Tyrone

His constant taunting, teasing, misleading inuendos…

…and me with 32 days.

I heart him anyway. /sigh

Poot!

My father, while being a fine upstanding member of society as well as a wonderful father and husband, is possibly the foulest man on earth. Let me elaborate…

Men enjoy farting. I think it is genetically programmed for the male of our species to take delight and humor in anything exiting the anus in the form of an odd-sounding and unpleasant smelling gas. They just can’t help it.

While I have found humor in this once or twice, ok maybe I’ll admit to taking great humor in farting on my friends a couple times, (Truth: Pretty girls do fart.) I’ve never plotted out strategic maneuvers to publically expose the gas in my anus, intoxicating those around me, for my own amusement.

My father does just that. He takes great pleasure in sneaking up behind my mother, me or any random unsuspecting female and planting one, walking away and then laughing silently to himself as all the other women in the store glace over with great disgust thinking that it was the gas released by the poor victim of another “Daddy Fart Bomb”. After years of this occurring I have developed lighting-fast ninja reflexes to make a quick “gross-face” and point at the nearest old woman present. While I know that is rude, we have to face the facts here, old people fart more. Most of my female readers will agree that it is easy to blame the elderly for random and unexplained odors.

Another thing my father takes great pleasure in is the meat case at Costco. Imagine, you are shopping for a beautiful package of hamburger or steaks and “BAM” a green cloud of stench invades your nostrils. Shopping experience officially ruined.

If I recall correctly, when I was a small child and my brother was a much smaller and whinier child, my father once held my brother down and farted on him. While this would be considered child abuse in some households apparently my father finds this a gesture of male bonding. My brother on the other hand threw up. I laughed safely from my “quick-escape-spot” on the other end of the room.

Now that my brother is in his early twenties I have found that this fetish is apparently genetic within the Y chromosome. I have made it a point to avoid all family outings that involve my father, my brother and any consumption of potentially gaseous food. I keep Vicks in my purse to rub under my nose to blind the smell for the occasions that I don’t.

Moral of the story: Men fart, women beware.

Note: I love you Daddy & Matty…but seriously guys…point your butts in the opposite direction of where I happen to be located. :)

Everything

I’ll admit that I’ve been lazy, abandoning my little storylines of nonsense, philosophy and philanthropy for carefree and empty thinking. Blank days pass and I’m no where to be found. I’m a captive in my own little world dancing around my dreams and singing melodies in winter’s favorite colors. Life, as cold and lonely as it is right now, is beautiful.

The dark cloud of Christmas has passed and unlike previous years, it has not left my heart is a shambled heap. I found little things to keep the smile bright upon my face melting away the ice like a Care Bear stare. The pixels on a screen as I explore a world of make-believe, singing into a microphone earning five stars in my own rock band, sweet smell of blueberry tea, old black and white photographs zoomed into microscopic detail in Photoshop, 30 days of clarity, my fingerprints on ivory and ebony keys, laughter from watching my cat unwrap his presents, friendships rekindled that never really needed to be relit and the late nights spent getting lost in the sound of that sweet voice in which I’ve grown so accustomed.

Forget the pain; I have so much more to be thankful for this year. There are only 6 days left in 2007 and I intend to cherish each one like a holiday. Every day I have with beauty, peace, friendship, hope and love…IS…a holiday.

Happy Everything People!

Twitterpated

"You're walking along, minding your own business. You're looking neither to the left, nor to the right, when all of a sudden you run smack into a pretty face. Woo-woo! You begin to get weak in the knees. Your head's in a whirl. And then you feel light as a feather, and before you know it, you're walking on air. And then you know what? You're knocked for a loop, and you completely lose your head!"

*Twitterpated*

Special Delivery

A handwritten note on parchment stationary slipped tenderly into a parcel of secrets. A mystery tightly packed in preparation for the trip from the snowy northwest to the sunny southwest. Sealed with a kiss and postage placed I send it on its voyage.

To you…

with love

…from me.

Message from Oregon

Dear California,

The state of Oregon greatly appreciates your visiting our (insert one of the following here)…

A) Lush, Green Forests
B) Clean, Secluded Beaches
C) Snow-Covered Peaks
D) Beautiful, Wild Rivers

…we would greatly appreciate it if you would please memorize the following guidelines designed to make your visit to Oregon that much more pleasant.

1. If you find it difficult to climb into your RV, than you more than likely should not be driving it.
2. Unmarked logging roads and mountain climbing are dangerous in the middle of winter. You are more than likely going to get lost and die.
3. Don’t pick up ANY Real Estate information or visit any Real Estate establishment while you are here. There is no point as we don’t sell homes to Californians anymore.
4. Appreciate the beauty of Oregon in its entire green splendor. It’s green because we don’t litter. You shouldn’t either.

Thank you for taking this opportunity to visit our great state. Now, if you don’t mind, please go back the way you came and take your shitty oranges with you.

Thanks,
Oregon

Invasion of Privacy

Imagine that you are having one of those luxuriously sensual “Herbal Essence” moments. Encased in your shower, you are surrounded in a warm mist blazing the aroma of exotic fruit and floral petals. You run your fingers through your wet hair and as you do you slightly open one eye…

BAM!
A demonic gremlin of the arachnid social order has invaded your most private of sanctuaries.

Yes, this was my morning.

I screamed in fright and as I attempted to flee from the eight-legged menace, I slipped in the shower. My ninja-like reflexes caused me to take the impact on my elbow rather than my naked derrière. It was blow that will more than likely result in a massive bruise to serve as my medal of honor for exhibiting such bravery in the shower.

When I realized that the invader had me cornered I grabbed my epic bottle of shampoo and flung the culprit into the great unknown. Powee Sucka!

I'm too scared to go in that bathroom now.

Sedona Skies

Lying in the bed of your pickup truck staring at the stars and laughing at the elusive moon.

I’ll sing you every song I know as we gaze into the twilight sky. My melodies timed to your heartbeat felt softly upon my cheek.

An innocent moment shared between two fragile hearts.

Beautiful. <3

Anonymous Celebrity

Celibacy. It seems to be glowing in brilliant amber-colored lights on the billboard of my life.

I received a simple phone call this morning from a friend in radio. (Yes, you know who you are.) As my friend, and reader of my blog, he posed the innocent proposition of taking my story live on his afternoon radio show. While I insist that my situation is nothing less than that of a mid-twenty-something female in the world who is just tired of dealing with a slough of men that are the epitome of a personality like Family Guy’s “Quagmire”, I have given him permission to use my story but not to publicize my name or blog.

It is not my individual pursuit but the topic itself that will be the focus of conversation. I hope. My radio personality friend prepared me that there will more than likely be listeners calling in with the regular “it’s because she’s never had a real man like me” comments. I’ve already dealt with those skeptical pigs and am taking this blessed opportunity to declare that it is men like that who make keeping this vow that much easier. My friend has assured me that he would convey that same message. For that, after all, is the fuel behind this burning fire.

Supporters or antagonists there will be in my mission. I guess tomorrow I’ll find out where the city of Eugene stands on the issue. After that, maybe the world?

The only one that it really matters to though is me, and that unknown, my love.

First Kiss?

Me: "I'll consider Arizona, but only if you take me to the Grand Canyon, walk out on the skywalk and share with me the most amazing first kiss."

Impossible. Not so much.

Boy: "I would do that."

Silence is Ticking

Sometimes I feel like my candle has blown out and I’m searching around in the dark for a match just to get it going again. The flame is temporary and yet somehow it has this magnetic appeal that I’m swept into like a moth burning my precious wings. Then, usually without warning, the flame extinguishes and I’m alone in the dark again. Lost.

I refuse to tout gender generalizations or place blame on anyone here. That is not my purpose. What I’ve discovered is a simple, negative self-realization that I’m determined to defeat. I have no idea what love is anymore. My vision is clouded by physical eroticism blocking that ever-so important emotional and mental bond to form. I’m a serial “sexcapader” or so it seems.

Call it a vow, pledge, oath or promise; it is what it is. The clock started silently ticking the moment I undertook this task. Voluntary celibacy.

It’s too easy these days to be what I used to call myself, a “free-loving-spirit”. There is no such thing in modern society as courting, dating or romance. Nothing is done with any formalized tradition. I’ve not become a prude by any means. I just simply refuse to associate myself or waste my precious time with another male who does not respect me enough to build a solid foundation of friendship, trust, respect and love before sharing with me the intimacies of the flesh.

My lack in posting an explanation earlier can be attributed to my detailed preparation in how to mentally deal with the skeptics. I’ve accepted that there are going to be the people who think I’m doing this simply because I’ve hit a “dry spell” so-to-speak, those who think I’ve lost my bloody mind, others who have taken up a pool to see when I’ll finally crack and then those who find it a complete waste of talent. While I salute everyone in forming a preemptive judgment against me, this pledge is between me and my ever broken heart.

So here I am again, alone in the dark without a flame. I’m no longer looking for matches. I’m search for something brighter. Love.

Princess of Preeminence

Apparently...

I have some amazing microchip installed in my brain that randomly pulls vocabulary from the "dictionary or thesaurus" into my every day speech and blog.

That's fucking fresh. Imo.

Please don't forget my other fine qualities; inhuman strength, the ability to leap tall buildings and my ever-amazing machine gun jubblies.

Let me stop for a moment and bask in my preeminence. /bow

Oh poo…I used a big word again. Just so you don’t have to look it up yourself, preeminence means superior. :)

****

This post dedicated with love to:

Captain Emo and his faithful comrades; the guy that looks like a meth addict in the last stages of life, and to the math major who despite an undergraduate degree still falls short in the ability to compose a complete sentence with grammar and punctuation.

Addiction

Guitar Hero III!!! If you have played Guitar Hero I, II or the Encores then you'll know what I'm talking about...what is with this game?!

My brother locks me into playing Guitar Hero III with him and I think, "no...I'm not that into it". I hadn't picked that damn guitar up in 3 weeks, but guess what?! The minute I picked it up I couldn't put it down!

So yes...

My name is Ti, I play in the band called Sausagewallet, and I'm a Guitar Hero-aholic!

There I said it! That's the first step towards recovery in any addiction.

I guess my simple point is that if you have ever wanted to be/feel like a rockstar, then you should find someone who owns this game and invite yourself over.

Note: Good luck trying to get a chance to play here...between my brother, Rafa, Jim and myself...you are NOT getting validated.

Sunday, Sulking, Sloth

There is something deeply sacrilegious about sulking around in yoga pants and a baby-t on Sunday. At first glance I would appear to be the epitome of a deadly sin; sloth. Eventually I'll drag my self out of these sheets to a soft ginger and vanilla bubble bath in an attempt to raise my spirits, but until I muster enough energy to do that I'm just going to cuddle back in next to this laptop and feel sorry for myself.

I listen intently to the weaving sound waves coming from the little speaker on my laptop. Harmonious chords sang by the Beatles echo in the song “Because”. Normally these lyrics are nonsense and good for a trip to senselessness. Today I think understand them. They seem to operate as the perfect soundtrack to my dour state. I think that my only reason for leaving this shelter of cotton sheets and country quilt would be to tip toe my cold feet down the stairs and sit at my precious out-of-tune piano.

The only experience of true love I've ever had is buried deep within the dusty crevices of those cracked ebony and yellowed ivory keys. I don't have to tell the music my feelings. The keys respond to my very touch reflecting each pent up and hidden emotion within me. If I cry the chords quiver, if I'm mad they echo and if I'm in love they flow like invisible doves spiraling in each other's harmony to into the sky.

I suppose it's time I crawl out of this slumber, take a bath and do something semi-productive today. If you look for me later, I'll be found next to my piano playing something dissonant and cold.

Grumpypants

I admit it. I've been dragging my lifeless limbs around in what some would call "grumpypants". While this accusation might be true I don't think that a willing soul would choose such unfashionable attire. I choose to describe this syndrome as more my mixture of emotions steaming in a dark cauldron of impossibilities stirred with the harsh wooden spoon of reality.

Every night I lie in my clouded state of sleeplessness and think about things that simply cannot be. My tears tell me these thoughts are detrimental to my well being and yet my heart keeps on forcing them into my imagination. Fantasy takes hold and I try to convince myself that the impossible is full of possibility. It's all nonsense.

My being grumpy towards you is just my way of showing the white flag of defeat. You may not take it as such or even have the experience to decipher my emotional riddles. I don't expect you to understand. After all, you are only my friend.

In-depth conversations held underneath the stars are full of uncertainty. Words ring so true on occasion. "Sometimes a girl will look so hard at one individual that she will miss entirely the nice guy in the shadow." We may speak in truth perhaps, but in what context. Do we reverse the roles? It seems as soon as I start glancing in the angles of what I refer to as "impossibilities" I'm struck down by that internal spark of realism. I want what I can't ever have. I strive for something unattainable. My head sends warnings to watch my heart for it's going to break and for once I'll be the only one to blame.

I cry. For the first time in my life I never lowered the bar, forgot about treading on my line of distrust and walked into something without ever expecting to feel the way I do right now. Unfortunately I'm on the dark side of a two way mirror, impossible to reach, feel or see. You have my attention but another has yours.

It's cold and lonely over here. Just like the heart you are about to leave unknowingly in ruins.

Nightmares

My ears are numb. Numb to the words but not to the harsh volume. I don't need to know what they say as each syllable is painstakingly stuck in my head forever. I can handle the yelling but painful tears well as I know what comes next. My bruises are still fresh from last time. Please don't do this again. Please.

My wrists look tiny in your hands. That's all I can think as the pressure from your fingertips absorbs into my skin. I can't even feel the tears streaming down my face. The pain I should feel is withholding itself for when the floor meets my body. Each bone shattering time I'm prepared for it and yet it still takes the breath from my lungs. I muster all that is left and scream.

Let me go. I want to leave. Please.

Pinned merciless to the floor by the weight of your body I'll never forget how cold the steel felt against my temple. That's all I can remember. Just the cold. My emotions died at that very moment. I wouldn’t even notice if you pulled the trigger.

I lay there chaotic until you grew tired of this game you play. You leave me laying there frozen on the floor like a forgotten toy. Too scared to move, breathe or cry.

I’ve blocked from my memory these experiences only until they are released in a harsh nightmare. I wake up feeling like I've drown.

Horrible memories please leave me.

Romantic Failure

Me: This may seem silly but just trust me. Go outside.
Boy: Right now?
Me: Yes.
Boy: Okay. I'm outside.
Me: Do you see the moon?
Boy: No. It's cloudy here.
Me: ...
Boy: What?
Me: I finally thought of one thing that we can do together and it's cloudy.
Boy: ...
Boy: It's the thought that counts.

I can't even be romantic. Foiled. Always.

I give up.

Fa~La~La~La...Die

Torture begins.

My eardrums tingle in anticipation of the pure pain I will experience with each off-key rendition of "O Christmas Tree". The agony of ravaging adults and children tearing apart aisles after some pathetic "toy-of-the-season" manufactured with toxic materials and exported from China. Meaningless Christmas greetings sent by people I only talk to once a year via these recycled cardboard wastes of postage. The bell ringers, please make them stop. I’m surrounded by sweets and more fattening savory bits of goodness putting mass on my thighs just by looking their very direction. Television plagued with specials and previews for yet again another Tim Allen travesty. Then the worst, a smelly balding man with a pure lack of fashion sense and a obvious problem with obesity gets to take credit for gifts that I, not him, so painstakingly braved shopping malls and traffic to purchase.

Call me the Grinch, Scrooge or sacrilegious but I loathe Christmas.

Note to Self: Find country that does not celebrate it and vacation there conveniently for the entire month of December.

Breaking Free

Adorned in invisible shackles and chains I'm bound by control. I race wildly in unknown directions trying to reach the end and am yanked back when I reach limitation. I'm tired of wearing them. They are beginning to pierce my sensitive skin and have grown into an uncomfortable obstacle on my soul. I want to be free.

Once I escaped beyond the bounds of their touch and built a wall around myself so immense that even the power of my own fear couldn't bolster the brick. I don't want this to happen again but I know that if I don't escape soon the barricade that has been growing in my sub consciousness will soon overwhelm me. I feel locked out and away from the world. Faded like the window I gaze out of into the pouring down rain. Something is happening.

I'm not comfortable anymore. I need to stretch my wings.

Truth & Lies

"Hate" is a strong word.

Then again...so is "Love".

Which word holds more power when misused?

Haunted

I'm haunted. Not spiritually or in superstition, but by my own parading thoughts. They dance questions in little pink ballet slippers performing a series of delicate moments on each sensitive emotion. Their symphony is the resonation of my own heart strings. I have no answers.

Distraction is my arsenal against what it is that I do not know. I evade into mindless adventures where I don't have to ponder the unrealistic internal battle raging inside me. I consistently fail.

I know placing so much mind power wondering that which is just impossible will only make me insane. I suppose the voices are right. I suppose that I am crazy. Then again what great individual was not romanced as crazy at one time in their life? Challenge me with that and I will build you a sanctuary for the mentally insane. It is just that sometimes I wish my mind was as simple as those with accusations on their lips, and then I would not drive myself to ends wondering things that are too complicated for a delicate mind.

Dropping text into another random escapade of insecurity and hope is what I've accomplished here.

Sending text messages of nonsense to another plagued with unknown answers to the same impossible questions.

Now I lay me down to sleep, my haunted soul is his to keep.

The Music was Mine

I stab the straw into a concoction of ice and whiskey as I slowly gather my confidence. Each biting sip of the straw warming my vocal cords making the music within me begins to build. My name is called. I rise from my chair to the cheers of my friends and random applause from faces that I will never see again. My eyes sparkle and my teeth shine in my smile as I take the beat-up microphone. I can smell the swirling smoke of the cigars around me and smell the musk from the alcohol sinking into each patron's veins. The music begins.

I close my eyes letting the opening measures in their time absorb me. Facing the crowd with the power in my abdomen I open my eyes and send my voice echoing into the cold brick walls around me. The sound system picks up the depth of my vibrato as the faces of each person who has suddenly stopped what they were doing, look up and locate the creator of the song. It is my moment under the bright lights standing strong on the knotted wooden stage below me unafraid and uninhibited. Senseless.

There are no words on the screen, no written notes to follow. This is my arrangement. This moment is mine.

At the highest point of the song I feel my voice open its wings and begin soaring above and beyond. I don't see the rundown walls, air swirling in smoke and the flickering bulb in the corner threatening to go out. I only feel the music coming alive in my soul and pushing itself outward into oblivion.

As I finish my melody the euphoria I was held in is replaced with thunderous applause and cheers. People who don't understand the music enough to live it but yet can appreciate it. I am left standing alone again. I am abandoned in the reality of the world that I left for only that brief moment. The moment the music was mine.

Little Miracles

As I sit here in front of my laptop with my shoulders poised and my legs criss-crossed in front of me I ponder. How is it that when the passing of current seconds collide with seconds lived in the past you experience a moment in euphoric memory? Decades melt away like liquid dreams into a rusty drain before your eyes. You force yourself to blink and yet the clarity of the modernized past is laid out before you like it never passed. There is no timestamp on friendship. That in itself is rare and just maybe is myself experiencing a miracle.

If that is the correct definition of a miracle, than this weekend, I had an experience in the form of two rekindled friendships.

I remember you. The same black eyes that sparkled at me across our desks as we easily printed our names on the nameplate on our desks. As the rest of the class struggled to achieve the task I remember exchanging laughter in our eyes and watching your freckled cheeks turn moving to show your smile. We knew we shared something as we glanced at the nameplates. Our names will never be pronounced correctly. We were friends for that year. Then forgotten until twenty years later when we greeted each other with the same elementary school eyes concealed in our now adult faces. The topics are different today but the conversation echoes from yesterday. As you take my small hand in yours so strong now I say to you "it's good to have you back my friend".

I can still see that little spot of chipped paint on our gray locker where the combination lock had been tossed into it year after year. I remember rounding up the gang at registration so that we could all have our lockers in a solitary line. It was our little territory, our row of lockers, the girls. We were invincible back in those innocent days before parents moved us around, extra-curricular activities monopolized our time and boyfriends took capture of each moment left in between. Who would have thought that in just two precious years our little connective worlds were going to be torn apart and our friendship forgotten. Thirteen years later we sit together laughing and sharing our stories like we never lost the time in between now and then. Obvious differences from the paths we walked down stand out like that old paint on our locker and yet the trust is still as solid as that combination lock. We both still have the right numbers and can unlock them together. We raise our glasses at each other and proudly declare "let's never forget again".

Sharing time between two beautiful people from my past and reveling in the friendship we shared then and the friendship we still share now I am inspired. A year ago I was so alone, lost in my hopeless world of heartbreak, betrayl and pain. Today I walk into old doorframes and am greeted by unjudgmental faces that remember the person I was before I lost myself into that world of shadows. The remembrance of those older happy memories heals those of the painful and newer. It is bringing me back to life, one friendship, one hand and one smile at a time.

I'm finding myself again. This must be a miracle.

My Delicate Secret

The shimmer of ice, brightness of my eyes and the sparkles that dance off the Willamette River when kissed by the light of the sun; I have captured thee. Hidden in that dark part of my soul and only taken out when I am surrounded by the cavern of solitude. It’s all held in a petite globe of luminescence that I delicately hold in my small hands. It’s my secret.

The tattered tapestry of confusion I keep wrapped around me is a fallacy of my own protection. I pull a dark shade over my face so you can’t read my eyes. I speak in riddles so that my words dance around their meaning. I take a bold color and turn it pastel before your very psyche.

I’m hiding. I do all of this so that I can continue to conceal my true feelings from the one they should matter to most. The enchantment surrounding my delicate secret is in a constant skirmish to be free.

The demon of insecurity taunts me that once the globe has been broken I’ll be alone in the dark holding a broken shell. Uncertainty clouds each soft step I take in the direction of the spotlight you shine on me and yet I am continuing to walk forward.

I want to tell you my secret.

Minor Grievance

I should repent. I should feel remorse. Revenge is deliciously sweet and its sugary temptation has made me sin again. Forgive my immaturity.

While I ask openly for forgiveness I do not feel sorry even though I know that I should. Justice is best served on a plate of cold, hard revenge. Unfortunately, simple words like vengeance and retaliation echo into the same terms and immaturity and degradation.

There are three things that I refuse to tolerate or forgive; lying, cheating or stealing. Committing one of these kills our friendship, committing more than one kills you. You are indeed, dead in my eyes now.

I have a bountiful amount of friends who adore me. I simply have no use for one who degrades, disrespects, lies, cheats, insults and hurts me. I don’t need your friendship, too bad you are the one who blindly needs mine.

I’m done defending your actions, listening to your disgusting sarcasm and trying to convince myself that I am adult enough to be friends with someone as fetid as you.

Sorry about unleashing that deep of a revenge. It’s just that frankly, using your verbiage, it’s a “minor grievance” compared to the discomfort you’ve put me through trying to be your friend.

That all being said. I think…”Amen” settles it.

Solo Artist

I gathered an hour back in time today and along with it came some new clarity to some floating issues plaguing my mind.

Annual gains of maturity and accelerated levels of painful experience has aged me beyond years in which certain individuals in my life are not yet capable of grasping. Little things that used to create laughter, enjoyment and understanding now spread a twinge of disapproval and annoyance to my brow. I'm not going to tout that I am in any way better than these individuals. I'm just going to say that I now see the world they live in with a different set of eyes and realize that because of that I can no longer try to dance the same angles as them. I am a solo artist now.

I want my own existence even if it is different than what they want for me.

Fog of Frustration

It seems lately that my life has been filled with little annoyances. While normally these little things would burn off during my day like the morning fog in a sunshine smile, they seem to only be compounding into a seriously bad attitude.

Somewhere in between chipping away a layer of ice off my windshield so I can drive an hour commute each morning to endlessly analyzing conversations held under the stars, there is that little place in my mind that can separate the clarity from the fog of frustration. Somehow and somewhere I’ve lost my map to that location and my peace of mind.

Certain things I wish would stop. Some are trying to improve. Others have me too confused to make a step towards them. Another has me scared. All completed unrelated to each other and yet each is contributing to this jambalaya of feelings burning on the stove of my annoyance, frustration and anger.

I hope resolution visits before the snow does…

I Wonder

There is this boy…

…that makes me smile with just the sound of his voice. Each simple articulation making magical butterflies suddenly appear only to collide into each other with such a calamity that it makes me dizzy. Then he laughs and his melodic laughter dissipates each opal wing until the butterflies are swept away with my breath and all that is left is glowing warmth in the place of my heart.

I can’t help but wonder…

Am I alone?

Prison of Ice

It’s staring at me, tracing the contours of my back while it plans its attack. Demonic scarecrow…

Crystalline frost glistened from the neighborhood Halloween decorations as I crunched my way across the frozen grass in my front yard. A symphony of car engines and ice scrappers spiraled into the blue and gold sunrise. Surreal sounds of a late autumn morning haunt me.

Here I am, lost in this prison cell for a year with only my memories echoing like a decade to keep me company. The nail marks on the walls where I’ve struggled for freedom appear shadowed and forgotten. Cobwebs linger between the bars that I so painstakingly reached though when this all was new and I was naïve. My spirit to escape has grown cold and listless. I can’t help but wonder if the locked door I’m staring at will ever open up and welcome me.

The Monotony of Fall

Sometimes I’m here and sometimes I’m not. Words that ring true as somehow my subconscious exhausted all its energy these past few days narrating my life in a forced third-person British accent rather than linking written words together for this dauntless expense of bandwidth.

Listen. A train whistles, bellowing deep as the wheels slice through the orange, yellow and red leaves that have fallen unknowingly upon the tracks. Life appears to be the same.

The monotony of fall…

…working too much, dancing in dark alleyways, counting change to feed the meters, singing in my car, anchored to the desk by homework, wandering around lost, daydreaming in the morning, jumping in piles of leaves, laughing in the rain, falling in love...

...and the story I’m hiding in the commas.

Kaleidoscope of Chaos

It appears to be another melancholy Monday afternoon with two hours to spare before I am released into the rush hour of downtown like a helpless bird tossed from her nest. This weekend was full of endless new emotions and painful old memories. My thoughts have been in a kaleidoscope of chaos as I try to make sense of the events from the last few days.

It has officially been a year since I walked away from a life that would have ended me and still sometimes I lay motionless in my bed haunted by the sound of the Pacific miles away torturing me with its memories. I refuse to go back there. Not anymore. I’m not longer a weakened spirit searching for answers to the past. I know what I want and I’ll settle for nothing less. Now if only I can convince my subconscious and the world around me to just let me heal. I’m walking proudly alone and yet I’m still scared of the shadows on the path.

Being in my darling little hometown again I am greeted around every corner with blast from my past, each individual is a friendly face who does not recognize me for who I am now. Have I really changed that drastically from eight years ago? Am I not still me? I guess not. I have the same ol’paintbrush just now I’m marking my path with a different color I suppose.

The colors swirling around my head and heart appear to be some cryptic code. The faded out pink of one is replaced by a vibrant and bold red of another. Something new brings flush to my cheeks again. While I have let go of our past together his fading color still fights silently with each painful whisper he sends my way. I know you are there, I just don’t care anymore.

Standing back looking at life’s picture in it’s entirety I think the attempt on this new canvas may lead me somewhere that I can finally call happiness. It’s only an outline…but the makings of a masterpiece flicker deep within what one would describe as potential. Let’s see what the paint dances into in the next few months…

***

Note from the Author: While I am taking the option not to discuss direct details of my hectic weekend I will say that anyone who really cares to please keep my father, who suffered a semi-serious injury on Saturday, in their thoughts, prayers or whatever spiritual sentiments you have. Thank you.

Little Butterflies

What is happening to me? I’m so very dizzy…swept off my feet I think. I just don’t know. I can’t locate reality because I’m stuck in the clouds and I can’t see where I’m going. It’s amazing…

We have all the little things in common; you and I, and all the big things are different. Is this doomed…or are we doomed to care for one another.

Only time will tell…

Rain Clouds

Staring out the window of my office, daydreaming again it seems. I’m unconsciously watching the American flag flying in the wind and the State of Oregon flag in its blue and gold dancing in perfect synchronization under it. The Douglas fir trees stand proudly at attention just as they have for decades. Simple maple and oak trees have the kiss of fall in their leaves and soon they will be as blank as the expression on my daydreaming face.

I always find myself melancholy in the fall. I’m not sure if it has to do with the environment changing for another winter, the return of the rain, or the chill I’m greeted with every morning as I push the snooze button and hug into my pillow afraid to face the dark sky. Every autumn it’s the same thing for me. I feel like my spirit is preparing itself for the bitterness of winter.

Everywhere I turned this weekend the constant reminder of fall bellowed into my face. The sound of the football announcer Friday night booming accompanied by the occasional cheer of the crowd, that indescribable smell of fresh rain steaming up from the pavement below my feet, signature pumpkins in various shades of orange adorning the grocery store fronts and copper colored oak and maple leaves stuck to my car window. Autumn is officially here and there is no amount of my whining around that can change it.

The only thing I find myself looking forward to enjoying is the smile of my adorable nephew and the gleam in his beautiful blue eyes as he is taken out to play with the other little spooks and goblins of the night dressed in his cuddly little Halloween costume. My “boo-bear” and his angel mommy will be visiting the end of this month and I can’t wait to have some therapeutic best friend time at our favorite restaurant and secret hiding spots. It is best friends like her that keep one’s mind youthful, smile bright and can heal any broken heart.

There are as many things changing in my life right now that are as dramatic as the changing of the leaves on the trees outside. I’ve discovered that being in a detached phase was good for me. I’m slowly moving down a path towards something new but sharing my building excitement with the world is not something I’m quite ready to do. Maybe soon I’ll be willing to tell, but for now, I'm going to be as mysterious as the dark rain clouds threatening outside. Nobody knows about it but me. *grin*

Woman's Worth

Normally I use these pretty little pixels and glorious free bandwidth to creatively express the random electronic pulses of my mind. Today I just need to express a quality rant. Please forgive the darkened negativity friends. The sunshine in my smile will more than likely come out tomorrow.

Ladies and gentlemen, well mostly just the gentlemen…

I regret to inform you that inappropriate comments, offers, displays, actions and gestures are not the way to go about entertaining my fancy. While it may seem like a contradictory statement to say I am both a modern feminist and a lady, I will continue stand my ground as I will accept nothing less than to be treated with the respect and dignity I deserve as an established, successful and intelligent female member of the species.

If I have not expressed an independent interest in you or responded in kind to your feeble attempts to catch my attention then it is generally safe to assume that your favor in me is unrequited. In this case it would be most appreciated if said attempts cease to continue.

My intention was not to single out any individual by painting these words so precisely. Please note that if you feel guilty in reading this then you more than likely need to take an extra precaution to your display of actions and vocalizations around me.

I’m not saying that we can’t be friends. I am just saying that is all we will ever be. Push the limit and nothing is what you will end up with.

Thank you.

Autumn Begins

Trading my sunny summer skies for gray clouds, rain and copper colored leaves marks the beginning of autumn as well as a new chapter in my life. While I have to admit that I did not wake up this morning with some amazing blue flash of self-realization I did have a moment of crystalline epiphany while I was trying to gather the inspiration to write this. Unfortunately it faded faster than I could grasp the concept.

As I stared into the twenty-six candles twinkling on my birthday cake I had no realization what this is suppose to mark for me. It’s another year. I’m eighteen with eight years experience. There are some days that the experiences, failures, successes and heartbreaks trapped in the wax of those twenty-five candles makes me feel that there is double the amount of pain staring me in the face. Other days I see those same moments in time and laugh because I know that the sparkle in my eyes and the glow of my smile keeps me young. I have no idea what the future holds and honestly have no care or flurry for the past anymore. I keep dreaming of a place to embrace my “today” and I’ve finally grown strong enough to begin my search.

I’m destined to find the place that has been haunting my dreams, a remodeled 1920’s downtown loft with a charming balcony where I can stare out a dirty bared window at the bustling street below. I’m going to wrap myself in that handmade afghan, its rainbow threads enlaced loosely around my shoulders. Wiggle my toes in my toe socks and giggle at the site of how silly they look as I tuck one foot underneath me. I can already feel the steam from my blueberry tea as it swirls around my long eyelashes. Black and white prints spread out on the dusty wooden floor as I try to make sense of the frenzy that my mind paints through a lens. The soft tinkling from the keys of a piano mixing with the sounds of downtown creating a unique serenade that only I can find the beauty in. This is my paradise. This is peace.

Happy Birthday to me…this year…I’m giving myself the best present of all.

An Unheard Goodbye

There are so many unspoken words I have muffled inside of my heart. I thought that maybe I was healed enough to begin expressing them freely and yet I sit here staring at another empty document with the blinking cursor taunting my every attempt. Fear locks my fingers down and makes them unable to compose the words I want to say. These words I still need to say to you even though I know that you’ll never read them. I wish I could say my peace and tell you exactly what was in my heart. I’m unable to do so as you have left my heart in blackened ashes. That is all that is left from the inferno you started burning when you set our friendship on fire. I want to say I can walk away from you and never wonder. I’ll never stop wondering but I know I am strong enough to walk away. One foot in front of the other I promise you that I won’t look back as all I can offer you now is an unheard goodbye…I’m letting you go.

New England Adventure

I’ve returned from my adventure to the east coast and I must admit it has put my mind into a new perspective sparking a greater appreciation for the beauty of home.

Air travel is something that my body is just not accustomed to and someday when I’m independently wealthy I will custom design my own private jet complete with plush seats, hot tub, champagne service, flat screen TV and surround sound. I’ll even have my portrait painted on the tail like Bob Marley and the Jamaica jets. Until then I’m hopelessly stuck in coach with the screaming babies, overwhelming senior citizen body order, snoring businessmen, gabby “flight mothers” and spending countless hours contorting my body into the most uncomfortable seats known to man. I have found out that it is impossible for me to fall asleep on an airplane.

Thankfully the redeye flight from Oregon to New Jersey went smoothly and arrived almost 20 minutes ahead of schedule. Following our arrival I subjected my sleepless body to three and half exhilarating hours in the lovely Newark Airport. Since I had some extra time there I was able to go out of security, escape from the front doors and catch the feel of New Jersey on my tired face. A view of the New York skyline is what I was greeted with and an outline of the Empire State Building dancing behind the sunrise. A constant flow of people faded the entrance of the airport doors passing one another without any interaction, not a smile or greeting, just a blank stare as they bumped into each other without cause or care. The concrete was pained by discarded trash and worn where it had been exposed to constant foot travel. I could not even catch site of a pansy in a planter. The only sign of life not caught up in the mindless pace of travel was a solitary pigeon. He was much smaller than the pigeons at home but he was my only friendly face. I waved goodbye to him as my plane took off into the sunrise. I’ve decided to name him Percy.

Lake Champlain glistened like some unreal body of water bedecked with magical sailboats and mysterious islands just like those in my fantasy novels as the plane approached Burlington, Vermont. The foothills, or “mountains” as they are called in Vermont, caused a harsh wind sheer and the pilot had to pull up from the first landing attempt and circle the lake a second time before we could touch down. The high wind and chill factor slapped my face the moment I stepped outside. I couldn’t help but compare the environment with that of the southern Oregon coast. The only components missing were the salt in the air and the greenery was dark and rich verses the more vibrant greenery of Oregon.

The first difference I noticed about Vermont was the slow-paced and laid-back lifestyle. I could walk from one end of the city to the other in an hour while it would take the locals I was passing left and right all day. This difference was more obvious in the service as it took 3 hours to check into the hotel room, 20 minutes to get a cup of tea and 45 minutes for a club sandwich. There is no sense of urgency anywhere in that state and I suppose while that leaves them with a stress-free life, it makes a west coaster stressed out and frazzled.

As much as I wish I could say my trip was for pleasure, my purpose on the east coast was to attend an annual meeting of ASLCS (American Society of Legislative Clerks and Secretaries). Entertainment is guaranteed when you get a group of legislative staff together and multiplied when you mix those people from all 50 states as well as Canada, Mexico, England and Ireland. The connections established and friendships formed are something that I’ll never forget. I now have my ASLCS family and an excuse to see the world visiting my new friends. I'll never live this one down but apparently I do talk like a “valley girl” according to my new friends from Alabama, West Virginia, Kentucky and Mississippi. Oh well, I love “all yall’s” anyway.

Fortunately I was able to do a little personal sightseeing while I was away. New England’s most amazing offering is the fabulous Maine lobster. I can now say I’ve experienced it and I’m sorry to Oregon crabbers but nothing tops this crustacean delicacy. <3

The trip home brought me to Atlanta, Georgia where I was greeted with the blast of humid heat the minute I stepped off the plane. Unfortunately or fortunately, not sure which one, I only had enough time to run from one gate to another. The Atlanta skyline is beautiful and I plan on visiting there very soon. Yes, my friends in the south, I blew you all a kiss out the window of the plane as I glanced down and my plane turned to the north. Setting out from Georgia to Portland I had to resist singing on the plane to my Norah Jones CD as I was overwhelmed with inspiration just to be returning home. First step I took outside I filled my lungs with Oregon air and I felt alive again. It’s so good to be home.

***

On another note…

…late at night while the rest of the east coast is sound asleep I listened intently to the sweetest voice left back on the west coast. Falling asleep with the phone in my hand after talking to you, I don’t know how, but you were with me all the time.

I just…trust you.

The Art of a Perfected Fake Smile

Patchwork thoughts have been dancing in my head all morning. I find myself scrambling to make sense of one and then another thought drops by unannounced. I blame music. Every song ignites another emotion, state of mind and causes my thoughts to crash around like the waves of the ocean. I’m left with just enough understanding that my toes are cold and my lips taste of salt air.

I’ve been parading around lately with a mask displaying the art of perfected fake smile. My world has been confusing lately and while I’ve still searching to make sense of it all I can’t help but feel somewhat lost and melancholy. I have my moments of sun break through the clouds that I’ve grown so comfortable with but those are rare and few between.

There are many lessons to learn in life and “how to love” is one of the hardest. One would think with as much pain, suffering, dying and deceit there is in this world that love would be a parallel universe so-to-speak. Something as light and glorious as love would be able to kiss away anything dark and painful within someone’s soul. To love and be loved would be the cure for all turmoil. I guess I live with my head in the clouds because recently I’ve been shown that loving someone, fighting all obstacles and sharing their pain is not enough to save them from hating and destroying themselves in the end. You only break your heart against them.

The few rays of sunshine in my life are my friends. They bring me happiness like a cup of blueberry tea on a foggy Saturday morning. Some of them old and some of them new, they brighten my world and bring a natural smile to my face when I need my perpetual pout broken. I love you…all of you. <3

I did find some comedy today at lunch as I was whisked away to TJ Maxx with a coworker. Somewhere deep inside of me there is this uncanny attraction to outlandish headwear. As I was parading around the store in the oddities that I found I thought to myself, “When I'm an old lady I want a trunk full of crazy hats that I can wear so I never have to worry about how boring my powder white hair is”. Each hat must be as dramatic and as extravagant as my personality.

Tomorrow is another day that will trap me in its whirlwind, or at least the wind in a literal sense. After a long day of Senate session full of joyous executive appointments, radiate in the sarcasm, I will be boarding a plane for Vermont. While this will mark a virginal experience of the east coast I am still uncertain what this will bring me. I’m sure that the green trees of Oregon will beckon me home and I’ll miss the comfort of knowing it will indeed rain tomorrow. One foot in front of the other, I’ll just adorn my fancy cocktail dresses matched with classic heels and set out to see what I can discover.

In other fanciful news, Pete Wentz and Ashlee Simpson had a brawl. I guess I have a chance. /sigh

Hello World

I guess this is the beginning…

Sitting here starting at this blinking cursor. *Blink* I would love to fantasize that I was sitting in an antique chair full of character with it’s cracked white paint in front of my computer fashioned on a scratched up desk abandoned years ago by some famous librarian. I lean forward as I bring my hands to the keyboard, the tips of my toes barely touching the dusty hardwood floor. My only companion is that of a vanilla candle flickering on the dark plum walls around me. The smell of green tea from the cup next to me steams my senses. Thoughts begin to flow…

* * *

My life is not that carefree.

This is my secret, my escape, my adventure. I won’t make you promises that my thoughts are going to make any sense. I’m not going to answer any questions. I don’t trust you and you don’t know me. It’s as simple as that.

I suggest to those of you who are following along to not pass judgment on me. Everything cannot be taken at face value. I’m obscure at times and tend to speak in riddles. I even confuse myself.

* * *

I’m a butterfly and my path is random. Sometimes I’ll be here and sometimes I won’t. I’ll never really leave. Whether you stay or not…that is up to you.

…I’m ready to begin now.