Singing and Drinking

I was at Saint V de P today doing something that I really shouldn't do. It's not a sin, but it really should be; I was buying books. I have a bookshelf in my little tiny apartment that is exploding with books and the last thing I need is more books. Anyway, I'm sitting on the floor trying to decide if I really need my own personal copy of My Utmost for His Highest, when someone turns on a radio playing oldies. At first I was irritated because it sounded awful with the elevator music that was playing over the intercom, but then the clerk in the back started singing. "Ooooh girl, come back to me . . ." he was good, he was LOUD, and he was even doing the falsetto parts.
I don't know about you, but I'm one of those people who sings in their car. I have seen other people doing this, so I know that I look stupid. I usually stop singing at intersections so I can pretend that I'm not being an idiot. Anyway, the situation in St. V de P reminded me of the last random car singer I rolled up on. This guy not only sang along, he also did air guitar while steering! Talk about multi-talented.

Speaking of talent, drunk people always seem to say things that have a mixture of wisdom and humor. Probably the most insightful comment I have ever heard came from a soused stranger who said, "Don't trust her! Too many sequins! So many sequins, so many lies."

After talking to me for a few minutes, a (drunk) acquaintance asked me, "Are you a vegetarian?"

"No," said my (also drunk) friend, "She's just weird. She taught me the difference between antiperspirant and deodorant."

Short Story: Distraction

It was an office, not unlike any of the other offices around the city. There were windows, visible to the lucky few cubes on the ends of the rows. Then there was Vera's cube, situated next to the row of manager's offices. Today she was lucky, someone had left their door open and precious slant of sunlight escaped, warming her back and washing out half of her computer screen. "I never realized your hair was red," Tracy dumped a large stack of paper on her desk, "The florescent lights make everything look so soupy." "What is that?" she pointed at the stack of paper. Tracy only offered compliments when he wanted a favor. "I need this entered," he smiled, a dimple appearing in his cheek. "You have a secretary," Vera waved a freckled hand to her left, "Ask him." "He's sick," Tracy gave her puppy-dog eyes, batting his long dark eyelashes. Vera sighed and fought back a smile. Tracy was such a s...

Perfect Quote(s) for Valentine's Day

"Lovers in the first stages of attraction speak in harmonic dissonance-echoing and remarking on things that make no sense to anyone but their intended." -George Hagen, Tom Bedlam ********************************************************** Evira: "Yup, the lyrics really are 'Your sex is on fire.'" Agnes: "If my sex was on fire, I would hope that you would call 911."

Poem: Calling

I keep sifting sand through my fingers, not feeling the grit of you in my palms. Did you skip out to sea like a stone, each kiss of the water a nix pulling you under, or are you always stretching out beside me, your shadow lapping against mine? The tide nestles up close to the shore, its corners tucked and turned under, in the shush and pulse of the waves, your voice is calling, me to you. __________________ We took our first trip of the Spring to Carkeek Park yesterday. Even though it was cloudy, it was still overwhelmingly pretty. One of my favorite poets always starts each of his books with a poem written to the reader. I guess that's my hope, too. That you (yes, YOU) will feel that I've been reading your diary and wrote this poem to spill your secrets. Or maybe you really are the "you" in my poem. Meanwhile, in prose land, I have just posted the next chapter of The Culling, and it involves . . . an octopus...

Refracted Neurons

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