

Time is the most indefinable yet paradoxical of things; the past is gone, the future is not come, and the present becomes the past even while we attempt to define it, and, like the flash of lightning, at once exists and expires. ~Charles Caleb Colton

Wait.

This is not my truth. I am happy. And my needs are being met. I am complaining about a job that pays my bills. About the 36 hours a week that provide a work schedule conducive to building a new business.

My time is mine to choose. And I’ve chosen.

No I will not make out with you. Did you hear that? This girl wants to make out with me in the middle of class. You got Chlorophyll Man up there talking about God knows what and all she can talk about is making out with me. I'm here to learn, everybody, not to make out with you. Go on with the chlorophyll. ~ Billy Madison

2008-11-23T09:08:00.000-05:00

All I can think about is a chicken biscuit.

~It Wasn't Ours To Pin~

2008-11-20T16:06:00.000-05:00

It was between women's studies and philosophy
that I could see the whites of his eyes.
-when you interrupted he was right there.

You couldn't have timed my wait with that precision without help.

And I feel like blaming it on the moon.
It has always been a playa' in the discord of my chi.

So I spoke of life as though you were no longer part of it.
And in some awkward string of syllables you said you were sorry.
But I knew you weren't. Not really.

And like it always was -if your timing had been better, we may have made good of it.
But we didn't.

We danced around with formality.
Never pinning down the moment.

November 13, 2008

2008-11-20T16:02:00.000-05:00

....but really i have. like today. and yesterday.

Wink, wink.

2008-11-12T18:20:00.000-05:00

Pink Jello
You spin circumstance and sugar to grope my thoughts.
Your words raise me sweet and low.

I swear.

You fade by sundrops but drip through my day
Like heavy cream.
Beating into my night-
pink jello.

I swear again.

2008-11-12T18:14:00.000-05:00

Bittersweet

Hours alone thinking about the walls and what if they were blue. Painting myself apart of something bigger.
Hours alone thinking about the walls and what if they were you. Painting myself apart of something new.
Nights spent drawing open boxes with no tops and no bottoms. Full and full again. Full of something blue. Blue and something you.
Never quite what I see. Less than what I want. Blue and bright. New and light. Love and lust. Dreams and dust.
Hours alone thinking about the walls and what if they were blue. Painting myself apart of something dark.
Darker than the blue of you. Nothing of the blue you are. Darker than you could ever be. Blue as if you drowned with me.
Hours alone floating on the walls. The walls of blue. The walls of you. Painting myself apart of something new.
I've imagined memorizing the scent of your hair.
October 30, 2008

2008-11-10T18:22:00.000-05:00

Jesus love.

2008-11-09T11:21:00.000-05:00

When I am worshipping, I am chin to Heaven bleeding appreciation and awe of my Creator. My experience is my own. The welling up and setting free. All me. Bedlam ceases. Virtual cathedrals, highways, and skies. Sanctuary is the space I touch. Imperfect perfection tugs at my soul. I might whisper my words, but mostly I am mute. My throat no longer obeys my mind. Energy consumes my body and when I am ready I go in new peace. I step out into new day. Brighter than the moment before. Smiling in the afterglow of praise. Transcendence and wholeness cover me. And I know I’ll be here again.

2008-11-08T13:23:00.000-05:00

Ferocious Beast

2008-11-02T16:55:00.000-05:00

I can see my eyelashes reflecting off the inside of my glasses.
They move when I blink.
I want to push them apart like thick fronds in a rainforest and step through them.

Tiger like.

2008-11-02T09:49:00.000-05:00

Any half-awake materialist well knows - that which you hold holds you.