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).

I think I'm a good apple

This came in my email this morning:

Apples and Wine

Women are like apples on trees. The best ones are at the top of the tree. Most men don't want to reach for the good ones because they are afraid of falling and getting hurt. Instead, they sometimes take the apples from the ground that aren't as good, but easy. The apples at the top think something is wrong with them, when in reality, they're amazing. They just have to wait for the right man to come along, the one who is brave enough to climb all the way to the top of the tree.

Now men...
-Men are like a fine wine. They begin as grapes, and it's up to women to stomp the shit out of them until they turn into something acceptable to have dinner with.

Freeflying or Falling

I stand, toes dangling over the edge
feel air race up my thighs, close my eyes,
Damn –
I swear I hear the Wind beckon me, “Fly!”

“Ahhh...Wind,” I reply,
“Freefall is relatively painless
But that last foot? Done wrong can leave you brainless.”

But it’s safe here on the edge;
and with eyes closed and arms spread wide
it almost feels like a skydive
Wind beckons again, “Fly!”
So I lean into it
but damn

- I still remember
that painful last foot. Should have been fatal
though it wasn’t. Snapped a femur and filled a lung
but I guess I wasn’t done.
Brushed myself off, and raced to back to the edge.

Have I told you?
It’s safe here on the edge,
And with eyes closed and arms spread wide,
It almost feels like a skydive…
Wind beckons, “Come on, damn it! Fly!”
So I lean into it
but damn


- I still remember
that painful last foot.
It certainly felt fatal
but it wasn’t.
Shattered my confidence, splattered
my heart on the floor of the shower,
leaving me feeling power-
less
but nonetheless,
brushed myself off, and raced back to the edge.

Don’t you understand?
It’s so damn safe here on the edge,
Eyes clamped shut and fists raised wide
It almost feels like a skydive
Wind beckons, “You have got to fly!
Just let go and try,
And besides
You know what they say about the third time…”

So I lean into it,
but damn-

-how do a I know which three
it will be:
a strike or a charm?
Happiness or harm?

So, do you see now?
Do you see why I perch here on the edge?

Because it’s safe.

And it almost feels like a skydive.


If only the Wind would stop beckoning me, “Fly!”

A Few of My Favorite Smells

Somehow, it all fits. I am nasally-oriented.

When I was three, I put a string of glass beads (Christmas decorations) up my nose. Just because they were pretty.

Shortly thereafter, I informed my brother, Satan, that I could fit three pussywillows up my nose. He dared me to try for four.
Yup -- I could.

Middle School found me hating boogers -- mainly because they made it so hard to breathe. In the midst of a horrible cold, I thought that if I kept blowing my nose, the snot would not stay. Blow, blow, blow.
bam! The busted artery story.

It's still all about my nose...

I love smells......

1. Orange blossoms
2. Vanilla
3. Lavender
4. Chocolate
5. Clean Sheets
6. Eucalyptus Tree
7. Grass (as in lawn)
8. Ginger
9. Gasoline (I don't get this either....I maybe be a secret huffer or something)
10. Man

Well....I may need to work on the order here....