Sunday, September 27, 2009

Bored, so posting old romantic garbage from the whisht

This is something I started on 5/19/07. It's crap, but I am bored and exhausted, so this is what I'm doing.


Milton worked as an accountant for Bigs Department Store, at the edge of town. While Milton was not plain in looks, he was not strikingly handsome, either. He stood just over six-feet-four, and had a lanky build. His stature was more than likely a result of his love for fruits and vegetables, and a natural dislike for fatty foods. He also walked everywhere he had to go - which wasn't a lot of places.

When Milton went downtown that Saturday morning, the only thoughts in his head were of Emma. Emma who did not know Milton existed in this world, contentedly worked her job at the local market, sorting out produce. If Milton hadn't such an appetite for mangoes, he never would have laid eyes on Emma. Being newly out on his own, he'd only begun doing the grocery shopping about a year ago, and that was when he first saw her. He remembered it distinctly and often. She wore a cotton blouse with small, pink roses printed on it, a green apron and khaki pants. Her red hair was a wild frizz about her freckled face. Her cheeks were round, but not fat, and naturally pinkish. She had unusually long eyelashes, which she lightly mascaraed, and green eyes. When she counted fruit, her lips pouted and she wore a little frown, like something was troubling her. Milton found her to be the most radiant angel, and he instinctively knew her voice was of heaven's bells.

Up until now, he hadn't been able to develop a reasonable question to instigate a conversation with her. Most of the time he spent shopping in her section was spent stealing glances at the top of her head. Today, that would change. Today, he would ask about the specific origin of the mangoes. And why not? This was a legitimate concern. One has a right to know - if for no other reasons than political ones - where their fruit comes from.

All Emma ever did was work, go to the bank drive-thru to deposit her paychecks, and go home. At home, she spent her time with her cat, Rederick. She was shy, and she was content with her solitary life.

Being very methodical, she always counted oranges first each morning, as they were first in the middle produce aisle. She gradually wound her way around each case before working the outside aisles. By the time she reached the tropical fruit case, it was about nine a.m., and the market was filling up with customers. Keeping her eyes down, she counted and sorted, pulling a cart behind her to deposit outdated or bad food. She barely noticed the sound of footsteps coming right for her, and was startled when a man cleared his throat to get her attention. She turned, and had to roll her eyes upward to see the thin face of a man who was possibly her age or a little younger. His facial expression was unnerving, and she found herself fearing he might try to grab her and use her as a hostage. He did not reach for her, however, but instantly spoke in a rapid manner.

"I know you know mangoes, and I love you, so I want to know where these came from."

Emma froze. This man was obviously insane. She mentally searched the store for her manager, but remembered he was in the very back, doing payroll. The man waited expectantly for her reply.

"These are from Florida."

"Oh, good."

"Florida is okay?"

"Quite, yes."

"Well, then. Was there anything else?"

"Um, well, I uh, I'm Milton," he said, as he held out his hand to her.

"I'm Emma," she returned, as she shook his hand gently. She was pleased not to feel sweat or grit on his hand. "So, are you going to buy mangoes today?"

"Oh, yes, I do every Saturday."

"Okay, well, I have to get back to work."

"Sorry, and thanks!" He smiled. Milton had a spring in his step the rest of his shopping trip. Carrying his groceries in paper bags, he hummed to himself all the way home. Milton was a new man. He had just changed his entire personality by coming out of his shell after a year of anticipation. And now, Milton Frazier would have his lady!

Emma found herself quite distracted the remainder of the day. She even forgot to pick up her own groceries before heading home. As she only lived three blocks from the market, she walked home. During her normal sidewalk square count, she had to stop and re-start the count several times. Of course, she already knew the exact number of sidewalk squares. This was an obsession - but a harmless one.

Back at her small apartment, she prepared a tuna salad sandwich, and ate it in her favorite living chair; a Queen Anne, upholstered in mauve satin. It was the only piece of expensive furniture that she owned, and used to be her grandmother's. It was all she ever wanted of the estate. As a child, she would curl up in it to listen to her aunt play the piano at grandma's house. How Emma had always wished she could play "The Entertainer," like aunt Clara. But, alas, she could barely play a portion of "Chopsticks." Clara had kept the piano, until it grew so old it could no longer be tuned.

As Emma stared out the window, chewing mindlessly on her sandwich, her thoughts were of the odd, tall man who said he loved her this morning. He must have meant to say, "and I love them," instead of, "and I love you." Still, she couldn't help pondering the possibilities.

Rederick meowed at her feet, sniffing the tuna. "None for you; there's mayonnaise. Cats in this house can't have mayonnaise."

Milton ate his shredded wheat, and drank his orange juice next morning without reading the newspaper - not even the comics. He was busy playing out his next grocery trip. More specifically, his next conversation with Emma. In his dream last night, she had approached him with a mango the size of a bowling ball, wearing a beautiful smile. She glowed, and all sound stopped when she got within two feet of him. "Milton, I've been waiting all my life to give you this!" The timer on the stove beeped, and Milton took his bowl and glass to the sink, rinsed them and headed out the door. He was halfway to work before he realized it was Sunday.

Friday, September 25, 2009

Secret Brain of Evil Genius

Yesterday, while rushing to get ready for work, I could not find my lipstick. In order for you to have an idea of what a big deal this is to me, I must explain. I keep my lipstick in the same drawer all the time. It's been there for the whole almost seven years I've lived in this house. It's just what I do. A place for everything. The lipstick is in the top bathroom drawer....except yesterday. It is the final step in my getting ready process, the lipstick. WTF?? Dug through drawer frantically. Now, who in this house would be interested in my lipstick. I live with 3 males. So, I had to make do with the purse lipstick, which is not exactly my right shade, and has some sort of plumping chemical in it. Not the end of the world, I know. So, being still oxygen deprived from this crud, I forgot about the lipstick...until this morning. It was time to put on the jewelry (the second to last thing I do when getting ready - I know, I am a creature of methods). GUESS what's in the jewelry box. Give up? I hear that geniuses do stuff like this. I'm just saying.

Thursday, September 24, 2009

Evil Bacteria

Let me just say that mucopurulent sputum is just fucking nasty. I know this, first hand, from many experiences with it. I'm sure this is not the last time I will say this. Have resisted the urge to grace the elf doctor with my presence, the past two weeks. I just really need to fight this out, if at all possible. I abhor antibiotics. They mess up my tummy. They strip my intestines of their natural liner, and there aren't enough pumpkin seeds in the world to replace it in short order. Not to mention that they ruin my immune system - which was improving, until I had to re-start Cozaar, about a month and-a-half ago. One of the side effects of Cozaar is - yep, you guessed it - sinus infection. Oh, yay. Another side effect is depression. JUST what I need. THANK YOU. So, I smell like garlic, when I'm not at work. I do the workfolks the sweetest favor by not smelling like Mama Samantha Leone. I'm sure they appreciate it....NOT. Oh, don't get me starting on that bunch. I defriended them all on facebook, today. They are not friends. They don't call me up to chit chat, or invite me out for beers. They don't need to know my quiz results. I've taken away their privileges. Have become exclusive. I am the shit. And, I'm coughing up sputum. Isn't that sexy?

Tuesday, September 22, 2009


So, don't you just love it when you've been sick for like a week-and-a-half, and you finally wake up one day and know you're too sick to make it in. You call in and speak to the person in charge of sick people being out, who gives you an attitude, "What's wrong?" like you have not been coughing around the office for freaking ever. Come to find out, another worker has also not shown up, who is notoriously not showing up, without notice, due to, oh say, a hangover, or a bum alarm, or some such. So, you're sick enough to stay in bed. Instead, you have to pay some bills, do some laundry and some dishes, because, they're there, and they need doing, and you're not really so sick that you can't do that. And, you feel badly about not going to work, even though every breath is labored. Man, I hate being sick.

Sunday, September 20, 2009

Sleep Away

This is how it started;
Me here, you there.
You seemed to want to know me.
You know me.
Your disappointment is obvious,
As I knew it would be.
Now, I cannot be me with you,
Where before, I felt me more
With you, than ever.
So, now I have lost myself
In you.
And you are lost
To me.
So, for the first time in months,
I will sleep alone
And disappear.

Friday, September 18, 2009

Yes, it's the New Moon.

So, no wonder my body is doing a sudden re-start, eh? Okay, it had to happen again, sooner or later. The lateness. The skipingness (I just made that word up). You know how sometimes, your hard drive has to really eff up or something, before you cave and reset your computer? You gotta get rid of all that old stuff. Here's a chance for my body to get rid of all that old stuff. Still, I wonder, why do we have to stockpile before we purge? Isn't it easier to just purge regularly? Perhaps some of us just stockpile a lot faster. Or maybe I haven't been stockpiling enough? Or maybe the moon has a different agenda.

Question: If you moon the moon, on a new moon, are you still mooning the moon?

Monday, September 14, 2009

Weather Forecast

In view of recent tumultuous activity, in the South, we have high humidity and heat, there. In the northern mountains, however, prepare to get a taste of the white stuff.

Wednesday, September 09, 2009


Each night you're here
Majestic and peaceful
Your breath a song
In sleep you hold me fast
Protecting and warm
Your pulse is solid and calm
And you are so beautiful
My cells call out to yours
But I hold back
And thus create
A precious ache
I will wake you soon
To start over


I have waited many years for many things. Have blamed a lot of things and a lot of nothings on others. Time to stop it. Time to unbuckle the belts around my brain and let it loose, already. Not going to sensor, anymore. Not worth it. Not getting me anywhere. Sucks. Up to you if you want to read. I really don't want to know if you're offended by anything you read, here. You're given the choice to read or not. I learned something about being a butinsky the other day; don't do it. Compliments are welcome. Criticism isn't. Call me spoiled, but not to my face. You can curse me in your mirror, and pretend you're going to kick my ass, but I don't want to know. Bare your teeth at yourself, get nice and riled. Hear that pulse in your ear? That's me, pumping through you. Look what I did. Control, my friend. Am I worth it? You decide.

That was fertilizer. I'm growing. I'm growing here, on my blog, and you'll read it, and you'll like it. On some level, you know you will. Whether I chose to vent, brag, paraphrase, or otherwise express, it will stir you. I may even tickle a fancy. Might touch a naughty nerve. Make you giggle.

If you're reading this, I love you, right now. I'm allowing you to drink from my well. See what happens. I hope it's good. What a long way to say absolutely nothing but hello.