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!
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
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.
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!
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
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.
posted by Karikz at 12:04 AM
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