Truly, what is more dangerous than a kitten with an automatic?

Perhaps this is one of Woogs' acolytes?

As I've grown older, I've learned more and more about what I want out of life - for both myself and others. Unfortunately, the more I learn about what I want, the more I realize that most other people do not have a clue as to their own true desires. This, obviously, causes a massive amount of frustration, pain and confusion for both involved parties.

If my plans go correctly, by the time I'm 28 I should have my education finished: An associates in Landscape Architecture, an Associates in Science, a Bachelors in Botany with an emphasis on molecular and cellular structure, and my Masters in Paleobotany.

So, my life career plans are laid out before me. I know what I want and how to achieve it.

What about my personal life plans? I enjoy my friends and try to keep them close (though sometimes I have a tendency to drop off the planet for a bit at a time). As far as romantic interests? All I want is someone, a partner, that is reliable, supportive and has direction (any direction...just as long as he has it).

Unfortunately, most people are so unaware of what they want out of their personal romantic lives. They jump and skip from one relationship to the next as soon as things give the barest hint of routine or trouble.



Where are the people that want something more than a surface level fling? Where are the people that want something that will grow with them over time and experience?

I am tired and cranky this morning. Tired of playing games. Tired of trying to guess what will crop up next. Tired of seeking and searching for someone that can weather this life with me (even if it isn't for the remainder of it).

There is so much more to a relationship, to other people, than simply sex. Why can't people see beyond that? There is that sense of comfort knowing that you have someone in your corner when you have a bad day or someone to share your enthusiasm for you when it is good. There is a warm nugget in the pit of your chest when you know someone so well that you can almost anticipate the next words out of their mouth, when you know their likes and dislikes and, yet, they continually surprise you with new pieces of themselves every morning.

In this time of instant gratification, have we forgotten that some things grow better, more deep and fulfilling, with the passing of time?



That was quite unlike me.



Um, erm, funny stuff. Um...Why did the chicken cross the road?

FYI. I'm fudging with my pallette today so if you see some funky stuff going on with the blog (like right now), just ignore it.

Here I am with a lined notebook in one hand and a steamy hot mocha in the other. Though the metal chairs outside aren't the most comfortable in town, the atmosphere at these coffee shops is so eclectic and varied that I can't help but come back time and time again. This is one of the numerous tales I have collected over time brought upon by my strange caffeine induced thoughts and odd encounters as I sit here sipping my coffee. I have to wonder, after writing all these things down, what they really put in those mochas that I spend a quarter of my paycheck on.

Sit back, girls and boys, this may be the longest post I have yet to submit.

Once again, the night stretches on and I'm outside enjoying the slight breeze. I can actually see a few stars out tonight and, quite frankly, that's a rarity considering all of the lights from the city and suburbs that usually make the night sky a flat gray.

My table is occupied by a group of alternative college students. I'm merely listening in instead of adding to the conversation. I don't really know anyone and I'm usually content to observe than participate in group debates. The topic of conversation keeps changing before wrapping in on itself and returning to the original point. It reminds me of a verbal braid: A starting point that separates into three different strands before weaving back into one. The myriad of changes makes the discussion (drugs, music, and latest relationships) more three dimensional and real. Of course, it's also a wholly confusing mess of gossip and trite entertainment news that has my head spinning. I go back for more mocha.

When I return, a new girl has joined the table. Her general demeanor and manner of dress is intimidating. Short, broad shouldered, and thick with a closely shaved head. Her high cheekbones are offset by a small mouth that is currently set in a scowl. She's wearing tight jeans, a leather jacket with more chains than leather and two sterling silver earrings in the shape of feathers that dangle all the way to her jaw.

She's talking to a skinny angular man that's sitting next to a petite brunette. He has spiky blonde hair and a starved look about his eyes, a loose fitting black sleeveless shirt and a small silver chain with a pendant of some kind that's hidden beneath the fabric of his tee. It takes me a moment to tune into the conversation.

Apparently, Leather Chick got into an argument with her girlfriend tonight. The girlfriend proceeded to pull a knife out on her. Being that Leather Chick is still quite whole and sound, I'm guessing the knife was either a bluff or a completely failed attempt at potential homicide. I'll never know because, at that moment, she turns to me and asks my opinion on what I've heard so far.

I'm not, by any means, a good conversationalist in person. When asked a direct question, I usually give a direct answer and that direct answer always happens to be the first thing that is circling around in my demented little head.

"Personally, you scare the shit out of me." I blurted out and silence descends on the table. I'm quite certain that I've committed some type of gauche social fax paus, but she only pauses for a moment before laughing. Whatever I was supposed to have said, this apparently takes the cake and she's more than comfortable with me for the rest of the night. So comfortable, in fact, that I learn of her purple monster - something that I wish I had never learned about.

Ah, the purple monster. Apparently, this is her dildo. He's a brilliant purple and even glows in the dark. I'm dragged into a series of tales that regale the advertures of her good ol' PM. For some strange reason, I can't help but sit there and listen (surely my eyes were the size of golf balls and I'm not even sure I managed to blink from the surprise of it all). I'm not a prude, by any means, but I had (at this point) never encountered someone this open about her sexual encounters - many of which would have been considered deviant by the more staunch members of society. It was a heady glimpse of an avenue of life that I have not ventured down.

I knew her name at one point in the evening, but have lost it since. I'm sure it's still knocking around somewhere in my brain, but I was more interested in her mannerisms, stories and unabashed confidence to retain it for long. The thing that impressed itself on me the most was her brash self assurance. She had a collected manner about her that went completely out the window when she spoke of her lover, a woman who was several years her junior.

At the mention of her, she became hesitant and unsure. She loved her. That much was apparent, but it was also obvious the relationship wasn't going to work out in the long run (the knife fight being a slight hint). Watching her come to these conclusions and stumble around them, throw up barriers against that epiphany and dash headlong back into her apparently characteristic tough girl demeanor made me wince inside, but admire her even more at the same time. It's something we have all done in the past - know a relationship won't work, but doggedly deny the fact until it finally pushes the self destruct button and blows up in our face.

We went from music, to knife fights, to lovers, and back to music once again. The conversations braided one on top of the other. It would have been a hell of a knot if words took physical shape. Crawling into bed afterward, I can't help but wonder what she went home to. Did her lover leave, become contrite, did they work things out or did she stay with a friend that evening? I'll never know because I have never seen her again.

I have too much free time on my hands with this pseudo-vacation. I now understand the term "stir crazy".

If I have to wrack my brains for one more thing to do this week to entertain myself, I'm going to grab an icepick and start chipping away at some random passerby's head.

For some reason, I've read Terry Pratchett all this week. This is also not a good thing for my sanity when it is already threatened by too much free time.

I'm getting visions of Discworld, talking tortoises, Music with Rocks In and wizards coated in coffee foam bubbles.





Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to walk three dogs (count 'em - three). If I don't come back, they went insane and dragged me under a three ton semi while chasing after A.) an innocent bystander, B.) a harmless bunny rabbit, or C.) a police officer - because Fate would like it very much to cause me ever more trouble, have me arrested, and summarily beaten to a pumpkin innards resembling pulp.



If you don't hear from me in a week, you are more than welcome to vote about which one did me in - A, B, or C. If possible, I'll try and return from the afterlife to answer your question. If not, I'm sure it'll be on the news...

"This is CNN. Tonight's headline: Girl gets squashed by a runaway tractor trailer after being dragged three hundred feet behind a train of rabid dogs. What set them off? What does the family say? More at 11."

Cue ridiculous and nonsensical commercial.

"We're back now with one of the witnesses. Ma'am, what exactly, in your own words, happened?"

"Am I on T.V.?"

"Yes, you are. Now, what did you see?"

"Is it live?"

[She starts to preen, pucker her lips and peek around at the camera man]

"Yes, live. Now, if you could just -"

"Hi, Mom! I'm on T.V.!"

[Lots of bubbly jumping up and down]

"Yes, um, as I was asking...if you could just -"

[Twirls hair, smacks bubblegum]

"Er, right. Back to you, Bob, for the weather."

[In the background I shall be rising from the asphalt - a newly decomposing undead - whereupon I shall wreck my vengeance on everyone within a two mile radius. Or, at least, I would except (with my luck) the tractor trailer wasn't put properly in park. Several seconds after stumbling to my feet, it would run over me again and no one, not even the camera man, would be the wiser. I wouldn't even get a little scream for my troubles. Damn it.]

And that, folks, would be my thirty seconds of fame. Where's my close up?