Something Wicked This Way Comes

Calming down after a long day... Man what a day! I am thankful for such an awesome job where I can stay busy though! It's nice to be able to stay busy, sure makes the day go by faster.

Just thinking about continuing the story. Let's see....

Chapter 2

Before my observation of Wiccan as I described in Chapter One, I recall a particular holiday in which we were at the same old smoky bar, and no...contrary to what you might think, I wasn't interested in getting smashed. It just seems that this is the local hotspot in the town that dreaded sundown. I'd come into town for the holidays and we decided to go out and listen to a live band and have a couple drinks.

Things were rocky with my best friend and her ex-boo, as she fondly referred to him. They were going through yet another trying time of his low self-esteem rearing its ugly head in the fashion of alcoholism and adultery. Yes, I said it, yes, he broke a commandment. Though it wasn't the first time, it sure was not the last, and I am sure the cycle still continues. History has a way of repeating itself. This is evident when you study the family roots. After spending most of the holiday begging my best friend for her forgiveness and begging her to spend the lonely holidays with him, and after several calls to him to no avail, she decided my invitation to get out and about didn't seem so bad. After all, it had been a while since we had been able to hang out. My relocation to the city, almost three hours away, has never had a bearing on our ever close friendship, but it'd be nicer to spend more time together hanging out.

Arriving at Hotspot...

Who were we to see rounding the corner as we pulled up to the local pub?? None other than Wiccan herself escorting the lonely holiday drunk!!! Yes, I am referring to my best friend's ex-boo. Note that she was in no kind of mood to refer to him as the boo, especially with Wiccan attached like velcro to his side.

Hours of begging, pleading, crying, threating to blow his brains out proved to be just that, none more than an attention-seeking threat. And there they stood, hands locked, posing like deer caught in headlights on a dark country road. Faces, completely guilt-stricken, as they both knew that they had been caught by the wife, her best friend and had been seen by all. Wiccan, dressed in some kind of floozy crocheted $2.00 halter top, smudged makeup, and too-tight pants stood, her muffin-stuffin billowing out of her britches, clenching ex-boo's hand ever-so-tightly, for she feared the wrath of my best friend. (And rightly should, I must add!) Hell hath no fury like a woman scorn! They attempted to make a quick getaway in boo and best friend's pickup.

The next thing I know, my best friend heroically flies out of the car and quickly intervenes, halting either slobbering drunk from wreckless driving and a possible DUI, for she warned them that there were police officers surrounding the parking lots and that no one, especially Wiccan, had better drive that truck.

They quickly scurried like rodents across the parking lot and hopped into Wiccan's Sin-Mobile. Astonishingly, Boo somehow found his way back to his pickup, only to drive endlessly around town, in his drunken state, once again, begging, pleading, crying and threatening to blow his brains out if the wife left him to live a life of horror with Wiccan. And on and on, the story continues, episodes upon episodes. But wait! It doesn't stop there! It gets better! For $19.95 and a set of cheap kitchen knives, I could spill it all tonight. Sorry folks, just don't have the time. Time to study for class and wind down for a long night's rest. Tomorrow will be a long day! Stay tuned.... for the rest of the Sitcom!

Pink Champagne on Ice

Another awesome weekend gone. It's late and I cannot sleep. Just winding down after an exciting day of ring shopping!! I should be sleeping soundly with visions of white gold and platinum and 2 carat diamonds spinning around and around.

But instead I find myself sitting here checking out fat funky feet pics and wondering how some people ever have the time to come up with meaningless tidbits of information that the rest of the world could care less to see....

My dealings with the world wide web are because I get paid to do it. It's an experimentation in the manipulation of information for me. Writing, on the other hand.... is different. Oh, I could write for days and days and tell a million different stories in a million different scenarios. Writing was always my passion. I am good at it. Not only can a writer write, a writer can also detect those who cannot. I guess those who can do and those who cannot....post meaningless jumbled up words.

Lucky for me, I don't have to sit and make up stories. I have plenty of crazy real life situations to write about. With my experiences, I can never run out of chapters!
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Bad Karma

Around 1996
I thought I could never have a friend so close. We met each other at work and instantly became best friends. She is the strongest person I know. She absolutely has the highest tolerance I know. If I were her, I'd have done something by now. I don't know what.... but there would be some sort of justice.

You are not going to believe the story that is about to unfold before you. It's so crazy that you'd think that Jerry Springer himself wrote the script. Not so though, this is one of those real live scenarios that keeps on living day in and day out, much to our astonishment!

It finally got so crazy that we both decided that we are better off focusing our attention on more important things like our upcoming weddings, but I decided to document this because quite frankly- it is all you could want in a story. It has its sad parts, it has its extremely unbelievable comical parts, but I guess the best part is because it's just like one of those things like the mangled up cat from Pet Semetary. If you can remember, the cat was ran over, smooshed, flattened, bloody. He was prayed back to life and instead of getting a sweet, plump housecat that they had adored before the catomicide, they ended up with a cat that was alive but pretty much like the walking dead. He was still bloody and mangled, missing patches of fur. You can imagine.

Well, that's pretty much how this story ends up-there is a lesson here. It's going to take me a while to tell it, especially since it has had so many recent chapters unfolding right before my very eyes. I am sure you can wait. Just don't let the suspense kill you, ha ha.


Chapter 1
The story begins in a small town bar. Lots of booze, smoke, rednecks. Did I mention lots of booze? Booze does funny things to people. It turns them into subhuman zombies who end up going psycho and more than likely end up on antipsychotics that most looney bins call MEDS for the rest of their lives. Do I drink? No, not really. It just never has done much for me. It's not a passion of mine. It doesn't set my heart on fire. I prefer to feel with all of my mind, body and soul. I have been through enough trama and tragedy myself, that I don't care to have some kind of vice to numb my pain. Pain goes away once you face it and control it anyhow. Am I on MEDS? Ha ha! Funny that you ask, but no MEDS for me.

So back to the bar.... Lots of people, same old faces for the last 15 years. Same old drunks. Sure glad I didn't stick around only to experience the local drunks become older local drunks. I popped into town to see my best friend and we got together with a group of girls and decided to go listen to some music and dance for old time's sake. I know there does not have to be a reason why I ended up in that awful place, but I did and that is all that matters for now.

And there she stood. I took one look at her. That's her?????? But she is so homely! Downright ugly, compared to you! There she stood, drab and plain, all hunched over. Giving her the once-over from afar, I decided her clothing was either a bad Spiegel catalogue mistake or...... she was a witch. Do I mean the kind that rides a broom and has a wart on the end of her nose and drops frog legs into boiling and bubbly cast iron kettles while spattering curses and chants?? Yes! No, just kidding....

No really, my first thought was she is Wiccan. It seeped from every pore of her body. Heavy practicer? Possibly, but I suppose I have just learned to be aware of these things after what I have been through growing up. I can spot one of those new agers from a mile away. Basically, it's an empty look in the eye. They have no anchor. They appear soul-less. Everything, and I mean everything is a spiritual battle. Once everything materialistic in the world goes up in smoke, I honestly believe there will be the battle of good vs. evil. And trust me, here I was standing there looking straight at the Wiccan herself, knowing what she had done. It's enough to make your blood boil, I tell you, especially if you give into that sort of anger. Quite Frankly, she wasn't worth my time or freedom, although anyone could have snapped her in half like a little twig. There is something about being empty and soul-less. It makes you very brittle. Sure, I have had visions of scraping a nose or two across a slab of concrete, but just like the cat in Pet Semetary, I think the Wiccan would just keep on tickin! Maybe a more appropriate example might be Death Becomes Her. In other words, she just won't go away. Some people just don't know when enough is enough. So I may as well document it, for good times!

So there I stood, another sappy country song started playing and the Wiccan and her posse were holding up the bar on the far side of the dance floor. I am a rail person myself. I'd just soon watch what's going on instead of participating. I'd rather hold up the rail anyday and be stone cold sober. Rings of smoke floated to the ceiling and congregated as a cloud. The beer, smoke and cologne-mingled air created a haze around Wiccan as she slithered around the bar. The nerve. There were some times when I really could have let my anger get away from me. It's probably a very good thing for all of us now. I turned to my best friend and i say, "She looks like a witch". She deserves what she got, I think to myself. She may not know it now, but she will. She will.

Test Run

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