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Monthly Archives: August 2011

Day #134: Keepin It To Myself

The Story:

I’ve got a story but I cannot speak it

I’ve got a secret but these lips are sealed

I want to dance for joy

But my moves might betray me

I want to stomp in jubilation

But the vibrations would rat me out

*

Today was a good day

And tomorrow will be better

Don’t ask me why

I cannot tell you

*

My cause for joy could be misconstrued

My elation might not be understood

So I’ll keep grinning and hide my smile

I’ll keep jumping and jiving, but only in my head

So don’t ask what the fuss is all about

I’ll only shrug and feign confusion

*

Just as some things demand to be told

And we will bare them out with jostling abandon

Some things must be revealed cautiously

And we will wrap them in tissue and put them away with cedar

Presenting them at a later hour, or not at all

*

But in the confines of my four walls

I will do a little jig

Cloaked within the folds of my confidants

I will laugh and giggle

*

Because I have a story that won’t get told

And I have a secret that shant be discovered

 

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The Not So Fantastic Reality:

The above story was inspired by the following tidbits I encountered today:

ONE:      So a common problem I’ve come across since picking up this project, is experiencing something during my day that really bares revealing, but in light of the public nature of this format I dare not write about it. Sucky, I know. But I refuse to write about a subject that may run the risk, however small, of hurting someone I know or worse make me look like a jerk (which I sometimes can be, I fully acknowledge). Today was such a day. It marked something significant that happened, not to me, but it greatly affects me… if that makes a lick of sense. So this is my backhanded way of celebrating AND writing about it without actually… writing about it (see how that works?). Anywho, it was a good day, and like the poem said I expect the days to follow to be even better. And, if you are just dying to know what in tarnation I’m yappin about, feel free to message me on Facebook, I’ll let you in on it… maybe.

Ooooo.... sooo mysterious

Love & Squirrels.

Day #133: Yogaahhh!

The Story:

“Well, I think that should about do it,” Fern stood up, dusted off her hands and headed towards the locker room.

Looking up from downward dog, Gina watched her friend grab her yoga mat and walk out of the room. It had been all of three minutes since the class began.

YOGA: YOU'RE DOING IT WRONG

Thirty minutes later, Gina entered the locker room to find her friend combing her freshly washed and dried hair in front of one of the vanities in the dressing room. Wiping the sweat from her face, Gina sat down next to Fern and asked with no small amount of confusion, “Fern, what gives?”

Blinking her eyes in rapid succession Fern creased her brow into an expression that said, but whatever do you mean?

“Um, you were in class for like two minutes and then you just vamoosed. Are you ok? Did you hurt yourself or something?” Gina continued.

“Oh! Oh no, don’t be silly. It’s just that I only ever do anything for three minutes now. It’s this new “live in the moment” regiment I’m trying. So instead of wasting a bunch of time on one thing, I do something for three minutes and if I like it then I’ll keep going but if I don’t then I move on. It’s really been an eye-opening experience. I’d encourage you to try it,” Fern said a little too haughtily for Gina’s liking.

“So let me get this straight. You try something for three minutes, and then, if you don’t like it you just give up?” Gina asked, still a little bewildered. Fern had always been a little, ‘eccentric’, always willing to try the newest thing out there but this newest craze seemed a little crazy even for Fern.

Fern shook her head in sympathy at her friends’ misunderstanding. In the condescending tone she had recently acquired (about the same time she adopted her new ‘lifestyle’) Fern replied, “It’s not giving up, Gina. It’s living in the moment. Why waste my time, my life really, doing something I have no interest in? Scientific studies have shown that it only takes approximately three minutes to determine if you like or dislike and activity or new sensation. Once you know how you feel about something you are empowered to act. And when I decided I didn’t like yoga today, I acted. I left. It’s just that simple”.

“I see,” Gina replied, too stunned to say anything else. Man, Fern had really set sail on the whackadoo express this time. Taking a few more seconds to gather her wits, Gina continued, “So this ‘live in the moment’ thing, does it apply to people too?”.

“I’m not sure I follow,” Fern said as she put down her hair brush and tilted her head to the side as if to illustrate the authenticity of her bafflement.

“I just mean if you are spending time with someone, do you watch the clock and after three minutes do you decided whether or not you wish to stay in their company or are people exempt from this dogma?” Gina asked innocently.

“Oh Gina, nothing is exempt from the teaching. So I suppose that people also fall within the three minute rule. Honestly, Gina, I am learning so much about myself and life since adopting and apply this teaching. You really should give it a try,” Fern reached over and placed her hand on top of her friends’ in a way that felt rehearsed and not at all like the Fern that Gina knew.

“You know what. I think I might. I think I’ll try it right now,” Gina said and then, pulling her hand out from under Fern’s she checked her wristwatch for the time. Watching the seconds tick away for about 27 more seconds, Gina abruptly stood up, gathered her belongings and made to leave the locker room.

Confused by her friend’s strange and sudden behavior, Fern started after her and asked, “Gina, where are you going?”

Turning just as she reached the door, Gina pasted the same confused expression her friend had used just a few minutes earlier Gina replied matter-of-factly, “Well that conversation took exactly three minutes and I decided I didn’t like it. In fact, I didn’t like the ‘new’ you. So I decided to move on. Life’s too short, right?” and with that she let the door swing closed behind her.

“Crap,” Fern said as she sunk onto one of the benches in the locker room entryway. Tossing her head back in frustration, she began reading one of the flyers pinned to the cork board above her bench, “Change your life and the life of others through massage therapy! Your hands could be healing hands.”

“Hmm,” Fern thought, “massage therapy, I think that’s exactly what I am meant to do!”. And without another thought she ripped one of the tear-aways with contact info off of the flyer and happily trotted out of the locker room.

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The Not So Fantastic Reality:

The above story was inspired by the following tidbits I encountered today:

ONE:      I tried yoga today. Not real yoga, but the DVD kind where you stare at some lady in clingy clothing with a mesmerizing voice as she shows you have to stick your butt in the air AND breathe all at the same time. Well, I made it into the lesson about three minutes before deciding… this was for the birds. I really wanted to like yoga. Just like I really wanted to like swimming, running, tennis, volleyball…well you get the gist. And to be honest, it’s really not that I don’t like yoga. It’s that it hurts. I know, lame right? I agree. Unfortunately for some years now I have developed quite a weak wrist, I have a sneaking suspicion I have carpel tunnel syndrome from my years of computer work (she said as she typed on her laptop). I am reluctant to go to the doctor for this because A) I hate going to the doctor B) I don’t want to confirm that something is actually wrong with me C) I hate going to the doctor. Despite these very valid reasons, I may have to make an appointment seeing as I cannot put any pressure on the joint of my right wrist. Since almost all yoga poses seem to involve supporting your body weight on your hands in knees, I had to cut the session short.

My yoga instructor... at least for three minutes

TWO:    I included a little something about massage therapy because I really want a massage and I’m hoping le boyfriend will read this in short time and feel a sudden urge to rub his girlfriend’s shoulders (not holding my breath though).

Love & Squirrels.

 

Day #132: Day’s End

The Story:

Everyone remembers where they were. Everyone remembers what they were doing in the moments before. And everyone remembers what they did the following day- it was a Tuesday.

No one talks much about it much anymore. Of course there was the initial shock, the desperate cries of outrage and confusion, the demands for explanation and something (or someone) to blame. In those early days, the scientific and academic community manically set its jaws into rooting out the cause and the ‘why’ of it all. I believe they are still scratching their collective heads these twenty-five years later. The religious zealots qiuckly set upon the remnants left by science, gnawing away and proclaiming that it was all God’s will.

Left with the choice of Science’s ‘inconclusive results’ and Religion’s dogmatic certainty, the world collectively shrugged its shoulders and continued to spin. As the days became weeks and the weeks became months, we did what we always do, we moved on. We cut the crusts off of our peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. We complained about the traffic or how crowded the trains were becoming. We got our hair cut and left the sideburns a little too long. We focused on reestablishing our sense of normalcy,  honed in on the mundane. What else could we do?

Some of the old timers blame it on my generation. They say we grew complacent and complained too much. Maybe that’s true, but I don’t believe we were the reason. If I allow myself to drift down that road of thinking it will only take me to a dead end, a cul-de-sac of guilt, the kind that doesn’t wash off and stinks of the obliviousness of the self-entitled. I’ve traveled that road before, in the beginning (after all, didn’t I wish for what happened like so many others?). No, I can’t believe we were the reason. To be honest, I don’t believe there was a reason.

Things are almost back to normal now, or what my brain has tricked my memory into believing is normal (is there really a difference?). There are a few obvious changes, of course, no one denies that. For starters, everyone suffers from a tinge of vertigo from time to time. Most of us have grown accustomed to this after living with it for so long, the tunnel-vision and swaying are no more strange than blinking or sneezing. I do not envy new parents, however, as they struggle to prepare their bouncing bundles of joy for a world that will randomly pitch them forward or spin them round as it sees fit, but it appears the infants adapt quickly enough.

People don’t seem as concerned with time as they once did. I suspect they feel betrayed by it. I feel that way sometimes when I see an old advert for a wrist watch or alarm clock. I belive it only makes good sense to be wary of something that so carelessly misused the trust we all placedwillingly at its doorstep.

I suppose the most obvious change from the old days is the complete abandonment of the term ‘Monday’. Deleting this term fr0m our collective vocabulary was perhaps the first unanimous decision made by the entire citizenry of the world. If one were to consult a calendar in today’s world (if you could find one) you would read the days of the week as follows:

Sunday     First Tuesday      Second Tuesday       Wednesday     Thursday       Friday                Saturday

The memory of that day is still too potent to speak its name. I believe it will always be that way. We humans are a funny breed, when confronted with a global calamity we first try to understand it and if that fails, we ignore it. It simply didn’t happen.  I’m just pleased as punch to keep it that way too, what’s the point of taking something apart when you know you won’t be able to fit the pieces back together again? Well that’s how I feel about it, anyway.

Of course there are a few out there who are determined to stir the pot. I mostly ignore them, though. I don’t burden my mind with their propaganda. I have no use for it. I stock my pantry, boil my water and continue to try and forget. Forget that on a Monday, 25 years ago we lost more than half a day. Without explanation and without a trace of warning time skipped from 2:02pm EST Monday, August 29, 2011 to Tuesday, August 30, 2011 at 8:00am EST on the dot. Time literally fast-forwarded through half a day and picked up a little less than 18 hours later. And we still haven’t recovered.

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The Not So Fantastic Reality:

The above story was inspired by the following tidbits I encountered today:

ONE:      Ever have one of those days that you wish would just end? Funny how they usually wind up landing on a Monday, eh? That was the kind of day I was having today. Finally, around 3:30 or so, it got to the point where I just had to close my door and pray for 5:00pm to come quickly. Boiling point. I even posted a status to Facebook to the tune of, “Day, isn’t it about time you ended?”. Even when the work day came to a close my ‘bad day’ seemed to follow me home. Note to self: Do not dye your hair on a Monday, or any other day when everything seems to be going against you. Honestly the hair isn’t that bad, it looks like a wasted half-hour and smells like Sally’s Beauty Supply, but whatevs. So as I’m rinsing the dye out of my hair (and wondering if there was any in there in the first place, seriously my hair looks exactly the same) I started to think about what would happen if I got my wish- what if the day just ended when I said so? Other than perhaps making a lot of other people happy (not a good day in Facebook land apparently) having a day come to a screeching halt and then everything just picking back up the following morning would be a major game changer, don’t ya think? What do you think would happen if time just fast-forwarded 18 hours? Would we notice? Mull that over while I go and actually end my day, the traditional way, with some Zzzz’s.

And how.

Love & Squirrels.

Day #131: By the Power of Zeus!

The Story:

“Zeus? Zeus, are you even listening to me?” Hera shook her head at her lackadaisical husband. After trying unsuccessfully to discuss how brazen their son Ares had become recently, Hera realized she’d get nowhere with him as long as he had that thing wrapped around his neck. Gathering the folds of her toga Hera left in a huff mumbling in agitation.

One could hardly blame the queen goddess for being a bit ‘put out’ with her husband. Suffering from a strained shoulder after a particularly busy afternoon tossing thunderbolts at mortals, a favorite pastime for the god, he had been even more insufferable than usual. Finally, unable to tolerate his whining any longer, Hera sought out Asclepius to produce a poultice for her achy husband. The god of healing whipped up something in no time and quickly delivered a soothing mixture of cinnamon, clove and eucalyptus sewn into a pouch of the softest velvet and silk. Asclepius instructed Hera to heat the healing pouch of medicinal herbs until it was warm to the touch and wrap it around the offending shoulder and back of the neck.

Thanking Asclepius for his quick work, Hera set out to deliver the wrap to Zeus immediately. A little wary at first, Zeus allowed his wife to wrap the heated pouch around his neck and shoulder. As the soothing aromas of the herbs and the heat of the wrap set in, Zeus began to feel the tension drain out of him. His entire body relaxed and soon he was drifting off to sleep.

That was a week ago and Zeus had hardly done a thing but sit with his medicinal pouch wrapped around his shoulder or neck. Hera was pretty sure the pain had left him some time ago, he was a god after all, but he flat out refused to be without that damnable herbal pouch slung around his neck. This of course meant that Zeus’ napping frequency had increased ten-fold, to the point that he was neglecting many of his duties as  father to the gods.

“I don’t see what all the fuss is about,” Zeus thought to himself as he suppressed a yawn. “If I want to catch a few winks, what’s it to her?” he thought contemptuously. Reclining a bit further on his chaise Zeus shifted his satchel of thunderbolts to his side, holding on to the strap with one free hand. Allowing his eyes to fall shut, he breathed in deeply the aromatic fragrance of clove, cinnamon and eucalyptus and let slip a contented sigh.

Soon, Zeus was fast asleep. As he slept, he turned on his side and in so doing let his satchel of thunderbolts go a bit slack. Slowly, as the god dreamt, one of his treasured thunderbolts began to slide loose.

 —

Meanwhile, on earth…

“Come on, baby. You know I love you,” Antony purred to the pretty but reluctant dairy maid he had somehow convinced to leave her cows and join him in the sun-soaked pasture. The milk-maid frowned at his over-zealous proclamation. Okay, so she wasn’t quite as dull-witted as her charges, Antony thought and quickly changed tactics. “How about this. What if I swear to Zeus himself that my intentions are honorable?” seeing that he had perked her interest, after all only the suicidal would break an oath with the father of all gods, Antony continued. “Dear girl, I swear to you and the father of us all- Zeus the powerful that my intentions are nothing but honorable. Should I be lying, let Zeus himself strike me where I stand with his most powerful thunderbolt!” and he raised his hands and face to the cloudless blue sky.

KA-BOOM!!!

Screaming in terror, the singed milk maid pulled up her skirts and fled past a pile of ash which had been Antony only seconds before.

“Zeus! You nincompoop! You did it again!” Hera was only a little disgruntled over the puny human’s death but saw it as an opportunity to nag her husband away from that annoying wrap once and for all.

Zeus only half heard his wife as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes and took stock of his satchel. Sure enough, he was missing one of his thunderbolts. He really should get a better clasp for that thing, this was the third ‘accidental’ lightning strike in as many days. Shrugging his shoulders, Zeus ignored his wife and rolled over offering only one word in his defense, “Oops”.

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The Not So Fantastic Reality:

The above story was inspired by the following tidbits I encountered today:

ONE:      A few days ago I acquired a strange soreness in my left shoulder right behind my shoulder blade. More than likely it is due to my constant sitting and terrible posture at work but it got bad enough for me to try a few things in an attempt to alleviate the pain. So yesterday I picked up a therapeutic neck shoulder wrap that can be heated up or frozen depending on what you need it for. It also is filled with lots of yummy smelling things like cinnamon, clove and eucalyptus that once heated fill the entire house with their soothing fragrance. I love this thing. It feels so nice, like a warm hug around my shoulders and neck. It immediately relaxes me, to the point that I just want to curl up and sleep each time I wrap it around my neck. Ahhh…

new favorite thing...

TWO:    It’s been a month of bizarre weather for the U.S. of A. and even though Orlando has been spared (so far) I experienced a bit of the willy-nilly nature of, well, Mother Nature today. Walking to my back doors to call Joey inside I see a flash of light and simultaneously, KABOOM! a crack of thunder so loud and so close it rattled me. Now usually I am not shaken by a boom of thunder or strike of lightning, these are somewhat of a commonality here. What was so striking (excuse the pun) about this one was it was a bright and sunny day, hardly a cloud to be seen. I immediately shooed the dogs inside and stood staring outside wondering where in the world that had come from. I realize I live in the lightning capital of the world, but even so I got spooked today… it was pretty dang freaky. It was like Zeus misplaced one of his thunderbolts, perhaps during a siesta brought on by a therapeutic wrap filled with cinnamon, clove and eucalyptus? You never know…

Love & Squirrels.

Day #130: Dust Bunny Blues

The Story:

Creative Uses for Dust Bunnies: 

1.            Knit together for a unique winter scarf. Dye it fun colors!

2.            Grab your camcorder and record as these little darlins tumble across your floors. To add some flair, place toy figurines of cowboys, horses, and other western themed toys. Play on a loop during your next child’s birthday party for a great Spaghetti Western theme.

3.            Gather up all dust bunnies over a period of several months in the late winter. In a solution of one parts water two parts bleach, soak dust bunnies until bleached white. Wring any extra moisture from dust bunnies and while still damp, form into a large bunny shaped dust bunny. Let set overnight. Tie a festive ribbon around the neck and you have a lovely centerpiece just in time for Easter!

4.            Does heat leak out from under old doors or windows in the winter? Not anymore! Just stuff those drafty doors and windows and you’ll stay warm all season!

5.            For beautiful Christmas ornaments, dye your dust bunnies in several festive shades and shape them into tightly packed balls. With a needle and fishing line, loop through the top of the dust bunny ball to make a hanger. For a different look, dip the dust bunny ball in Modge Podge and then roll in glitter. Great craft activity for kids!

For more great crafting ideas, check out this month’s Crafting with Crud on newsstands and in major retailers now.

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The Not So Fantastic Reality:

The above story was inspired by the following tidbits I encountered today:

ONE:      Before I go into the details behind the story above, let me preface by saying I really really really hate housework. I mean hate it. Especially dusting. You would think, if you were to go by any of those commercials or old movies, that dusting was an activity that women enjoyed. There they were, in their tailored blouses with their Peter Pan collars, their A-line skirts perfectly pressed, up on tippy-toe in their sensible yet feminine heels gaily dusting what already appeared to be a pristine countertop or bookshelf with their immaculate feather duster. Yeah, either I’m doing it wrong (likely) or those advertisements/movies were the creation of a man (more likely).

Pep this...

So today, I decided it was high time I gave my bedroom a thorough cleaning- which primarily meant cleaning off the layer of dust that had settled on everything in there. Seriously, where does this crap come from (and no, I don’t really want to know)? It was everywhere, and in massive quantities. After what seemed like half a day of dusting my dresser, baseboards, cedar chest and window sills, I decided to tackle the space under my bed. Holy cow, it looked like something from a Sci-Fi movie under there. Everything was covered in grey gobblygook. Gross. For a second I wondered, what if I could just gather these things up and turn them into something useful, like a really itchy scarf or something? Man, I really entertain myself sometimes. Shaking my head at my momentary silliness, I hefted my Dust Buster high above my head and vowed these dust bunnies had finally met their match. Hours later (ok, it may have been less time, but who’s story is this?) the dust finally cleared and I emerged victorious. Those nasty critters didn’t have a chance. Of course I was sneezing and blowing grey stuff outta my nose for the rest of the day, but I consider it a small price to pay to finally be rid of the monsters living under my bed- dust bunnies.

Love & Squirrels.

Day #129: Sofia’s Soundtrack

The Story:

“What are you talking about? I’ve never even spoken to him before, how could he possibly be in love with me?” Sofia whispered across the cubicle partition to her ‘cube mate’ Daria. After three years of working within five feet of each other, separated only by the recycled particle board and plastic panel lovingly referred to as the “Berlin Wall”, Sofia and Daria had grown to be quite close. So it can as quite a shock when Daria let fly that William, the dark-haired enigma located in the corner cubicle, chose to break his monkish silence last week to confess to her his unrequited adulation of none other than Sofia.

“I swear, Sofia, he was quite adamant. It was actually very touching,” Daria whispered to her friend who had yet to pick her jaw up off of the floor.

“What I can’t understand is how you got him to talk at all, let alone profess his love for me,” Sofia stole a glance over to the corner cubicle that, thankfully, was empty at the moment.

“That’s actually kind of a funny story,” Daria admitted raising her voice a bit. “I was in the mood for sushi, so I went up to that little place around the corner and who should I see but William. There he was, sitting all alone at the sushi bar so I figured I’d grace him with my presence,” Daria batted her eyes and gave a pin-up pout- a show of self-mockery at her usual brazenness. “So there we were me and Mr. I-probably-don’t-know-the-sound-of-my-own-voice. Well you know me I couldn’t shut up, poor man. Even if he had wanted to I doubt he could have gotten a word in. All my chattering must have made him nervous though because before you could break a pair of chopsticks he flagged down the little girl serving us and ordered a bottle of Sake. Well that stuff certainly loosens the lips, boy howdy! It wasn’t fifteen minutes before he told me about his crush on you. He was actually a little surprised that you didn’t know actually,” Daria continued.

“He was? But how would I have known? I pass his cubicle every time I need to visit the Ladies Room and he’s not said word one to me in three years,” Sofia said with obvious confusion, after all she had noticed him right away and even tried to flirt in the early days. When her signals went unanswered she chalked it up to disinterest and stopped trying.

“Well I don’t know about all that, but he did say something like if she would only listen or something weird like that; I don’t really remember all the details, on account of the Sake. But I tell you what, once I got that boy atalkin’, OOO EEE! He practically talked my ear clean off!” Daria said with a flourish causing the other members of the office to pop their heads up over their cubicle walls like disgruntled prairie dogs.

“I don’t know, Daria. It looks like both of your ears are still tightly secured to your head from here,” a voice like cool water said from behind the women. William allowed a playful smirk to wander into the corner of his mouth as he looked from Daria to Sofia and said, “Good morning, Sofia”. Smiling again at the stunned women, William continued on to his corner cubicle.

“Oh my God!” Daria whispered through the Berlin Wall. “Can you believe that just happened? You have to go over there and talk to him, Sofia,” Daria basically yelled through the particle board.

But Sofia was not there.

“Hi William,” Sofia released each syllable as if it were a precious gift she was unsure of bequeathing.

William turned slowly in his ergonomic chair and blinked a few times before trusting his eyes that yes, in fact, there stood Sofia, speaking to him. Cripplingly shy his entire existence, it had only been a few short months since he had begun a regiment to prepare him for this moment. Smiling (a sensation that still felt foreign on his face) William held up one finger and with his other hand turned up the song that was playing from his computer speakers.

With a single prompt, something as subtle as a forefinger touching an ear, Sofia understood that William had asked her to listen. And so she did, even allowing her eyes to drift closed. With the noisy florescent lights now dimmed to a red glow behind her eyelids, the words almost leaped out at her,

“…I know it’s kind of strange

But every time I’m near you

I just run out of things to say

I know you’d understand

Every time I tried to tell you

The words just came out wrong

So I’ll have to say I love you in a song…”

Opening her eyes in wonder, Sofia would have sworn up and down that the lyrics sung by Jim Croce through those staticy little speakers were spoken lovingly by William himself.

Seeing that she understood, William felt emboldened and spoke to the object of his affection for the first time, “I played that every day, hoping you would hear it. Well, actually I played that and some other songs too, but they all were speaking directly to you”.

Thinking for a minute, Sofia began to recall all those trips to the Ladies Room and sure enough, there was a soundtrack to go along with it. “Did you by chance play Junk of the Heart, by the Kooks?” Sofia asked, her voice taking on an ‘other-world’ quality.

Letting a chuckle of released tension and relief escape, William nodded excitedly.

“That’s one of my absolute favorite songs,” Sofia said in somewhat disbelief. “Would you like to… that is if you wanted to- would like to go to lunch with me?” Sofia half expected him to decline thanks to her obliviousness for the last three years.

“I’d love to,” William smiled, noting that his facial muscles might as well get used to the sensation… he had a suspicion they’d be getting a lot more use in the future.

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The Not So Fantastic Reality:

The above story was inspired by the following tidbits I encountered today:

ONE:      So this one kind of took on a life of its own (that seems to be happening a lot lately, hmm). Anywho, while counting down the minutes to the weekend and finishing up some things in my office, a song came on my 8tracks.com mix that got me really jazzed. I was bobbing my head, bouncing in my chair and really a-tapping my toes. Then another, equally fantastical tune came on, a little joint called “Junk of the Heart” by the Kooks. As some students walked by the lyrics “I just want to make you happy” danced out of my speakers and for some reason that gave really struck me as funny. I don’t know, somehow my brain took that incident and spun it into the story of a shy cubicle worker using song lyrics to profess his love for a fellow worker, unable to get up the nerve or find the right words to tell her himself. I really liked that idea, talking through someone else, using music to literally communicate with someone, not a far stretch if you ask me- music speaks to us all in a way, doesn’t it?

Love & Squirrels.

Day #128: Buzz Off!

The Story:

The Line:                             “You want to BEE my queen?”

The Response:                 “BEEat it, loser!”

*

The Line:                             “You must taste like honey, cause you’re so sweet.”

The Response:                  “You must BEE buzzed if you think you have a chance.”

*

The Line:                             “Will you BEE mine?”

The Response:                  “Get away, you’re giving me hives.”

The Line:                             “Lady, you are the bees knees!”

The Response:                  “Seriously? You must be one of those bumbling bees…”

*

The Line:                             “Hello, honey!”

The Response:                  “Buzz off!”

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The Not So Fantastic Reality:

The above story was inspired by the following tidbits I encountered today:

ONE:      On my short walk from my building to the parking lot, I picked up an unusual admirer today. The minute I stepped outside I was greeted with a very persistent honey bee. With every step forward he would buzz right along with me, mere inches from my face. I tried to ignore him at first, expecting he would realize I was no flower and be on his way. Well, either his sniffer was off or I smelled a lot better than I realized because he would not let up. Even with I juked left and then jived right he was right in sync with me. His hounding was beginning to grate on my nerves, as I didn’t want him for a passenger on the trip home and I was beginning to feel a little ridiculous at this point, dancing with a bee. Finally, in my haste to rid myself of this buzzing suitor and to be left to myself I might have, kinda lost it a teensy lil bit. “Seriously?!?!” I yelled at the poor winged-critter. I’m not proud of it, but he was really starting to BEE annoying. Well, I must have hurt his feelings because he flew off after that, to assault the next unsuspecting human I imagine. This brief encounter reminded me of other encounters I’ve had in the past, in my younger (thinner) days when I’d be approached by the opposite sex while out on the town. Those ‘men’, sometimes referred to as another type of insect (bar flies) amongst other things were equally persistent and lacking in fashion sense (horizontal stripes? Really?) as my bee-man today. The lines were about as lame as those above and I’d like to think the rebuff from yours truly was much wittier (though I doubt it) although I hold that I am no flower.

Love & Squirrels.