Saturday, July 16, 2016

Etsy Can Trigger PTSD if You Don't Shop Responsibly.


Back in the Seventies, some people used to try to move out of the city to the country and set up little "hobby farms."

I think they tried to raise "hobby horses" and have lots of little girls they liked to name "Holly." Everyone was saying things like "There goes Holly Hobby on her Hobby Horse. She lives on a Hobby Farm." She always wore a gingham dress and a big prairie pioneer burka sunhat so you could never see her face.   And then some ladies started quilting her. It was all pretty genuine and innocent until some dude came up with "Deck the Halls with Boughs of Holly ...." and then it got kind of messy.

Tuesday, July 12, 2016



I had a Grade 2 teacher who taught us spelling.  She was talking about words that look alike but are different and she put up "dessert" and "desert."  Then she told us that we would always know how to spell them properly if we remembered that there were two "s's" in "dessert" because everyone loves a second serving of "dessert" but you would never ask for a second serving of a "desert."

I had so many questions, I mean after I managed to get over the WTF phase of the whole exchange.  I wondered if she knew that "bosom" only has one "s" when we have two of them??  "Balls" has two "l's."  We were heading for the seventies and women were strapping on their bras and going to Girl Guides and learning how to start fires.  There were wars to be fought and if she knew something that these women needed to know, she should have shared.

I learned a lot that day.

Tuesday, July 5, 2016

Teleporting, Will You Live To Talk About It?


I was out walking around today in places where I was not supposed to be.  Am I the only one who loves when you click on the link in a designers profile only to end up on private land where some disembodied something types you a message that you have 4 nanoseconds to get off the private land?  Like, how does a designer fail to notice that her store is no longer where it was last night when she logged off and why wouldn't she consider that a small little detail that might be important to share with her customers? 

Advertising 101.  Store owning for Dummies.  Let people know where your store is.  Have someone stand at the door and hug people when they come in.  Give them a sticker. 

Don't move the store and hire some hit guy from the mob to take out what might be your last customer just because they clicked on a link YOU provided.

And what is with this 4 nanoseconds. 

Friday, July 1, 2016

Stop Feeding Me Cough Medicine!!


I think nerdy kids carry grudges. 

They don't just grow up to be rocket scientists and heads of international labs and finding cures for cancer.  It is not enough that they earn a truckload of money more than the loser football star and the cheerleader who both ended up living in a trailer park and practicing variables of alcohol and drug insertion (some needle play possibly included).   Nope, these dudes and dudettes are exacting revenge.

Once there was a time when all medicine was a powder that had to be mixed in water and swallowed.  Or, it came in a brown bottle and had to be forced down the patients unwilling throat.  I know, the people out there trolling the internet to pick nits out of every sentence are already busy typing away, "how do I know the throats were unwilling?"  I will tell you.  Because the human attached to said throat has arms and legs that are flailing around, smacking outwardly at the other person trying to pour the medicine down it and then the teeth of that same human are clenched and possibly trying to bite people and then the mouth and tongue are spitting the medicine out.  THAT is an unwilling throat.  Duh.

But now, we have capsules and coated pills that slide easily down the throat without any taste transference and we have happy throats that are swallowing and co-operating with the healing process.  These methods have been with us for quite some time, brought on by a huge movement when the kids that were spoon-fed cod liver oil grew up and made money and gained power and position and lobbied government and killed a few people to make sure that they put that crap in a freaking capsule and stop trying to kill children in order to make them healthy.

Saturday, June 25, 2016

I Wail And I Gnash and Still the Dogs Howl.

tik tok 1 

THIS is a really sad day for me and not just because one of those crazy adult colouring ladies escaped with her felt pens and doodled all over Blissy … but with awesome technique … I would like to point out.  I  mean, if she were to post it in on one of those Facebook colouring groups, she would get soooo many "likes" and "loves" and maybe even some weeping.  IF they have added that emotion yet.  You know, the Italian mother kind of weeping when they child decides to become a priest or a nun or something.

It is a sad day because of the dogs next door which are howling in sorrow and sadness.  Don't argue with me.  I have recently found out I speak animal . ..  and I don't even whisper when I do it.  I figure those whisperers are just a bunch of fakes, afraid to speak out loud, because it is easier to smudge over a mistake in whisper talk than it is in real, loud talk.

You can shout out "chicken shits" right here if you like.  It will probably help you get through the rest of this post if you release some of the tension.

Sunday, June 19, 2016

It Could Be Bigger Than "Old Yeller."


There were abandoned farms and businesses all over the prairies.  City kids had playgrounds and community centres and sports complexes … we had old barns and abandoned buildings.

The first thing you did when you found an old building, was move in and stake your claim on the new club house.  Someone should do some serious investigative study on the correlation between farms kids and their old abandoned buildings and bike gangs and their club houses.  A lot of the same dynamics were definitely at play.  The places were dark, there were tables and chairs made out of old boxes and equipment, there were club insignia on the wall and the members sat around and drank.  In our case it was pretty much Fanta pop when we could get it, the occasional coke, and a lot of Kool-aide.  Someone was the leader and the rest of us were followers.  We weren't happy about it, but we were there none the less.  It beat talking to the cows.

Also we did not have hookers even though Donna Peterson did grow up to be a hooker.  In Grade 4 she had not yet chosen a career path and still hoped to one day grow up and work the french fry station at the famous Peter's Drive-In.  Even if she had identified herself as a hooker at that age, trust me, none of the boys would have known what to do with her anyway.


If we had motorcycles, we would have used them.  Instead, we had bikes, garden tractors and of course … always cows.  We hid them in the grass so no-one would know we were there.  Well, to be fair, we hid the bikes and the garden tractors .. the cows never stayed put.  People could see the cows but no-one cared about them.  They were blending cows ... they just acted normal and blended into the scenery.  

We were always vigilant about making sure everything about the club-house was secret.  God forbid someone should find out about us sitting around in the dirty, dark, old abandoned building and show up and try and . . . sit … with us … in the dark dirtiness.  We had secret words, secret codes, secret hand-shakes and membership was very exclusive ... once we found anyone who even cared enough to want to be part of the group.

We imagined we looked awesome … like Bliss in these pictures.  We hung around and tried to look tough.  I was big into trying to look beautiful.  I admit the old abandon houses were a bad influence.  I tried a lot of things in them . . . like make-up.  I was out of control.  But let's be honest, there was only so much that lee jeans, a hoodie, and a ski jacket could convey.  Still there were lots of hook ups in those early gang beginnings.  It was like everyone instinctively knew that the farm gene pool was shallow and the swimmers few and far between and we all felt an urgency to start early and hope for the best. The boys thought they were tough but the biggest fights were actually between the girls … over the boys.  Our biological clocks were set off at about age 5 and we were prepared to take the competition out if we had to.  It was survival of the fittest.  We all wanted a kick ass farm when we were through school.  

I guess I was kind of a pimp.  I tried to sell off my brother.  I showed pictures of the farm and the awesome couches and the new colour TV.  I wanted cash, or at least a bus ticket.  I even tried some of the make-up on him.  I beat up a girl to try and make her take him.  

Sometimes, when we drive by the country and I see old abandoned buildings, I get kind of nostalgic and wonder about those olden days when we were pretending to be gangs and acting like we were special.  I wrote most of the kids I used to hang out with letters after I left and told them they weren't . . . special, that is.  I felt it was important to put aside childhood things as per my Sunday School lessons and dive straight into the realism of adulthood.

I told the cops where all the bodies were buried and mentioned that Donna was a hooker.


I was never quite sure why I was never invited back to any of the school reunions.  For all I know, some of them are probably still meeting in the old abandoned garage.  It was the best clubhouse and was close to the school.  We used to hid out there instead of going to class and I am pretty sure some of the kids are still there.  I don't think they know that class is over, in fact school is over, and everyone else has gone home.  That's what happens when you miss math class long enough that you never learn how to tell time.  Maybe it is enough to live in the dirty dark and have secret hand shakes.  Maybe they are happier there than the rest of us.

Wow, did you have any idea how sad this post was going to end up being?  I am crying right now ... for the sort of sad beauty of it all .... a lost generation ... in the old abandoned buildings on the prairies ... living in the dark.

Where the hell is Disney when you need them?

SKIN:  New Faces - Brittany  [Summer]
HAIR: rezology  Volpe
EYES:  Egozy.Eyes Intense
LASHES:  Essences Perla
DRESS:  PaperMoon -Desire Slip Dress -  Red&Black
JEWELLERY:  LaGyo_Mareille earrings Set Gold

Monday, June 13, 2016

It's A Desert Out There.


I feel my sanity slipping away.  It is either that or I have become more objective in my self-observations.  I have no idea why, when I turn on the light and it does not work, I flick the switch off and on several times as if there is a possibility that I have done it wrong or that maybe if I do it in a certain way, the light will come on.  I like to think I am an enthusiastic optimist and refuse to surrender to "no can do" in any form.

Ya, let's go with that.

The most annoying thing though, is that the voice inside my head that is laughing at me, is that of my mother's.   When did I record that, to carry with me through the rest of my life?  When I packed my things to leave home, who put the tape recorder in??


Do we ever escape our childhood?  Family can be like a giant octopus that is forever reaching for us to pull us back into the total dynamics of the past.

I phoned my brother the other day and it was like we were transported right back in a nanosecond.  We both assumed our roles and carried on accordingly. 

Basically I called and his wife answered and I asked for him.  
"Is Biff there?"
"No, sorry, can I take a message?"
"I could call back, is there a good time to call him?"
"Can I ask who is calling?"
"His sister."
The voice dropped immediately.  "Oh."  Like she had just stepped in dog crap and realized she was talking to Satan, both at the same time.  "He should be in for supper in about an hour," said like she resented having to make the extra effort to breathe more just to speak them.
"OK, thanks, I will call back then."
S I L E N C E ….
Although I usually take advantage of prolonged silence to relax and meditate, or to hunt for my sanity, I decided to forgo it this time.  I tucked my yoga leotard back down into my purse,  "Alright then, thanks, see you, bye."

Is it possible that the dead can speak words?  Because I swear her voice was stone cold dead.  Not that we were ever best friends or that she ever indicated that she was happy that I was alive and infringing on her air space, but I could tell there was a human being behind the tone of her voice.  Had she died and no-one had told me?  My brother did love to stuff his prey … he had bears and wolves all over the house.  Nothing says "w3elcome, isn't this homey?" like a bear standing on its hind legs, mouth open in a roar, teeth barred, claws raised.

When I called back about an hour and 45 minutes later, my brother pretended not to know who was calling.  "Who is this?"
"Your sister."

I was calling from Austalia.  I had not talked to him in 3 - 4 years.  I could be 503 and not have heard his voice for centuries and I would instantly know it was him if he called me, but then I pay attention to life, even annoying life.  He clearly blocked it out.  Well, me, anyway.

It's amazing how it takes a nanosecond to be transported right back to your childhood, complete with all the sense memory and the desires.  I had forgotten how much I often wanted to punch him.  I wandered the house, phone stuck to my ear, searching for a pillow I could strangle. 

There is a reason we never speak. 

It works.

I said some stuff, he said some stuff, I don't think either of us made any sense or carried any kind of intelligent thread.  We were just throwing words into the ether waiting for enough time to pass so we could politely disengage ourselves from this embarrassing whatever it was and get back to our lives, pretending this had never happened.

We hung up.  


I went out to the light switch and stood flicking it off and on until I felt better.  Even though the light never came on. it helped me feel normal again.  There was no light.  I knew how to fix that.  I could unscrew the lightbulb.  I had money.  I could buy a new one. 

I am pretty awesome.

And then I had a long bath in bleach.

All better.

SKIN:  ^^Swallow^^ Sarah 08
HAIR:  [ Love Soul ] Hair*107*White Blonde
EYES:  Egozy.Eyes Intense
LASHES:  Essences Perla
MAKE-UP:  EYESHADOW - #adored - last night - smoke pack
GLOVES:  Indyra
TATTOO:  [White~Widow] Suspicion - Black
VEIL:  LaGyo_Melissa Fishnet headpiece
BOOTS:  ODDITY OVERKNEE -Shiffer- Leather Lace
DRESS:  V.e. Dolly Vintage Dress Violet
POSES:  Niqotine (NLA)

Sunday, June 5, 2016

We Aim To Serve and Protect.


I did a drive along with some cops once as part of a community awareness.

I can't help it if the cop's perspective of the incident was all caught up in the legal documents that said it was court ordered, in the hopes of helping me change my ways before it was too late.  I have my own perspective and it is my story and I am choosing happier meanings and outcomes so that I will not be all bogged down with negativity that makes me have cancer because I hold negative energy in my body.

Neither do I want to be the butt of those feel good posters that say get rid of the people who always bring you down with their sad stories.  So I just close my eyes tight and click my heels and imagine unicorns and rainbows and sparkles and you would be amazed what an awesome life I now have.


The ride along was an act of community service on my part - to bond with the police and understand their missions.  I had a bag of donuts, a thermos of hot coffee, and some cuddle toys in case they needed a time out.  I also had a clipboard and a number of suggestions to make.

I had a list of names of people because I wanted them to stop by their houses so I could write them tickets.  I just needed to borrow a jacket, a hat and one of their guns.  Police officers are not good about sharing their guns, I really think that explains a lot.  I had a lot of tickets I wanted to hand out and as long as I was doing a service for the community, I figured I could also take care of some lingering issues for me.  I am a woman after all, and multi-tasking is what I do. I was even being sympathetic to the police.  I knew they did not have tons of time to hand out these kinds of tickets.  That is why I was there, to help them help the community.  I would hand out the tickets and I just needed a drive to the houses, some clothes . . . and their guns.  I would even forego the clothes.  Just give me the guns.

 I figured the fine for being a douchebag to me in Grade 2, should have been at least 80, 000.00.  Again, consider the kind of policeman's ball that money would buy.  Altruistic me, again!   They told me there was no douchebag law, let alone a fine structure.  They questioned my proficiency with a gun and I pointed out that if they ran and I had to shoot them, missing several times just gave them more opportunities to realize the seriousness of their actions and to surrender.  It was a humanitarian thing.  If I managed to shoot them first time, then they could rest assured God had spoken and their douchiness had been reported by the angels. The police locked the doors in the back of the car and closed the cage window.  Am I the only one that sees the cracks and understands WHY the world is increasingly becoming more lawless and out of control?

How many people might have been stopped from a life of crime had they been ticketed with douchebagginess in their youth?  How many others might have been kept from snapping and going postal had someone douchebag ticketed their tormentors at some point?  It would have been evidence that the police cared and then people might not have ever taken to calling them "pigs."  It is a rule written somewhere that people who lash out are usually those who have been themselves, victimized.  "Pig" callers are just wounded victims of unpunished douchiness and the police are to blame for that.  It is the vicious circle of relentless douche which is much more moving and powerful than the Circle of Life, and you would see that if we could find some majestic animal to stand in silhouette on a mountain while someone sings a moving song about it.  It would help if Disney backed it too.

While I am at it, I think it is really rude that officers treat their patrol areas like one big theme park and the people are all petting zoo animals roaming the streets.  Cops think they can just stop and "pat" us whenever they want.  At least when they have petting zoo's with animals, the animals get fed and "petted."  We just get beat up or tasered.  Hardly seems fair.

Anyway, I tried to build a bridge between the police and the community.  I suggested they smile more,  get some new animals to ride, maybe camels or even an elephant, instead of just horses … to keep the community interested you know.  I thought it might be fun to have a jumping castle at the police station so while people are waiting to be processed they could work off some of that pent-up, drug induced energy.  People are less likely to hit one another, or to throw their faeces when they are laughing and having a good time.  Besides, jumping builds strong bodies and who can't use more exercise in their health regimen these days?  

Police officers could have dress up days and they could pick a theme for the week or something.  It would be really cool to see them in one of those two people get-ups . . . like a horse or a dragon.    And puppets, think how much easier the arrest process could go if you have a cute puppet helping to put on the handcuffs?

I had some really awesome ideas on that trip.


I think about these things because I care.

And also because sitting in my jail cell, waiting for my arraignment, there is not a lot else to do.  Jumping on the other prisoners does not have the same effect as the jumping castle.

SKIN:  .::WoW Skins::. Ramona Bronze
HAIR:  Paperbag.Twigs Hairbase
EYES:  Egozy.Eyes Intense
LASHES:  Essences Perla
OUTFIT: ** DIRAM ** Sophie outfit
SHOES:  BAX Ankle Boots Black Patent
LOCATION:  Playa Flamingo

Tuesday, May 31, 2016

All Hail Evolvement and the Unencumbered Breast.


Recently there has been a lot of arguing about the validity of bras.  Some are suggesting they are unhealthy for women because they restrict the lymph nodes and cause congestion which can cause some other serious health problems.  Others say that we are all just a bunch of stupid prudes and we should grow the heck up already.  One man has even done a study to show bras cause more droopage and nipple displacement than going braless does.

Of course, the lingerie makers, lead by a very angry, heavily armed bunch of angels and their fearless leader Victoria the Boulder Holder, are contesting all the ideas and insist they will never give up and are prepared to fight to the death.

I have a million questions:

1.  I wonder if the newly enhanced silicone army will be as enticed to enlarge their breasts if there is no longer any packaging to display said boobilage?  Sometimes a present looks much prettier all wrapped up with ribbons and bows than once it is opened.   Is a boob anything without the packaging?  Consider perfume in your pondering.  What IS perfume without the pretty bottle?

2.  What will we fixate on if we breasts lose their mystique? We can't go back and reinvent the wheel.  Does anything say mommy to men more than a breast?  And if we don't have it wrapped up in some kind of shrine . . . how special can it be? 

3.  How are we going to properly shame our daughters about their bodies and convey that they must cover up if we un-naughty all the naughty bits?

4.  Can we replace the "breastfeeding in public," debate with another equally compelling issue that will both be contradictory against women and something that right wing and left winger can disagree on in a way that they feel it to their very soul?  

5.  What are we going to "heave" in all those romance novels?  What is the point in freeing our "milk white globes with their aching buds"  if they have already left the paddock and feeling no pain?

6.  How will the porn industry survive if we normalize the breasts to the status of other body parts?  Think about the strip clubs, the titty bars . . . I am weeping now . . . we will destroy a whole industry . . .

7.  And the most important thing that no-one has even addressed in all of this ….what do women do with the things when they are hanging down to their knees and in the way of everything?  You could frighten some senior and end up unconscious on the ground if you really startled her from behind and she swung suddenly.  Some seniors would never be able to bowl or even golf … they could end up hitting a breast instead of a golf ball.  If they are swimming, doing the back float  . . those things could float off on their own.  And imagine rolling over in the morning to get out of bed and they fall on the floor and pull grandma out with them? 


I guess we could say, at the funeral of the grandma who died from injuries sustained when her breast got caught in mixer while she was making the Christmas cake,  "thank heavens at least her breasts were free, she was healthy otherwise, and she did not suffer from lymph node congestion."  While everyone cheers for the unleashed breasts of the young and nubile - I am not sure anyone wants to see those of the old and wrinkled.  It begs the question, "just because we can, should we?"

SKIN:  .Birdy. Devon Skin ~Butterscotch~ (melon)
HAIR:  rezology Fairytale
EYES:  Egozy.Eyes Intense
LASHES:  Essences Perla
Blush  Modish FaceBlush
Eyeshadow and Liner Elymode summer mix pink lemonade
Lipstick PF Elly
JEWELLERY:  [Pure Melody] Ibbie Set
BOOTS:  *GF* 2013 Valentine Gift Boots
BED:  Tarte
Chandelier:  Apple Fall Pearl Chandelier

Friday, May 13, 2016

Resting Bitch Face - My Story.


Resting Bitch Face, let's discuss.

I used to get yelled at all the time for not smiling more.  I was a kid of the seventies, living in a world where there was war and discord.  Women were burning their underwear just trying to get people to care about the fact that they were pissed about not getting the same opportunities as men.  People were having sex in the parks, with everyone else.  People were doing drugs.  People traded in their souls for Rock and Roll.  Elvis was hip swivelling and people were looking. 

I didn't do drugs.  I was not having sex.  I was not burning anyone's underwear.  I would have been happy to have a bra, I certainly was not going to burn it when I got it.  I was never into Elvis.  I was a straight A student who went to church every Sunday and sang in the choir.  And the tragedy was, according to my grandparents, I needed to smile more. 

Or I was probably going to hell.

It was a wonder they did not call for an exorcist.

Tuesday, May 10, 2016

Bright and Bold.


Awhile ago I posted a pic on social media of a fabulous group of older ladies dressed in an explosion of colours and patterns and styles.  Loved it.

I was surprised at the reaction it evoked.  Along with many who felt as I did, there were those who thought it clownish, a joke, and a tasteless display unbecoming for older women to adopt.  Someone remarked that older people are invisible no matter what they wear. 

I put my glasses on.

Friday, May 6, 2016

Travel Broadens the Mind.


I used to drive the little lawn mowing tractor around the farm and pretend I was in Paris, riding a scooter through the busy streets.

I would shout out "bonne journée" to the cows as I drove by and they would moo at me all judgemental like.  I could tell they were mocking me and saying, "THAT's not a scooter and YOU are no fashion model."  I would shout back, "jambes hamburger!" (hamburger legs!)

No-one cared back then that kids got bullied by cows.

Sunday, May 1, 2016

I Prefer Stumps.


You know living near the beach in a freaking hot country brings its own kind of problems.  (You may need to get a hanky for this one, or have a friend there to hold you while you weep.)

In Canada, we worry about things like, "if you don't put enough socks on when you go outside, you could lose all your toes to frostbite."  Then you end up with stumps and you walk funny.  People always blamed the cowboy boots and riding horses for the funny way cowboys walk, but the truth is they didn't listen to their moms, lost their toes to frostbite and now have stumps to walk on.  You try walking in Cowboy boots with stumps and see how funny you look.  (Please feel free to give a big shout out to moms here and the fact they do, indeed, know it all and should be obeyed.  Not MY mom necessarily, but me .. as a mom…)

Monday, April 25, 2016

Timeless Fashion.


Sometimes our moms made us wear pants underneath our dresses when we went to school because none of them wanted to ever have to go to the church weekly "quilting lunch kits for underprivileged kids" mornings and be the woman whose daughter froze to death in the middle of the prairies one winter because you sent her to school with bare legs.  The stigma of that was almost as bad as if you were the one quilter who could not make your stitches all the same size.  They made those women wear a scarlet letter.  Frozen daughters was frowned upon and some of those ladies were power frowners.

I still have nightmares.

Wednesday, April 20, 2016

Time Out - At The Beach.


It has been a bad week, what can I say?  You know there is the bad type of week where you recognize you are having a bad time and you need help, and so you stop and take yourself to the beach and spend some time walking along it, getting everything into perspective?   And you breathe in and out, deep breaths, and the world suddenly falls into perspective again and this rainbow cone of beautiful light suddenly envelopes you and unicorns appear and angels sing? You come back from those recoveries not only able to cope with the crap in your life but you can "ommm" your way through rush hour traffic or numerous herds of cows all over the road.  You can take the most hateful teenager and crochet homilies and life lessons into their brains in between the swear words they are hurling at you until you are both sitting down and eating homemade cookies and drinking milk and the teen apologizes, tells you they love you and that you are the best mom ever.  You even use your quiet inside voice with your aging mother when she tells you, again - the over and over type of again - that you look like you have put on weight and you should have married the minister's son. 

Saturday, April 16, 2016

Do You Feel What I Feel?


I have to ask, when people say things like "look great, feel even better" regarding second life clothes they bought from marketplace … what does that mean?  I have visions of people sitting there, putting the dress on their avi and then stroking their computer screen.    Do they know that computer screens are not like those books we had as kids … scratch and sniff?  I guess it doesn't stop people from trying.

Wednesday, April 6, 2016

High Definition.

hot pink 3a

I never got the whole deal with trolls.  I thought they were butt ugly and their arms didn't even bend.  Barbie bent.  I was into bending.  Blame it on Romper Room - " . . . Bend and stretch, reach for the sky …."

When you are raised in the wilds of the prairies of Canada, you learn things about life.  Like road kill.  I know stuff about road kill that no-one should know.  I learned that things that no longer bend . . . are probably dead.

We weren't allowed to undress in daylight.  Once when my brother got in trouble for masturbating I suggested it was so dark when we had to get undressed how the hell else would we be able to find "it" unless we searched for "it" with our hands. . . and then . . . If you have OCD or something . . . reaching for "it" repeatedly would not mean necessarily that you were going to hell . . . would it?

Tuesday, April 5, 2016

The Tail End of Life

red horse 1 

Despite some of you playing the new fun internet game of "guess how this picture ties in with what Biss is writing about," this is not a blog post detailing how I am a horses ass . . . at least not intentionally.  If I do my job well today I am hoping you will join with me in saying my neighbour is one.

I am pretty sure I am awesome.  I mean I like hanging out with me.  What's not to love about me?

Even if none of that is true, I kind of appreciate that most days I am allowed to seep in my delusions, without any interruptions from some bratty kid/brother/adult who is telling on you or telling you what you should be doing and how if you keep doing "that" you are going to end up just like your Aunt Judy.  (note:  NEVER interrupt the parent telling you that by insisting that you actually admire Aunt Judy, and she seems to be a lot more balanced and happy than the person lecturing you does.  Some enlightenment tidbits are best kept to yourself.  They are stardust sprinkles just for you!)

Friday, April 1, 2016

These Aren't Bees But ...


Hubby likes to make sure that he gets really natural foods.  We used to get our honey from the markets and a little stall complete with a woman wearing a bee costume, with black and yellow signage and a  declaration signed by some 1000 bees, authenticating that they have picked her picture out of a 12 face line-up as the woman who had indeed, stolen their honey.    She had bandages all over her body with penned wording and arrows stating "bee stings" and she had pollen on the end of her nose ... well we all hoped to God it was pollen, and we assumed, but no-one ever actually authenticated it.

She swore her honey was raw and natural.

I bought her Kool-Aid.   I totally was into it.  And I enjoyed her honey.

Wednesday, March 30, 2016

I See Dragons.

SEE 2 

I always thought fog was this really cool special effects that life sometimes gave us as kids, so we could play scary games and imagine monsters unseen, just beyond the trees where the fog obliterated our view.  It felt brave to wander off, wooden sword drawn, ready to do battle with dragons or demons ... Or my brother.

Turns out it is a scientific, nature thing.

I hate how they ruined all the childhood magic by making us learn science and insisting we did not have magical powers and that it is silly to be afraid of dragons.

I may have been awarded an "A" for putting down the answers the teachers wanted to hear, but I never let them take my soul.  I held on to my magic, AND dragons.