Meme♥Love

The return?

2011-11-28T15:04:00.000-08:00

It's been a long time...perhaps too long. But I've been thinking about you guys in my hiatus...all of you lovely people. So many things have changed; my hair color, my perspective and my heart...but we won't dive into that one. I wear glasses now. My lovely Emily, I fear, has fallen into the big sleep. Her will to live is in short supply and she blacks out for days on end. In case you do not remember, Emily is my laptop, not a person and or pet. I'm still painting, still writing and thanks to the economy...still broke.

It'll get better right? That's what they say. Even if I have no clue who "they" are, I put my trust in them. One day, I'll be signing books at a tiny bookstore in your town. By tiny, I mean, virtually unknown and by signing books, I mean stand outside with a purple pen asking stranger if they'd like their book signed.

*smirk* I'm in a smirking mood today.

Now, for some music I've been singing(badly) in the shower.

This is a complete guilty pleasure. It just makes me want to get up and dance...anywhere. I frequently embarrass people. And it has NOTHING to do with Adam baring his body. *looks around* Did anyone believe that one?

Month of Music

2010-08-27T11:51:00.001-07:00

Day 27- A song you wish you could play

Stranger Things Have Happend by Foo Fighters

I would pay an unearthly amount of money to have Dave Grohl take me under his Guitar God wing and teach me this song. Kid napping is being considered...kidding...mostly.

Happy Friday people. Summer is almost over (at least for most of you, here in California we'll have heat until mid October) and that only means that this "Song a Day" project is almost over and done as well. Sad? Probably not.

What song do you wish you could play?

Month of Music

2010-08-26T12:23:00.000-07:00

Day 26 - A song that you can play on an instrument

Not Yet by The Veils

Three chords--Am,C, E--a pretty simple song but so great!

Month of Music

2010-08-25T14:46:00.000-07:00

F. I know I'm a shitty blogger. I can't seem to stay on an everyday schedule. My Internet is have issues so I can't have more than one window open at one time without screwing up everything. I'm sorry I haven't been commenting!

Day 19 - A song from your favorite album

Happiness is a Warm Gun by The Beatles

The White Album is the best one. Epic.

Day 20 - A song that you listen to when you’re angry

All my Life by The Foo Fighters

I like the sound my fist makes against the punching bag and this song is fuel.

Day 21 - A song that you listen to when you’re happy

Dog Days Are Over by Florence and The Machine

She is amazing!

Day 22 - A song that you listen to when you’re sad

Cry, Cry by Mazzy Star

Day 23 - A song that you want to play at your wedding

Lets Dance by David Bowie

It'll be the first dance actually and I'll have red heels, thank you very much! I love Bowie, lets hope the man I marry feels the same.

Day 24 - A song that you want to play at your funeral

Rudepoema by Heitor Villa-Lobos

Morbid thought, I know, but I didn't make this list.

Day 25 - A song that makes you laugh

Turkey Song by Adam Sandler

"Thanksgiving is a special night
Jimmy Walker used to say Dynomite
That's right
Turkey with gravy and cranberry
Can't believe the Mets traded Darryl Strawberry
Turkey for you and
Turkey for me
Can't believe Tyson
Gave that girl V.D."

Enough said!

Month of Music

2010-08-17T23:17:00.000-07:00

Day 18 - A song that you wish you heard on the radio

The Flame by The Black Keys

I'm not a fan of the radio, idiot disc jockies playing the same track over and over--it's not my style, although I do like KROQ, but I digress. The songs you want to hear never get played and if the band isn't pariculalry well know...your chances of hearing it on the radio wave are eve slimmer.

To me, The Black Keys have the perfect cross country road trip vibe. Why wouldn't their songs be played? They're bluesy and American and just amazing.

Out of all the things
You've ever done
This time I can't go back
When a heart gets broke
This many times
It's easy to lose track
Takin' all this pain
And you know I can't regain
The flame, oh the
flame

Like a dreamer needs
Time with you
So unreal, baby
And
all our life
Love for me
Is what you feel
Takin' all this pain
And you know I can't regain
The flame, oh the flame

Greater men
Have made it here
Only to turn back
So cut me loose
If you want
Or tighten up the slack
Takin' all this pain
And you know we can't
regain
The flame, oh the flame

Month of Music

2010-08-17T11:53:00.000-07:00

Four today because I keep forgetting the Weekends still count as days and I was away from my laptop on Monday.

Day 14 - A song that no one would expect you to love...

There for You by Damian Marley

His father would be so proud of him! The only other Marley with exceptional talent.

Day 15 - A song that describes you...

Help I'm Alive by Metric

This is an acoustic version, the original is much faster but just as fantastic. I think is describes me to a T.
Help I'm live, my heart is beating hammer.

Metric is a great band...check them out.

Day 16 - A song that you used to love but now hate...

Rehab by Amy Winehouse

I don't know I still like her but this song was just over played and when that happens you grow to hate a song. Nothing against her music, she may be a crack head but I like her music. Not this song though.

They tried to make me listen to this song

I said NO NO NO!

Day 17 - A song that you hear often on the radio...

Feel Good Drag by Anberlin

Love this Band!!

Names your song accordingly. Have a nice day.

Month of Music

2010-08-12T15:13:00.001-07:00

Day 13 - A song that is a guilty pleasure

Bad Romance By Lady Gaga

1. guilty pleasure

Something that you shouldn't like, but like anyway.
Ex: A cigarette every now and then is a guilty pleasure for me.
vice bad naughty horrible awesome

It pains me to admit that this chick has ended up on my iPod. In all honesty I have questioned how she became so damn popular so quickly but now, after having listened to her music I understand. It brain washes you, it's like some freaky musical nicotine--it's bad for you and you know you shouldn't give me. I shouldn't her, I shouldn't like that she practically a Madonna knock off but I do. Three songs, three songs currently live on my work out playlist--Just Dance, Bad Romance and Love Story. *Hangs little purple head* I'm ashamed...Amoeba should make me revoke my Indie/Punk/Rock licence.

This is Elliptical music, that's how I sleep at night and look Joe Strummer in the eye in the morning!

(*Warning* Might be explict for some.)

What's your guilty pleasure song?

Month of Music

2010-08-12T14:30:00.000-07:00

Day 12 - A song from a band you hate

Life is a Highway by Rascal Flatts

I hate quite a few bands-- The Dave Matthews Band, Savage Garden, Green Day, System of a Down--but Rascal Flatts take the cake.

It's not that I don't like country...I do, me and Johnny Cash are best buddies and Patty Griffin is on my road trip play list. It's simply a personal dislike for Rascal Flatts. They rub me the wrong way and that damn twang grates my ears, which is saying a lot because I adore twangs. My mother calls me her Cuban hick, she's always teasing me about my desire to go to Nashville and Hilton Head. I have cowboy boots, dammit!

I liked the movie Cars and I just happen to love Route 66, I live pretty damn close to it but I hate this song and this band. I hate how it gets stuck in your head like a parasite, feeding off your brain. I hate how many times I've had to hear it because my baby brother loves the movie so damn much.

Y'all know what the song sounds like so I will not deface my blog by posting a video of the crap.

What band do you hate?

Month of Music

2010-08-11T10:55:00.000-07:00

Day 11 - A song from your favorite band

Sunburn by Muse

(I'm not sure what I'd do if Matthew Bellamy appeared in my mirror, more than likely climb in there with him!)

First, this is not a Twilight band! I hate that now every time someone mentions Muse people go "Ohh, the twilight band!" NO! They are not a damn Twilight band. They have been around since 1994, way before Mrs. Meyer dreamed up her sparkling vamps, awkward female protagonist, and obsessive shifters.

It difficult to name your favorite band, with the amount of music out there it is virtually impossible but at the end of the day; after going through countless Beatles songs and every Kings of Leon tune I found myself going back to Muse.

I was eleven when I first heard Muse. I was going through that phase right before you become a teenager, you're not really a child but you're still too young to be an adult and music was a reflection of that. Spice Girls and Backstreet boys were being replaced with Blondie, David Bowie, The Clash and The Cure. So one day I was listening to my little radio in my room and on comes this band, a rare mixture of electric guitars, classical piano and an amazing voice. My attention was caught, I was in love. Somehow I begged for Showbiz(Muse's first CD) and played that baby until CDs went out of style, just like I did with all of their music.

Now, the tracks reside on my laptop, on my external hard drive along with all my music but the same love I felt as a eleven year old girl in my bed room still lives. I still listen to their music over and over again. I still play the air guitar on my bed to Supermassive Black Hole (Oh, this song...the things it does to me!). And I still write Matthew Bellamy's name on my notebooks next to mine. I'm kidding...or am I. Melissa Bellamy, I think it has a nice ring to it!

Watch Sunburn here.

Month of Music

2010-08-10T09:39:00.000-07:00

Day 10 - A song that makes you fall asleep

Mi par d'udir ancora by Enrico Caruso

Try not to fall asleep.

What sing lulls you to sleep?

Month of Music

2010-08-09T09:04:00.000-07:00

So I have to make up for Sunday...I was painting my room and got tied up. Today is a twofer.

Day 08 - A song that you know all the words to

Day Old Blues by Kings of Leon

You should know that I know the words to almost every song in my iTunes, even the French ones. This song is before Sex on Fire, this is Kings of Leon before Use Somebody, this is them raw, pure and simple. I even do accent, oh yeah, it annoys the hell out of just about everyone.

Toss me a breath, when you hold me down
hot like a razor on my face
something's growing that don't help me now
paging the doctor just in
case

Low and behold things are killing me
silly expectations of a dream
girls are gonna love the way i toss my hair
boys are gonna hate the way I seem

Isn't his voice amazing. Oh, Caleb...if you only knew I fall asleep to your singing.

Day 09 - A song that you can dance to

Wegue Wegue by Buraka Som Sistema

I can attribute the discovery of this song to playing Fifa 10 with my brother. I have no idea what it means, any of it. I only know that Wegue Wegue is top secret slang in Brazil and that the beat just makes you want to move.

What song do you know all the words to?

What song can you dance to?

Month of Music

2010-08-07T10:10:00.000-07:00

Day 07 - A song that reminds you of a certain event

Age of Consent by New Order

Let me take you back to eighth grade, to a nice spring day tucked away in a music room of a middle school I won't name, back to the sight of my first "real" kiss. Oh yeah, in a dank and shabby room filled with used instruments and rickety music stands it happened.

I had braces, put on mascara and eyeliner behind my mom's back and had a huge crush on the drummer, Esteban, he was tall and had black curly hair. Yes, I was such a rebel. He was my friend, he taught me to play the drums and spent a lot of time with me, being broadcasting producer had so many perks in those days.

After a ridiculously long spring concert, that I was assigned to supervise he told me sheepishly that he liked me liked me, and had for a while now. I blushed and of course told him that I liked him liked him too. I still remember his smile, the way his eyes lit up like a Christmas tree...I'm pretty sure I looked that same. He held my hand and after putting away his snare drum he grabbed my face and kissed me, our chucks squeaking against the laminate flooring. His lips tasted like big red and sprite. For about two seconds it was heaven, soft lips and calloused hands caressing my cheeks.

He mumbled something about my lips tasting like Dr. Pepper and all I could do is hold up the Bonnie Bell Lip Smackers Chap Stick. He smiled and kissed me again. Thank you Bonnie Bell!

Nothing ever came of that kiss, it simply wasn't meant to be. Shortly after finding out we'd kissed my "friend" decided she wanted him back after tossing him aside. He and her got together, broke up, got back together and broke up again before the school year ended. Then it hurt, as only crushed puppy love can hurt but now it's just one of those things you did in middle school. I went on to Amat and he went where ever he went, we simply lost touch but I hear this song and I'm back to that day. I think of gum, sprite, his lips, my heart pounding and the next morning when he haded me a note and kissed my forehead.

I saw you this morning
I thought that you might like to know
I received your message in full a few days ago
I understood every word that it said
And now that I've actually heard it
You're going to regret

And I'm not the kind that likes to tell you
Just what you want me to
You're not the kind that needs to tell me
About the birds and the bees

What song reminds you of a certain event?

Month of Music

2010-08-06T12:22:00.001-07:00

Day 6--A song that reminds you of somewhere.

Susie Q by John Lee Hooker & Johnny Winter

This song reminds me of Jerry's Famous Deli in West Hollywood, just listening to it now makes my mouth water for their delicious Tuna Melt and fries. Yum!

What song reminds of somewhere?

Month of Music

2010-08-04T19:28:00.000-07:00

Day 05 - A song that reminds you of someone

Florence Sur Les Champs Elysees by Miles Davis

Jazz, the genre alone brings thoughts of long drives to school and work with my dad but this song reminds me the most of him.

We were commuters, for the first ten of eleven years of my we traveled across cities to get to school and work from our house, and what better way to pass the miles than with Music. My dad believes that Jazz is the epitome of music and Miles Davis was a staple. After dropping our mom off at work and quizzing both my brother and I on our spelling words my dad would turn on the radio and let Miles takes us away. On trips to Vegas or Lake Cachuma he'd joke about how only Davis could keep me and my brother quite. It was true, we didn't bicker, we just sat in our seats and listened. This particular song has also been known as the only song that lulled me to sleep during those new born nights.

This one is for my jazz loving Daddy.

What song reminds you of someone? Who?

Month of Music

2010-08-04T08:56:00.000-07:00

Day 04 - A song that makes you sad

Pictures of You by The Cure

This song is about loss, regret, heartbreak and the manic way we hold on to memories of people we didn't have to lose but did. Sometimes a picture is all you have left and it's never really enough. The Cure speaks the words you're not sure you can express. If this isn't sadness then i have no idea what is.

Pictures of You

I've been looking so long at these pictures of you
And I almost believe that
they're real
I've been living so long with my pictures of you
And I
almost believe that the pictures are
All I can feel

Remembering
You standing quiet in the rain
As I ran to your heart to be near
And
we kissed as the sky fell in
Holding you close
How I always held close
in your fear
Remembering
You running soft through the night
You were
bigger and brighter and whiter than snow
And screamed at the make-believe
Screamed at the sky
And you finally found all your courage
To let it
all go

Remembering
You fallen into my arms
Crying for the death
of your heart
You were stone white
So delicate
Lost in the cold
You were always so lost in the dark
Remembering
You how you used to
be
Slow drowned
You were angels
So much more than everything
Hold for the last time then slip away quietly
Open my eyes
But i
never see anything

If only I'd thought of the right words
I could
have held on to your heart
If only I'd thought of the right words
I
wouldn't be breaking apart
All my pictures of you

Looking so long at
these pictures of you
But i never hold on to your heart
Looking so long
for the words to be true
But always just breaking apart
My pictures of
you

There was nothing in the world
That I ever wanted more
Than
to feel you deep in my heart
There was nothing in the world
That I ever
wanted more
Than to never feel the breaking apart
All my pictures of you

What song makes you sad?

Month of Music.

2010-08-03T00:04:00.000-07:00

Day 03 - A song that makes you happy

I'm Alive by The Hollies

I could have easily chosen any of the billion of Beatles song that make me happy, smile, jump up and down like a bunny on crack but this song says it all. I'm not one of those girls that listens to happy music on bad days, mostly you can read my mood by what I'm listening to but where this song is concerned, happiness just comes naturally, organically as if the music is changing to atmosphere. Like many other Brit bands of the sixties they hold a certain je ne sais quoi I can't stay away from. It can't be helped I have a room specially designed for English rock bands and each year I add square footage.

Now I can breathe, I can see, I can touch, I can feel
I can taste all the
sugar sweetness in your kiss
You give me all the things I've ever missed
I've never felt like this
I'm alive, I'm alive, I'm alive

I used
to think I was livin'
Baby, I was wrong
No I never knew a thing about
livin'
'Til you came along

What song makes you happy?

Month of Music

2010-08-02T12:38:00.000-07:00

Day 02 - Your least favorite song

Chop Suey by System of a Down

I don't really know why but this song grates my nerves like no other. When I hear it I can't help but groan and do whatever it is I can to get away from it. The lyrics have nothing to do with the name of the song and I have no idea why is was so incredibly popular back in middle school.

They say it's about 911 and that the band knew it was going to happen but that's impossible. Others say it's about suicide but I can't bring myself to care.

What song is your least favorite?

Month of Music.

2010-08-01T07:36:00.000-07:00

Hello,

I got this idea from a fellow blogger, Siovhan, and I could not resist it's appeal. I'm trying something new this month, and I hope everyone is as excited as I am. Everyday of this month will be dictated to a song that means something to moi. One day, one song. Nice way to wave goodbye to summer, don't you think?
Today...

Day 01 - Your favorite song

Here comes the Sun by the Beatles

We all have a favorite song, a song the when played on the radio automatically gets turned up. One song that never fails to make everything better. These songs change over the years as you mature but you never forget them. Like snap shots of your life they remind you of a time and a place and where you were at that point. Eleven years ago it was Spice up your Life, but after those odd years of musical discovery I found The Beatles and the rest as they say is history.

Little darling, it's been a long cold lonely winter
Little darling, it feels
like years since it's been here
Here comes the sun, here comes the sun
and I say it's all right

As crazy as life seems to me, as murky as the future looks, this song always make me smile, think of the wonderful things that lie ahead and reminds me that though it feels like it's been years since I saw the sun...it's right over the horizon.

What's your favorite song?

California Waiting...

2010-07-15T09:48:00.000-07:00

The drive was madness, the line was insanely long and the ticket-less line was pushy. I've never made a secret of my profound hatred of heat and sticky skin but for Kings of Leon I would endure that and more. Much More.

The opening acts, the Features and Built to Spill, were good but by nine I was ready for my boys to get on stage. The heat took a break and as the sun said it's goodbye a welcomed breeze gave us a sigh of relief.

Walking on the musical rifts of Lacrimosa the walked on. I screamed when they played Crawl, lost it during Milk, sang my heart out with Caleb as he belted On Call, dance like I was in my room alone Bucket, Use Somebody, My Party, Notion and Molly's Chambers. And well, when Sex on Fire started playing I was so far gone I could barely keep the shouts and professions of love from making their way out of my mouth. Along with Knocked Up(favorite song of theirs by the way) they showcased three new songs, I don't know the names because my dear, sweet, beard sporting Caleb didn't name them but one about Going Back Down South made a lovely impression.

Traffic to leave was a nightmare, I got home smelling like pot and the beer some tipsy guy spilled on my boots, my voice has that I've smoked for years quality but I wouldn't trade the night for anything. I had the best time and quite honestly when I think about getting to see one of my favorite bands Live! the other stuff washes away.

Dear,

Caleb, Nathan, Jared and Matthew or Followill boys,

I love you, blast your music way past the time that is acceptable in my neighborhood, pump yours words into my ears at a inhumane volume and in that same volume. I love that you accepted your Grammy a bit lit and I love it even more how humble you all are down to our very cores. Thank you for the fantastic, audio orgasmic, magical show and though you didn't play California Waiting or Soft, I'll have you know that I'll go back down south with you guys! (I did not mean that to sound as dirty as it did but I'm going to apologize for it.)

Love, Melissa.

Happy Thursday and go listen to some Kings of Leon!

La Furia Roja!

2010-07-14T06:30:00.000-07:00

Mi amor, mi equipo. En la cancha usted da sus todos, su sangre, su sudor, su corazón, para su país, para España. Como los conquistadors que usted era una vez usted dominó, superó y ganó su premio mucho merecido.

Viva La Furia Roja!

My love, my team. On the pitch you give your all, your blood, your sweat, your heart, for your country, for Spain. Like the Conquistadors you once were you dominated, overcame and won your much deserved prize.
Long live The Red Fury!

Ringo you're a Starr!

2010-07-07T08:31:00.000-07:00

I'm back, hopefully with frequent regularity. (Is it me or did that sound like an Activia commerical?)

Wordless Wednesday...Happy Birthday Ringo!

Have a Lovely day! Tomorrow I'll fill you all in on my week in the mountains and the fireworks I didn't get to see much of. I'm wishing my Spain team all the luck I have and then some, what are you guys doing?

FIFA...and Game 4

2010-06-10T06:30:00.000-07:00

First of all let us start of with a disclaimer of sorts.
We are going to talk sports. If that irks you...this ain't the post for you.

I know half of the American world could care two licks about futbol--we have too many sports taking center stage the simply isn't the market for it. We have NFL, NBA, College Football, MLB, hell even Tiger has a spot in ESPN's massive sports Media--but this blogger does care. FIFA is a big deal and I have been counting down since March.

There is nothing like a world cup to kick off the summer. The hot sun melding with the scent of grass and competition, the clash of countries and talents futbol Field.

While I will be going for my beloved Spain and Xavi, I'm looking forward to watching Ibrahimović, Messi and Kaká do there thing.

So are you watching?

Now...on to Game 4.
If you have been following me and my humble blog you'll know that not only love the Lakers but have suffered massive cluster phobia for them. Screamed my voice raw and clapped til my hand were on fire. I bleed purple and gold.

That being said, I must admit that my worst fears are realized when you play the inferno Celtics, not because they are better than us because at the moment I don't see the Celtic dynasty ESPN is always spouting but because of our History with them. Too many years of bad blood, tears, and defeat. The championship we lost to them recently is still too fresh, the wounds of that loss haven't quite healed yet and we (Laker fans) find ourselves fresh off a Championship facing the people who took it from us not so long ago.
It's a sharp reminder that we can't lose to them again, not another year, not another ring. NOT AGAIN.

Two things come with the adoration of Laker basketball in my home--one, we stick by our team not matter how many bricks they lay and two, we hate the Celtics.

I mute Doc Rivers because the man pisses me off, Garnet is crazy, Paul Pierce hasn't showed up to the serise yet and he's from LA, Rondo is a thorn in my side, Ray Allen should always be in foul trouble and 'Big Baby' Davis is an epic douche.

They talk so much shit it is impossible to discern if the words are coming out of their mouths or some place less appealing.First with Pierce saying the series isn't going back to LA--try showing up for a game and then we'll talk. Besides, Paul don't you have some acting to do or was that fake out injury reserved for the court? And then Doc Rivers complaining about other plays that needed "reviewing". First of all; calls can only be reviewed if it's the fourth quarter with less then two minutes left. Learn the rules to your own game, Rivers. And secondly, it sounded like he was complaining about unfair calls. The nerve of him. Bullshit Calls. Please, Celtics basketball is littered with Bullshit calls, they just don't like when the calls are turned around on them.

On to game four at TD Gardens...last time it felt nice to beat them at their own home, lets see if we can do it again.

Happy Thursday...Sports nut out!

Paranoia...Oh you wicked tramp you are!

2010-05-29T12:06:00.000-07:00

First blog post in ages and it's about copious amounts of vomit, fever, lack of hunger and stomach pains. Oh yeah I only blog about the good stuff people.

Sometimes I curse WedMD. It seems that overreactions when it comes to acute symptoms is deeply ingrained in my DNA. My grandmother has always had an boarded line unhealthy paranoia about tetanus, so much so that it is a running joke between the family. Every scratch, scrap and or injury my uncle, aunt and mom sustained as children was always meet with the request for a tetanus shot...and in Cuba they gave it to them "just to be safe." My uncle's shot records is riddled with millions of tetanus shots.

Last year I sliced my hand open on a can of turpentine and had to go to the ER and when they said I needed a tetanus shot I almost died from laughter (despite the burning pain).

But back to the topic on hand, this past week I have had, possibly, the worst six days of my life...and I'm sure I'm over exaggerating this but I was in hell. My stomach was in pain, I couldn't eat anything, my head hurt and my world kept spinning, so naturally I hoped on the Internet and in seconds I was convinced I was going to die.

I started freaking out and of course I got worse, so then I became certain I was going to die. Yes, I know I fell off the deep end but luckily I have people in my life to pull me back and help reign in the crazy. My mom, my dad and a certain KM buddy of mine.

By Thursday I was getting a bit better, slept soundly and watched Johnny Depp movies til I was drooping at the sight of such a man but then I starting getting dizzy, so of course I thought my brain was shutting down and I was going to die.

Killing Moon calmly and without a trace of mockery explained that I was getting dizzy because I hadn't eaten a meal since Sunday, then proceeded to proscribe me red Jello and hot tea. Yes, I'm lucky that way.

When it comes to other people I'm logical, rational, calm and perfect collected but when it come to me I fear and believe the worst, paranoia sets in and makes things climb to a new level. My mom worries about my anxiety (I mean have you seen Nurse Jackie? Well, this week I was dangerously close to Gracie) but when I'm all better she makes a point to say that I'm just like my grandma and the fucking tetanus shot. From now on I'm disabling Wed Md...that sight coupled with my own issues will one day send me to the nut house in a white coat.

*Smiles* In reality is was not anything serious, just a case of food poisoning from when I saw Robin Hood. Never eating movie theater popcorn again but watching Russell Crowe...oh yeah I'll keep doing that.

It's now Saturday and I feel better, not 100% up to Melissa snuff but I'm getting there. What are you fine people doing out there in Blogger land?

Neglect or preferred silence?

2010-05-08T15:19:00.001-07:00

A wise teacher near and dear to my heart told me just just write to write, write only if you have something to say. I can't help but feel his words when it comes to this blog...perhaps it seems like neglect, like I've decided to pull back but in all honesty I have nothing to say...so instead of publishing for the sake of publishing I'm keeping to the preferred silence.

Who knows? Tomorrow I might wake up with something to say? Catch you guys on the flip flop.

It's sunny and warm in California, my hair will be getting chopped off to a chin grazing length soon and the aqua streaks are about to take a ultra violet hue...what's up with you guys?

Pictures

2010-04-14T08:29:00.000-07:00

And the story rolls on. Last Chapter click here.

When I saw little Charlotte on the plane it hit me that "Little Charlotte" was not a little girl. Naturally, I knew that she was all grown up but it wasn't until I was her that I realized it, and I liked it more than I knew I should. All fathers talk up their daughters, boast about their beauty and talents but Friday Frank didn't exaggerate one hair on her light brown head. She was as lovely as her mother, and had the same thoughtful expression I had grown to recognize on her father--only on her it was a little more pensive.
I got the feeling she really didn't want to be talking to me but I'd heard stories about her, seen pictures take of her and by her and I was curious. She fell asleep while I was eat the horrible airline food and I couldn't help but notice how sweet she looked, how childlike her face seem. Her music was still playing, now it was Thelonious Monk. I should have known she'd have impeccable taste, with a father like hers it would be a dirty sin for her not to. Figuring I would look like a perverted man ogling some young thing in the seat next to me, I opened my book and tried to lose myself. I tried but she was squirming and making soft noises—she was not sleeping soundly. I knew why of course, everyone knew why she wasn't around and most understood.
The airport had been funny because relief was plainly written on her face as she walked away thinking it would be the last she'd see of me. No, she wouldn't be that lucky.

***

I watched sadly as the pastor spoke over Frank’s coffin. I would miss the man deeply. We had become good friends over the past years, sharing a passion of blues jazz and cold beer. The first time I met Friday Frank my palms were sweating and I couldn't get one word out without sounding like a love sick girl but he was a legend. He liked me, said I reminded him of him in his glory days, it was the single most humbling compliment I have ever received and I cherish it to this day. Countless nights we'd meet up and talk about music, my music, his music and his daughter. She was an artist with a camera, always had been, he told me, and finally she was starting sink into that art once more. I knew what had happened, hell, everyone on this island knew why Charlotte stopped taking pictures for a while. We never talked about the accident, his hands or the distant relationship between them both, it was there though. In the pauses and the sadness in his deep green eyes, it was there. He loved her I could see that but he also blamed her and I'm sure she could see it as well. I chanced at glance over at her, she was crying as could be expected, shrouded in black and being hugged closely in Joy's arms. It broke my heart that she had lost both parents and would more than likely carry the blame for this one as well. People were already saying that Friday Frank died of a broken heart, whatever was left of it after her mom was taken from him, and Charlotte had finished the job. It was a cruel thing to think much less say.

The good people of Isle of Hope paid their respects, gave their condolences to Charlotte but mostly they were aching for some gossip...it was the way things worked here. She was back and the was enough to have the hounds drooling and as if that weren't enough her damn crazy ass family was hanging around, lurking to see if they could get a dime out of this unfortunate passing. The writer was close to being broke, the chef needed money to keep the young boys interested and the others were much the same if not worse. Charlotte could handle herself, this I knew--the girl gave me a firm talking to the night of the memorial but I still worried about how all of this was affecting her.

"Hey, Pate, honey, you heading back over to the house?" I nodded slowly, knowing where she was going and that peach wouldn't like it one bit. "You're coming with us, there is more than enough room in the car."

Joy ushered us in one by one, coincidentally sitting me and Charlotte right next to each other. As we made our way to the house I noticed that Charlotte had gone pale and was gripping the seat like a frighten kitten, I didn't blame her though, Henry drove like a mad man high on sugar.
"The man drives like a mad man peach, why didn't you drive?" She didn't answer, but I didn't expect her to. She hated me. Most of her daddy's students were assholes, I wasn't really a past student but she didn't know that. I turned my attention back to Joy, "How many people can we expect this afternoon...I'm sure Charlie would just love to have the house full again." She snorted.
"I expect a whole lot of people. Nothing makes people want to eat and reminisce like a southern funeral. I doubt they'll be out of our hair until tomorrow morning."
"Reminisce! Wasn't that what last night was for, do we need to do it so soon? Hell, why doesn't everyone on this damn island camp out at my father house and just spend the rest of their lives talking about what a legend he used to be and what a damn shame it is that was all taken away from him...again. Meanwhile we can like the Smythe clan pick at my father's things like a flock of hungry vultures? That sounds lovely to me, does it sound good to all you people? Joy if you really need me come and find me, otherwise I just want to forget this whole mess of a day ever happened." Charlotte kicked open the door and ran inside before I even realize that we had arrived. Looking over to Joy I couldn't mask the distress I felt...she was breaking apart.
"Long over do if you ask me. That girl needs to get this out of she'll never be happy." I hadn't realized that I said the last part out loud. Damn my broken inner monologue.

If it's anything I've realized while traveling is that we southerners don't do anything small, if it can be done bigger we do it bigger. It was bad taste to call this gathering a party but it felt like one, food, liquor and free flowing gossip. It was a large house with many rooms--some were off limits but still there were more than enough room—and each was filled. In the music room Franks old band was talking, reliving the old days like most men from that time often like to do, I smiled at the thought that I had hear these tale first hand. The library door was shut and seeing as all the Symthes were nowhere to be seen I figured the will was being read. I knew everything from the candle sticks in the dining room to the old tire swing in the back yard was going to Charlie, Frank had told me as much but the others didn't know it and hell was about to break loose.

I could have been hours but I wasn't sure. The relatives had left in a huff and rather abruptly but Charlie was nowhere to be seen. I was being smothered in a hen house and itching to get away but they held me close for some reason. "Did you see Charlotte, Mary? That girl had gone and lost her accent, such disgrace. Her momma, God rest her soul, would be ashamed for her."
"Oh, it's not so bad. I half expected her to come back sounding like a Brit."
"You are bad Marla, but what do you think Charlie will do with the place now that it's all hers. She won't sell it, she owns her parents that much at least. "
I couldn't stand there any longer, they were going to get mean I could tell, "Ladies, now, I don't see how what Charlie does with her house is any business of yours. I know as well as y'all do that she owes no one anything, it's hers and if she wants to paint it red and hang her film all over the trees out front it would be her call. I have to find me something to drink before I lose my mind, excuse me."
They smiled like true southern bells but on the inside I knew they were cursing me to the devil. Hell of I cared, I really did need a drink but I wanted to find her first. She was nowhere, not even Joy knew. The bottom floor was a bust, the second as well and well onto the third I began thinking she had left when a thud from the attic got my attention.
Sure enough there she was, in the damn hot attic leaning against a chest with a bottle in her small hands. "Well, well, if it isn't my buddy, Pate...or David. Right now, I can't tell which one you like better, but that doesn't matter. What would you like, trumpet, a lamp or a drink...take you pick." She was slightly drunk but judging by the half empty bottle of Jack she should be plastered.
"Well, young lady, if you're offering I'll take the drink." I sat and took the bottle from her and drank. It burned on the way down, a good burn though. "Was Jack a virgin before you starting this little party Charlie or had he been around the block a few times?"
"Nope, I cracked the seal myself." She wasn't even slurring, in fact the only thing different in her voice was the southern inflection people thought was all but gone. It sounded much better than it should have.
"You can handle your drink, I'll give you that." I muttered before taking another swallow. Turning a bit I took her in; her face was sad, eyes beautiful despite the tears threatening to spill over her damp cheeks. Her lips were red and raw from where she had been worrying it. It was hot and muggy up here but she still looked beautiful, though I doubted telling her that would gain me anything but a slap across the face."How you doin' Peach?"
She sighed, heavily, gathering up the strength to speak. "I never knew why dad avoided those people. I knew he loved them but I never had actual proof of why they were always on the outskirts of our lives. Now I understand completely, they are horrible. I don't have a brother or a sister but if I had and lost them I would never have acted like them. Disgraceful, to be so greedy. And things they said to me, well, they made their feelings known, Poor Mr. Dean was stunned." She was losing that particular battle to stay strong; I knew the words had cut her. "Money, that’s all they were here for. That and well, to make me feel worse about all of this, I suppose because I've been gone I don't have as much claim to my father's house as they do. I didn't ask for it, I sure as hell don't want it, but I'll be damned if I let them have it. I just want to go home...leave this mess behind me."
"Charlie, now, you and I both now that miles don't change the way you feel. Distance doesn't remove that guilt. Peach, it's alright...none of this has anything to do with you."
"How can it not!" She cried, "I stared it. Don't you dare tell me that he didn't blame me because he did, just like all the rest of you? You think I really lived here all my life and never heard how people talked about me, what they said. Hell, what they're still saying only now another name has been added. I left all of this here, I left him."
"Why?"
"David, do you what it feels like to watch your dad fall apart, because of you? He had always been a strong man, healthy and good natured but it changed. I'm sure he could have dealt with his hands being ruined but losing her too and then having a reminder of it every day, it was too much. For the both of us. When he'd say good night and go to bed alone I knew what he was thinking. On Friday's he'd look at me like I was poking at him with hot sticks and then in the garden he'd look genuinely lost, like everything in his world vanished. If that isn't enough to send you packing then, I don't what is. He didn't want me here, he never said it but he told me all the time."
Charlotte took the bottle from me and took a long pull. It's hard to drink right out of the bottle and still look like a lady, but Charlie did it.
"I took away his wife and his music. I should be in the dirt not her or him but me."
In a move that shocked the pants right off me she climbed onto my lap and placed her face in my neck while he hot tears wet my skin and stained my shirt. There was nothing for me to do but hold her while Little Charlotte sobbed.
Somewhere I knew Frank was glad I was here.

A catch 22 if I ever saw one.

2010-04-12T13:27:00.000-07:00

The work place is a elaborate pitfall in general but even more so for the young. It's designed to frustrate and push you to you wits end. What is a girl to do? It doesn't take a genius to understand that as a young adult you have limited experience, it's all very logical you simply don't have the years under you belt yet to compete in every way. Sure, you're smart, your work ethic is aces and you're qualified but you sit at the bottom of the cooperate totem pole. Jobs as scarce as they are now a days don't hang on tree waiting to be plucked like a ripe apple and employers don't look too kindly on little to no experience. How is one to get experience if you can't get your foot in the door...due to lack of experience?

What do we do wait around, sit on our butts and dreams while time rolls by, gaining "experience"? I have one more year after this one and the job hunt will be the story of my life and though I do have no plans to be a member of the nine to five workers (not that there is anything wrong with that, it just isn't right for me) a girl has bills to pay and coffee to buy. Will I be forced to work at Barns and Nobles until the publishing God's smile upon me? Will the smile at me? It's a scary thought and I'll just quiver in my space boots until that day gets here.

Maybe I should save even more money and open a book store in Seattle? Plan B...who knows, but I thinking about it, excessively so.

Have a wonderful Monday. Story tomorrow I promise!

Isle of Hope...Chapter 2: Us

2010-04-08T10:45:00.000-07:00

Second chapter...I recomend reading the First Chapter or this might not make much sense. This is a project on "Quasi Short Stories", so let me know(kindly what you think.) Sorry for the length, I feel like I should appologize for that.
Enjoy.

I sat in the cab desperately trying to skirt the million questions being thrown at me; where I had been all this time, when I was gonna bring home a nice fella, was I planning to take up residence in the family home now that everything was thrown into a hell storm, and many other inquiries of the same nature. As it turned out he knew me or more to the point he knew my family, my parents and all the stories that went along with the good Smythe name. While the Smythes were a clan of fifty six of so we all stood out with our slight excentrities, only the name and the clout that come with it saved anyone for disgrace. My uncle Charles, the writer of various lusty romance novellas with his habitual taste for fine liquor and less fine women. My aunt Elis the chef with her house of many colors and house guest just as colorful--her staff all being of the young and vigorous male veritary. They were the most infamous. Then there were the stories of my father's relatively quite siblings; Mary and her pack of panicky pansies not excluding her argophobic husband, Jamie and her cheeky forever immature children and her husband a struggling paper mâché artist, Philip and his previously owned wife--he purchased her via the internet. My father was an exception to the rule that we all must be a bit crazy in the head.
"Well, little Charlotte here we are." He wave off the cab fair, claiming to have no need for my money and that is was a pleasure to drive me. It was a change from London were I was just another face, another passenger in a cab and where I could go for days on end without anyone asking me about my father or my mother. They simply didn't care.
I thanked the man and gathered my bags; he left was a small satisfied smile on his lips. I was sure that as soon as he drove away he'd tell everyone he passed that Charlotte Smythe was back in Isle of Hope and the tongue would begin their wagging. None of them were expecting me to show up, however warranted my arrival seemed to them they had learned to not look for my face around here four years ago. I knew it had been a while but surly they knew how much my father meant to me?
"Oh, Child. Let me look at you. Henry, you get Miss Charlotte's bags and put them in her old room." I smile as soon as Joy's voice broke the air. God, how I had missed this women. She hugged me just like she used to, overly tight and smothering but it was just too sweet to worry about not being able to breathe. "Oh, sugar I have missed seeing your pretty face around here. London must be treating you with kindness, you look breathtaking," I rolled my eyes and smile at her, "At touch too thin but we'll fix that in no time. Now, come on inside, I made you some breakfast. It's sad business that brought my sugar back to us but I couldn't be happier to see you."
As she ushered me up the walk I was flooded with memories of the house, of us. Us, all of us, Henry and Joy, my mother and father, and me. The house and land were untouched by time or sadness. Rusty brick walk was clean and still pave in that criss cross pattern, the rose bushes are pruned and dotted with blush cabbage roses, the small shady trees sway in the slight breeze, knocking pink petals on the grass like confetti. The white paint is fresh and stark against the deep eggplant shutter flanking each large window seen on both the top and bottom of my lovely home. The bottom porch warped around the large house much like the one on top but where the upstairs was clear for walking or just contemplating, the bottom was littered with small iron chairs and tables to match with pitchers of peach tea and small cookies only Joy can make. Many summers had been spent on this porch, playing, reading and later crying. The sight of my childhood hit me with such force I had to grip the iron railing to myself upright.
"It's alright, sugar. Your pop would want you to be strong now, no tears." My eyes had already begun to fill and when I caught the wreath of violets and rosemary on the door they fell down my cheeks. "There, there, Charlie I suppose a few tears never hurt anyone."
She took me inside, bypassing the all the flowers and condolences in the foyer and the front room, and I suspected there were more in the music room as well. Leading me straight to the kitchen and on to one of the many stools surrounding the island. She handed me a glass of water and patted my hand. She knew why I had stayed away, that it wasn't from lack of love or devotion but rather from guilt and the painful memories that saturated this place. While my father had preferred to wallow in it I had opted to run from it, choosing to ignore it rather than deal with it. Now, I couldn't avoid it and it scared me to think of what I would have to face in the weeks to come.
"Now, dear, now that you're a bit more settled I suppose we should talk about what gonna be happening in the days to come." She placed a heavy breakfast in front of me and continued talking while I ate."Tonight is the memorial of sorts for your dad, people of all kinds are gonna be here eating and talking. I can guess that word has already spread that you're here so I'm afraid talking with them can't be put off. They'll bug ya but if you stay cooped up and silent they'll just bug ya more. The funeral is in couple of days and you aunts, uncles and cousins," she raised an eyebrow at the thought of them being here but said nothing, "will be dropping by all week to check on things and you, of course. The estate lawyer had been asking for a meeting with you, he wanted to do it today but I was able to hold him off until Saturday... I suppose he'll want to tell you what's in the will and who gets what, but you and I both know that everything will more than likely go to you, sugar. An old student of your dad's is gonna be staying with us for a while--he was heartbroken to find out your dad passed, they'd become good friends over the past couple of years. Now, I already have everything under control, I want to hear about you. I missed you and I'm willing to look over the fact that you haven't come to see me in such a long time because I love you so much but Charlotte Anne Smythe I swear that if you let years go by with so much as a call I will come to London, suffer the cold, just to knock some sense into you."
"It's not so cold Joy, you get used to it and I promise to at least call. I can't promise to visit all that much." I smiled to soften my words, but in truth I wouldn't be here now if it wasn't for my father's passing and she knew it. Really there wasn't much to tell her, I took photos and people bought them. I was known, my photos were selling faster than I could snap and develop them and truth be told I loved that my life consisted of work and work related functions. I had very few friends and no love life...but I liked it that way. No one to ask where I had been all day or why I didn't drive or why I wouldn't just stay put for second, no questions and certainly nothing to lose.
"Well your Mom would be proud of you and I know Mister Frank was proud of you. I'm mighty proud of you sugar but I always knew you'd be famous but I can't say I'm too happy about the lack of mention you gave to the male sex there, either there's no one and that would be a shame for such a lovely girl or there is someone and you're holding out on me--which would be very bad missy considering I make all your meals."
It was good to be with Joy again, she always made things lighter. I assured her that I was hiding nothing, but she merely nodded and told me to go get some rest and get ready for tonight.
I didn't chance sleep, after what happened on the plane I decided that it would not be in my best interest to have those things going through my mind tonight. Instead I just lay on my bed, and looked at the rich plum walls while my father's records played. I heard some racket down on the main level but figuring it the suck ass ex student of my father's I didn't go down to greet him. My father's students brought brown nosing to a different level. Each and every one would try to best the other, cakes, pies, expensive chocolates, watches, concert tickets...just about anything you could think of to gain his affection and often times they liked to think that they deserved my father's affection more than I did. I hated that it was, in some respects, true.

It was only five forty and already I had been cornered by more than half of the good people of Savannah. I had already been told hundreds of stories featuring my father, some featuring me. My uncle Charles, in a drunken stupor had told me about a date my parents had with a car, an oak tree and the police and by the time he was finished I had the overwhelming urge to wash my brain with bleach. For the for the most part my family left me alone--they were too busy attending to their own problems. For insistence; Mary was moping her ashen husband's face...he hadn't been out of their home in six months, it was a big step. My aunt was holding an audience of about ten men while wearing a red turban and a thirty year old piece of arm candy. She offered to lend him to me for the night but I declined and made the rounds begrudgingly. I had been asked about my life in London a multitude of time with sympathy as if it was a hardship of some sort. In fact everyone made the word London sound so horrific. As London was code for Exile, which I suppose it was a sort of self imposed kind of exile but no one was suppose to know about it. I felt my heart give way when the tale of Friday Frank's Trumpet made an appearance, every eye watched me with rapt expectation. 'It's such a shame isn't Charlotte' a women ironically named Savannah said with malice. I had had enough. These people that I never really cared for and their constant inadequate word of condolence coupled with all the photos for my mother were just too much. I was choaking; the air was thick and overly sweet with too much perfume. The second their attention wavered I excused myself and discreetly made my way to the back yard.
Summer nights took a long time to fall in the south, the sun lingered in the sky clinging to the last remnants of sky before fading. Taking a deep breath of the air my body sagged, letting go of the act for a second. The house and its design may have belonged to my father and only touched with my mother's taste but the yard was all hers. From the flowers she planted to the tire swing she had Henry fasten to the large tree. Everything arranged to look like God himself had planted the flowers, like nature herself took it upon herself to add a wild touch--the perfectly planned wild garden. It smelled like heaven, ocean air and Jasmine. I stood there as night made its presence known in soft flickering stars and dark blue sky, the commotion from inside was a distant garble of voices.
"There you are, sugar.” I left Joy stand beside me, leaning on the railing just like I was. She stroked my hair, knowingly and oddly enough the gesture that from anyone else would have made my skin crawl from her it soothed. With my eyes fixed on the tire swing swaying gently I debated asking her the one question that had been on my edge of my mind for a while now.
"What was he like? All this time was he...what was he like?"
She sighed, “He missed your mom, everyday but he missed you most of all. He never said much but I figure it was as hard being around you as it was for you to be around him. You know he wasn't sick...if he would have been sick I would have told you. He just sort of gave up one day. Sometimes people just can't go on anymore and they just fade." A tear rolled down my cheek, again. This crying was starting to bother me. "Pate was around a lot so that made his days better...lived through the boy he did.”
I looked up, questioning this mention of Pate.
"Your dad's ex-student and friend. Frank would brag to him every day about his little Charlotte; show him your picture and the ones you would send to him. When Pate told me he was having' trouble finding you I knew couldn't have been in there cuz that boy know what you look like better than know his own face. “Joy laughed mischief in each cackle. Here came the set up, the available man they had been shoving my picture at, I only hoped he was not affected once so ever by anything they had told him. Poor Man...On second thought he was more than likely a self righteous advocate against daughters that basically ignored their fathers.
"Dad put up the pictures I sent. I never got a call, most of the time I didn't know if they had made it here or not."
"Oh, no you don't. He put them all up but just like we never got to see you around the holidays he couldn't call you. He cared but it was easier to care from far away. But don't you think he didn't care."
I nodded; I had thought perhaps he had resented me, for leaving, for never coming back, but most of all for being able to do what I love while he couldn't. Behind me someone was calling for Joy with familiarity, her husband no doubt. She turned and started talking quickly in hushed tones; I ignored it and let them have their private moment if they needed it.
"Oh, son, she out here." I heard Joy say quietly and muttered a low traitor under my breath. "Charlie I'm going inside but I'm leaving you in Pate capable hands. Make sure she doesn't get too down on herself Pate."
He answered her warmly. I assumed he sat if the sound of a scraping chair was anything to go by but I didn't turn to greet the man. I knew he was going to chastise me for not being there for Frank's last moment, for causing him unnecessary pain and shove it in my face that while I was neglecting him he was there.
I stayed stewing in all the things that I was so sure the man would say, allowing myself to get more angry and saddened that I hardly realized that everything was quite accept a low trumpet wailing through the open door behind me. No Southern bells chatting away, no gentlemen drinking and reminiscing and certainly no talking for this Pate guy, I sighed in relief. The memorial was over, no more remembering...at least for tonight.
"Well, Miss Charlotte, I knew you weren't fit to talk and that's understandable but I never thought you'd completely ignore me for twenty whole minutes. I'm rather shocked; Frank always made you out to be the most polite of girls. Aren't you even going to turn and face me...while you have a nice back I'd much rather look at your face while we or rather, while I talk to you."
"Listen, you seem to know of me and that’s all well and good but quite frankly I don't want to get to know you. I just want to say good bye to my father and get over of here and I do not need some kiss ass musician calling me out for not being here when I should have. I know I should have been here but if you know my family like I suspect you do, I'd say you're pretty informed of why I've stayed away." I turned around still unwilling to look at this man’s face for fear of justly deserved judgment. "From what I've been told Frank was fond of you so stay in the house as long as you want but..."
The words died in my throat when I slow lifted my eyes to find wide hazel ones. Shit.
Could it get any worse?
"Well, Peach I'd say you're in shock. You should sit before you stumble and fall on your pretty face."
Gabriel

Happy Thrusday...next chapter, maybe tomorrow. Bye, loves!

Damn you Hypocrisy

2010-04-07T12:47:00.000-07:00

Notice how I seem to only post on Wednesday, what's up with that?
An update to what been going on in my corner. First and foremost, I'm writing...a lot. I haven't decided if forgoing sleep to get the stories out of my head is a good thing but at this point I don't really care. My Easter was lovely and I hope all of yours were. My selective family time was pleasant. My clothes are fitting me big and my loving mother noticed, sat me down and discussed the dangers of anorexia. *insert sigh and heavy eye roll* Come on, did you see how many Jelly Beans I polished off in thirty minutes? I eat when I hungry and don't when I'm not...isn't that how it's suppose to work? Anyways, I went to a vintage store on Friday and found heaven. Clothes, jewelery, hats, art, tables and holy grail of old yummy smelling books. Currently sniffing a tattered 12th impression 1970 Complete works of William Shakespeare. I'm such a nerd for smelling books.

Now down to the reason behind such a title. I loath Hypocrisy. We all do it but I do my best to shun it at all costs..well maybe not all costs.

In order to understand you must know that most everyone in my family prefers to live with rose colored shades welded to their faces, all accept for us. Us five are somewhat cynical with a low tolerance for skirting around issues but we call it how it is. But others don't and for the life of me I can't understand why. On Saturday my fantastic 81 year old grandmother was tell us a story about a heated phone call she had with someone when she mentioned that a Family member had sent me an email and was, shall we say "a little put out" that I didn't return it.

I check my email accounts daily. There was no such email. Then I thought maybe she was referring to Facebook ( Yes! She had a Facebook and is on it a lot. I rarely go on it, and I think that bothers this family member but I'm just not that into it.) but I get email alerts for facebook, so that was a bust. I could hear the way she would mention it to my grandmother, "The boy answered but Melissa didn't." Things have been strained with this family member because I have "changed." New Flash, I have changed and you weren't really around for it so it must be hard to deal with but I'm not a little girl in love with glitter. I twenty one years old for Christ sake. I grew up and you don't know me at all.
Back to the Hypocrisy.

This person is put out with me for the same thing she did over and over for a period of six months. At first I understood because, hell, she was busy. She moved her entire life and adult son to somewhere completely different, cold and harsh. I was worried but I got a cold front, reigned in the hurt. Still I continued without anger but you know what being ignored makes you feel like. Perhaps I had become less important to this person. When I did receive a word for her it was generic, friendly but fake...as if I was a client. I completely understand the need to put on a front with strangers but with family, with people who are suppose to love unconditionally, you'd think you could be real for one effing minute. Right?

Wrong. She moved back to her old state but things are still...fake. And now, she's put out because I didn't answer a message she more than likely sent to a phone I haven't had in two years. I think that goes to show how little she know about my life. Whether she had been sending texts to this phone for months, which I highly doubt, what is she an island...can't she call my house? There was no email, no message but I'm sure whoever has that number now got an business friendly wish for a nice Easter.

My question is simple. How can you have the cheek to be upset about something you've been doing for months without even giving it a second thought? Is it pure self absorption that keeps you so blind to how you act or is it that you really have no clue?

I love you but Gezz, you're a hypocrite.

A Rolling Stones Wordless Wednesday

2010-03-31T06:54:00.000-07:00

Does anyone say it better than the Rolling Stones? I think not. Happy Hump Day People.

We're going on story mode people.

2010-03-29T11:18:00.000-07:00

This week well be story week. Yes! I'm simultaneously nervous and excited. Nervous because there has been very little traffic on here lately(I know I've been a flake blogger, forgive me?) and excited because I'm a bit odd and writing stories excites me. So here we go.

Click pic to get original ;)

Isle of Hope Ch.1 --Hero

Flying is not something I do. Let me rephrase that, flying home is not something I do. If I can help it I keep my feet firmly planted on the ground, but today going home is a necessity, one that I can avoid no longer--unfortunately. It's not that I have a fear of flying or going home I just don't particularly enjoy recycled air, bad food, being forcefully seated next to a stranger, oh, and the whole plunging to your death possibility doesn't help either. The same thing could not be said about home, although death did come to mind when I though of home. Looking to the empty seat beside me I pray that it will remain that way--but it more than likely would be filled by some talkative being hell bent on making friends and sadly I wasn't in the mood. Stretching my legs I thanked God for first class and the extra leg room.

"We will be takin' off shortly so I'm gonna need you to take off you earphones for a sec, okay." The stewardess (or was that politically incorrect, was it suppose to be Air Hostess now?) said sweetly. I simply nodded and took the buds out of my ears, music spilling into the air. It was as quite as a morgue seeing as only two other souls were traveling and they seemed to be asleep.

"Grant Green," someone muttered softly. Looking up I traced the words to man stowing his bag in the overhead compartment. See I told you the empty seat would be filled, they always were. I looked out the window and hummed the tune while the pilot spoke over head; Thank you for Flying with us...sorry for the delay...We'll be taking off shortly. I thanked God once again, but this time for divine intervention on finding a non-southern airline.

The take off was shaky, and I found myself white knuckling the arm rest the entire time--I hated taking off and landing wasn't much better. I still had the ear buds hanging over my ear, the deep melody swirling around me and my flight companion. I hoped he wasn't much of a talker...

"Take these chains from my heart, great song," He mused, before clearing his throat. "Hello, miss my name is Gabriel. And may I say you have fine taste in music."

I turned to face a pair of very deep earnest hazel eyes, and an outstretched hand. "Nice to meet you Gabriel." I wasn't in the mood to chat but the man was sweet like southern tea and, quite frankly handsome. He had a face made for black and white photos, all angles and soft planes where you needed them.

"Do I get a name?" He asks, arching a brow at me. Really was this guy serious? "I suppose I could just call you Peach but I'd like a name to match the pretty face." Yes, he was very painfully serious.

"Charlotte." I turned back to the window and he just chuckled.
This was going to be a long flight.

The "Air Hostess" came to take our orders, to which I kindly refused and only asked for a water, I wanted a beer but this would hard enough and I need a clear head when I got home. Gabriel apparently like to eat airplane food, which didn't say much about his taste. I noticed that when Gabriel ordered his food a little too quickly a southern drawl came into play then that had not made itself know moments before, the thank you, ma'am sealed the deal.

"So. Grant Green..." He started as soon as the women walked away.

"What about him?" I returned somewhat frosted. He was smiling, friendly, warm and inviting but I didn't want the invitation. I knew I was being rude, he didn't know why I was flying home or what waited for me there. Damn my well mannered heart, I gave with a smile. What good were southern manners if you threw to the wind when they mattered. What would dad say...or what would he have said? I suppose now everything is in the past tense.

"He's a genius, Born to be Blue is the first thing I learned to play. It's always Green when I find myself needin' a bit of the jazz peace." I smiled at the accent, the one I had all but lost.

"So you're a musician?" He nodded, "Well, that's respectful...I have a bit of sore spot for musicians."

"Most women do," I rolled my eyes, if only he knew why that sore spot was there he wouldn't look so smug. "You live here or are you just visitin'? What do you do?"

"No, not visiting. I live in London and I'm a photographer."

"How can a peach live in London fog?" He asked truly interested, "Don't you get lonesome, or ache for home? I know I can't stay away for too long, it just--"

"You're food sir," the lady set down his food, showing him her ample chest and caressing his hand suggestively. Jezebel--how fitting--handed me my water and shimmied her way down the aisle with a purpose. He gave me a pointed to look, as if to say See what I mean, sore spot.

I ignored him, put my ear bubs back in my ears and dozed off, leaving Gabriel to his own devices.

***

The wind was rustling through the majestic oak trees, the leaves and moss hanging like a canopy of safety and fond memories while I stood there inhaling the scent of home; sultry hot air and sea wind. But almost suddenly I was seated in a phantom car, one which I was driving. My beautiful mother was sitting beside me talking about the summer that waited for us at Hilton Head and my father chiming in every once in a while about the jazz clubs we would visit. It was a odd sort of memory to relive in a dream and everything appeared to be stage, precisely timed and even in this dream state I had the good sense to realize that all was not well. It only took a moment but with the screeching sound of iron scraping against iron all the memories came back to me, sitting in that car powerless to stop it. The sound of blood curdling screams, the sickening crunch of bones and the unrelenting guilt of being the only one left unscathed.

I was jolted back to reality by a warm hand nudging my shoulder and a strong din of the man sitting beside me, "Miss Charlotte, wake up silly girl. We've landed."

My skin felt cold and pale--pale was my reality as of late, London didn't get the same sun home did and I was always thankful for that, but this new colorless feeling was one of fear, shock, perhaps a rare cocktail of both. Gabriel's eyes met mine softly, slightly concerned but none that wiser about my troubled dream so I decided to play along. As if I was a normal girl with normal dreams, "We landed already?"

"Yes, Miss. We just landed, I buckled you in, hopes that's alright with you....you were out like a light Charlotte. Must have been one heck of a rest."

"Yeah," I answered, rubbing my sore neck and stretching out my limbs experimentally.

"You happy to be home."

I feigned a smile. Home was a alien concept. The pilot took his cue to welcome us and I have never felt more unwelcome in my entire life.
Welcome to Savannah Georgia.

Happy Monday. Next chapter tomorrow, stay tuned. Pretty please.

Permission...

2010-03-26T09:14:00.000-07:00

You're holding yourself back, baby! What do you give yourself permission to do?

Have a Happy Friday...and a lovely weekend.

P.S. I'm over the moon about having tickets to see Kings of Leon in July. Doesn't make up for not being able to go to Coachella but it's pretty close!

Led Zepplin Brownies.

2010-03-18T13:14:00.000-07:00

I love baking in Chocolate--for those of you who know, I hate to eat chocolate, but baking with it taps into some unknown pleasure. Most question my femininity when they learn I hate chocolate. "How can you be a girl and not like Chocolate?" I love baking in Chocolate...does that count?

Here is a recipe from me to you on this lovely Thursday.

I Can't Quit You, Baby Brownies

What you'll need:
1 1/3 cup of sugar
3/4 cup(1 1/2 stick ) butter or margarine, melted
2 tbsp. water
2 large eggs
2tsp vanilla extract
1 1/3 cup all-purpose flour
3/4 cup Baking Cocoa(Ghirardelli Chocolate Cocoa Power is the best)
1/2 tsp baking powder
1/4 salt
3/4 cup chopped nuts(I used walnuts)
1/2 cup of white chocolate chips (you could add more if you want but note that the brownie will be more chunky if you do so. Which is totally fine.)
Powered sugar(optional--I opted out.)

What to do:
Preheat oven to 350 degrees F.
Grease a 13 x 9 inch baking pan

Combine sugar, butter and water in large bowl. Stir in eggs and vanilla extract. Combine flour, cocoa, baking powder and salt in a medium bowl; stir into sugar mixture. Stir in nuts and white chocolate chips. Spread into pan.

Bake for 18 to 25 minutes(Note you might need more time depending on your oven) or until a wooden pick inserted in the center come out slightly sticky. Cool on a wire rack.

Cut and enjoy.

"Oh, when you hear me... You know you're my one desire. Yes, you are."

Wordless

2010-03-17T06:30:00.000-07:00

Smile Today.

2010-03-12T09:09:00.000-08:00

(image found here)

While I don't scowl or furrow my brows everyday I do pull the the serious neutral face. It's been called the Melissa's Mystery Face and then when guys came into the picture it was deemed the Leave Me Alone I Don't Want To Talk face. And it's been put into overdrive lately and it's not because I'm too cool to talk to random people (but being shy I don't ever talk to random people) but because I get a good amount of dirty looks throw my way I'm clueless as to why. I'll be walking through a store and when I catch the eyes of some stranger I smile only to find that the face I'm looking at is not so happy but rather looking at me with aggression. Excuse the language but my inner monologue knows no modesty, What the FUCK is going on?

At first I thought it was only my imagination and slight insecurities--did I have something on my face? Does this person find my face offensive?-- but then Killing Moon mentioned it and I knew it wasn't just mild paranoia. 'That girl gave you the worst stare down. What's her problem?' With a horrified expression I shrugged my shoulders and kept looking for whatever it was we were shopping for, pretending it didn't bother me. I wasn't fooling him. And then weeks later the same thing happened with my mom. I caught her giving a dirty look of her own and question her sanity before she explained that she didn't like women giving me dirty looks. Once again, What the Fuck is going on?

It only seems to get worse and always from women. My loving brother jokes that it's because I look too pale and need a tan or my blue streaks but that can't be it. The world isn't that conventional anymore to be bothered by a little hair color. Today I got to thinking, with a Tall Skinny Vanilla Double Shot Latte coursing through my veins, if people want to throw dirty looks then let them. I doing no good by wrecking my brain to figure out why they have a problem with me. I'm not going steal your boyfriend--I don't want him. I'm not going to get the pair of pumps on sale you have you eye on. And I'm really not going to be unhappy because you have a stick lodged somewhere inconvenient.

I'm going to smile, despite your ugly looks, I'll smile because it make me feel beautiful, happy and makes you disappeared.

So my Lovelies I'm telling you on this fine Friday Monday that you are beautiful and you should let the world know it. Have you smiled today? Try it!

Happy Friday.

Ode to Bono.

2010-03-10T11:25:00.000-08:00

A voice like no other and words to match
I loved them before I knew what they meant
even more when I understood
Timeless, ageless, my heart recognizes every song
Rattle and Hum, my pulse feels what you say

Through rose colored shade you see the world,
Needs never escape your notice
From your heart you give
From you lips you inspire
The microphone your mouthpiece, the world your stage
And I willingly
Lovingly
Listen.

Bono, oh how I love you.

Yes, I love Bono. Yes, I love U2. Don't we all? Have a wonderful Wednesday my darlings!

Stuck between a hot place and a noticeably cooler one!

2010-03-04T10:11:00.000-08:00

It happens the second you walk in the door, the dull bell rings out over the silence welcoming and announcing your arrival. The air is warm and tinged with the rich aroma of tattered pages, aging leather and some undefinable yet ubiquitous spice--the feeling of comfort undeniable as it spread over your body. This place is new but it feels like home in your heart, this place and you share something elusive, yet neither of you feel the need to define the bond. You browse at a leisurely pace because, what other way would you familiarize yourself. Softly dragging your finger tips along the shelves, covers, and spines. Lights are bright enough to read by just barley, keeping the mood inviting, mysterious and wholly sensual. You know that you're being watched and that knowledge adds to the entire experience and because you are also watching a duel voyeuristic atmosphere descends. And how could it not? They are all there: Baudelaire is in the corner eyeing you intently while Shakespeare is discussing the weather, of all things, to Poe who seems completely preoccupied with the wall, or the person encased within it. And then there are the three dimensional people, wandering up and down the aisle, gently brushing limbs with you, feeling that same things you are. This place is the place, the one you were looking for but never knew you needed. Close your eyes and picture it, picture the scene in front of you.

I spend a great deal of time in hauled up in corners with books, stalking bookstores--sometimes I but and other times I wander. Let's face bookstore are HOT. Yes, that sounds odd because it isn't the place that comes to mind when that words spills into a conversation, it's not a club with raging music and the hum of bodies gyrating. There is no candle light or romantic music playing in the background but what it does have is, Intimacy. Naked and unassuming, intimacy that doesn't push you to places you don't want to go yet but quite and patient and content to go at your speed. Unlike sexpot clubs, a quite bookstore burns slowly, the fire is stoked with care and sensuality--and it seems like a winning combination to me; books and building sexual tension. Books, are not as palpable as life this I know but they were made in the image of Life and if that isn't intimate then I don't know what is?

So, want to do something different, want to feel the slow burn--yes, I realize that sentence sound like the intro to some absurd exercise video--try on a bookstore for size.

Have a enlightening Thursday...I'll be watching Alice in Wonderland tonight or rather Friday morning. Tim Burton, Johnny Deep, and one of my favorite books rolled into one. What more could I ask for?

Wordless...Bliss

2010-03-03T05:26:00.000-08:00

Happy Wednesday. The giveaway is simmering away and will be ready soon.

To each their own...or so I'd like to think.

2010-03-01T05:07:00.000-08:00

I'm not a fan of whales. I hate them, change the channel when they come on TV, gag when people discuss them and I will never go to Sea World again. Why? Because I read Moby Dick at at an odd age and have never looked at these blobs in the same way again. This isn't a post about my profound hatred of Whales ( yes, a shiver crawled down my spine) but one about Moby Dick. Well, a certain passage in Moby Dick that has always struck a cord with me.

"Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp,
drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before
coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; and
especially whenever my hypos get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a
strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street,
and methodically knocking people's hats off--then, I account it high time to get
to sea as soon as I can. This is my substitute for pistol and ball."

I feel no sadness, no depression or even the smallest hint of these things on the horizon yet...I feel restless. Flighty, almost as if the air around me has thinned and decided to compress freedom and creativity, and I need to get away. When the moment strikes I hear the words I so desperately need to fill pages and pages I find myself away from my pages, my words tied to something required and then when I'm back with my page I can write nothing and everything is silent. This is the reason the posts have been less than lackluster...is this writers block? I'm not convince...the words are there but at the wrong times...words I can't use for anything required but float never the less above everything, waiting in the wings. It feels odd, like my brain and my heart are both asking for something but I haven't the slightest clue how to satisfy both. I feel like knocking people's hats off, just because and I can take to no sea--because Whales are out there. I can't take off and disappear...so what is girl suppose to do?

Drive.

Driving has become an odious chore for some, they groan about the traffic, they honk their horns at the world but the shear freedom of driving has been lost. Nothing compares to driving, or better yet driving up a mountain. The asphalt sun warmed and marked with the tire treads of so many strangers, like finger prints on a book, sprigs of wild flowers and Honeysuckle on the shoulder and rock on the other side. Just you and the road curving into the earth, in and out in wave of striped yellow along a black stairway climbing with each push of the pedal. This is my sea. 'This is my substitute for pistol and ball'

The hats don't get knocked off and a grim mouth can't find me here, at the top with the city below and the trees around me, the words flow and dance in the winter wind. This is my escape, thank god I live so close to these majestic mountains.

What is your sea, what is you substitute for pistol and ball?

From me to you!

2010-02-25T11:32:00.001-08:00

Should I do a give away?I've been toying with the idea of doing a give away but I'm just not sure. I would love to hear ideas from you guys...what should I give away?

Let me know people, pretty please!

Black Hole Cupcake kind of day...

2010-02-22T06:00:00.000-08:00

Sometimes life could use a good black hole. A place where gravity is too extreme to ignore or fight...a place where we can drown. In a lot of ways love is like an black hole--impossible to escape and no matter how many times you thing you have it figured out it surprises you with a new layer of mystery. Real Black holes are lightyears away and love takes time to find us but this Black Hole Cupcake is only a mixing bowl away (that and the time it takes to make them...plus 15 minutes for them to bake and 10 minutes for them to cool for the frosting, but it beats the whole lightyears thing...right?) The perfect decadent treat to lose ones self in, and that is saying quite a lot for a girl who hates chocolate. Make them and succumb to gravity!

(The other cake stand was full, some were even scattered elsewhere and when the day was over...only two little cupcakes stood alone.)

For those of you who know I'm always the one to jump in head first when it comes to baking and boy how I love cupcakes. I hope you guys will try to make these...it's so much fun!

Recipe: Black Hole Cupcakes

What you'll need...

(cup cakes)

2 cups granulated sugar
1¾ cup white all purpose flour
¾ cup Dark Cocoa sifted
1½ teaspoon baking powder
1½ teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon salt
2 eggs
1 cup milk
½ cup vegetable oil
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
1 cup boiling water

1.Preheat oven to 350 degrees and line muffin pan with cupcake liners

2. Mix dry ingredients in a large bowl. (Sift to avoid clumps...especially the Cocoa)

3. Blend eggs, milk, oil & vanilla( beat for 2 minutes on medium if using a mixer or highspeed if using hand mixer. I used my bicep and a whiks and everything worked out nicely)

4. Pour boiling water and mix for 30 seconds

Note: Batter is very thin, so I reconmend using a pryex mesuring cup with a spout to fill the liners. Only fill about 2/3 for the way or else you'll get cupcakes that look like mushrooms...yummy but not ideal. Makes about 24 cupcakes or 2 nine inch cake layers.

5. Bake for 15 minutes unitl they bounch back when pressed lightly.

6. Remove and let cool before filling and frosting.

(Filling)

1/2 to 3/4 cup of good quality seedless raspberry jam

Put jam in a bowl and lossen it up with a fork because thick jam won't pipe right and if it's still too stiff add a teaspoon or two for hot water. Place jam in plastic zip lock bag and cut the tip...but not too much. With a paring knife or any sharpe knife make an X into the top of the cupcake, make sure not to go too deep, about half way down sould do the trick. Place the open tip in the X and squeeze to fill. Clean knife every few cupcakes.

(Frosting)

1/2 cup (one stick) butter

2/3 special dark cocoa(I used regular cocoa)

3 cups powered sugar

1/3 milk
1 teaspoon vanilla extract

Melt butter, stir in cocoa, gradually add sugar, milk and vanilla. This is a pretty striaght foward Cocoa Buttercream frosting so remember too much milk and it will be too runny and no enought and it will be too stiff to spread. Don't worry about the amount of frosting...this makes enough. And for good measure add a raspberry to each cupcake...as you can see I didn't--couldn't find any good ones.

Eat and feel the pull of gravity! What a way to pull through a monday? Hope you all have a lovely day. Do you have any favorite cupcake recipes?

Grow Grow Grom...

2010-02-19T06:07:00.000-08:00

So, I entered this in a contest and to be very honest I'm nervous--scratch that! I'm boiling over with anxiety. There are so many talented artist in the greater Los Angles area that it is highly unlikely that I'll win but...the gallery space would be a dream come true, that and it never hurt to have to affirmation that you, in fact, are not wasting your time with a "hobby." Let me know what you think...or if you get it.

Happy Friday guys!

Ten virtual bucks to the person who can tell me where I got the title of not only the blog post but also the paint from...without using google.

Le Petit Prince...

2010-02-16T15:18:00.000-08:00

"It is only with the heart that one can see rightly. What is essential is invisible to the eye."

Last night I had a mojito.

2010-02-14T16:12:00.000-08:00

Yes, that's right. Now, I have not been taking advantage of my new legality, not even on my birthday did I drink but last night I was having dinner at the Cheesecake factory and I had one...well, I shared one. I wasn't driving and my roasted veggie pizza seemed to call out for something a bit fun. Something with a taste of mint and of course a dash of some Cuban flavor, and you know what it was amazing.
It came to the table served by some witty server with a personality to charm people and put them at ease. He sat it down on and walked away to check on our food with a sly, Enjoy. Now, I'm not a complete alcohol virgin--I've had wine, some champagne, a few sips of disgusting beer, and one fiery drink of my aunts martini but, never had I had a drink for me. A drink with no residual guilt or looks of protest, so naturally I approached it with cation because lets face I do not want to be the girl in that story, you know the one your friends tell at parties to break the ice. This one time we were at The cheesecake Factory and Melissa went a too heavy on the the mojito and ended up with not with a lampshade but a slice of blueberry white chocolate cheesecake on her head...it was so funny. NO! Thanks. It did sit there for a moment or two, dripping condensation leaving a ring around the tall glass but when I did pick it up and take a tentative sip I was surprised.
I wasn't hit in the kisser with the blunt taste of vodka but instead eased into it like a warm bath, only better. It was cool and tasted like summer, a summer with fresh lime, mint and loads of ice. In a word it was fantastic. As I sipped, cautiously, I could picture my Grandfather in the dead of summer on a some sultry Havana night, with his guayabera sipping his drink sprinkled with yerba buena and polished off with rum. Smooth, tart and with a hint a sweetness, which, for me is ideal because I despise being wrapped in sugar. Maybe I had a few more sips to actually count it as "sharing" but I found that I can handle myself just fine, not even a fuzzy head on the walk out.

I did end up having that blueberry white chocolate cheesecake--though not on my head--but it was shared....and unlike the drink, equally shared.

Happy Valentines Days to all my lovelies out there, and thanks for the tulips. They're sitting pretty on my bedside table.

Wordless Wednesday

2010-01-20T11:03:00.000-08:00

"A change in the weather is sufficient to recreate the world and ourselves."--Marcel Proust

Gene Kelly said it the best.

2010-01-18T12:38:00.000-08:00

I'm singing in the rain

Just singing in the rain

What a glorious feelin'

I'm happy again

I'm laughing at clouds

So dark up above

The sun's in my heart

And I'm ready for love

Let the stormy clouds chase

Everyone from the place

Come on with the rain

I've a smile on my face

I walk down the lane

With a happy refrain

Just singin',

Singin' in the rain

Selfish girl...

2010-01-11T11:29:00.001-08:00

I'm going to talk about God, if that bothers you, don't read or read but know that I'm not forcing my opinions of beliefs on you. To each their own God.

Selfish prayers, I have no excuse for this, I was taught better. Since childhood I have been instructed, schooled in the art of praying. How to thank God, so on and so fourth. I distinctly remember my father telling me to always ask for his will to be done, not my own. But, when did I stop listening to this. At what point did I start treating god like a magical genie trapped in a lamp ready to grant my wishes?

They--I don't who these people are--say that most everything we do, how we are and our views on the world have a starting point. One pivotal moment where everything changes. Some have no clue when this momentous day occurred but I do. You have read about this before but never have I explained the desperation I infused into my every prayer. When my grandfather was dying I begged, literally on hands and knees for God to save him. I didn't care how he did it but I pleaded for go to save him. I'm not telling you this so that I earn your sympathy or even so that you know how much I adored my grandfather but because it show cases selfish praying.

I was twelve, and though I had been in Christina school my entire life I'm not sure what relationship I had with God. Sure I knew he was there, like a face book friend's picture...you see it but you don't see them. Here is where things get tricky, when my grandfather passed--after praying till my knees were sore--I blamed myself for not being in deeply in God's grace for him to grant me such a small thing. I couldn't comprehend how a higher power could take something so vital to my life away from me, how if he had my best interest at hand he could let me feel such agony. With my poor understanding of faith I decided that it was God's fault. He killed my grandfather when he could have easily saved him.

Yes, I did turn my back of my faith--at least in my heart. After that more struggles were in the road blocking my path. I won't get into details because quite frankly I'm not ready to talk about it...not at any length, perhaps when I'm a little older. But for what seemed like an eternity I was being put through constant emotional and physical turmoil, which didn't help my anger towards god, again in my heart. It is surprisingly difficult to hide that pain in a school where God and his teaching as everywhere, which I think was the whole reason why my parents put me into Catholic school, to strength me. Perhaps on some level my parents knew what I was going through, but I never told, still haven't. It may seem sad, even depressing to think that I have such a talent for deception but it was my tool.

Things went on like this for a while, and sadly my breakthrough came towards the end of my high school life. At a Catholic retreat we were sharing stories, deep personal things that no one knew and would stay within our group. I had one of those moments, you know that one that I mentioned above--the monumental change moment. Against every self-presevational instinct I told my story, my acute anger at God. I purged it to class mates, people I'd never really spoken to but were now privy to my darkest secret...that was the day I felt my faith again, but it didn't come back the way I knew it should have.

Yes, God and I were on speaking terms again but I was always on the asking side. 'Do this, do that, please.' I found myself bartering with Him over things that in retrospect were inconsequential. 'Please, God, if you do this for me I will never sin again,' we all prayed this way before, but I don't want to be a selfish prayer. Each day is a struggle for me in my walk and God knows it, he will guide me trough. It may take some time but we'll get there. People ask me if I'm religious and I always answer the same way, "No, religion is man plan for salvation."

All that I ask is for his will to be done, for my safety both mentally and physically and for him to be my guide through this dark world I live in.

Dante...I have something of a fondness for you.

2010-01-07T09:03:00.000-08:00

For time to time I gather new obsessions. I read The Divine Comedy a while ago but recently discovered a new fondness for his poetry. Poetry is a weakness of mine, usually the overly romantic syrup is not my style, although I've come to realize that Dante can do me not wrong.

His whole life seemed to be centered on one person that he never truly had and never would have, he was married. Admired from afar poor Beatrice died at a 24, yet he immortalized her forever in literature, in sonnets but never mentioned his wife.

Can you feel the loveless sting?

MY LADY CARRIES LOVE WITHIN HER EYES
by: Dante Alighieri (1265-1321)

My lady carries love within her eyes;
All that she looks on is made pleasanter;
Upon her path men turn to gaze at her;
He whom she greeteth feels his heart to rise,
And droops his troubled visage, full of sighs,
And of his evil heart is then aware:
Hate loves, and pride becomes a worshiper.
O women, help to praise her in somewise.
Humbleness, and the hope that hopeth well,
By speech of hers into the mind are brought,
And who beholds is blessèd oftenwhiles,
The look she hath when she a little smiles
Cannot be said, nor holden in the thought;
'Tis such a new and gracious miracle.

Happy Thursday. Favorite poem? This isn't mine, not by a long shoot but what is yours? I'd like to know. I would say no syrupy fluff but every person has different taste. I just so happen to not be of the glucose poet variety.

Wordless Wednesday

2010-01-06T09:33:00.000-08:00

Nux Vomica

2010-01-05T08:38:00.000-08:00

Nux Vomica:(n.) A tree (Strychnos nux-vomica) native to southeast Asia, having poisonous seeds that are the source of the medicinal alkaloids strychnine and brucine.

Nux vomica is the homeopathic remedy that is created from the seeds of the strychnos nux vomica tree. Also known as poison nut or vomiting nut, this tree is an evergreen tree that is native to East India, Burma, Thailand, China, and Northern Australia.

Now, you are more than likely thinking...'Where the hell is this going? Is she trying to tell us something?' Yes, I am trying to tell you something but it has very little to do with the actual plant but I needed you to understand the meaning of Nux Vomica before I continue.

Get it?

Got it.

Good!

Apart from being a drug, Nux Vomica is also the name of a album very near and dear to my little heart and a song that I have on loop far too many times to divulge. You see music and I have a special bond, I get it and for the love of Christ it gets me. We exist on this even keel, a platform on which we can both express exactly what we harbor. Music has a irrevocable power over me, over us really. Some feel it more than others, but whether or not you are listening,

music speaks to us.

I would love to tell you that I have gone all philosophical on you guys but in truth this song speaks louder that the rest. Now, I not usually the type to post lyrics but this post call for them, because essentially this is what this post is about.

Nux Vomica-The Veil

What Say you, Lord For the olive boys down in the house of corrections As they try for love and any form of ascension Am I on the right train headed in the wrong direction? What say you Lord What say you Lord

Do you think it wrong Do you see a long road with no one on it And the right of men that you only learnt to forget You see my sad wife and my high margin of profit But you don't care at all You don't care

What say you Lord Now that they're breeding all our animals insane And the remedy is growing harder to obtain There's a white horse running wild through the switch-cane I can hear him now And I fear him

'Til Kingdom come Cauight in this frenzy of elimination Such an irreparable disintergration My body's twitching with a ready expectation For Kingdom come My Kingdom!

What say you Lord Why is the truth of this so hard to unveil? Though it's true I never knew what this would entail From the hands of Christ to the head of the Daily Mail I'll see you all And I'll raise you

What say you Lord I wonder when this light is brought up for sale With the weight of love and the grace of the Baleen Whale Will the severed Heads of State be at all curtailed Will they be here at all - Will they be dead and gone?

What say you Lord Of the serpent-talied, forbidden fish of the harbour And the ready-men, defiant drinkers and charmers All lost and summoning the face of their fathers Can you see him now? I can see him

What say you all Do I believe it if I do not want it Do I lie alone and keeps my cold hands off it Honey, it ain't hard to loose your grip in the midst of all of this But it ain't far to fall It's not far at all

Happy Tuesday! What song do you listen to far too many times?

Thank You Ed Hardy...now I can spot morons so much faster!

2009-12-30T05:40:00.000-08:00

*Sorry if this offends any of my readers. If I offended you, sorry.*

I feel that it is my duty to inform you of an epidemic. It is spreading far and wide and shows no sign of stopping, faster than a brush fire in dry heat it is spreading. It leaves it's victims with a false sense of pride, over confidence, and drains them of any self respect. Announcing to the world is screaming banners 'Yes, I am a Moron.' Perhaps you've seen these poor unfortunates who have yet to discover the potential harm of being sucked into such a whirlwind of garish tattoo like designs and over embellishments.

Please, do not attempt to speak reason with them...I have tried and come up empty.

I suppose I have Ed Hardy to thank for some things. For example I now know who not to go shopping with. Whose fashion opinion not to trust. Which guys not to date. But most of all, I can now spot morons from a mile away.

So Thanks, for the free 'I'm a douche' advertising. If it wasn't for you, I'd have to waste a conversation to find out the exact same thing your shirts tell me.

Remember...Ed Hardy Kills Slowly.

Happy Wednesday!

Does this Ed Hardy shit bother anyone else? I feel like I can't walk outside without seeing something or someone draped in this tacky excuse for clothing!

Evolution of the Gamer...

2009-12-22T05:43:00.000-08:00

Over the years we have evolved, from cave dwelling sketch artists to library stalking students. Computer gaming playing, or soccer kicking athletes. Forms of entertainment have spread far and wide, into different avenues, some seedy and others innocent. Seemingly so. In 1972 the first generation of gaming consoles arrived for the masses with it's ping-pong style. But like anything and everything, something newer, better, faster came along...called microprocessor-based consoles. The wave of the future.

If they had only known what was really in the future.

Atari, Nintendo, Nintendo 64, Game Boys, PlayStation, Xboxes, Xbox 360s, and the ever popular (and infinitely amazing in comparison to all other gaming consoles on the market) PS3. They all have brought some from of entertainment to the masses, and your truly. Competitive by nature I stayed awake all night playing Super Mario with the boys til my fingers were numb, simply to prove that yes I could hold my own. Despite my brothers' tendency to steal lives and natural gamer abilities I was not such a disgrace. Mortal Kombat was my game, I killed everyone, bloodbaths of epic proportions. Yes, it was great fun. No, my parents had no clue that I really enjoyed the gore of that particular game. When the Nintendo 64 came along I asked for one, a watermelon colored one to sit in my room without looking out of place...though it was. Again I played with my brother, fulfilling missions as James Bond, racing cars, and, yes, fighting with blades of fury. But as I got older and found other ways to fill my time the games were put on the high shelves and all but forgotten. Little did I know that they kept changing, and my brother kept practicing.

Damn him and his natural gamer blood.

Now, my brother and I have always been the type of kids that need to be good at things, and when we're not, we practice...over and over. I blame the parents, strict schooling and our own craziness. Enter the PS3. It was a birthday gift of my brothers and naturally he has use all of his free time playing with his new toy. One day he was playing on the big TV, because, it looks so much better with an HDMI cable ( High Definition Cable + PS3= Bloody Fantastic Gaming!) and something caught my eye. He wasn't playing his regular sports over loads, he wasn't yelling at the virtual football players to catch the damn ball or even stealing cars in Grand Theft Auto. Instead he was buzzing on the leather sofa waiting for a demo to download.

"What are you doing?" I ask

"For the Mirror's Edge demo to download, wanna try it...when it's done?" He says without moving his eyes from the status bar...76% downloaded.

I haven't picked up a remote in a very, very long time, but with that one seeming innocent question he got me hooked. From the moment I held that red remote I felt a surge of joy, a joy that can only come from doing something truly frivolous. I try to pride myself on using my time wisely, reading, painting, writing...so on and so no. I'm the family over achiever and I like it that way. I could say that I'm too sophisticated for the likes of this, PS3, but it would be a huge lie. Closer to the truth is that I'm practically jonesin' for my turn to play, to leap across building and forearms doors open. As Melissa I can't exactly jump off of ten story high rises and live to tell the tale but as Faith I can walk the fine lie between real life and virtual free running. As Faith I can transmit messages while evading government surveillance.

Yes, I admit it.

I have become intoxicated with the way the control rumbles in my hands as she uses her fists to disarm the cops. When she scales impossible heights I almost feel the breeze. Wall-walking and pipe leaping have become exciting. I'm addicted and I don't want to help it.

I have evolved from casual-I-can-play-just-as-good-as-the-boys gamer to seriously-considering-asking-for-one-of-these-when-I-leave gamer. Yes, the fighting games have wormed back, and I even indulge in a race or two, or three. But it is Mirror's Edge that has me running around the house forearming doors, thing about hoping the railing and sliding down the steps and tumbling once I get to the bottom. Call me a dork, I really don't care, this is highly addictive. Try it and let me know if you can walk away.

You can find me on the coach, leggings and t-shirt, eyes trained on the TV and a rattling red remote in my hands. Leave me alone, I playing.

E.A. SPORTS....it's in the Game.

Happy Tuesday. What deviously addictive thing has your attention?

Baking it up with a smile...

2009-12-18T13:49:00.000-08:00

Tis the season for many things. A time to spend with your family, loved ones and friends. A time fro silly looks a brightly light Christmas tree and travel back to a time when those lights were the source of so much magic. But to me, it's also a time to bask in the joy of Baking, listening to Frank Sinatra Christmas songs and the occasional "Don't shoot me Santa." To spend around the oven, lightly dusted in flour and sparkling sugar. The apron is tied at my waist and the pearls are fastened (dark almost black ones) around my neck and the trays of cookies are being pulled out faster than I can set the timer.

I have this secret, not so secret love for cooking and baking. Everyone in my family knows that when I have the chance to get in the kitchen I jump right in there and they know it's gonna be fantastic. And since baking for no reason at all seems a little odd I fully take advantage of the Holidays. I talking white chocolate peppermint bark, sugar cookies with colorful icing, cakes for Christmas dessert ... yes I even make the santa cookies.

Happy Friday! What is your favorite thing(s) about Christmas?

Wordless Wednesday

2009-12-16T08:29:00.000-08:00

Happy Wednesday!

SOS...my mother is cracking the whip!

2009-12-11T04:00:00.000-08:00

The last couple of days I have felt like death warmed up (10 virtual dollars to the person who can figure out where I got that one from.) but today I feel slightly better. Thanks for the well wishes, I'm pretty sure they help! No high fever, random bouts of coughing attacks and very little appetite. Hey, it's a trade up from Monday. Hopefully soon I'll be back to 100%. But enough about me and my sick-talk. I bet you're wondering why my mother is cracking the whip on her poor sick daughter, well, I'll tell you.

As wonderful as she is, and she is wonderful, she has the tendency of volunteering me to do things and then guilt tripping me into doing them with a soft little "Please, Meliss. For me." Trust me if you were standing there looking at her hazel eyes and pout you wouldn't resist.Which is why she got her way last year with the damn gingerbread village, complete with people and a candy shingled roof, I painted for her. I remember telling her that that year would be the last time I got roped into to something remotely close to that but it's that time of year again and here I am, covered in paint and glitter (OH! How I hate glitter, the cheerleading memories still haunt me. SO.MUCH.GLITTER.) I can't say no to my mommy. In there lies the problem, right there is the reason why I'm painting idiotic nutcracker character while I have more important things to do. While I will give her the credit that at the time she signed me up for this she had no clue that I would be dying but still, women give me a break. Simply because I love to paint--and I really do love to paint, but when I have a choice in the matter--doesn't mean that I want to be painting Nutcrackers!

I didn't like the story when I was a child and I'm not sure why but I highly doubt that after this paint-a-thon I'll warm to the story any more. Something about that damn Mouse King creeps me out.

I've taken to naming them horrible things, some of which I can't write here but just know that while I'm painting the Sugar Plum Ho....I mean fairy I'm wishing she would catch on fire and high tail it out of my brain. Oh and have I mentioned that this needs to be finished and ready to go by Sunday.

SUNDAY!?

"Get a move on it," she says...

"I'm sick," I say...

"I know, but it needs to be done," she says...

"But...I'm sick. Why don't you do it," I say...

"You're so talented," she says...

"Errr,"I say...

"I'll buy you a book," she says...

Evil women "Fine," I say...

4-Nutcrackers

3-Ballerinas

1-Mouse king

1-Spanish Dancer

1-Columbine Dancer
1-Sugar Plum Fairy

1-Meme Lung coughed up on the table... I don't think that is suppose to happen.

SO.NOT. IDEAL!
Do you like being volunteered against you will?

Happy Friday
*It's raining right now! I'm happy...even if I can't play in it.

Wordless Wednesday: Come Away with me!

2009-12-09T05:23:00.000-08:00

*I'm sick at the moment. Really sick, normally I'd take some meds and get on my way but not this time. I'm literally dying to just sleep in. Hope everyone has a wonderful Wednesday!*

Forbidden Desire...part 2

2009-12-04T02:26:00.000-08:00

Happy Friday. I decided to continue with this story because well, it fun to write and sometime in the midst of all the things one must write it is a simple pleasure to write something I want to write.

***

"Thou art to me a delicious torment."- Ralph Waldo Emerson(1803-1882)

I had been sitting in my office for the better part of two hours, staring at the source that started all my problems. Mulling over what had happened in this room. The damn book. Leave it to me to chose a brilliant tale of seduction, love, betrayal, and murder and fall into the trap of exactly what I had been avoiding. Women. Well, that was unfair, not all of them but one very specific one.

One with cold ice eyes and dark brown hair. Beautiful body and quick mouth. Always ready with some smart ass remark, or argument. I often found myself wishing she would just shut the hell up so I could look at her.

I should have stuck to simply looking, I thought to myself. Yes, the watching and taunting had been better that what I was now faced with. A Wednesday Meeting. I had to say I did enjoy tormenting her, watching her and making her aware of it. Letting her know that I too could play the coy game she had set up. The look on her face was priceless. A lovely mix of seething rage and desire. But what I hadn't counted on was the amount of torment she was inflicted on me.

It was down right painful, I brought her home with me, thoughts of her spilled over into my normal life and it was getting distracting. Her eyes, her skin, her hair. Fuck! Even the way she held her pencil drew the worst and best images in my head.

Every damn day she'd come to class dressed to kill me, and I was sure that she would do it was a smile on her face. She'd participate, add to the lectures and draw conclusion I had never considered. When I made points she didn't agree with, she called me out on them and would not relent until I submitted. That was when I finally understood two very important facts about my little Sophie. One; she was intelligent, unlike most of the people I was surrounded with she was brilliant. And she knew it, took pleasure in it. I could see the cocky arch of her eyebrows while I listened to her argue her points in heated class discussion , when I read her papers I could clearly imagine her self possessed face as she forcefully typed the words, knowing I would read them. Once of twice I had been tempted to give her a lower grade, show her exactly what kind of power I had, thinking this would provoke her, irritate her but then thought better of it, her angry was not something I liked. Or should I say it was not something I wanted to like. Which brings me to the second fact; she was passionate.

I almost wished she was stupid. Silly girls were easy, disposable and everywhere. A smile found it way on my mouth remembering the meeting in my office. Maybe she wasn't that smart.

I have no idea what made me so angry, all I know was that when she slapped that drop slip on my desk it might as well have been a slap on the face. Damn, she was leaving me. And worst I didn't want her to. Then she called me dense, and demanded that I sign the slip. Me, she demanded me? Who did this little girl think she was. No one demanded me to do anything. But then I had to go and ask why, why she wanted out all of a sudden when her constant teasing were becoming unbearable? When the mere thought of her sitting in my classroom made my mouth water, why was she walking away now?

I was stunned stupid when she nodded to options I had given her, options plucked from my reaction to her leaving. This was hard for her as well, tormenting , painful...was she backsliding into this as much as I had been? It seemed that way. So, I threw it all out the proverbial window, the-look-but-don't-touch policy vanished for just this once and all I could think about was that she had given me permission. And what a wonderful permission it was. I thought it would be done over with, I had had her and now I could get over it but it wasn't the case.

I found that I didn't want to get over it...but it needed to. As the responsible adult I should have been able to make the right choice, even if it hurt. It shouldn't happen again, and I told her so using the name reserved for her friends and family. Just as I knew it would it made her angry, she spat her venom at me, drawing me in. God, what was wrong with me? I loved this anger.

And to make matters worse, after what we had shared she still told me to sign the damn slip, internally I snapped. No! She wasn't getting away that easy. She had started this, let me violate her and myself in the process. She made me want her more and she made me enjoy every second of it. It wasn't over.

A light tap broke me out of my deep thoughts. Through the frosted glass it was difficult to see exactly who it was so I walked over and opened the door.

Standing there wrapped in the most alluring blue dress was Sophia. Her hair down around her shoulders and her face beautifully flushed and silent. I waited for her to day something because today wasn't Wednesday and I was wondering what she was doing here but she said nothing. I watched her swipe her tongue over her lips and did the same. Just as I was making the move make some witty remark about how over eager she was, Sophie pushed me inside against my desk and locked the door quickly behind her. Over eager was right but I wasn't objecting. In seconds fingers were laced in my hair and her mouth was on mine. I kissed her back vigorously as if I hadn't just tasted her two days ago wrapping my hands around her waist. I smiled against her lips when I found the the bow tied at her hip. What was it with this girl and her wrap around garments?

Damn be the rules, and all the lines we were crossing because it felt down right euphoric being here in my office knowing the potential damage and not stopping.

I groaned as she tugged at my hair and pushed me harder into the desk sending my things crashing to the floor while she bite my lip...hard.

Ah! My delicious torment.

***

Was that too smutty? I hope not. Well, I think I need something a little stronger than green tea and ha! now I can.

Happy Friday Lovelies!

Wordless Wednesday

2009-12-02T07:36:00.000-08:00

Have a beautiful Wednesday!

Forbidden Desire...

2009-12-01T06:00:00.000-08:00

"The Greatest pleasure in life is doing what people say you cannot do." Walter Bagehot (1826-1877)

Two words that strike the heart and make it stop cold. Forbidden and Desire. Not meant for you, off limits, untouchable. Why does that word--forbidden--make the Desire so much stronger? I'd like to think that if something/someone was forbidden to me that I would be able to quite the longing, ignore the draw, but no one is perfect. Would you be able to say 'No' to forbidden fruit or would you be aching to find out if it truly is sweeter?

***

I watched his fastened his shirt slowly, eyes cast down and intently focused on his task as I tied my wrap blouse. Never in my life did I think I'd be getting redressed after this meeting, or buttoning up my jeans in his office but I don't know what I had expected. I knew I was playing with fire when it came to this man, he was virtually irresistible to me, yet every part of my brain wanted to reject my longing for him, my need for him. How could I stoop so low as to have my life revolve around one man, and one that was so hazardous to me. I was dressed now, and I couldn't look away from the sight before me. The way his dark blue shirt tugged over his shoulders, the fine silk slightly wrinkled from where I had grasped it with my fists, it was now tucked back into his gray slacks. Pants cut from the very best fabric, tailored to fit him impeccably and the smooth leather belt, well, I'd be damn if it didn't make me want his more, especially now... He cleared his throat breaking me from my musing and began to speak the words I had planned to say.

"This can not happen again. It shouldn't have happened at all, but we will not do this again."
I prickled at his tone; he was acting like I had come in here and seduced him. No one forced him. No one told him to do anything...

He took it upon himself.

"You act like I don't know that, like I want it to happened again."

"I'm just making it clear now, so there aren't any misunderstanding later. I will not do this again...Sophie." His harsh voice soften as he said my name, and ran his fingers through his blond unruly hair. I smiled in spite of my boiling anger at the memory of how it got that way.

"And you think I want to do this again? You arrogant bast--"

"I didn't hear you complaining a moment ago...Sophie."

"Don't call me that!" I scoffed, that name was reserved for friends and family.

"Fine, have it the way you want it.But you and I can't have another meeting like this one. Understood?"

"I know that better than you know, don't worry."

I meet his eyes and sighed, remembering why I had come here in the first place...

***

It had been months of watching him and listening to him knowing that I couldn't do a thing about the way I felt. Countless arguments with myself, reminding myself that it/he was not worth the risk he presented. But it didn't quell the fire, in fact it did just the opposite, each day the fire smoldered as I observed what I couldn't have. And worst than the fantasy of continuously wanting was the fact that I hated him. Him and his arrogant slant, that smug disposition that trickled from his lips down to the way his stood; it must have been in his blue blood. I hated him, but more so I hated the intensity of my feelings. His golden blond hair captured my attention and he always seemed to say everything I didn't know I wanted to hear. The first words I ever heard from those lips were ones I had read over and over and so how only understood their meaning until that moment.

"'You have been the cause of my backsliding,' he continued, stretching his arm towards her waist; 'you should be willing to share it, and leave that mule you call husband forever.'" He said standing on the raised platform with his hand thrust in his pockets, eyeing each and every one of his students before he continued. As much as I hated to admit it he had me at that moment despite that he was everything they said he was. Pompous, rich beyond imagination, intelligent, attractive and he knew it, he used it well. Like a lethal weapon he used it with precisions. I watched him everyday in class, stubbornly spinning images in my head as the desire to run my fingers over his face grew sharper.

How could you hate and want someone so much?

Everyday was the most delicious torture. His voice, his hands, the way he looked at my face when I jumped into class discussions with passion. The way his would deliberately swipe his tongue over his lips when he watched me take my seat. I wanted him but I'd be damned to let him know. I refused to stroke his ego, but on the inside I found myself wishing that the university didn't have such a strict anti-professor/student relationship policy. That was when I knew I had to get out of the class, staring at the black and white letters in bold type face I knew I had to remove myself form the temptation...before I did anything about it.

So, I went to his office with the drop slip in pocket and knocked on his door. He kept regular office hours, but made the point to tell his students to not come and see him unless it was absolutely dire and if it wasn't be requested that no one waste his time--as if his time was the only one worth protecting. What an ass. Through the opened blinds on the door I could see his form walk over to the door, straighten his tie and run his fingers through his hair. When he opened the door he seem surprised to see me standing there, soon the surprise vanished and turned into an all knowing smirk.

"What a pleasure. Please, come in Miss Carter and have a seat." I didn't say anything, simply slipped passed him to sit on his fine leather chair--a chair that more that likely cost more than my rent, two months rent. "What can I help you with, Miss Carter, I know you aren't having scholastic troubles?"

Instead of answering with words that I knew would falter I slapped the drop slip on his over priced desk. "What the hell is this?"

"It's a drop slip."

"I know how to read, Sophia. What I don't know is why it's on my desk."

"For being so smart you are incredibly thick headed. It's on you desk, Professor Clemens, because I'm dropping your class."

"No, this paper means you are asking my permission to drop it. Is that what you are doing?"

"No, I'm not asking."

"Then what...are you doing here?"

"Sign the slip."

"No, not until you tell me why." He crossed his fingers and dropped them in his lap, waiting for my answer. What was it about him? Everything fiber of him screamed 'Off Limits' yet the more I knew that it was wrong the more I wanted him.

I don't how long I sat there watching his gray eyes but at some point it became too much and I had to get away.

"Fine don't sign it," I moved to snatch the slip off the desk but his fingers caught mine in his tight fist. "What the hell are you doing? Let go of my hand."

"Tell me why and I will." My breath started coming faster and his grip tighten,"Why? Have you had enough fun torturing me? Or do you think it would be more fun to leave my class and make me suffer even more?"

"Ha. Me torture you, are you insane?"

"Answer the question?"

"I can't be in your class anymore...it's too..." His grip tightened further. "Too..."

"Hard? Infuriating? Painful?" He offered. I nodded in defeat, hoping he would sign the slip and let me leave with the little dignity I have left. As suddenly as he had taken my hand he released it and strode over to the door. Thinking that he was about to open the door for me I got up and turned around to see his face twist around an expression I couldn't understand. Defeat? Surrender? Or something darker?

"Do you know what could happen to me if anyone found out? I would lose my job, my career, my reputation." Leave it to him to think of the repercussions this would have on him. "Not to mention the things that could happen to you, Sophia. Your reputation, your future...they could decided to kick you out of the program for this."

"Why do you think I want out of your class, Clemens?" I answered him sharply. Did he really think that I was so stupid as to not think about this fully, from every angle.

The office was quite for a while, both of us lost in thoughts too secretive to share. I realized I needed to leave but when I reached for the knob and opened the door his hand slammed against the panel of glass, shutting the door loudly.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"What I want," he locked the door and pulled the string on the blinds, effectually shutting us off from the world or more like shutting the whole world out. In minutes I was against the door and his lips were against mine with fervor to match my own. As he pulled the tie to my blouse I wondered why I had picked such a accessible top to confront him in but soon all I could think about was his fingers on my rib, gently squeezing my waist and he pushed me against the door roughly. I clutched his shoulders, gripping his shirt tighter and pulled him closer to me. In that moment the notion that this was wrong, that this would get us both into an heap of trouble crossed my mind but I didn't want to stop. I needed to breathe and somehow he seemed to know that, but his lips didn't leave mine, instead he pressed open mouth kisses on my neck and shoulder, biting my skin softly while I tried fill my lungs. He smelled like spicy aftershave and paper--it was heady combination.

"I have been wanting that for a while, " he rasped into my ear, " say the word and I'll go there." I gasped as he wrapped his arms around my waist lifting me slightly off the floor and put his lips to my ear. "'You have been the cause of my backsliding, you should be willing to share it.'"

Running my fingers over his shoulders, his neck and finally over the planes of his harsh handsome face I gave in. I shouldn't have been touching him or he me especially here, but it made it all the more appealing. My hand threaded themselves into his wheat colored hair, feeling it's soft texture, I fisted my hands on his scalp and answered him.

***

"Did you hear me?"

"Yes, I got it. Now, sign the slip." His eyes tighten and fists clenched at his sides, but he said nothing. "Are you going to sign it or not?"

"No, and," he walked over to his closet to get his blazer," I'll see you here on Wednesday, 7:50 pm. Do not be late."

I looked at him with disgust, he was putting on his blazer while he discussed this with me as if he were mulling over the menu at one of his five star restaurant hangouts.

"An why would I do that Mr. Clemens?"

"For a meeting...of course."

We walked out together with a silent agreement to see each other again. He strolled down the empty hall with a swagger I've only seen on Sinatra and I wondered why I was doing this, letting this happen when I could have easily stopped it or said not, then it hit me.

Deep...

Dark...

Consuming...

Forbidden Desire.

Nothing a little air guitar-ing can fix...

2009-11-24T06:00:00.000-08:00

Holy Hot Hell On a Stick Batman!!

I'm turning 21 in ten days!!!

Now, I'm not sure when I began to slight dread the cake and song but I'm on a mini panic induced writing spree. Why? Oh because I promised myself that I'd finish my book by my birthday and as each hour trickles by I get the feeling that I'll be letting myself down if I don't finish. So I have been writing, and writing, and oh yeah, writing. I'm making progress but life gets in the way of art, time gets sucked out of my days and I'm left wondering where the time went. Of course I know where it went but I lament the hours I fritter away with sleep. Oh, how I wish I could, just for a week or two be able to skip the whole REM sleep cycle in order to get things done.

But even though I'm on my own self-imposed deadline, I'm oddly excited about this birthday. I'm not really sure why but it's kind of a big deal, I mean...21! My heart is racing and my hands are shaking a little bit...is this what a mini panic attack feels like? If so, I'm sure it's nothing a little air guitar dancing can't fix.

In other news--and please stay with me for this because I love exploring and I would be delighted if you would be the Lewis to my Clark...or Clark to my Lewis, whichever may you prefer--I have decided to do a series of posts on one multi leveled topic. As an artist/student/writer I'm asked to explore different emotions, themes and situations, asked to dive deep into the perils of these unknowns and let myself become immersed in them and then create. Often times I find myself drowning, and when I surface I can't help but be inspired. One theme, or emotion if you will, that I have been digging my way through is...Desire.

There are so many different facets of Desire that I think it might be fun to toil a while in this, unknown, yet so familiar feeling...what do you think?

Shall we make for some interesting writing and art pieces?

Have a lovely Tuesday!

It's always nice to be on the reciving end...

2009-11-20T08:20:00.000-08:00

OK. So, I fully understand just how wrong that sounded...or maybe it only sounded wrong to me. Cures these damn Catholic sensibilities--I swear people think that simply because priest roamed the campus the students are little angels dropped from heave but in fact, our minds tend to err on the side of 'That's what she said', and then we feel guilty about it. Simply dirty...I giggle in my head(or often times not in my head) when those types of bombs are dropped. Forgive me.

*he he*

So I was given this award by Iggy, a fantastic blogger with affinity of traffic cones that will have you smiling all day. Really, I notice the smile...but then again perhaps that's because Iggy is awesome.
The rules are as follows: answer these questions using only one word and then pass the award along to 6 others -

1. Where is your cell phone?...Gone
2. Your hair?...Tousled
3. Your mother?...Cool
4. Your father?...Protective
5. Your favorite food?...Piaya
6. Your dream last night?... Racy
7. Your favorite drink?...Coffee
8. Your dream/goal?... Success
9. What room are you in?... Mine
10. Your hobby?...Tons(I have so many of them...)
11. Your fear?... Abandonment
12. Where do you want to be in 6 years?... Seattle/New York
13. Where were you last night?... Home
14. Something you aren't?... Slutty
15. Muffins?...Gross
16. Wish list item?... Tom Ford TF 5040 glasses(I know more than one word but I couldn't help myself.)
17. Where did you grow up?...Los Angels
18. Last thing you did?... Dance(Triple shots do that to me)
19. What are you wearing?... Tank
20. Your TV?...Neglected
21. Your pets?...None
22. Your friends?... Fan-effing-tastic
23. Your life?... Progressing
24. Your mood?...Playful
25. Missing someone?...Yup.
26. Vehicle?...Dead
27. Something you're not wearing?...Pants (Out of the gutter, please!)
28. Your favorite store?...Amoeba
29. Your favorite color?...Black
30. When was the last time you laughed?...Morning
31. Last time you cried?...Yesterday
32. Your best friend?...Queen
33. One place that I go over and over?...Past(Got to stop doing that!)
34. One person who emails me regularly?...eHarmony(No joke, I swear it's true!)
35. Favorite place to eat?...Outside

It is far more difficult to answer questions with only one word--I tried but I broke the rules a couple of times. Oh, well. Really, who's gonna do something about it. Now, I tag every one who read this blog, everyone. Yes it sounds lazy but every single one of you lovely followers are Aces in my book so I think you deserve a little morsel of a treat, because, well, who doesn't love awards.

Ok! It's Friday, the world is engrossed in New Moon mania--I haven't seen it and despite Robert's roguish good looks, I will not be watching this movie--and I have a football game to attend to tonight. My Alma mater (Bishop Amat) has blitzed their way into playoffs and I must be there to support my Lancers. Going back always make me tear up. Half my life was spent in those halls and though I have grown up a bit since then, I always yearn for the days spent in green plaid and an oxford shirt--shit, I forgot about the deans. OK, I don't miss them at all, in fact I really do loath seeing people I went to school with years later because for the some reason the ones who never spoke to me are always the ones that say hello and try to act friendly. Hello, you avoided me like hell in high school and now you want to be buddy buddy friends? And then there is the always awkward, too tight, far too long hug from a person who make your skin crawl. I think Amat should be happy that I'm willing to endure those things simply to watch greatness on a football field.

Happy Fridays My lovelies!

What are you doing this fine day? This weekend?

P.S. My birthday is upon us(14 days!!)and I'm freaking out a bit. I'll talking brown paper bag, big breath in, big breath out. Yikes! Where did my time go?

I have a Ghost...perhaps more than one.

2009-11-19T09:52:00.000-08:00

I have had a hunch about this for a while, never fully admitting it to myself because I'd think that I have some semblance of sanity. But lately, the proof is clear.

It started with the sensation of being watched. You know the shiver that runs down your spine alerting you that you are most definitely not alone, only I'm most always faced with an empty room with nothing for my searching eyes to find purchase on. I ignored it, chalked it up to my taste in books, movies and my imagination. Not to mention the morbid fascination with every supernatural shows on Syfy channel(Shameless, I know. It's a guilty pleasure.)While I'm chopping veggies in the kitchen I'd get the feeling, brush it off, and turn the music up a notch. But some months ago it sort of changed.

*I don't know if you guys remember that time I trip ed out o my bed and I felt hands steady me, that was the first time I started to actually tell myself that this was a possibly. Ghosts...in my house.*

One day I was down stairs, fruitlessly flipping through a million channels, when I head the floor boards creek, and then a door slam. Now, I always...always close my door, I have a this thing about privacy. If I could lock my door from the outside I would. I went up stairs and saw the my door was shut, as were all the others, naturally I went back down stairs to put in a movie because television sucked. I got the DVD, put in on and sat back down and in the silence that takes place between the FBI warning and the actual movie I heard a soft click, the protest of my sticky door hinges and then nothing. My heart was beating wildly in my chest, the movies paused and my ear perked up like a puppy awaiting the mailman. Just as I started settling down and the was beginning the door slammed...loudly.

I should have been scared, or at least I should have left the house or something but I didn't. After rereading that sentence I realize that it sounds like the horrific beginning to a scary movie, one where the stupid girl dies because she didn't leave the house. But I have to say the atmosphere in the house at those times are never threatening, because if they were you can bet you ass that I'd be out of the house, Vogue, shoes and laptop in hand in under ten seconds flat.

It happens so often that I joke around where ever I leave...call out to the Ghost to take care of things while I'm gone.

Sometimes I walk into a room and ask myself if I turned off the light or if I left it on. One very distinct time I remember shutting off the light in the bathroom, but when I walked back inside the light was on. I also joke and tell the light flipping Ghost to shut off the lights because...hello, energy cost money.

I've come to the realization that I may have two...or three Ghosts in my house. I refuse to believe that the one that caught me--kept me from banging my head on the floor--is the same one slamming doors or turning on lights. As I sitting in my room writing this I can feel the prickle of irritation that come from having someone read over my shoulder...once again the room is empty, or at least it seems that way to my eyes.

Perhaps I should name them...

Happy Thursday.

Crossing the line...

2009-11-15T21:24:00.001-08:00

Happy Monday! How was your weekend?

Mine came with a realization--a few fast approaching milestones. As some of you may know (if you follow me on Twitter) my family came for a visit. If you have family you are well aware of the fact that with the love comes drama.

Every time I mention them I feel like I have to reassure you readers about my unwavering love for them, mostly because they can make me a bit crazy at times. Well, after some small, shall we say wrinkles prior to the actual day of the gathering, it went off without a hitch. Surprisingly, no one got pissy and the raised voices were ones of excitement and laughter. But it got me thinking...

You see, my brother's birthday is tomorrow--the big 20, and mine is in roughly 17 or so days, and the blatant fact that us "children" of the family are crossing that line of childhood and becoming adults has been staring me in the face all weekend. I won't go into detail but my family consists of only my mother's side and I wouldn't have it any other way, they aren't too many of us. Our older cousin was already practically an adult by the time I came along. My cousin Jorge is already 20(has been for a few months now), his brother is fourteen, my brother is leaving the teens behind and I'll soon be able to order a drink and it be totally legal. As inevitable as these milestone are they make me jumpy. Just as high school graduation and turning the big 18 did, the milestones ahead of me make my fingers quiver (not a good thing for an artist, let me tell you.) and questions dance behind my teeth.

Sitting there surrounded by the people I hold dear I couldn't help but wonder what this phase of adulthood will bring. Will we still be the kids, forever doomed to be treated as such despite the license and vast vocabulary? How they handle three overly out spoken people in their twenties?

Tomorrow I'll be wishing my not so little brother happy birthday, eating some Thai wraps and waving at the milestone. Here's to crossing the line...

They can smell fear...

2009-11-12T05:30:00.000-08:00

I have this theory...care to listen to it?
Here it is.
The entire human race is afraid. Yes, I know what I just threw out there, and yes it is utterly true. Deny it all you want, kick and scream but in the end the it will pop into to your head that the very reason you are fighting is because of that fear. We are all afraid to fall too deep, to stumble, to feel too much, to feel to little. We fear the unknown, the future, the past, the present. Each day is drenched in this aroma of fear...of the ultimate failure.
To show ones fear to the world would be damming. To lay bear for all to judge is such an inconceivable concept that, in shame, the masks come on and days and years go by unnoticed and one day you wake up and realize you have no clue what lurks behind that perfectly gilded masquerade. And in a vicious cycle that makes your head spin and stomach drop, the mask doesn't get removed...out of fear.

(What do you think? This is the Preface to that elusive book I keep talking about.)

Fucking Fear.
***
But who said fear was evil, a sign of weakness, or some genetic deformity resulting from your mother's lack of anti-caffeine willpower? Who said it has to be bad?

One fear of mine is...brace yourselves, being left, behind, alone. I can't explain it, there is no explanation. Ever since I was a little girl I dreamed that everyone, my family, would leave me...die. In fear I would hyperventilate when my parent came home a little later that usual, my mind wandering to the all too ready images of them bleeding somewhere away from me. Later it was that same fear that keep me from falling a sleep until I knew that everyone I loved was safe. That same fear that made me check their bedrooms in the wee hours of the morning--it was and still is irrational and I know this. As years passed and I grew up another facet of this fear grew in my chest begging for attention, loneliness. A sad solitary feeling that no amount of family can fill. The fear of dying without companionship. I know what you must be thinking, Geesh girl, take a Prozac and get the f*** over it. It too is an irrational fear, with no explanation, much like arachnophobia seizes some, this thought grips me, even at my short 20 years of life.

Will I always be alone?

Then when it does find you, when love touches your heart, the fear doesn't fade. Instead a new layer builds,forms, more complex and convoluted than the prior one. Shit! Will it ever end, you ask yourself.

No. And that shouldn't scare you, because in the recesses of that feeling I, you, find just how deeply your heart is capable of loving.

People say that fear is how you know you're alive and that love only makes the fear stronger because we are so vulnerable...so at the mercy of someone else.

I don't know why we hide, it's useless...they can smell fear.

Wordless Wednesday

2009-11-11T08:29:00.000-08:00

Today we remember why we fight, how we came to be free and those who made it possible.

Cold Lethal Tendrils

2009-11-10T16:17:00.000-08:00

It knew I was dreaming, as one always knows when they are trapped in a dream by the heavy stupor in every limb. I knew I was not in a dark labyrinth of trees and turned over trunks, in reality I knew that I was not being stalked by anything other than a wildly out of control imagination. But that knowledge didn't quite the hammering in my chest, the rushing of cold blood in my veins, not did it stop my feet from moving slowing, from taking me deeper into unknown.

The leaves shook as I pasted them, 'Stop. Go back,' they said to me. But I did not or could not listen. Forward I pushed, ignorantly seeking cover from the rising slick fear of being hunted, tracked, by something with eyes in every opened weave in the canopy of branches above me. In the purple moonlight I felt them watching me, on and on I moved like a ghost through mist. What could it be, I asked myself as I passed yet another looming tree, what creature could possibly be stalking my steps.

I don't know how long I walked, it could have been an eternity, months or a mere minutes--in dreams time often looses all meaning, it falls away. After a while my lungs were quivering from the frigid night air, so I pressed my face to the rough bark of an less offending giant. It's trunk shivered at the moment my cheek rested against it, either because of the harsh ice of my fast coming breath or because of the fear leaking out from my pores. I was acutely aware of being lead somewhere...but unable to know for certain.

"Where is he leading me?" I shouted at still forest, in a quite desperation. I needed to wake soon, I knew it, but I could not feel my way back. I could not feel where I knew my body was laying in slumber. Quietly, and quite suddenly a sob escaped my lips, and tears trickled down my cheeks.

"Go back. Stop, dear girl, he sees all. You're playing his game," I heard the trees speak with age and dirt. "Go back the way you came and don't stop for anything. GO! NOW!"

Without a second thought I turned to go the way I came from but from the corner of my eye I saw a blue haze in the distance. Draw like a moth to the flicking flame of death I walked towards it, my hands out stretched to touch it's beauty.
"NO! Stop, the game, dear turn and go home."
I heard the tree through a muffled cotton wool fog but I did not heed his warning, instead I watched with hot fascination as the luminous Dahlia surged with color. It was just a little further, three maybe four steps and I could feel it's smooth silky petals beneath my fingers.
"This is how he wins!"
One step. The flower bloomed and grew twice it's size before my eyes.
"Stop, dear girl! STOP!"
Two steps and the color went from bright glowing blue to a pulsing lupine. As always this color captured me, like the one I saw in the mirror every morning. It was such a alluring color.

One more step and I'd be where I wanted to be, but I couldn't move. My arms were glued to seemingly nothing and my legs suspend in mid air, as was my body. Sticky threads of glistening tendrils wove themselves around my body, hold me still, the paralysis seeping into my bones.
"What is this," I asked weakly, as my eyelids drooped lower.
"This is how he wins." The tree spoken mournfully before I lose my grip on the heliotrope woodland.

It was dark, that much I could see from my place in my bed. I shivered and was quickly reminded that I had left the window open before I drifted off to sleep. The moon was full and bright through the screen, sending rays of white light into my sanctuary. I went to move, the shut the window but my arms did not obey the command, neither did my legs. I opened my mouth to scream, to alarm anyone with ears to my distress but nothing ripped through the silence in the room. My mouth stayed opened in a quite scream as ice cold tears fell down my cheeks and that is when I saw it.

The same sticky threads of glistening tendrils, wrapped around the drapes that hung in front of my bed, stretched over the corners of the walls, and winding around the post of the iron bed. Afraid of what I would find I glanced down to see my body tightly cocooned in the same threads of paralysis.
I heard a ghostly chuckle from the corner, and out of the shadows came my hunter, shaking his head. The gleam in his eyes--more than two-- as he walked slowly towards the foot of my bed lanced my heart with the realization that this would be the night I died.
"Shush," he cooed, caressing my face his hands."He warned you, didn't he?" A voice serenely dispassionate made it's way to my ears. "No, matter. I have my tricks as well. Did you like the flower?" I saw the same lupine flower twirling between his fingers, so many fingers. It was more beautiful than in the forest. He smiled, showing me his razor sharp teeth and placed the dahlia on my wed covered chest. Pressing a kiss to my wet cheek he whispered against my skin, "It's the least I could do."

I could nothing more than watch as silk flew from his hand to the spot on the ceiling I had the habit of staring at when sleep evaded me. More threads, woven together in intricate patterns, shinning with beads, attached itself on to the ceiling a dripped down until it was hovering over my mouth. The beads ran together, sliding down like a rivulets of water falling from the sky. I was captured by the beauty of those unknown drops of diamonds, fascinated as it dripped slowly down the tendrils. I wondered what it would taste like...perhaps sweet like honey.
"Open your mouth." He commanded in a hoarse voice.
I did as he said and the moment the drop landed on my tongue I knew that this was how he won. As a thousand tiny pin pricks of pain shot through me, as I felt the blood being drawn out, I knew that this was how he won.

I think I've lost you guys.

2009-11-06T08:11:00.000-08:00

Yup, I think I was gone for too long and I have officially lost you guys...it's a sad thought.

If you stopped following me I understand...but pretty please with a cherry on top, would you come back.

Anyways it's Friday and much to my delight it's cold enough(for the moment at least) fro my leather jacket...Now all I need in this Red Ducati999 http://tinyurl.com/2nj7mr

My mother would freak, my dad would disapprove and my over protective band of male cousins would say that it is too dangerous but...I couldn't care less. I'm getting one of these days, soon. I hope!

So, my aunt and eldest cousin are coming to visit from Florida this weekend and I'm apprehensive. Don't get me wrong I love them but...they are a bit...surly. You never know if it's going to be a good day or if an explosion is brewing, and that puts me on edge.

I hope that everyone has a fantastically fun Friday and a wonderfully wicked Weekend! (You simply have to love alliteration!)

Perfectly Imperfect...

2009-11-05T08:55:00.000-08:00

Striving to better, oft we mar what's well. ~William Shakespeare, King Lear, 1605

They always so that no one is perfect and it's true. No one knows everything there is to know and not one person on this planet is free of fault. But have you noticed the lamenting tone in which these quintessential words are spoken, the air of regret when seeps into the atmosphere?

Why you ask? Why would you be sadden by this?

Have you ever notice the utter perfect of you imperfection, because I certainly have. I sometime wonder if you(or people, for that matter) know how much of those insignificant things I notice, I marvel at, or simply put, I enjoy. There is a slight bent to your nose, a bump that makes me wonder if you ever broke it and it's too embarrassing to share with me, the perfect imperfection of your feature lay out on my page like a map to some elusive treasure hunt...what will I find? Your hair is lighter on one side and when you talk the left corner of your mouth kicks up, always, not matter what you're asking or sharing. What's your favorite cover, Melissa, you ask me and for a moment I lose myself in that twitch. The way you crack your knuckles before saying something particularly difficult, or when you're nervous. I have the things I have been told not to do since childhood, the things you do all the time are wonder flaws that tug on me. Maybe I'm dysfunctional, perhaps there's a glitch in my brain...it would explain somethings, but if there is a hay wire loose, I pay my respects to it. It's the not-so-tight-bolt- rattling around in my head that makes all these perfectly fallible traits seem like gems to me.

Strive for perfection, I have bee told this time and time again, but perfection is passe, boring and often times, overrated. Where is the interest in perfection?They say that people are not perfect, but I'm sure as glad that they aren't...people are perfectly imperfect.

Happy Thursday!

P.S. Check out Sevi's give away...you won't be sorry!!

Stretching myself too thin...

2009-11-04T09:30:00.000-08:00

So, It has been a while--a while is a gross understatement and I suppose it's safe to say that it has been a really long time--and I hardly know what to say or even how to explain my self imposed hiatus.
All I have to say is this...Have you ever tried to jam weeks and weeks of information into an insurmountably short amount of time?

I have and let's just say it's not fun. Some things are meant to be absorbed in evenly distributed amount of weeks...not a very short six.

Anyways...I'm back, for good, with all my randomness and writers block antidotes, short stories and of course the ever present painting. But first things first...my new hair do. I believe I promised a picture and I'm making good on that promise.I know bad pictures...sorry.

A picture of my completed painting...I think I posted a progress shot of this one.

And now here is a progress of my recent project.

Tomorrow there will be something more interesting. Cross my heart and stick a needle in my eye...just kidding. I detest needles!

Hope everyone is having a wonderful Wednesday.

Wordless Wednesday: I do believe in Faries, I do!

2009-09-16T05:46:00.000-07:00

I'm going to hear Brandon Flowers sing "A Dustland Fairytale" and I can not wait!!!

It has been 37 days since my last post...or maybe more

2009-09-11T07:53:00.000-07:00

Hello my blogger friends!
I feel like I'm confessing to murder. Life has certainly taken over, it's latched on like a bloodsucking leech. Things have happened since my last post...

When I have more time and I'm not typing from a tiny screen I'll tell more than a simple jist of things account.

1. My baby brother turned 7...yikes!!
2. Summer is over and it's back to pencils and books, which I love.
3. I finished my painting and I've started a new one...only it's not just for me this time around.
4. I cut my hair(Almost all of it. I'll post a picture when I'm not working from a phone) and got turquoise panels dyed in!
5. I have the killers concert on Wednesday! I can't wait!!!!

Have a wonderful weekend! I'll post something worth while soon...I promise!

I hope my eyes tell you....

2009-08-03T02:24:00.000-07:00

What my mouth can't.

Sometime, words feel empty,
sentences inadequate.
Never could a perfectly written paragraph
express half of the things I feel.
No sonnet, no short story, no essay
can ever say the things my mouth can't.

You pull me back from the ledge when it's not safe
and shield my heart from things I can't see.
When your shelter isn't what I need, your shoulder is there
to lead support where your hands can't not.
You say the words I so long to hear
and when I need silence
you give me that too.

Sometimes, the words are there
just waiting to burst from my mouth
but one look at your eyes and they dissolve.
Like sugar in hot coffee
they melt.
Die in my throat
but never do they die
in my heart.

When you pull me back,
I want to mummer my gratitude.
When you hold me,
arms around my waist,
face press into my hair.
I long to tell how much you mean
to me.
When you reluctantly let me cry
without fighting the reasons,
soothing not only my pain,
but my soul as well.
I feel the urge to pour out my love,
for you and for what I have been given.

Sometimes, words feel empty,
sentences inadequate.
But for now I hope
in the deepest recesses of my mind,
that my eyes will tell you
what my mouth can't.

Happy Monday!

Catholic Incense

2009-07-31T07:23:00.000-07:00

Catholic Incense

It's stench invades my senses, crawling into my soul and tormenting it until I can no longer think.

Catholic Incense

It's tendrils grab on to my legs, hold me down and force me to swallow a mouthful of grief until it burns my insides

Catholic Incense

It's effect stay with me, living in the fibers of my dress and strands of my hair, making it's self at home in a heart that doesn't want it.

Catholic Incense

To be quite honest I truly hate Catholic Incense. It started way before Catholic school and countless Masses. Before the plaid skirts and strict dress coded, in fact at the time this hatred was born I was just a kid, twelve and somewhat numb. Sitting in a pew as the useless condolences flooded both me and my family, the smell crept in. Up and down the aisle it swung from it's gilded brass censer, slowly making its way to my nose. Hate swelling up within my sad little heart and then again on the hills of Forest Lawn, the damn smell followed me. It never left me alone and from the moment on, I despised Catholic Incense.

It's not the Incense fault that it aroma is tied to one of the most heart wrenching moments of my life thus far but no matter how many years pass my low opinion of it will never rise. It's smell will forever remind me of things I like to forget and of the things I can no longer remember. It just so happens that tomorrow I will be subjected to my personal torment, tomorrow it will be eight years since he passed.

I can't explain the fear that grips me when I catch a sniff of this smell that seems otherwise offensive less to almost everyone around me. It's like a time capsule taking me back, keeping me forever 12 and in pain because I couldn't save him. I prayed till my voice was horse and knees ached everyday without fail, everyday the same thing, the same plead but in the end I didn't do enough. It's true and foolish(lets remember I was still very much a child)but when he died I had two conflicting thoughts. Why weren't my prayers enough? and How could God do such a thing to me? I looked for people to blame, the doctors, the nurses, the surgeons--why, for a brief moment I wanted nothing more that to become a doctor--but in the end I blamed the person who took him in the first places.

Now, things are different. I still miss him, small things make me want to cry and others make me wish I could have just one last moment with him. One last time to tell him everything I feel. It isn't Catholic Incenses' fault that the one voice I wish I could hear again will never answer me. The voice that used to tell me jokes and stories, who use to even up my ice cream because I was letting it melt. The one whom I share so many things with; traits, habits and passions, all these thing he never got to see.

Tomorrow it will be eight years, the incense will take me tomorrow, to places I haven't been to in a while. Places of deep sorrow and almost constant prickling pain but luckily when I come back, someone will be there to hold my hand, kiss my face, hold and tell me that everything will be fine...with time.

My first Wordless Wednesday...

2009-07-29T09:47:00.000-07:00

Only seven chapters stand between me and a finished book. Bloody hell, only seven chapters!

Ignorance in a T-shirt!

2009-07-28T01:56:00.000-07:00

Let me tell you a story. Once there was this girl who went to a catholic school filled with narrow minded and ignorant people. She was and still is a quite one, doesn't start trouble unless truly necessary. She hates the ignorance in her classmates but most of all in her teachers. It only took one class two idiots and a room full of blank face to set her off, just a little. She never argues stupidly but relished in making the other person's debates crumble like a house of cards built on a wobbling table. Back to the two idiots and that one class--World History sophomore year--"Castro is the best thing that ever happened to Cuba and Che too." The moronic twit out of uniform, a Che medallion on his fat neck, in the back of the class belted. The girl was used to the stupidity of other Latinos, most only cared, if that, to learn about their own culture, she stayed quite. But when the equally brainless teacher agreed the girl lost her control and the emotion slipped out "Are you both out of your minds. You're kidding right?!" She exclaimed, the class was placid as a result of the teacher incisive droning and constant misuse of the word Basically, but were shocked by the intensity of her voice. Little did they know that in the seat next to them sat a Cuban with nothing but rage for the bastard dictator, Castro, and evil murder, Che.

So that really happened. The teacher was a joke, a non-comical waste of my parents money. I believe that we, the student body, tried to get her fired. She could hardly tell if the book was right side up or not. I'm guessing that the school was in bind because the next year she was history. Her and Issac(I still can't stand him) shared the idea that the dynamic duo of Castro and Che were the saviors of Cuba. More like the ones who raped and left her for dead on the side of the road. If you know me you'll know that I'm very passionate and when you are wrong I have to tell you. My words were respectful but tainted with family pain, how could they really think this way. It was like talking to a brick wall, a really stupid brick wall. But for all their views, they couldn't produce one fact to prove why under their day to day clothes they wore the face of a "Revolutionary."

Now I realize that this will more than likely offend the people who blindly wear the shirts but I couldn't care less. People say I don't rant, but I do. When something makes my blood boil, I rant. If you paint a target on your chest prepare to get hit.

You've all seen them, especially if you live in California and if you haven't I envy you. The shirt with the face of a , the face of a murder masquerading as a revolutionary. I swear if I had a dime for every time I heard the robotic response to the question 'why are you wearing that shirt?' I'd own those Chloe boot five times over. He's a revolutionary! A revolutionary of what exactly? A revolutionary of Evil! Do you even know or are you simply reading the tag. You blindly let this shirt touch your skin yet you know nothing of the face you idolize. Tell me if someone wore a Hitler shirt would you be enraged or would you run out and get one as well? If a shirt was printed up with the trifecta of worldly evil, Hitler, Stalin, Mussolini, would you buy it? If you are any kind of decent or have even the smallest shred of compassion for human life your answer would be a reverberating NO! So why do I see a plethora of these shirts?

* I couldn't bring myself to search the shirt.

Let me tell you a little about your "revolutionary", perhaps then you'll burn the shirt.

He was a Stalinist mass murder. His job was to find and kill those speaking out against the revolution. A killer! My grandfather witnessed the street murder of a priest at his hands. He, like Satan himself, whispered in Castro's' ear that where there was hope there was no avenue of control. The Church gave hope to the people, so what did they do? They went after the church to send the message of fear. They made examples of them, with the blood on the streets standing as a clear warning, where was the hope? Che was a purist political fanatic who saw everything in stark black and white. Thus vociferously opposed freedoms of religion, speech, press, assembly, protest, or any other rights not completely consistent with his North Korean-style communism. Che was a narcissist who boasted that “I have no house, wife, children, parents, or brothers; my friends are friends as long as they think like me, politically.” When you stopped thinking like him...you died. He was a epic failure, was put in charge of the Cuban economy at the start of Castro’s government, his uncompromising communist diktats ran it completely into the ground, from which it never recovered. Disastrous attempts to spread his way of thinking left young idealistic blind followers of his personality cult dead, casualties of inadequacy in Argentina, the Congo, and Bolivia. Che Guevara was an international terrorist and mass murderer. During his vicious campaigns to impose communism on countries throughout Latin America, Che Guevara trained and motivated the Castro regime's firing squads that executed thousands of men, women and children.He helped establish an unjust social system in Cuba and has been erected into a symbol of social justice. He stood for the ancient rigidities of Latin-American thought, in a Marxist-Leninist version, and he has been celebrated as a free-thinker and a rebel.

All the rockers thinking they are so cool with their Che shirt, did you know he strongly supported Cuba's 1960's repression of that genre? The homosexuals out there, did you know he put gay people in jail?That he founded Cuba's "labor camp" system—the system that was eventually employed to incarcerate gays, dissidents, and AIDS victims.

So, now after all of that, how do we as people have the balls to put this procreation fiasco on a damn shirt as a symbol of Freedom? He was the very enemy of freedom. People are blinded by what they are told to believe, refusing to find out the truth behind the shirt selling gimmick. It saddens me that we live in a society that not only glosses over the horrors committed by this prick but turns him into a hero.

What would my grandfather say?

Don't feel like writing something long...

2009-07-27T05:07:00.000-07:00

So here it is, short and sweet, a progress shot of my painting. I hope you like...and if not, well, there's nothing I can do about that. I'll tell you about the theme later but I think I need to finish this one and move on to one that better suits my frame of mind at the moment. Something a bit less tragic and more along the line of blissfully...happy.

Hope everyone had a wonderful weekend and that you are having a stupendous Monday. Who likes Mondays? Certainly not I!

All that Jazz

2009-07-25T13:05:00.000-07:00

Jazz is not just a genre in a sea of sub-sections and spliced genres on your itunes play lists. Jazz is more than just finding the right tone or note. Jazz starts in the mind, takes shape in the heart of your passions and flows through you. People casually say 'Yeah, I like jazz,' but that crap they play in waiting rooms or in elevators isn't JAZZ. It's distorted, tampered and commercialized. At the risk of sounding like a music snob, you can't feel jazz with your ear, you feel it with your soul and some people are just inept to that feeling.

As you know, and are more than likely tired of hearing, I'm writing a book, but how does this pertain to the topic of Jazz. Well, I'll tell you, one of the main characters is a Jazz musician. Yes, he's multi instrument playing cool cat from Old Blighty working dive joints and gut bucket music to bring home the bread...or so Lisa thinks. Hum, the plot thickens. Believe me I wish I could share more but he's just as twisty as she is and if I spill the beans now there would be not point in reading it, you know when it gets published. Do you love how I'm willing it to happen? (Sorry inside joke. Readers Digest version, someone I know believes that if you "will" it to happen and thank God for what he "going" to give you, your "will" will be done. Sorry to get religious on you for a moment there but this idea still boggles my little catholic school girl mind. Does the line "And let your will be done" mean anything to you?) Like I was saying, writing about a Jazzer requires research and some knowledge, knowledge my father schooled into me and my brother while our big kid teeth were still growing in.

So in light of the jazz mood I'm feeling here are some jazzers sure to get your heart pumping with their burnin' tunes. Stay fresh my cool cats!

Have a wonderful Weekend!

Coffee and You are pretty much one in the same...

2009-07-23T05:50:00.000-07:00

I ran across this on Le Love and thought it applied nicely...Yes, Killing Moon, that means you!

Have a Coffee Thursday!!

Anatomy of the Artist...

2009-07-22T05:07:00.000-07:00

Writing was a passion that made itself know later in my life. As of late my art has taken a back seat to writing. In my heart and in my soul I am an Artist. My first medium was a bright yellow box of 200 crayons, my first canvas...the dining room walls, bed room walls and the inside of my child size dresser. Artistic expression, perhaps but Mom still got mad. My first subject matter flowers, trees and my family. I also had this reoccurring urge to draw myself as a fairy, even though I don't draw myself that way anymore I still wish I could be a forest fairy...commence the eye rolls.

Back to the genetic make up of an artist, his or her anatomy, if you will. Artist have labels slapped on them from the first paint splatter and most time they aren't nice one. It starts young, you look at the world differently, perhaps a tab too intensely. You look different and shy away from big groups of chattering people. You are crowned as the 'artsy freak', 'paint bucket', or my personal favorite uttered with an exasperated sigh 'She just an art girl'. I don't line drawing a line in the proverbial sand, to spilt it between US and Them but they start it. Just as WE can seem odd THEY come off as ignorant, blocking out what they don't understand. They're exceptions to this whole Us and THEM divide, the hand full of people who have open minds and allow room for new view points.

Apparently, THEY can spot US from a mile away. Is it carved into our skin? What exactly does an artist look like? Who knows, we come in all shapes and colors and like the art we create, just one look doesn't give you the insight one needs to understand. It is safe to say that at least this is a small peep as to what I look like. Not all artists are the same but this is more accurately the anatomy of me.

Our hands are just as important as the paint, brushes, ink pots...our hands are the tools. Fingers, just a bit longer that other peoples, sullied by unknown mediums. My hands are very rarely completely clean, even after hot washing and harsh scrubbing, paint is still here. Embedded deep into the lines on my hands, sinking so low as to become on with my skin. If you work with ink and ink pens you, like I, probably have an inadvertent tattoo. A pin prick of left behind ink after stabbing yourself with the pen. On the pad on my palm I have a black dot, no bigger that a mole, that won't ever go away. A nice reminder to always look before you reach in to grab anything. Hands, they suffer through long hours without a break, brushes resting on tired fingers. Manicures are wasted on me...within the hours they are back to being slathered in mucky oils. Don't mistake that statement as a confession that I don't like manicure (what girl doesn't) I always keep my nails neatly painted, just the rest of my hands share the same fate.

The way you dress says a lot about who you are. Artistic frame of mind bleeds into the clothes you choose to put on your back. You can't look up your nose at fashion, choose to shun it or cut Vogue out of your life because it is a living breathing extension of art. Unique pieces that no one else has live in my closet. Let face it I'm a student and don't have deep pockets, so quirky odds and end, cute funky dress, the perfect pair of black skinny jeans, piles of grandpa sweaters and loads of tank tops and T-shirts are the types of things I wear. While I love heels I also love my chucks. The perfect balance of weird and stylish meets somewhere in the middle for me.

Minds are a curious thing. And if you ever find yourself inside the mind of an artist you're gonna want to stick around for a while. File cabinets stuffed with ideas for future project, references to stain glass windows, inspiring fabrics, places, faces and wide open spaces. Yes, I went there, never be afraid to rhyme....just a little. Anyways, the color wheel will be placed somewhere high enough to be seen from all sides. The overhead voice will be speaking a mile a minute and more than likely going in five different directions at once. At least this is what I picture the inside of my brain to look like, but of course there would be a center divider. And on the other side Melissa the writer would live in the same mess of inspiration and books. My brain is odd, get bored easily and can retain information it heard years ago. Perhaps it's just me, and not the artist, but I always think of what I'm going to do next, even before the project at hand is finished. This might be a bad thing.

For whatever we are, us artists stick to who we are. Through the jokes, the gentle and not so gentle prodding, we stay true. A little surreal, some what realistic, a lot idealistic and a hint of crazy. Jackson Pollack didn't stop dripping because some douche said it was sub-par. Salvador Dali didn't tone down the eccentricities to appease the people. Picasso didn't put noses and breast in their respectful places. Some cut their ears off, others explored the depths of their desires. But the one connective string that ran through everyone from da Vinci to Ryden is self truth.

Even if you can draw a stick person to save your life take a page for the artist's philosophy.

Be who you are and screw the rest!

I don't know if I'll ever be known for my art or if I have as much talent as the names above but if you want to see some things I put my brush to click on the link below.

Meme Art

Happy Wednesday!

Choke on that!

2009-07-18T06:00:00.000-07:00

Three seemingly innocuous words. We used them like disposable wet naps, second nature, pulling them out to sooth or compensate for things we can not fix. Those three words hold an unbelievable amount of weight yet we throw them around like styrofoam rocks. Oh and by we, I really mean you.

I can spin you a story, pull out words at the drop of a hat and effectually wrap my mind around printed feeling. But somehow I get when it come to three little words.Those words are ones I choke on.

I realize it sounds quite sad for a twenty year old to admit that she has never really truly been in love or said those words but it is the truth. Sure, I said them to my parents, my brothers, family and some friends but never to a person other than those above. It felt like love--sort of--at the time but my tongue couldn't wrap itself around the words, so I said nothing. They tumble out of his mouth over and over but, tight lipped smiles were all he got. Its sound cruel but who was I to play with...love. Ugh, that word! Love. I held back without really knowing why but it wasn't all bad because soon what was 'so called' love proved to be wanting. Imagine how bad it would have been if I had allowed myself to speak of or fall into the trap of this...love. At time I wondered if saying nothing was better or worse than uttering an empty phrase.

Personally, I think people use it far too much. I'm not cold or unfeeling, in fact I have the deep capacity for Love and I'm all for showing those you care about how much you feel for them.But...why can't we, you, use the words sparingly. Using it over and over drains the sentiment out of the phrase. I Love You is suppose to mean something, stir the mushy and sickening sappy feelings in your heart. And not educe a shrug and eye roll.Within two weeks of meeting a person those damn words are already expected. If you don't say them within that time frame somehow that makes you a bad person. Maybe it does, perhaps is doesn't. I don't know but I would rather wait and make absolutely sure before throw my heart at a potentially unworthy vessel. If it is so precious why not guard it with more reverence and less inhibition than Paris Hilton at a bar.

Soon I will drop those words on the table, dive in without heeding to the griping fear in the pit of my stomach. Unlike the girl from before I won't hold back , I will not choke on these three little words. But I'll put my heart out there on the proverbial line. All I can hope for is that that someone picks them up.

Happy Friday!

Bad Blogger!

2009-07-15T05:41:00.000-07:00

Recently I have been a bad blogger. I have failed to leave comments and put little effort into my posts. I feel bad about this. I'm sorry Blog friends...I'll try to be better.

A little update:

*I have been working on my book none stop.

*I have read through three books, successfully refocusing my mind.

*I scored The Killers tickets for Sept 16. This has me practically beaming, the last time I saw them I was a Sophomore. I love this band and can not wait to see them!

*My sleep patterns are erratic at best.

*I started a new painting and I hope to finish it soon

*Someone comes back from vacation soon and I have decided to say what I have been dying to say, letting the chips fall where they may.(May they fall in a good place.)

*I got an idea for my next book. I know the first one isn't even finished and already my mind is jumping to another project.

* I saw Harry Potter at 12:00, the second it turned Wednesday and Loved IT!!! Go see it now!

*Today I will practice a song I have been trying to learn for weeks, my mind is slow to latch on to this new challenge. My fingers hurt from pressing on the strings but but hopefully, I learn the song.

I leave you with this...

Happy Hump Day People!(No pun intended)

One of two

2009-07-12T21:35:00.000-07:00

I have two desks. Both meant for creativity but artistic expression in two very different ways. This heap of papers and glass bottle of cloves inspire me...this is the writing desk.

Dear Writing Desk,

Salmon secretary desk resting against a cool yellow walls, I never really gave it much thought before but, you, writing desk are a very important fixture in my room. You are not always used, most of the time I favor other surfaces to let my mind go free. The soft throw laying across wet grass outside, the cold surface of the wood floor and my warm bed. Yes, I leave you stacked with loose pages of fleeting ideas, things my character are going to say, and pens and fluorescent high lighters. Your draws are over flowing with pictures I cruelly tore out of magazines, colorful post-its, and print outs of my current project. Sometime I wonder it the disarray makes you feel less loved and more like a discarded forgotten niche for my hording tenancies. I write on you're on drop down table top, mostly my name when the words refuse to flow. With ink I sign my name over and over again, a superfluous action to settle the whirlwind of ideas, but it helps none the less. Piled high and haphazardly with magazines and-- as sad as it is to admit--a light layer of dust. I have silently cursed you for taking up more of my limited space, for my stupidity in not see your bright pink leg and banging into you with my knee. The bruise is still purple. But sitting to write along side you is oddly, comfortable. You, along with my laptop Emily, house my words, ones I'm not ready to reveal, some I can't even read myself and others that stand benign and waiting to see the light of day. My countless random notebooks filled with my hasty prinsive (my very own style of writing, printing and cursive combined) rest on the inside. I love you, desk and as stupid as it sounds I couldn't imagine a better place to write.

Is this what happens when you have a camera, a messy desk and time on your hands? Yes, this is what happens. This and thinking idly about cutting my hair, it is annoying me to no end...I need a change!

Happy Monday people!

Lanterns and walls...part two!

2009-07-10T05:30:00.000-07:00

Previously on Meme♥Love...Lanterns and Walls

Finally we made it to my door, bright and blue with two copper plates shining in the hall light. Now with even ground beneath our feet, our lips found one another with a spark. His were soft, moving against mine as his hand came to rest lightly on my neck. I should have kissed him a long time ago, had I knows the pure bliss behind those full lips I would have done it the day after we meet. I don't know how long we stood there kissing, all I know is that when we did break apart we were both breathless and flushed. My lips were red and tasted just like Brandon-like sweet violet candy. If I thought kissing him was intense, then his words were murderous.

"Melissa, open the door." He said through gulps of air, but the tone of his voice was just as strong. Raw, rough and drenched in our unspoken agreement."Please." Oh My!

This was going to be interesting!

****

My hands were shaking terribly, the keys clinking in the deafening silence in the hall. I couldn't even heard his breathing. I knew he was there, just behind me, close enough to feel the warmth radiate off him but just far enough so that we weren't touching. Secretly I was glad for the few seconds to get a hold on my breathing and my mind. We had to relax a bit, either that or our "catching up dinner" would turning into . After seemingly ages I got the door open and let out a sigh of relief.

"Come in. I'll get some coffee...if you want." Already walking to the kitchen--dropping my jacket, scarf and purse at the tiny breakfast table--in need of something, anything to do. Just the smell of the open coffee tin relaxed me and kept my mind off what was in the next room. Brandon, my best friend--whom I haven't seen in years, was walking around my apartment, running his fingers over my wall of books and music with a adorable smile on his tan face. I knew my apartment suited me, the right blend of quirky finds and art deco, with punches of macabre. I loved my place, it was small but it was perfect for me--perhaps not for my shoes or clothes but like I said it was perfection in the middle of New York. But for all the love I felt for it I was surprisingly anxious to hear what he had to say. Was his place bigger or smaller, was it nicer?

"I can see my window for here," He popped his head into the kitchen,"Come and see." He held a hand out to me and I took it without a second thought--leaving the coffee on the table and not in the machine.

"Look right there, the wood blinds and the red bowl." Standing directly behind me Brandon breathed in my ear while pointing to a large window on the same level as mine. "We live on the same floor, I bet I could see you from my apartment. Funny huh?"

"Yeah, funny."He hadn't moved from behind me like I expected, instead he wrapped his arms around my waist and started to press soft kisses on my jaw.

"I like you place...looks like you." More kisses began to make their way down my neck, making my heart beat on my ribs. Don't get out of control. "I wonder where your shoes live?"

"Ha ha," I said meaning to sound sarcastic but come across as breathless."Yes, I have a lot of shoes...but there is always room for more. I'll make room."

"Hum," his warm lips kept tracing lines from my jaw to my collar bone, leaving my skin flushed and tingling beneath. "Dance me, yes?" Before I even answered he steeped away from me, walked over to the bag with his purchases, fished out the CD and popped it into my ancient sound system.

"Brandon, you want to dance with me? You hate dancing." It wasn't something he was particularly good at. The few time I had begged him to dance with me I walked away with bruised toes and a vow to never drag him on a dance floor ever again. Him and dancing just didn't coincide, no matter how many years passed I was pretty sure they would never team up.

"I'm not that bad, I swear." A dark and wickedly sinful smile spread across his face, it was completely unknown to me. When did he become seductive? Of course he had always possessed an unknown charm but never, not once had I seen him be purposely sexy.

In a deceivingly steady, and slightly mocking voice I told him that we would see about that in a second. But I was forced to swallow my words as soon as the music started, he really wasn't bad. The music was soulful and upbeat, exactly what could be heard by club hoppers at Branch. Swaying together, his large hands were resting at my hips, holding me close to his body, songs passed. While his lips ghosted over my neck. Just mere whispers, barely there kisses that left me wanting more. I threaded my finger through his curls, unable to restrain myself any longer, and leaned my cheek to his chest. We swayed in silence, Brandon torturing my jaw, neck, collar bone the entire time. I had forgotten the music playing softly in the back ground until I heard them being sung in a low deep voice,between kisses Brandon was singing along.

"Blinking Pigs?" I questioned loudly, pulling back slightly to look at his face, but he just kept singing.

"Now that you're standing closer, I don't run, I don't want to leave." Bringing back to my place against him. I felt it, and I know he did too. The air around us shifted, throwing us both from comfort edged with subtle flirting into no mans land. We had never really been in the position before. I, for one, didn't know what to do next. But he did.

Without a word he took a step towards me, forcing me to take one back. Wounding one arm around my waist he bent his lips to touch mine in the smallest greeting. Moving our legs, hips until I hit the opposite wall with a quite thud. He wouldn't kiss my lips and it was driving me crazy. Instead he seemed to enjoy nibbling on the spot right behind my neck, more than likely loving the reaction.

"We're not dancing anymore," I gasped when his tongue joined the party.

I think he responded but I couldn't be entirely sure. How was a girl supposed to think straight in a situation like this? So that is just what I did, I stopped thinking. Instead of over analyzing my every movement I just did what felt natural. When he kissed me, I kissed back somewhat harder and when his hands moved to lifted me, I clung onto him. Brandon closed the small gap between us the second my ankles crossed at his waist. I could feel the cold paint on my back and his warm body plastered to me in the front. Our kisses gained a slightly frantic edge, like all the pent up years of longing and desire, pining and hiding ganged up on us both at that very moment. I was surrounded but him, wholly and completely. His breath on my lips and face, his chest and arms pinning me to the wall and his smell, pine and something else, clung to every pocket of buzzing air between him and I. The music had stopped a while ago, I'm not sure exactly when, I don't even remember what it was that we were listening to. But all I could here now was the beat of my heart and our combined labored breath.

I didn't think about what this would mean when the night was over, when the romantic setting dissolved and the mood shifted--and to be honest I didn't want to. Brandon was all I focused on, him and only him. He said he wanted me, loved me in every way I could imagine and all the ways I couldn't fathom. With each word he feed me kisses and through them I could feel the truth, behind them I could feel the love.In my head I kept thinking 'Against the wall, Brandon against the wall!' But I didn't and couldn't say a word. A dense fog had settled around me and it was a wonder I was still breathing, but a voice cut through it with ease.

"I don't want to stop." He said softly.

When I looked into his eyes I saw desire, pooling in anticipation but also, insecurity. Was this something I wanted? Could we ever go back? Yes...and no. But would I even want to go back to a tepid friendship when I had had my taste of passion? I knew that answer...better than I knew any answer. I knew this one with every fiber of my soul.

"Then don't."

I woke up expecting it to be like every other day, but it wasn't. There just behind me, an arm draped over me, was Brandon. I smile, this was nice. Waking up next to someone felt better than I had expected. How could I have enjoy waking to a cold side of the bed all this time? The thought was laughable, how lying to yourself keeps you not only safe but blind.

"Breakfast?" I felt burning lips on my shoulder and his arm tightened, bringing me closer. "What do you say? I'll make you breakfast and then we can spend the day together."

Hum mm this was going to be a good day!

Happy Friday!

Did you like?

In Killing Moon news, he recently broke up with the girl(she cheated on him...nice girl.) and now him and his family are on a lovely Greek holiday. Even though he is miles and miles away form me...he still remembered that I'd be bummed for a while and sent me one of the most adorable heartfelt messages I have ever gotten, complete with a picture of his smiling face. I'm not counting any chickens--but I got to ten before I made my self stop! Stay tuned, things might be looking up....

It all Black and white, you see!

2009-07-07T11:26:00.000-07:00

The second part to the last post is coming. Originally it was going to be one long post--but I didn't want to let it drag on and on. That being said I'll get to today's post.

The first time I saw a classic movie I was a little girl sitting in my grandparents' living room. Grandpa was explaining the importance of movies such as these, "Classics, they don't make movies like this anymore." And he was right. The masterful black and white pictures of eras long gone and mostly forgotten can not be matched. Casablanca can never be redone have the same impact. The Women would not be the twisted tale of broken marriage and love if we cast today's starlets. And Anatomy of Murder would not be the same with Jimmy Stewart. Yes, these movies can't hold a flame flicker to the digital animation of today's films but they have something. Back when actors needed to have talent and not just a pretty face, these were the days of groundbreaking star power. I love modern movies, my movie cabinet is stuffed to an extreme(I need move space!) but in my heart the ones that make me smile forever are the tride and true Black and Whites.

We say things because of these movies, and most people don't even know it.

Casablanca

The Women

Anatomy of Murder

The next few weeks are going to be a little tough for me, so I apologize before hand if I get a bit too morose. On August first it will be nine years since the passing of my grandfather. Right now I'm thinking about all the wonderful things he passed on to me but these weeks are always remembered as the weeks where he was sick and slowly leaving us. It's sad and I don't mean to impose it on all my lovely blog friends but I kinda can't help it! Sorry again if things get a bit emo.

Have a Black and White Tuesday!

Lanterns and walls...

2009-06-30T23:25:00.000-07:00

Don't hate me! Yet another Killing Moon dream and from what I could gather this was taking place a good two years form now--I looked older and so did Mr.Killing Moon. I sorry for continuing to write about it (if it bugs you, je suis desole)but frustration is best worked out on a key board, at least it's that way for me. If you are new to Meme♥Love and have no idea what I'm talking about, may I refer you to the following

So there I was, in a cave of printed pages, casually running my fingers over the spines neatly arranged on the shelves. Blue and red one, ones with inlays of sliver names and others fading with time, I searching for some new books, on a Thursday night. But nothing caught my eye, I either had, read or already owned and read all of them. I was just about to head to the used book section when a man in a red jacket bumped me with his shoulder and kept walking.

"Excuse you," I said softly but just loud enough for him to hear. Ugh! Why are people so rude?

A tattered yellowing copy of Blackeyes found me, a smile broke over my face as I clutched it to my chest. It was ridiculous, to be hugging a book, but I had been looking for this one for quite some time. A quite familiar chuckle from the other side of the of the shelves made me look up, but I could see nothing. Giving up on finding anything of worth or new I made my way to the register, my find in tow, when I felt eyes on my back. Before I could make myself turn around and scope out the book store for the gaze, the person came up to me. Never in a million years did I expect to see this face standing a few inches away from me. Shock, the one feeling that coursed through my veins was shock, cold and electrifying shock.

"Still hugging books Melissa?" His voice was just as lush as the last time I had heard it, I momentarily lost myself in it. Peering down at my face he leaned in and hugged me tightly, pressing me against his chest.

When he let me go I was still at a loss for words"What are you doing in New York?"I said finally, I knew my face was twisted in surprise but then again so was Brandon's. He was just as intrigued by this distraction of fate as I was...perhaps even more.

"I've been living here for about six months.Wow, you know when I bumped into you I thought it looked like you but the last I heard you were still living in California, so I just shook it off. But then when I saw you doing the 'Happy Book Dance' I knew it was little Melissa. How have you been?"

I made a face as he said 'Happy Book Dance', I swear a girl dances once in a Barns and Nobles and no one ever forgets it!

"Ugh, I wish you would forget that day." I said rolling my eyes."No, I moved here a year ago. I'm doing great Brandon. You look amazing." And truly he did. Instead of the clean shaven face of our teen years now he was facial hair, dark brown and covering his jaw. He looked like, well, he looked like a man. It was a bit startling.

"Ha, wish all you want. That," he tapped his temple,"is a permanent fixture, a punch to the head couldn't knock that baby out of there. You beautiful, your hair is a lot shorter. It looks very...alluring." He flashed me one of his famous smiles, wow it still the same effect. "So are you going to leave or can you help me find some good reads?" How could I resist?

"Sure," flashing him a smile of my own,"I can help...beside if I remember correctly, you have the worst taste." I meant it as a joke but all of sudden his face got serious and came to stand very very close to me.

"But only where books are concerned," he whispered a inch away from my ear, my eyes closed."Melis."

Despite the cold air swirling through the store I felt my warm. Brandon took my book in one hand and my hand in his , hauling me to the shelves he had just emerged from.

"What looks good?" Arching both his eyebrows up and down, he was still a dork, that made me smile. It was like nothing had changed.

We spent half an hours walking up and down aisles, laughing and falling right back into place as if we had never spent any time apart. A tiny part of me was reminding me not to get too comfortable, he could just walk away like the last time. But the conversation never lagged like it did with most friends after not seeing one another for years. With Brandon there were no awkward pauses, no fumbling for words and never did I think to myself 'What do I say next'. Fourteen books piled in his arms and one CD, with a funky looking chipmunk chick on the cover, and we were ready to pay.

"Together?" The bored cashier asked, not even bothering to looking up from her Page Six.

"No," I said, pushing my book to the side.

"Yes, together." Brandon handed the girl his card before I could say another word.

"Brandon, Come on." I said with both eyes wide.

"If you want you can pay for dinner. Would that make you happy?"

Dinner? Brandon and I having dinner? I had never really forgotten just how much I loved him, a part of me always thought it was just because we were friends but I knew better. He and I were just right. Like two puzzle pieces, fitting together perfectly, designed for one another. But when he left I convinced myself that those feeling were nothing, just a bit of misplaced affection for a close friend. But now, I couldn't believe that.

"You still like Chinese food?" He said while wrapping the scarf twice around his neck and buttoning up his jacket.

"Yes!" I chirped, while doing the same thing he had just done, it was starting to get really cold now

"Good," he linked his arm through mine."I know a place not too far from here. You're gonna love it." He shivered, I smiled. He wasn't used to the weather, his body was accustom to the nice warm climate in Greece. A New York winter was going to be a shock to his system.

"Still on the Greek sunshine?"

"Yeah, I'm just starting to understand what New York cold means. Ok were here."

He was right when he said I would love it. I wasn't fancy--I didn't really like that type of thing-- but the small narrow dinning room was cosy and the million or so paper lanterns hanging from the ceiling set warm and slightly romantic atmosphere. The food was delicious, everything from the Spicy Szechuan Chicken to the shrimp dumplings tasted like heaven. I ate while he watched me, a huge grin plastered on his face. We talked about our lives and the spaces we had missed. He and I only live across the street from each other, honking yellow cabs and bike messengers separated us. Somewhere along the way we ended up sitting on the same side of the table, legs brushing and every so often he would caress my arm. It felt like a date and I fought back the urge to kiss his full lips, by the look on his face, Brandon was doing the same.

"Melis, I missed you all these years. I thought about calling you and begging you to come to visit me but I didn't want to..well you know." No, I didn't know. An impromptu hop to Greece would have been amazing, especially if I was there to be with him. I had missed him too, the first three months were excruciating. I had the constant 'I just don't what to do with myself ' song streaming in my head. Things I normally did with him I couldn't do alone. I was heart broken but most of all I felt stupid--for letting him leave thinking that all we were, all we had was an innocent friendship. I had to hear whatever it was from his lips...now.

"No, I don't know." I tired to keep the annoyed tone out of mu words but he knew better than that.

"We were always sort of on that line." I love when he used his hands to talk, it was just so...expressive. "At least, I always felt like we were more than friends but just shy of anything else. You never really drew that line and I never really stayed on one side," he shot me a sly grin,"I liked to go back and fourth, if you know what I mean."

"Yeah I felt the same way. But I wasn't sure what was going on in your head....and I was always to afraid to ask--I guess I should have, huh?

His eyes smoldered at my confession and darkened--as if deep brown eyes could get any darker. Slowly and without taking his eyes off of mine, Brandon ran his fingers from my shoulder, down my arm, over the crook of my elbow, sliding down to my wrist, placing a large hand on my clenched fist. I shivered and I knew he felt it.

"Yes, you should have." He said in a whisper, I'm surprised I even heard it. "I'm so glad we're on the same page now, after all these years."

I could speak, but I was also very glad to be at the same place with him.

Dinner had long been finished, but we continued to talk. But when we noticed the place clearing out we decided to leave. Of course he took car of the check when I went to the bathroom, I suppose I should have known but at the time I really needed to pee--one too many green teas. I was a tad bit miffed about him paying, again, but he merely put his hand on the small of my back and whispered in my ear that I could pay for the next one. It was a beautiful tense, the whole dinner was an exercise in control. I felt the tension all around us, in every glance and all the small brushes of skin. We were both restraining ourselves at dinner but one sentence broke our resolve.

"I'd love to see where you live." It came out innocently enough but as soon as the words came out he got this look on his face--like he wished he could take it back. We weren't kids anymore and that sentence thrown into the mix of all the things we had said to each other during diner just added more fire to the sexual tensions buzzing around us.

In the cab the brushing legs became pressing legs, soft caresses turned into deliberate stroking. His hands were warm despite the chill in the air and just having them on my bear arm made my cheeks flush and heart quicken.

Not soon enough we arrived in front of my building and this time I got my money out first, paying the cabbie while Brandon tried to set his wallet free.

"Ha, beat ya to the punch," I called out to him as I climbed gracefully, I hoped, from the cab. He walked over to me with a sheepish smile playing at the corners of his face, pulling me into his arms, his lips ghosted along my neck(well the part not covered by my teal scarf). Using his line against him I brought my hands to neck. "Don't worry you can pay for the next one."

That made him laugh, loudly. We had to get out of this cold, I could feel my lips turning blue. Quickly disengaging myself from his arms I dragged him inside, tugging one hand while his other swung the bag with the books.

Stairs weren't really what he wanted, his hands kept running over my waist as we climbed. When he made a move to kiss me and I, at that very moment, was wishing my place had an elevator.

Finally we made it to my door, bright and blue with two copper plates shining in the hall light. Now with even ground beneath our feet, our lips found one another with a spark. His were soft, moving against mine as his hand came to rest lightly on my neck. I should have kissed him a long time ago, had I knows the pure bliss behind those full lips I would have done it the day after we meet. I don't know how long we stood there kissing, all I know is that when we did break apart we were both breathless and flushed. My lips were red and tasted just like Brandon-like sweet violet candy. If I thought kissing him was intense, then his words were murderous.

"Melissa, open the door." He said through gulps of air, but the tone of his voice was just as strong. Raw, rough and drenched in our unspoken agreement."Please." Oh My!

This was going to be interesting!

Am I a tease? Perhaps...but anyways, Enjoy your Friday!