So guess what?

It's good stuff! That second date I was hopin for with the cute blonde with the flippy hair and awesome nose; she said yes to dinner and a movie!

Yup! Cool hu? Yep, I sure am happy about that. We had so much good stuff to talk about on that first date, three and a half hours of solid conversation! I'm almost gosh darn worried there'll be nothing left for the second one! :) We just yammered on for hours about all sorts of interesting stuff. ;) I know about her family, her musical tastes, the trips she's been on...shucks, we just laughed and laughed when we realized that we both loved the exact same part in Spirited Away :0 Oh the laughter! I certainly hope the second date is filled with as much laughter. Maybe, just to be sure that we have enough to talk about on the second date, I should come up with some talking points. Hmmmmm, I'll have to give that some thought. We didn't really cover pets yet. I'll bet she's got some great pet stories to tell!! :) :) :) I know I do! LOL :) :)

Well, really there's not much more to say. I just wanted to spread the happy news is all :) :) :)

Oh, I guess there's one little yucky thing :( I'm going to have to wait a whole gosh darn week to have that date with her :( :( :( You see it's Thanksgiving. She's got family stuff to do and all. I guess I can understand that. Shucks, this just means I'll be even more eager when the happy day arrives!!! :0




Oh, and her boyfriend is visiting her that week, so obviously she'll need some time with him! :)







:)







:)






:)






:|









um...











what?












er.....












It's very interesting, gmail has this feature that lets you see how many e-mails you've had with someone. It's pretty cool. Just for giggles I figured I'd see how many e-mails I'd had with cute, flippy, blonde, great nose girl...



45! Wow, forty five e-mails! They cover all sorts of subjects. We've had about 5 hours worth of face to face conversation and forty darn five e-mails...



Isn't it swell when you think you really know someone but they can still whip out something fun to surprise you with?

gosh-fuck wonder isn't that great! Isn't that darn, doodlyfucking pistol whipping fanfucktastic!


It sure the heck is.

Well, wish me luck on that second date! :)


Wacki

Current Location: in shucks darn doodly hell!
Current Mood: fuck! :) LOL
Current Music: Slayer, thanks Gill, I guess there is a use for it after all.

A date occurred this evening. Two people were involved, one was a cute blonde with slightly flippy hair and an excellent nose. The other was me. There were cups of coffee involved in the incident and while they didn't participate in the conversation they did have some effect on it's pacing.

I believe the date was a good one. I'd like to say the date WAS a good one, but I can't do that. It would be too definitive and could upset the subtle, invisible balance between hope and disappointment that all dates rest on. It is your job to not know what the hell is going on before, during and after the date. I did my job and I am continuing to do my job. So I will only talk about the things I know: there was a date, she showed up, there was coffee, there was talk, I brushed my teeth AND showered, I'm pretty sure that she did too...

those might be all the facts that I have at this point.

Nope, wait, here's an interesting tidbit; a single cup of "Spot Coffee" brand coffee produces approximately eighteen gallons of pee. This is a scientific fact, look it up. I had about three cups. I had to take a serious leak about every five minutes. This was bad. I didn't want her thinking that I had bodily functions. I also didn't want to wet myself because I think that would have signaled an end to the date. I wasn't ready for the date to end, I had just gotten her laughing at my "climbing a mountain with a backpack full of burritos" story and I was ready to hit her with my "cat farting on a candle" story. This had to keep going, but was my magically refilling bladder going to lose me major sexy points? What was I to do? I went for honesty (that stupid rhyme). I said "wow, there is something in this coffee that make me have to go to the bathroom every five minutes."

She said, "well, they must put laxatives in it."

Oh no, she's got the wrong idea completely! She thinks I'm going to do THE OTHER THING! I can't let her think I'm doing THAT. That's at least 10 to 15 sexy points gone forever. I needed to quickly and elegantly let her know that I wasn't doing THAT in the bathroom. Along the way I would need to give the further impression that I've NEVER needed to do that EVER. James Bond doesn't need to do it and damn it, I don't either!

So I said, "Oh, um, NO, I'm errr....just taking a leak, it's not the other thing...errr, I don't do that EVER!"

Let me tell you, I think she was pretty darn impressed.

So I THINK there will be a second date. See, I said "think". The hope balance remains untouched. I'm not stupid, I just don't know anything.

wacki

Current Mood: hopeful

I am very sad and sorry to announce the passing of a truly excellent feline soul. I found my cat Payne under the bed this morning clutching one of my socks. It was the very sock that I stubbornly kept ignoring every night. I could put away my shirts and pants but that damn sock was beyond my ability to deal with. Now I'm very glad I left it because I think she wanted to be with something that smelled like me when she died. I'm just sorry it wasn't the actual me.

So, since Payne was a shy Cat only a select number of people actually got a chance to meet her. This is completely unlike her adopted sister Folly who has most likely had phone conversations with most of my friends. I think it's only fair that Payne should get a little tribute.

Payne was approximately 85 different shades of brown and grey. She looked like the palate of a frustrated amateur artist. I met her when I lived in Riverknoll at RIT. She liked me because I fed her cheese. When she got herself knocked up she moved in with me. I was not involved in this decision. She walked in and resolutely refused to walk out again. She paid her share of the rent through purring and lap sitting. These were things she truly excelled at. If I possessed a single grain of business sense I would have rented her out and made a bit of cash on the side. Sadly I didn't think of that until just now.

Payne had a smokers meow. I know very little of her time spent on the "streets." It's very possible that she smoked a few "doobies" and got into the "crack." She had that frightened knowing look in her eyes and I did lose an awful lot of watches those first few months we spent together. Many times she would open up her mouth as if to let loose a full throated bleat and no noise would come out, just the clacking of her teeth when she closed up again. When she did get a meow out it was squeaky and full of gravel. Public speaking was never going to be her thing. I doubt this was an issue for her. Payne could be frightened into panic by a falling drop of dew, she would not be interested in a podium.

Her actual interests were very simple, they included, cheese, little yellow nerf balls, tuna, salmon, helping Folly look presentable, purring, lap sitting and sleeping on things that I either HAD worn or was currently wearing. She will never be featured in an anthology entitled "Tales of ACTION!!" Though I will say that when she had kittens every single one looked COMPLETELY different. I'd say the night of conception was probably all the action she ever wanted to see.

"Tales of SITTING!!" that's a book Payne could appear in.

She was at her best when I was sick. She knew I was coming down with something before I did and that's when she would pull out the cat medicine. This is the science of Cat Medicine; take the patient, sit on the patient (the closer to the face the better), softly vibrate....DONE, patient is cured. She completely cured me many many times using this method. I'm sorry I couldn't have done the same for her, but I can't purr and I don't think she could have handled my weight.

So that is my kitty Payne. I'm very sorry she's gone. If you happen to give a toast some time this week, please include her in it. She had a very tiny fan club, but it was a loyal one and we loved her.

I of course realize that everyone thinks that their cat is the cutest. I understand that and I know it would be useless to argue.

However, my cat Folly IS actually the cutest cat in the world. No, really, it’s been documented by real scientists from Switzerland. They were very impressed. The highest previously recorded cuteness rating was a 95.6. This was earned in Australia by a Koala bear wearing a hat. Very cute.

Folly got a 105, and that’s without a hat. Yeah, I know, I was blown away too. I can’t even begin to fathom the sort of numbers she would have put up had she been wearing a sweater or little green knickers.

And for those who are not swayed by scientific reasoning it is also proven in the Bible. Fanaticals 5 chapter 7 third row to the left; “...and the Lord sayeth there shall come from Mount Danascus a Cat with nose all pink and fur all grey and stripey. Folly shall she be called, for she is super cute...” Must be true.

Now the reason I need to mention this is because she is sleeping on a chair next to my desk. Moments ago she was giving herself a vigorous tongue bath but then became too tired for that activity and curled up for a nap. But she forgot something...


She didn’t retract her tongue. It’s still sticking out. It’s sticking out RIGHT NOW! How do you forget a thing like that? I’m a bit memory impaired but I’ve never had anybody have to tap me on the shoulder, “Excuse me, Sir...”

“Yeth?”

“You appear to have left your tongue hanging out of your mouth.”

“Oh, Thorry...”

I’m not really sure what I should do. Should I poke it until she reels it back in? Is it going to dry out if I don’t do something? I hope it doesn’t turn into beef jerky. I have a little water bottle here, should I spritz it?

The thing is, Folly has done some things dumb enough to make me believe that this could be an honest mistake. However in the past she has also shown enough strategic planning skills to make believe this has been done on purpose. It could be a ploy. My cat may actually be attempting to be cute in a professional way. I’ve seen this before. My Mom does wildlife rehab work and brought home some baby squirrels to feed. These squirrels were professionally cute. I mean they had an agenda including an organized plan with meetings and everything. “All right, Nuttsy you go dig a hole in the newspapers and fall asleep upside down, Doris, keep obsessively cleaning your tail, Mr. Titters I need you to get your head stuck in something, try under the food dish or between the cage and water bottle. I’m going to see if I can walk with a slight limp...” You had to say, “Awwwwww.” But what are the animals doing with all this adoration? Is it an energy source of some sort? Can they store it and use it as currency among themselves? We all know that Transformers run on “Energon Cubes.” Could the animals be creating Energon cubes out of our attention to them? They can’t JUST be doing it for the shrimp and nut balls.

“Shrimp and nut balls?” Why does that phrase bother me?

Now let’s talk about Bunnies. What possible use are Bunnies? They replace otherwise useful space with poofy fur, damp eyes and overly long ears that cause compositional problems when you try to draw them. The biggest proof we have that bunnies are ridiculous are their noses. Why in Hell’s name do they need to wiggle all the time? Do you realize how much energy they are wasting? My nose acts like an efficient machine. It remains stable on my face with barely a tremor when I need to take in oxygen. THAT is a properly operating nose. It helps me breath and it holds up my glasses. I do NOT use it to charm people so that I can absorb their precious adoration and turn it into energon cubes to power God knows what. Am I the only person who is worried about this? When we are all strapped like batteries to giant machines that make jangly mice and Pounce you are going to remember that I tried to warn you.

Do you know her tongue is STILL sticking out? How much power does she need?

The most Scientifically appropriate measure for me to take right now would be to poke it with my finger. All right I’m going to try that. For those of you who are fascinated by scientific discovery I’m going to give a play by play of this great moment.

June 3, 07 2:46.16 sec: Cat is sleeping, tongue is still extended. My finger is travelling at a rate of .04 knots towards tongue. Cat appears unaware of finger. Finger still approaching. Cat registers some sign of awareness, ear twitches. Finger still approaching. Still no sign of tongue retraction. I realize that my fingers have been used to eat Andy Capp chili cheese fries, it’s too late to turn back, Finger touchdown in T minus 3...2...1... Touchdown.

Instant tongue retraction, an eye appears to be opening, yes it’s open, other eye has also started the opening process. Cat sneezes, head shakes, eyes are both open and showing awareness. From the size of the pupils and the pattern of forehead crinkling I would judge the cat’s emotional state to be perplexed with a side of suspicion. The subject is now smacking it’s lips, I believe it has just tasted the chili cheese fries. Cat has caught sight of patch of questionable chest fur and is cleaning. Cat is now stretching back leg. Cat is now cleaning patch of questionable fur on belly. Cat is now seeing and/or smelling and/or hearing something... Cat is walking away. Cat is checking on Kitchen garbage...

end experiment...

wait...

Cat has emerged from Kitchen carrying a ball of crumpled paper. Cat is approaching at a speed of .06 knots, Cat has deposited ball of paper within my easy reach. Eyes appear to be very intent and aware. They are moving from the paper ball to me, they linger there for a moment, they look back towards the paper ball, then back to me...

All right fine, I’ll throw your stupid paper ball!

Soon she will be able to make more Energon cubes.

Tags: cats, chili cheese fries, cute, science
Current Mood: amused

I just bought The Fratellis album and I want to talk about coolness.

For anyone who has not heard the Fratellis I will tell you about them. They are Scottish. For anyone who has not heard of “The Scottish”, they are a proud people made of knuckles and jerked leather. They use barfights as a way of saying “Hello” and they can burrow through the earth using their chins. The most unusual feature of the Scottish people is that it’s population does not contain any “dorks.” They were all driven out years ago (look it up).

Just think, an entire society of kinda cool people who you would like to have a drink with.

These are the people who have brought us “The Fratellis.”

Anyway, I was listening to them while preparing to do a painting. I had the music up loud and I was laying out all my paints and brushes while singing along to words I didn’t know or understand. THAT is when I made the amazing discovery that I am cool.

No, really, I am. If you had walked in on me at that moment you would have seen a scruffy, bohemian artist dude with Cadmium Red smeared on his bare chest, a number 10 brush clamped in his teeth and Scottish, Indie, Punky rock blaring out of his Macintosh. Any scientist would have agreed that I was cool (look it up).

While I would like to think that other details helped to cement the moment of genuine coolness, I do suspect that my Fratellis soundtrack had a lot to do with it. If you had walked in on me and I was doing all the same things but listening to “Cats” or “American Idol the Album”... not cool. It made me wonder how much work the music was doing for me. Could I be caught doing something uncool but be saved by my soundtrack? Could the Fratellis save me from something like; being caught pulling tiny little muffins out of my Easy Bake oven? Could it act as an antidote to my many moments of uncool?

This scientific theory could be used on dates. If you are listening to a CD in your car and turn off the engine, the CD will stop at that very point. When you get back in your car and start it up, the CD will play again from the very point you stopped it. Why is this useful? Well because you can now have your date “catch you” listening to a cool song which will thus become your soundtrack. So what song would I like to get caught listening to? The Robert Palmer version of “Men Smart, Women Smarter” is a good choice. The Fratellis? Always a good choice. Bjork? Maaaaybe. How about Bob Dylan? You could look him up on the internet and memorize an intelligent comment to say about him like; "You caught me listening to Bob Dylan did you know that he is the pre-eminent poet/lyricist and songwriter of his time. He re-energized the folk-music genre, brought a new lyrical depth to rock and roll when he went electric, and bridged the worlds of rock and country by recording in Nashville. Isn't that interesting?" What women could resist such insight?

Of course you would have to be careful, this soundtrack thing could work against you. Try to imagine you are picking up your date. Your car is shiny and red, your breath smells faintly of Oranges, your cloths are free of cat hair and soup stains and your hair is playfully tousled. “Hello” says your date when she opens her door. “Hello” you say and then follow that up with an incredibly witty compliment that she thinks you just thought of. You sire her to your awaiting car, she tells you how wonderfully red it is. You open her door and once she is inside, you push it shut with just the right amount of force. This is very important. Too much force and the door will slam, your date thinks you have an anger management issue. Too little force and the door half latches. Now you have to do that stupid hip check maneuver, your date thinks you’re a limp wrist who doesn’t know his own automobile. But you get it just right, the door makes a healthy "chunk" sound. Then you smoothly glide into your pilot’s seat, give your date a wink and turn the key....

“CHICKS AND DUCKS AND GEESE BETTER SCURRY
WHEN I TAKE YOU OUT IN THE SURREY,
WHEN I TAKE YOU OUT IN THE SURREY WITH THE FRINGE...ON TOP!”

This is the song that is playing loud enough for her neighbors to hear. You turn it off but the damage has been done. Your date thinks that your soundtrack song is “Surrey with a Fringe.” No one has ever "gotten some" to “Surrey with a fringe.” Get out, open her door and bid her good night. You have been ruined.

So you can see the danger. Which brings me to my point, which is; buy the Fratellis album. It will make you cool.

Just like me.

Tags: cars, songs, surrey with a fringe, the fratellis
Current Location: coolsville, population: me
Current Mood: cool
Current Music: The Fratellis

I know that there are some people who perform the act of snowboarding and receive some sort of enjoyment from it. I've seen them, they are an attractive people who eat healthy things for breakfast and drive vans. I thought that maybe I too could be one of those people. That is why I chose to partake of this activity on Sunday.

The day started well. I picked up Alyssa at an hour of the morning that I had previously thought was a myth. I mentioned this discovery to Alyssa and she was kind enough to educate me on other hours that exist even earlier. That was fascinating. We drove off sipping our coffee and chatting of pleasant things. The trunk of my car was well packed for any eventuality. I'd been sure to bring an extra change of dignity. In my head the day was already planned. I know what I'm doing out there, I've seen snowboarding in films and on TV. You stand on the board, swish your legs about and slap other snowboarders on the back when you get to the bottom. Some spoiled, blonde snowpunk named "Brett" will challenge me to race Deadman's Run, I'll beat him in my gentle, humble way and then take home the girl of my choosing. This isn't brain surgery.

We arrived, got our tickets and got dressed in our snowgear. Alyssa looks sleek, stylish and sexy in hers. I look like laundry.

At the rental place we are offered Helmets to go with our snowboards. Five extra bucks! What?! to protect our heads? Are you sir, suggesting that we are lame?! No helmets for us. I pick up my board. The dude behind the counter chirps, "We just sharpened the blade on that one." I consider this information. The five foot blade that I'll be strapped to has just been made sharper. I suppose telling a condemned man that his Guillotine has just been serviced is probably considered good news. "Thank you," I say.

We are at the bottom of the bunny hill. Our task is simple, stand in line with the four and six year olds, grab the plastic handles that are moving up the hill at .02 miles an hour. "Ha, ha, ha" I say, and grab the handle. I'm launched upon an incredible journey lasting 4 and half feet. Then I am introduced to my first fall of the day. "Hi, I'm Frank, I'll be your Fall, this is Steve, your humiliation, we'll be working together." Oh no, did Alyssa see that? No. She's on her back yelling at her sense of balance, "Stupid sense of balance start working right the hell now!" I'm helped up by a blonde six year old, she's dressed in pink with a matching snowboard. She's probably named Suzie Buttons or something. "Thank you small one," I say, "please don't help me again."

Alyssa and I get to the top of the bunny hill. The air is so much fresher and cleaner from twelve feet up. We are both strapped in and ready to go. Now there is really no reason to go into detail about what happened next. Suffice to say there were some "happenings," there was some language that I regret and have since publicly apologized for. I'm doing some community service now. I go into Kindergarten's across the country and warn children about the dangers of using the "F" word. There are some parents who will never buy my book. I'm ready to move on from this. The important part is; we did, in our own way, get to the bottom of the hill. We now felt that we were fully qualified to tackle the big one.

On the chairlift trip up we picked out the cool moves that we would soon be performing. I'm sensible, I'm not going to try anything with a flip until my second or third run. We were expertly trading advice. "Keep your weight over the board" said I, "Push on the toe" said Alyssa. I have my interview with "Extreme Snowboarder" running through my head, "Yeah, it only took me 20 minutes to learn, you just have to remember to push on your toe..."

Then we were at the top and peaking over the precipice. Suddenly it was, "Dr. SerWacki you are wanted in O.R. STAT..." "What...wha, I'm not a Doctor who are you..." "Doctor this man is going to die without you performing major brain surgery on him, Get your instruments and get in there!" "But...but, I'm just a Bunny artist, does he want me to draw him something, is he having a problem with his brushes?" "Nurse we are losing him!"

I'm not qualified for this! What the hell am I doing here? What is this on my feet?! Alyssa and I began our first run.

There is a difference between falling on skis and falling on a snowboard.

I've fallen on skis plenty of times. Skiing falls are cute, poofy falls which cover you in powder and make you giggle. "Oh look I fell, silly me!" you can say, dusting a light coating of flakes from your hat. This gives your friends the chance to point at you and say, "Ha, Ha, you have fallen on skis, how funny you look!" Then there are smiles and laughter all around. Elves and woodland creatures come out to join the fun.

You do not use words like "silly" when you fall on a snowboard. There are no Elves or squirrels. There is no laughter. Snowboarding falls are horrible acts of violence. If you are able to get up from a snowboarding fall you can't dust off the snow. You've hit the ground so hard the snow is inside you. You may need surgery.

I remember most of my falls, that's a good sign, it means I don't regret not spending that five bucks. Every fall was unique. There was the one where I slid ten feet on just the tip of my nose, there was the one where I was spinning so fast that onlookers thought I was strapped to a wagon wheel, there was a neat one where my lower body stopped but my upper body continued down the hill, the one with the tree, the one where I lost my hat and several ribs. The only thing in common with all of them was the sound I'd make when I hit the ground. It was the same sound the Balrog made when Gandalf smote his ruin upon the mountain. Of course the Balrog's ruin was only smoted the once. My ruin was smoted many times in succession. The Balrog got off easy.

We snowboarded for four hours and had to stop. We had both run out of body parts that we could afford to do without. So we made a unanimous decision to switch over to skis. The snowboard was glaring at me malevolently as it was traded away, but the skis looked at me with love. I love you too skis, lets never part again. We continued our day, skiing the slopes with unicorns and Fairies looking on.

A word about Alyssa. Alyssa is a black belt in Karate. If we were attacked by hillbillies on the way home I would grab my drawing pad and sketch while she removed their delicate bits. Alyssa does not even need to hit you with her fists and feet. She can do it using only her eyes. I'm not sure how she performs this. I THINK she actually beats you in the head using her eyelashes like clubs. She did it to me once years ago and my only memories are answering the paramedic's questions, "...yes, I can still wiggle my toes..." So I have come to expect a certain level of bad-assness when dealing with her. But there was this incident...we were on the chair lift chatting about parallel skiing and she said these actual words, "I like the little poof, poof, poof sound of the snow..." She said this while bobbing her head from shoulder to shoulder and making little dancing twinkerbell motions with her fingers. Now, I was very wise, I did not mention this to her and I hope you and I can keep this just between us. It was very cute. I thought that maybe I had accidentally gotten on the chair lift with little Suzie Buttons, but no, it was Alyssa. She had somehow become momentarily adorable, Deadly, but adorable. No one must ever tell her this.

When the day came to a merciful end we headed for home. We stopped for a bite to eat at an oasis and ordered pizza and beer. It was the greatest pizza and beer that any poor mortal has ever touched. I wanted to worship it and sacrifice sheep to it. It's Alyssa's fault that I'm not still there hugging it and whispering "Thank You." The two hour ride home was uneventful, Alyssa fell asleep after forty minutes, I fell asleep soon after. No worry, the cruise control was set. I wasn't really bothered by a car crash anyway.

Car crash? Come on...

Tags: balrogs, elves, snowboarding
Current Location: my moonlit desk with an overly affectionate cat
Current Mood: torpid
Current Music: purring, endless purring

OK gang, you can thank Chris for this mammoth posting. He told me I should write a children's book like I was doing a journal entry, so here it is...




A packet of seeds that has a picture of the Eiffel tower on it will NOT grow you the Eiffel tower. To think anything else is just plain silly. The seeds in that packet will grow a flower. That flower may look like the eiffel tower, or be named after the Eiffel tower or even smell like the Eiffel tower, but that’s about the best you can expect. I was quite certain that this was certain.

I have a little sister. Our parents gave her some sort of official name but I call her Bunny Head. This is because she has this little plastic hair clip that she wears all the time, it’s supposed to look like a bow but it sticks up like a tiny pair of baby Bunny ears. She pretends to not like the name, but I know she loves it. I’ve seen her hopping in the garden when she thinks I’m not looking. I told her that if she acts like a bunny long enough she’ll eventually be able to turn into one whenever she likes. She calls me “Big Bee.” It’s supposed to stand for Big Brother but I told her it was because I was the Emperor of all Bees. She will believe ANYTHING you tell her. She used to use up all of my special shampoo, so I told her that it was “Boy” shampoo which contained Bat eggs. If she used it on her girl hair, the eggs would hatch and she’d be covered in flapping wings. I laughed and laughed and laughed. Then I found my shampoo dumped in the toilet. I have to share her “no-tears” stuff now. I smell like a baby. I wish I’d thought that one through.

So when my sister showed me the little packet of seeds and asked my what sort they were, I decided to do the right thing, I said, “Those seeds are PARIS seeds Bunny Head, they’ll grow Paris of course.”

“Gasp” she said. I knew what she was thinking, all my lies were building up in her head. She was going to grow Paris, she was going to turn into a bunny, she was going to live in Paris AS a bunny and she would never go near shampoo again. She had just figured out her new life and it was going to start right now.

I giggled when I saw her with the big flower pot. I chortled when I saw her watering the dirt. I could barely keep quiet watching her kneel by the pot staring into the dirt and waiting for the first signs of her budding Paris. Giggle, Snicker, snort...

On Tuesday morning she brought me the pot. Half the Eiffel tower was sticking out of a green bud, there were vines around it.

“Wah” I said, “Nuh, Fuh...erg...” I added. “This is going to be sooo super cool,” said my sister, “you can come visit if you want.” “Spuhh...” I replied.

No, no, no, no, no! I didn’t know what to do! Can I get in trouble for this? Do kids get in trouble for convincing their sisters to grow little citys in flower pots? Should I look this up on the internet? But of course I was being a fool. My little sister was tricking me. She stuck a souvenir in the dirt that’s all. Pesky little thing! I was even a little proud, she was getting just like her big bro. Guess I’ll have to go back to fooling the dog. He wasn’t getting any smarter. Everything is going to be alright, no problem at all.

No, this was a problem. It continued to grow. The tower was larger and new buds were bursting from under the dirt. I think I saw a Bistro. My little sister couldn’t be making this stuff, she’s not that talented. She once drew the dog and I thought it was an ice cream cone. But...but...but...no, this is silly. This doesn’t happen.

It was happening. In three hours the pot had cracked, the tower was six feet tall, charming French lanes and little tasteful pastry shops were opening from green buds. My little sister was asking me how to say “Bunny head” in French. “Wee means “Yes” in French” she told me “it doesn’t mean that “other thing.” My sister was fine with this, I couldn’t even tell her that it was unusual. She lived in a world where Bats grew in shampoo and her Brother ordered Bees around. This made good sense to her.

I couldn’t be certain what the parents would do. They’d been to Paris, Mom loved it. Dad said, “Nice to visit, wouldn’t want to live there.” What could I say? “Sure Dad, but how about if Paris moves in with us? We’ve got a spare room.” This was going to turn bad, I was going to be in trouble, I just knew it. There was no way to blame the dog for this.

So we kept it hidden, I convinced Bunny Head to move the pot into my room. My parents never go in there. Dad says, “Why ruin a perfectly good day by going in THAT room?” This could work, I’d be going to college in seven or eight years. Then it’s THEIR problem.

It seemed to work. The talk at dinner was a little awkward, “What did you do today Bunny Head” asked Dad.

“Dad, it was so super cool! Big Bee and I watered the Louvre! The Mona Lisa got wet!”

“Fuh....ha...” I said dumping the green beans, “You’re so cute Bunny Head, isn’t she cute Mom, isn’t she cute Dad, gosh she sure is cute...heh”

Did Mom seem suspicious? Quick, look her in the face, smile! Smile!

“Smile” I said. Don’t say it! Do it! I smiled at Mom. She looked at Dad in that narrow way, he just said, “hmmm, yes, cute, we know.”

Whew, I’m doing well, day one and they don’t know a thing.

Day three, four and five went very much the same, but the parents seemed to sense something. “Big Bee” said Dad, “We know you find your sister adorable, but you may be inflating her head.”

“I am soooo cute,” said Bunny Head, “Je suis tellement mignonne!”.

Paris kept growing. A nice little cafe sprouted where my bed used to be. Maybe I should stop watering it, but then it might die. I can’t be guilty of killing a city! I pulled two bistro tables together and slept on them.

It was Day six and I couldn’t close my door. Some building was blocking the latch, I think it was a bank but I couldn’t read the sign. Not only should Paris NOT be growing out of a flower pot, but it should be kind enough to have English signs. Bunny Head was pouring something into the River Seine. “Bunny Head, what the heck is that,” I asked, “I don’t think there are any ducks in there, not yet anyway.” “It’s plant food” said my sister showing her teeth and loudly batting her eyelashes. “I didn’t know how much to put, so I put it all in!”

“Wah..” I reasoned, “Snuh...” I added. Mom came down the hallway and saw the bank. “What in...”

“SMILE” I shouted! What? Why? It worked, she stopped asking me the question I couldn’t answer yet. It wouldn’t last long. “Mom, hey, cool model huh, adds a touch of class, do you think it’s too much? I kind of like it, got it from Steve, he’s a friend, built it for a French play, hope it doesn’t bug Dad!”

“Um...well, huh.....” she said, “You’ve done worse things to your room I suppose. Your Dad and I can discuss it tonight at the restaurant, be nice to the sitter kids.” She continued walking. She didn’t seem angry, just a little confused and suspicious. But then it hit me.

I couldn’t keep this hidden for seven years! The city of Paris was growing out of my bedroom, this was much worse than the mouse in my sock drawer. I had maybe three or four more hours of Freedom, I would never be allowed to do anything ever again.

The sitter arrived, the parents made the usual jokes about what a couple of rascals we were. Dad said, “Now remember kids, we know everything you do, we’ve got eyes in the back of our heads you know!” Poor Dad, he was going to remember those words later and feel stupid.

The sitter was Rick, an okay guy and a couple of Watts brighter than our dog. “So how about a tour kids?”

I was going to be in trouble, nothing could stop that now. If there was ever a time that I should not worry about getting into MORE trouble it was right now. “Sure thing Rick, let’s start with my room.”

“No, wait” said my sister. “I want to show Rick my stuffed Bunnies!” What the heck, there might as well be an opening act.

We were on Bunny #18, Jimney Bunny, the one with the hat who’s married to Zaza Bunny. Rick was nodding off. “...and that’s how Jimney Bunny sprained his tail!” said my sister. There was a loud crack sound in the wall between our rooms. Rick woke up. “What in the heck,” he said.
Ah well, this is it, guess we won’t be getting to Bongo Bunny, too bad, he has the best back story.

To Rick’s credit, he was going to protect us, “You kids wait here, I’m going to check that out.”

“No problem,” I said, “We’ll be right here.” Rick walked out of my sister’s room and went into my room. I was a little excited and I felt kind of guilty about that. There are certain human reactions that some people never get to see. What does a man do when he steps into a kids room and finds a French city growing there? It’s a bit difficult to imagine but I would no longer have to. This is what happens, he says...

“um.” He didn’t even say it very loud. It was soon followed up by, “well, that’s...huh.”
I figured I should walk over and join him, maybe I can inspire him to finish his sentence. He was looking up, the Eiffel tower had gone through the ceiling, there was a patch of dark sky showing through. He looked down at me, his hand rubbing his blonde stubble and said, “You’ve got the Eiffel tower... it’s made a hole in your roof.” He almost sounded bored, like a roofer who has been dealing with this sort of problem all week. Oh great, another Eiffel tower!

“Yep, I do” I said. Could I figure out a way of blaming this on Rick? Another stab of guilt. He moved forward a bit, I put my hand up, “Don’t step on the Louvre Rick, a lot of nice stuff in there.”

The three of us sat in the living room with the TV on. Rick had thought to put on the TV, but he hadn’t put it on a working channel, so we were watching hissing snow. Bunny head was asleep on Jimney. Rick finally thought of something to say, “Do you think I should call your parents?” I did kind of want to hear that conversation:

“Um hello, is this Mr.... yeah, this is Rick the baby sitter! Oh great, great, the kids are just fine, the little one sure loves her Rabbits... yeah, she sure did, ha ha ha...um listen, the reason I’m calling...”

But I couldn’t do that to Rick. “No” I said, “Why ruin dinner.” I hope they were eating at a French restaurant, that might put them in the mood.

Paris was hopelessly out of my room and rapidly spilling down the hallway, oh, there’s the Arc de Triomphe! If it stays the same size it’ll make a great coffee table. Montmatre had taken over my sisters room. Her stuffed rabbits were getting scattered about the twisty lanes, if she’d had a stuffed Lizard we would have a Godzilla movie. I’m not going to get away with this.

There was a car sound in the driveway, they were home early. That means they probably didn’t have a good time. That’s worth another two trouble points for me, but why bother counting? Deep breath, the door opens. It’s Grandfather Fluffy! It’s because of his hair, it’s fluffy. What can I say, my sister loves cute names. He looked white, more white than usual.

“Wah...what did you do?” he stammered. I stepped up to explain, realizing that I probably should have practiced this. I’ll just consider Grandfather Fluffy the practice round. I don’t think he has it in him to yell at me. “Well you see,” I started, “If you have a pack of seeds with the Eiffel tower on it, they’re probably NOT going to grow the Eiffel Tower. You have a good 8 in 10, 9 in 10 chance of that not happening...”

“Bunny head, you planted those seeds I gave you?” he said.

What?! I was taken by surprise. I’m standing in the living room, the River Seine is flowing down the hall, our dog is barking at the Sacre Coeur and I’ve found something to surprise me. “Grandfather Fluffy! You did this?” He looked guilty! Oh joy, he looked guilty. I ran to him and gave him a bear hug. “This is YOUR fault! It’s not mine! Hooray! Hooray! I danced around him and sang the, “It’s your fault” song. It no longer mattered what happened, I wasn’t in trouble, Grandfather was. My Mom is very good with everlasting guilt. Thanksgiving was going to be a treat. I could just picture her at the table, “Let’s be Thankful for this Turkey and this wonderful pie and oh, let’s be thankful to Grandpa Fluffy for destroying our house with the capital of France!” He can deal, I’ll still be nice to him.

“All right” he said putting his hand on my shoulder, “Let’s get you, your sister and...that guy out of here, this might not be safe.” Oh yeah, I hadn’t thought of that, I guess there are some advantages to having age and wisdom. I turned to grab my sister. She was down the hall and she had a look I knew well. The lip was out, the brow was down, Jimney Bunny was squashed between her crossed arms. “I’m not going” she said. “I’m going to live in Paris and be a bunny.” My sister does have another Rabbit like quality, if she doesn’t want to get caught, she won’t be. She had a lot of places to hide.

I had to save her and this time it would require the truth.

“Bunny head, I said, looking right into her defiant, slightly weepy eyes. This was going to hurt.
“They eat rabbits in France.”

“Gasp”

The four us sat out on the front lawn waiting for the parents. Our dog was chewing on one of those tiny little Smart cars they like so much in Europe. Grandfather fluffy was trying to explain things. I think he was using me as the practice round. “...so, I didn’t think they’d actually work. I just had a box of them sitting in the basement and Bunny head wanted to play gardener...”

A box of them? She had a whole box of them?

“Does this mean I’ll get a new doggie?” murmured Bunny head, resting her head on Jimney.

“Doggie?” asked Grandfather and I. “Yeah, I planted the packet with the doggie on it too.”

We turned back to look at the house. I looked at it for a bit and then turned back around and started practicing what I would say.

“You know Mom and Dad, in all fairness to Grandpa Fluffy, just because a packet of seeds has the Sphinx on it doesn’t necessarily mean you’ll grow one. Most of the time...”

Tags: bunnies, eiffel tower, flowers, fluffy, paris
Current Location: On a stool that has made my ass fall asleep
Current Mood: I was up till four writing
Current Music: Oh yeah, music, I hadn't thought to put any of that on.

Oh my God, I finally get it, there is catharsis in writing! I know now why people do this thing.

So I’m going to try an experiment. I’m going to attempt to cauterize the largest wound I have. This wound is so enormously gaping I’m surprised there’s any flesh left to surround it. I know this has been discussed down into the ground but darn it people I need to LIVE again! I want to breath fresh air and smell the scent of spring roses! I want sunlight to warm my face and fill my heart with song. I want the bluebirds back! If this works maybe, just maybe, I can once again learn to Love and be Loved. Are you, my friends, going to come with me on this journey of healing? I hope so, let’s begin...

I hated those Star Wars movies.

Oh god, I hated them so much.

You have to understand, when I was growing up my life was more about Star Wars than it was about learning or eating. I’ve heard that little girls grow up planning their wedding to Prince Charming, they’ve picked out the dress, the flowers, they’ve written their vows by the age of three. I too had my wedding planned. I was going to marry Star Wars. The actual wedding was going to take place aboard the Death Star (The one from Jedi). The bride would be Princess Leia (not a lot of choice there), Darth Vader would handle the ceremony, R2 was the ring bearer, the Wookie was the flower girl, I’d wear blue pants with a yellow stripe and a short leather jacket. The best man gave me some trouble. It HAD to be Luke or Han but which one? I eventually chose Han. You really want your best man to be a bit of a rogue. Han’s the guy that would bring the Hookers and beer, Luke would have hand drawn me a card with a little poem about why I was his best friend in the Galaxy. That would have just made me uncomfortable. Greedo would have been invited, also the Hammerhead guy, the Ewoks would have been invited too, but they would also have served as the meat course. Music would be taken care of by the band from the Cantina. None of that Max Rebo crap for MY wedding. After Vader pronounced us Man and Movie Trilogy we would have boarded the Desert skiff from Jedi and sailed off for a Honeymoon on Hoth. Yes an odd choice, but I figured we wouldn’t get out of bed, so why worry about the cold?

That was a good stable plan for 20 years of my young life and then, something happened...

The three movies that Lucas had promised us were going to be released! There’s going to be at least ONE new girl character in it, I might actually get a new variety of brides to choose from! There I was, in line to see the first new movie. My pals were with me, these are the people who would also be invited to the wedding but they would have to sit on the “non-Star Wars character” side of the Death Star. I was about to learn some wonderful new things about my soon to be life partner!

Now this is the part where the self hatred comes in. I convinced myself that I liked it. I even went back for more. I was Tina Turner in the Ike and Tina story. Star Wars was abusing me but I convinced myself that my pure love could turn it around. I couldn’t just leave it. Star Wars was just having a bad day, it NEEDED me! Then came the day that the second movie gave me a black eye and a bloody nose. My friends tried to warn me, they told me to pack up and leave, but you know how it is, you need to decide for yourself when the abuse has gone too far. It took me until I had purchased the third movie on DVD to realize that Star Wars didn’t love me back. I once blamed myself, but now I blame George Lucas. Star Wars should never have gotten mixed up with him.

I heard George Lucas say he hates writing. George, you don’t hate writing. It’s far more than simple hate. You snuck into Writing’s bedroom while it was fast asleep in bed, next to it’s wife. You looped a garrote around it’s neck and pulled it tight. It struggled and fought for life but you didn’t let up and just before it breathed it’s last you hissed into it’s ear. “Your woman is next!”

Incidentally, Writings’s wife’s name was “Acting.” Rest in peace, you didn't deserve such a violent humiliating end.

Ah, here come the tears. That’s it, just let it out. It’s okay, there there, everything is going to be alright. You still have the Lord of the Rings trilogy...there’s more girls to choose from. I think Arwen would make a pretty bride. But the best man, damn it!

Who should be the best man?

Tags: love, marriage, pain and suffering, star wars
Current Mood: calm
Current Music: I'm listening only to the pitterpatter of my tears

Soooooo......

On sunday I had this thing called...(flin?)...(frun?)...(fun?)...FUN, yes I had some fun. I participated in a leisure time activity in which I, THE PARTICIPANT, strapped two enormous plastic tear drops to my feet and hurled myself down a mountain covered in cold. If I managed to get to the bottom without obvious bodily damage, I would laugh and smile.

It was really good stuff!

To make matters even better I brought along a second participant and this one was a...(Grrl?)...(Grill?)...(Girl?)...GIRL! yes, she was a girl. Girls are very very very very very very very interesting. They are almost entirely like the usual people you might meet, but they are better and have extra added bits. Oddly enough they are also tear drop shaped but, you must NEVER EVER attempt to strap them to your feet. They are likely to punch and/or kick you if you do. This Grill would have been particularly likely to do so since she actually teaches classes on how to punch and kick people. So I was careful.

Anyhow, she and I (her name is Alyssa) spent the whole day hurling ourselves down the mountain and then crawling back up the mountain, centimeter by agonizing centimeter, on this torture device called a CHAIRLIFT. The chairlift is just like your comfy home sofa except; it has no padding, it’s suspended in a jetstream of icy swill and you are NOT under any circumstances allowed to lick it. With Alyssa’s help and threats I avoided temptation and managed to go almost the whole day without licking anything at all! Occasionally, due to poor planning, Alyssa and I would end up on separate chairlifts and I would be forced to converse with PEOPLE I DO NOT KNOW! This was a bit off-putting. On one of these incidents, I was paired up with two girls. During our enforced incarceration I discovered that the one girl worked for a company called, Weathertronix. I was almost excited until she told me that it had nothing to do with controlling the weather. She just did computer stuff, so I told her that people who use computers should be kept in camps, separated from the general population. She told me that computer people already do that themselves, voluntarily. That’s convenient. The other girl is studying to be a massage therapist because she wants to help people, but she does NOT want to do it to people who are “fat, hairy or gross.” I told her that that was very honorable, the beautiful people have long been persecuted in this country and need all the help they can get.

When we got to the top I met up with Alyssa again, I asked her what she had talked to her strangers about. She said she hadn’t talked to them. I didn’t realize that was an option.

So we went down more trails. Each one had a name associated with it. Mostly Alyssa and I would go down together on trails with names like; “Sleigh Ride” or “Reindeer” but sometimes I would have to prove my mettle and go down a trail called THUNDER ROAD! or CANNIBAL PIRANHA FISH! or MAD BLOODY THRESHING MACHINE! While I did these Alyssa would go down, TWINKLE! or FUZZY KITTEN! or PRETTY FAIRY WINGS! I accidentally went down Twinkle once and it turned me temporarily gay. This was lucky for Alyssa because it was just before I had to help her wipe the snow off her butt. Didn’t get to enjoy that one little bit.

We continued on in this way for eight fun filled, bruising, sodden hours. When it was all over we got in the car to drive home. We were both a little scared because I didn’t know the way back and all we had to go on were directions written by a waitress who Alyssa had asked to warm her soup! We lamented that we hadn’t asked for directions before the whole soup warming fiasco. So her directions read like; turn left out of parking lot, drive down Main for 15 miles, turn right at blinking light, turn left at “thing in the road” go strait for 10 miles, turn left on Why don’t you cook your own soup next time you bitch Blvd., turn right on I-90...”

Oddly enough, the directions were good.

Tags: bad directions, chairlifts, skiing, soup