Okay, I’m in a super rush so I’m going to make this very quick…
It’s been an interesting weekend around here (for me at least) and I REALLY want to tell you guys all about it, so wish me luck on the time management thing. Hopefully I’ll be back soon’ish. In the meantime, I LOVE this video… enjoy.
Evolution – Korn
Okay, I’ve come to the conclusion that I SUCK lately; at least as a blogger. I had two poems and a handful of other songs that I wanted to come back and post yesterday, but time just got away from me… again. In my defence, I am sick – damn kids! – and I’ve got a million and one little tasks on my agenda right now (mostly annoying and somewhat mundane things like sorting 2 ½ TB of computer files). Alas, it is what it is. I have some things to do this morning, and than I will try to find some time to devote (exclusively) to my blog and – of course – catching up on all of yours. Before I do anything, I’m going to leave you with a song and a confession…
Now, rewatching this video makes me greatly question my own libido, but I must plead guilty to having had a major crush on Billy Idol for more than half of my life. This crush remained incredibly strong until the point when I became addicted to Buffy the Vampire Slayer (wow, why stop at one embarrassing confession?) and replaced Idol in my fantasies with James Marsters. Yes, I am a special girl.
Dancing With Myself – Billy Idol
I know I’m not the only person that does this (I know, because I’ve heard others talk about it before) but when I look back – think back – on my life, there are soundtracks playing over the memories. For example, when I think about the first apartment that I ever shared with Zed – a crappy little place that was only made wonderful by the blindness of new love – there is a never ending stream of Alanis Morissette, Jewel (yes, I had a Jewel and Alanis fad, sue me), Tupac and Oasis songs playing in the background. When I think about hanging out with my cousin (and best friend once upon a time) as a kid, there are always Corey Hart and New Kids on the Block songs playing over the mental images. Okay, admitting to the N.K.O.T.B. thing is way worse then Jewel and/or Alanis, especially if I tack on a confession about having once even attended one of their concerts, but c’mon, I was only 13! I’m not even going to talk about how I once owned a Joey McIntyre doll, or how I wore a fedora for an entire summer; that’s just way too embarrassing. Anyway, so not the point…
The point is that when I started thinking about the letter ‘C’ in relation to music, my brain went into overdrive as it tossed out title after bloody title. I’ve been up since six (it’s eight-thirty now) sorting computer files (still working on that, but haven’t had enough time to devote to it yet, so it’s been a REALLY slow process) listening to nothing but ‘C’ songs. Yes, I’m weird… it is what it is.
One of the first songs that came rushing back with a landside of memories was ‘Change’ by ‘Blind Melon’. I have heard this song preformed by a number of different artists, and I have always loved it, but there was a time when it was practically my anthem. When I was struggling to find my way back through the looking glass, I must have listened to this song a million and a half times. I found so much wisdom in the lyrics;
I don’t feel the suns comin’ out today
its staying in, its gonna find another way.
As I sit here in this misery, I don’t
think I’ll ever see the sun from here.
And oh as I fade away,
they’ll all look at me and say, and they’ll say,
Hey look at him! I’ll never live that way.
But that’s okay
they’re just afraid to change.
When you feel your life ain’t worth living
you’ve got to stand up and
take a look around you then a look way up to the sky.
And when your deepest thoughts are broken,
keep on dreaming boy, cause when you stop dreamin’ it’s time to die.
And as we all play parts of tomorrow,
some ways will work and other ways we’ll play.
But I know we all can’t stay here forever,
so I want to write my words on the face of today.
and then they’ll paint it
And oh as I fade away,
they’ll all look at me and they’ll say,
Hey look at him and where he is these days.
When life is hard, you have to change.
; and it inspired me to keep moving forward, no matter what.
People tend to discern different meanings in different songs, but for me this always served as a reminder that I had no choice but to change; to grow, to be a better me. Anyone that has ever gone through a period of deep personal growth can attest to the fact that others in your life don’t (generally) appreciate the change. At every corner they seem to rebel against it, making it (at times) much more difficult to alter your life. Whenever I felt that was the case in my world, I would listen to this song over and over again, reminding myself that I was the ONLY person I had to appease; I was the only one that would be stuck with ‘me’ until my days ran out, so living for others – or to fit into the bubble that others want to stuff me in – was a ridiculous way to live. Yes, this was one of the songs playing when my #1 life philosophy was born; I am the ruler of my own universe.
Change – Blind Melon
The first Eminem song that I ever heard was ‘Stan’ (it gave me goosebumps) and it caused me to fall instantly in lust with this man’s music. My baby brother (my favourite brother) looks an insane amount like this guy and I can’t watch one of his videos without missing the kid. I miss him now in fact… it’s been about a year since I last saw him and since we had to cancel any plans of going to B.C. this month (been a busy AND very expensive month around here) I likely won’t see him until sometime near the end of the summer.
Anywho… love this song… enjoy!
Beautiful – Eminem
We are living in the Recycling Era. That’s not to say that we’ve all become powerfully responsible when it comes to caring for our Mother Earth – let’s face it, most of us are not doing even a portion of what we
could should on that front – but that there seems to be a shortage of new ideas circulating in the world around us. Music, movies, TV shows and even books all seem to be borrowing from old ideas, and in some (many) cases, they’re just remaking old gems word for word. Sometimes this annoys the hell out of me; though I’m not sure if I’m bothered more by remakes or ‘reimaginings’; since more often than not, they completely screw it up.
Every once in a rare while they do get something right. This (in my opinion) is one of those cases..
Bad Company – Five Finger Death Punch
For the most part, having children is AWESOME! There is – however – one small thing about kids that’s somewhat less than desirable; they’re germ mongers. It’s really not so bad when they’re little, but once they hit school age you send them off five days a week to swim in a veritable virus pool of ugly little bacteria with their little germ monger peers. What this means – for your ENTIRE household – is that you will then spend the next baker’s dozen of years cycling through damn near every minor nasty known to man. The worst part? No amount of vitamin C, zinc and/or Echinacea can entirely spare you from these lovely little illnesses; once you have kids, they’re just a part of the natural order of things.
Yep, there’s another cold/flu making its way through the house, and this one’s shaping up to be a real doozy. So far I remain uninfected, but history has already taught me how this works; I should remain healthy up until the girls are both over the worst of their symptoms, and then BAM!!! the bugs will get me! In the meantime, I can look forward to a few nights (like last night) where I barely get to sleep at all because Kara is waking up every hour or so in a fit. The poor little monkey gets pretty cranky when she’s sick, and this time around is no exception.
Ah well, it is what it is.
I meant to come back for a second posting yesterday, but (as per usual lately) I found myself short on time and couldn’t make it. No worries; that intended posting was just a ramble and rambling can be done at anytime… now works too.
For those of you who read ‘Treat of the Week’, I really wanted to point out a few (in my mind) interesting things about it. And what you ask, is that? Oh, I’m so glad you inquired! Though the story is fictional, there are some truths scattered throughout. Let’s start with the main concept of the story; the man who – completely out of the blue – comes home from work one Friday night to poison his family with milkshakes. This may or may not be a true story.
When I was a little kid, I overheard my uncle talking about just such an event – apparently perpetrated by some man he knew – and the story stuck with me. The reason I say that this ‘may or may not’ be a true story is that the uncle who told it is the same man who once told me that he accidentally ran over the Easter Bunny, and that we’d be having rabbit stew for Easter dinner in lieu of turkey. His credibility was instantly – and permanently – damaged in my mind when the Easter Bunny did in fact drop by that year with goodies. When I got older, I always meant to go down to the library to dig through the archives and find out if the story was true, but I just never got around to it. I don’t remember much of what he said about the tale back then – it was a long time ago – but I remember being a little suspicious of milkshakes for awhile.
The other thing about this story that you might find interesting to know is that we once lived three doors down from a man who – after discovering his wife’s infidelity – blew his brains out in the cab of his truck. The truck was parked out front of their house and a gaggle of junior high kids discovered the hideous mess on the way to the bus stop that morning.
I remember being incredibly pissed at the guy for being such a thoughtless twonk. Don’t you dare judge me for my lack of sympathy in the matter, I felt plenty bad for him as far as the disloyalty went; the entire neighbourhood knew about his wife’s indiscretions (she wasn’t exactly discrete about her affairs, and one of her paramours was a work buddy of her husband’s that would show up in a (marked) work truck five minutes after her husband left nearly every morning). I was also quite sad that he would be so broken by the discovery that he felt the only way out was suicide. He lost my sympathy when he opted to take his life out in the open where his body was almost guaranteed to be discovered by school kids. Hell, the moron had his own kids that could have just as likely discovered the grizzly scene. In pain or no, I found his way of dealing with the situation to be completely irresponsible.
The quote at the end was something I read in the newspaper once. It was stated by some guy that was on trial for killing his own family and I’m not entirely sure if I got either the quote or the man’s name exactly right. That too was a long time ago and I’m afraid my memory sucks at times. I’m not even sure how that quote worked its way into the last line; it certainly wasn’t where I was intending to wind up.
Now, I’m not overly fond of this story (but when am I, right?), but I do like the bones beneath it. It’s yet another tale that I might have to return to at some point to rewrite properly, but with this whole ‘flash fiction’ experimentation sort of thing, I’m limiting my time for both writing and editing the pieces. Besides – as this whole blog experience is teaching me – I know NOTHING about my own writing. I never really know what will or will not go over well, and I’ve been doing a reasonably good job (for me) of sharing whether I like the piece or not.
This is just a completely random fact to see who’s actually paying attention: I HATE ladybugs. Everyone I know seems to like these disgusting little creatures, but not I! They are just over glorified beetles, and beetles are one step away from being cockroaches; cockroaches are the most disgusting creatures (in my opinion) on this planet. As if that’s not a reason enough to hate them, they piss on you; double gross. My skin crawls just thinking about those ugly little bastards. The worst thing about not being a fan of ladybugs around here is that every spring/summer our yard (and sometimes even house) gets overrun with the damn things. It’s quite creepy.
Hmm, I’ve got about fifteen minutes left to myself before my sister and her kids get here, so I best try wrapping this up.
I have been desperately trying to catch up (and stay caught up) on at least my favourite blogs for the last week and a half or so, but I am definitely struggling with this. Please do not take my absence as abandonment! I will have some time later this afternoon (between unwanted company, tending to a sick toddler, cleaning the garage and sorting computer files – still working on getting everything in order on that note, and I’ve STILL not had much time to get my new computer set up to my liking) but I’ve already dedicated most of that time to one of my favourite blogs that I’m like a thousand posts behind on. Just know that I’m working on it!
My (hockey) team has been knocked out of the playoffs (SAD SAD FACE!!!) so at least my evenings (in theory) should start to open up a little more as April morphs into May. Though I’m not overly fond of spending a lot of time at my comp in the evenings, at least I’ll have more time to write.
Oh, last thing before I go… I just wanted to (officially) welcome back my beloved Gabriela Vargas!! Oh how I’ve missed you… can’t wait to read all about what you’ve been up to all month!
Okay, that’s it. This is me running away….
I’m more than a little neurotic at times; ask anyone who knows me in the really-real world and they’ll attest to that without a moments hesitation. I already mentioned that I’ve officially started my spring cleaning for the year, but what you likely do not know is just how nuts I am about such things.
You see, I was born into a long line of packrats. I come from a clan where a good 80% of the women would have (should have) been on those hording shows long before those hording shows existed. When my maternal grandmother passed away (and we went to clean out her house) there were thirty some quilts tucked away in various closets – all still in their original packaging. There were clothes (of various sizes; most not Grandma’s) in all of the closets with price tags still on them. Amongst other things, there were hundreds of cassette tapes, still in their plastic wrap (my grandmother didn’t even own a cassette player), insane amounts of unopened makeup, shoes, medications, dishes, towels, soap, gift baskets (still in their cellophane wrap) shampoos, perfumes, something like fifty tubes of toothpaste, over a hundred boxes of cereal, tool kits, and – though granny never sewed – boxes of clothing patterns and rolls of fabric. This sort of thing was (is) pretty common amongst the women in my family, and serves as yet more proof (to me) that the line of mental illness in our genes did not start with my generation, even if we were the first to accept it and do something about it.
Once upon a not that long ago, I was no better than the rest of them; I used to have one hell of a hard time throwing anything away, and so when something outlived it’s purpose, I just tucked it up on some shelf or in a box somewhere. It was comfort sort of thing that stemmed – I believe – from my constant need to feel like I had a place, a home, a point in life, but it used to make moving hell.
After I started putting my life back together (following my downwards spiral) one of the first major changes I made had to do with a de-cluttering of my private universe. Before I was strong enough to move on to the people that were toxic to my wellbeing, I started with my possessions. Over a week and a half (or so) I went through every single thing I owned and parted with more than 3/4 of it. The only ‘useless’ items I kept were those that I found too sentimental to part with; like my old records and whatnot, Benny the monkey, and my writing. I donated three pickup trucks worth of clothing and things to the Salvation Army, and created another four truckloads full of landfill fodder.
This unloading felt so amazing that I have gone on a major purging once a year ever since.
Each spring when the purging bug bites me in the ass, the true strength of my OCD-like tendencies surface and I start sorting, organizing, tossing, cleaning, labelling, recycling, and fixing like a madwoman. Seriously, it took me five hours just to clean out my desk this weekend. I literally went through every pen and scrap of paper, every paperclip and thumbtack, and tossed away anything that I didn’t need, didn’t want or that didn’t work.
This is just how I roll. Everything that I deem too important to throw out or give away – but not necessary to keep at an arm’s reach – gets neatly stored in plastic crates (how fortunate that Canadian Tire just put them on sale!) and a generalized list of contents gets taped securely to the side before it goes into storage.
This is a three-story, four-bedroom, two-storage room, multiple-storage closet house with an unattached garage. There are four permanent residents (not including the cat and dog) and an endless stream of visitors; my sister and her family are always leaving things behind either because they don’t have room for it their fifth wheel (their house is in B.C. and they live in a house-on-wheels while in this province) or because it’s handier to leave things here since they spend so much damn time at my house. This drives me a little nutty, but whatcha gonna do? My point is that the spring purge around here is not a simple task that can be accomplished over a couple of days. I put in about five hours on Saturday and another fourteen yesterday, and so far all I’ve managed to get through is my desk (looks fantastic for the record), my bedroom (everything but Zed’s closet) and the cupboards in my kitchen and pantry. Since I was also working on the set up of my new computer and babysitting my sisters three kids most of yesterday, I think I made pretty good time, but I’m still a hell of a long way from finished.
Zed has known me as both a packrat and as a minimalist, and while he admits to preferring the latter (by far), he always looks just a little uncomfortable while I’m in purge mode. He does his best to make himself as small as he can (which is no easy feat for a guy that’s 6’2, 220 pounds) and stay out my way. I’m not sure what makes him more nervous; that I might throw away something he’ll later need, that I mumble to myself so frequently while in purge mode, or that he and/or the kids/dog/cat might accidentally end up out on the curb with the recycling. Or maybe he’s just nervous about what jobs I might stick on him, “Hunny, could you just…” He’s already put together two new bookshelves for me, taken a trip to the transition house up the way, fixed the hinges on my wardrobe and – oh so kindly – done a handful of other little chores for me, even though Sunday was his only day of rest♥. Regardless, he’ll be happy as a pig in shite when I’m done and; ever the predictable little bunny that he is; he’ll reward my hard work with a new houseplant (that I’ll probably accidentally kill sometime between this and next spring) and a night out. That’s just how he roles.
Because I have such a big job still ahead of me – and knowing that I won’t be able to rest properly until it’s finished – my time allowance for other obsessions is going to be limited for awhile. Later this afternoon I’ll sit down and break up that big piece I recently promised/threatened, and I’ll start posting two or three parts of that a day as well as (likely) some older poetry pieces; even though I don’t really like posting old stuff. I’ll share with you what I write (if/when I actually find time to write) and I’ll do my very best to keep up with your blogs whenever I find myself with a few minutes to spare.
If you should find yourself in need of my attentions (for whatever reason) just shoot me off an email and I’ll get back to you ASAP. In the meantime, remember that I love you all and have a GREAT day!