I am a bag of chips (or as the English say: crisps)

Mother is a boiled potato, Travis, a pizza pie, Miriam, a glass of pop and Juliet a Cheerio.
Tim is a cracker with cheese, Richard a cup of coffee and my cat, seafood vittles.

What?! We are what we eat right? And for some it just happened to be the last memory I had of you eating or drinking something. For others, it was what food/drink my brain connected you with.

So, about me and the bag of chips:
From my seat, right now I can see three empty or half -eaten bags of chips on my left, one on my right and if I turned around completely, I would see yet another behind me, resting on the CDs. Oh, yeah and I wonder why I'm fatter than the Christmas calf!

Well, I'd like to think I have something interesting to say tonight but alas, I don't.

Toodles Bloggy

Put a sock in it yo

I'm sick of blog.
Blogs only say what we want people to know about. Sometimes I want people to hear my inner monologue before I've cushioned it.
I suppose there are times when I am able to speak the inner voice. Other times I am not.
This balance is what most would call a good thing.

Hmmmm.

I had a dream that I was leaving work with a colleague. I asked for a ride - he agreed.
Outside it was like "Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow" with black and white perfect streets and spots of colour for effect. However, the car borrowed was a 2005 - not a 1950.

On the way home he said: "Just drop me at home and you can borrow my car"
I agreed and then spent the rest of the evening giving rides home to all the Chinese people I knew.

I woke up to my alarm this morning in a panic - thinking I had forgotten to return my co-worker's car!

After relaying the dream to the person involved he asked: "Are you stressed about something?"

Why YES. Yes I am. Always.
(this was merely my inner monologue answering - my other voice said something far more trivial)

M O N E Y.

I try to not be stressed about it. I try not to get angry. I try to think positive and make active improvements. But lets face it, it don't go away. And Mama's gonna go ta da crazy house pretty soon where she be eatin' up all da biscuits and gravy!
(snip-snap, snippity-snap)

Mama need some sugar! Mama no wanna be all put up in dat crazy house!
(waves large hand in circular motion; pointer finger extended)

And right now, sugar = vacation with no worries on her back - and I mean none.

Ok, I was going to end the blog right there, but I must go on. I've now inspired my own insanity!!

I want to grab arm-loads of cash and run down Red River Road naked, screaming:
"MONEY!! I've got some MONEY!!
(throws wads of cash into the air in wild abandon)

Whoa. Time to end the blog before you all send the people with the white jackets.

Apparitions of your soul

It's funny how the past continues to visit, morphing into fairy tales with ghost-like impressions.

"Funny" really isn't the word for it.
Peculiar, haunting maybe.

I feel paralysed - trapped between historic reality and historical fiction. It's as if my life is a myth; a legend passed down and changed slightly each time the tale leaves the lips of the teller. The gist of the story remains regardless of which details are spoken.

Nothing makes sense today.



"Every moment marked with apparitions of your soul" is a line from a Sarah Mclaughlin song: "Do What You Have To Do" from Surfacing.

It's my blog and I'll cry if I want to.

PMS hit like Hiroshima on my way home - wounding many, killing some.

Ok, well I actually didn't come into contact with a whole lotta folks, aside from the patrons and staff of Mac's on Oliver & High. There I purchased healing in the form of chips and a froster.
Diet-schmiet.

Fat forever - here I come!
Man, this sure was the week for me. Self-esteem = 0, Body-Image - down the drain, Self-Worth - out the window. Uh, are blogs meant to be this depressing?
(note to self: never blog when PMS-ing)

Oh forget it. You know, depression is a big part of my life. I should embrace it whole-heartedly and, and,..uh I don't know where I'm going with this. See, "Verbal Diarrhea" is a very fitting title for my blog.

Ok, I actually wrote that a few days ago and just didn't get to post it.
I'm feeling a whole lot better today. I enjoyed the morning sun over coffee, conversation and some damn good homefries. M and E and me went yard-sale-ing today (almost spelled it yard sailing). It was my maiden voyage. I was a yard sale-ing virgin. Alas, I am no longer.
I didn't expect to find anything of interest, but I came home having replaced a few CDs I once had stolen AND I bought the tealights I've been wanting but couldn't afford. Papaya and Guava scented. Oh how heavenly! I can't wait to have a bath, light those babies and listen to some sad sad Sarah Mc.

Ok, it's time for me to go clean my favourite apartment in the world.

Cheers bloggy

Memoirs of a Pop Music Junkie

I feel great joy welling up within my soul when I listen to some good ol' 80's tunes.
(and if I knew in the 80's that I'd be referring to them as "good ol'" - well, let's just say: ick)

Def Leppard, Hysteria.
I saw the CD out of the corner of my eye, whilst shopping yesterday.
I grabbed it (as if it were about to run for it's own life) and raced t'ward the line of cashiers.
I tried to hide my shame from the 15-year-old at the till.
(what the hell does she care – the guy in front of me bought AC/DC Back In Black)
Placing it in my Audrey Hepburn bag, I left the store feeling like I had stolen hidden treasure!
I just couldn't help but savor the memory I have of myself at 14, dancing around with my air guitar on a sunny Saturday morning.
(reader asks: "is this woman on crack?")

I think I will entitle my biography "Memoirs of a Pop Music Junkie"
Oh, and get over it you hard-core Leppard fans! It's POP. What's "rock" anymore anyway?
(btw: I will most likely never have a biography)

Since I brought it up:
Does anyone out there envision that their life has such interest that someday, an eager young writer will discover them and passionately construct a prize-winning book about them?
Or better yet,. a young director will make the movie?

Oh shut up. I know you've had the thought.

Sweet dreams bloggy.