February 14th...

I Fell In Love With His Lips

So -- this one has been banging around the brain, and I've not been able to help it out. Words and actions -- contradicting.....I'm still looking at it -- and it may change, but I thought I'd share it:


His lips said, “You have a beautiful voice”
While his eyes scolded, “You laugh too loudly.”
Lips exclaimed, “I felt joy when we met”
hands screamed, “I can’t stand you near me.”
Lips purred, “You have the most amazing eyes,”
But ears burned, “Why must you be so intense?”
Lips praised, “I was so happy you said yes”
Legs stumbled, “Tho’ I’m more comfortable on the fence”
Lips whispered, “Your embrace is my haven,”
Arms pushed, “But your love is contrived.”
Lips begged, “I was afraid I’d scare you off,”
As feet faltered, “That’s why I didn’t arrive.”
Lips pursed, “You won’t be alone long”
Hips cursed, “You’ll always live in fear
His lips promised, “I am better with you,”
While his body cried, “I’m not me when you’re near.”

A Clean Shot

I've become a Facebook Whore. Or Addict. You choose. It is wildly entertaining, and I get instant gratification -- but my writing has suffered. So, here I am. I am going to try to write something at least a few times a month......

I was challenged by a friend to write a complete story in 101 words. For a wordysmith such as I, this meant edit, edit, edit. But here it is:

“I’m not nervous.” If you didn’t see the single drop of sweat on his forehead, you’d believe him. Slowly, he fingered the mechanism with his trigger-finger. “Just do it; get it over with,” he chided. The sweat drop paused at his eyebrow. “It’s your job! One shot, and out.” Resolvedly, he placed his finger back on the cold metal, and pushed. The sound ricocheted in the small space. The bead of sweat dropped into his eye as space before him filled with her fearful face. Her lips parted, pleading, but he cut her off, “Sorry, M’am, here are your foreclosure papers.”

It's That Time Again!!!

I have some GREAT excuses for why I've not been blogging:

1. I'm teaching three subjects (by my choice -- what was I thinking!?!?!?) and never have time to blog.

2. I have nothing to say.

3. It's getting close to Rogue Time again.

4. I've become a Facebook Whore.

Okay -- two of those are true....

But being a ho is still illegal -- so let's go with Rogue 2010....

Breathing

Surely it isn’t possible to have mistaken
heroin for oxygen?
Someone as intelligent as I
Could not be trapped by
Such an obvious slight
-of-hand…Breathe in, breathe in,

::sigh::

Of course! It is not possible to have mistaken
heroin for oxygen.
These ideas and dreams that have sprung to life
-this absence of strife
-this abundance of goodness…
A deadly addiction!?!?
Don’t be asinine. Breathe in, breathe in.

::sigh::

Surely it is not possible that I have mistaken
heroin for oxygen.
The skin I’m in
is healthy; wallet still wealthy
If this were drugs of a
dangerous faire,
(As opposed to simply normal air),
wouldn’t I cease to even care
about the state or fate of either?
Breathe in, breathe in

::sigh::

This cannot be!! It is impossible to have mistaken
Heroin for oxygen!
…but I’m getting no satisfaction from the air
As it tears through my veins…
…and I’m in constant anticipation
Of my next inhalation…
-which never seems to have the depth
of my previous breath.
Breathe in, breathe in

::sigh::

Surely….it isn’t possible….

::sigh::

Have I mistaken
heroin for oxygen?

One Night in Bangkok - er, make that Copenhagen

One night in Bangkok and the girls...

wait -- wrong country.

Wonderful, wonderful, Copenhagen...

I have just returned from Sweden and Denmark! The primary purpose was to attend my friends, Steven and Kajsa's wedding. --Which was fabulous!

But as usual, there was a secondary purpose -- HAVE FUN!!!!

First stop was Tivoli Gardens - the second oldest amusement park in the world. As I was strolling ('cause that's what you do whilst in Denmark - stroll), I was suddenly confronted by a little boy with HUGE Bambi eyes crying, "Pappa! Pappa!" Everyone else around was either ignoring or overreacting, so I knelt down, took his hands and started talking to him. Within a minute "Pappa" came around the corner (he was waiting on the wrong side of the ride for his son to exit). Bambi wouldn't let go of my hand. Hot Pappa thanked me, and asked me if I'd like to join them for a bite. Yes, yes, I was hoping Hot Pappa wanted me to bite him, or vice-versa...
-no such luck
-alas, Hot Pappa was actually Hot Widower Pappa -- of six months. Over the course of the next hour (eating and strolling), I realized that he was unavailable.
Not like that's new for me, eh? I am constantly attracted to unavailable men...

I bid Hot Pappa and Bambi, "Farvel" (goodbye).

I happened to be in Copenhagen during the Jazz Festival, so there was amazing music to be heard everywhere. As I headed (dejectedly) towards my hotel, my ears were enticed by the music coming from a corner bar. "Why not?" I propositioned myself. Hey -- no one else was, so I might as well pick myself up. I pulled up my big-girl-panties (figuratively, of course), headed in and took a seat.
The waiter mistook me for a local (happened more than once), and asked for my order in Danish. "Oh, I'm sorry, I'm American, and only speak English."
"An American!" erupted the table behind me.
Preparing to bolt, and murmuring apologies, I began to rise -- until The Travelers (their name for themselves) explained that they had been collecting countries (!!!), and had yet to find an American for their group.
I became their American. We stayed there for a few hours, until the waiter told us we should head on down to an Irish Pub a few blocks away.
Irish pub + The Travelers + alcohol = Irish Drinking Songs gone wild.

One clothing change (hey, I was still in amusement park attire) and freshenup later, and we found ourselves with steins and voices raised.

I don't remember HIM walking in -- or HIM joining our group. But suddenly, I was aware of HIM. This hot guy sitting next to me, singing Irish songs, accidentally (not) bumping me, and talking to me:
"Excuse me, but - did you know - your eyes -- your eyes are the color of the Italian sky?"

Pull my hair, throw me on the floor-what happens in Copenhagen stays in Copen-

"Sorry? Are you talking to me?"

He repeated the analogy -- and by then I was a puddle of goo.

I was trying to get control of the goo, drag McHottie out of there by his hair, when I heard this soft voice in my other ear:

"Hello."

"Oh, APj - I want you to meet my wife. How would you like to come home with us?"

"Oh.....Oh my. Ummmm....thanks......but.....um......no thanks. I kinda like veggies...not so crazy about....the....fruit"

Yup - I left. Alone. What happens in Copenhagen -- happened without me.

Just another reason why....

Approximately 10 (or so) years ago, a baby Great Horned Owl fell from a nest on my property. We (the neighbors, my ex, and I) were unable to get her back in the nest - Mom and Dad were going nuts, and we were frantic trying to figure out a plan. We called "the bird lady" up in the foothills, who came down and took our baby home to nurse back to health. A few months later, she brought her back to release.



And she stayed. Over the years, she and her mate have resided here. Oh sure, sometimes months would go by without me seeing them, or talking to them.
Yes -- I said talking -- and no, I'm not crazy.








My city (and some of my country) friends thought I was nuts when I told them that my owls talked to me. When I would arrive home late, they would call to me -- her voice pitched a bit higher than her mates. I would answer back, and they would hoot once more.

This year -- they had babies. Three babies. And yes....the babies talk to me. Well, screech actually (as they don't hoot yet). I can walk right up to the tree, and they all stay. The other night, I was out talking to one of the babies, and the other two flew over to join baby huey (that's what I call the roundest one --the one that the stupid bluejays pick on the most).