Tuesday, April 11, 2017

Dirty Laundry 68

I was out for coffee with my friend Marie. She's one of the girls who works at the occult store here in town. And she's been trying to talk  me into going with her to this convention in the fall in the states. I've been reluctant because, well that's just me. Anyways, Vegas was brought up again. While we were talking, she got a message via twitter from The Guy In Vegas, once again asking her to come out there.  Now, she's shown me his photo before, but he was wearing sunglasses and a baseball cap. So didn't recognize him. Then she showed me the twitter message, and the video attached pointing him out.

Me-:"Oh my god! He's The Guy In Vegas?"

Marie-:"Yeah, why?"

Me-:"You never told me HE's the guy!"   the guy - her guy, is infamous in the occult world and works for one of those reality tv shows. And dude, I've had a crush on this guy myself after seeing him in a documentary few years back. They met few years ago at one of these conventions.  Needless to say, my mouth fell open and I think I started to drool even. "Damn! What is stopping you from flying out there right now?"

Marie-:"Flying. I hate flying."    hence why she really wants someone to go with her. She needs to have someone pry her full of alcohol and keep her from jumping out of the plane to her death.

Me-:"Then take a bus. You need to go and like marry this dude. Now!"

Marie-:"I'll go if you go with me." 

Me-:"You do realize the second you hook up with this guy you're going to want to stay there."

Marie-:"No I won't."

Me-:"Yes you will."

Marie-:"Yes I will." she went five shades of red in about two seconds. "So you'll go with me?"

Me-:"Maybe."  

Monday, April 10, 2017

post it note April 10th 2017

Dear Mr. Scratchy:

I came into the blog this afternoon with a plan. By the time I got my coffee and opened the page to write, plan was forgotten.  It's one of those days where even though I'm doing fairly well, the quiet is getting to me. Not the physical literal quietness of the place. That's always a happy peaceful few moments in the building I live. But the everything has slowed down and I don't have any obligations, quiet. It's moments like this I miss hugs. Yeah, hugs. Sitting on the sofa with the guy, or curled up in bed with him, or even just those really long hellos or goodbyes when you're standing in the hallway just loving the moment with the guy.  It's these pockets of time that get me. The quiet.  It's one of those pockets.

The other day, I'd been out most of the day, was on bus coming home. Bus stopped in front of the bar and a stack of people got on. It's a bar, they stank of beer. Have I mentioned I hate beer. Well, anyways, this old guy who was like in his 70's at lest, reached into his jacket and pulled out a bottle of men's cologne and sprayed half the bottle on himself. Did I mention he was sitting right in front of me. Yeah, I wasn't fast enough to duck, and spent the rest of the day smelling of it. Short blessing that I was headed home and not going anywhere important.

Okay, so now I've made you laugh, I need to get back to the twenty or so projects I have on my to do list.

I imagine Herman, that you're checking in today after a long day at work. I seem to think you are having a bowl of vegetable soup for dinner. The canned kind at that. I seem to think you're reading this, craving marshmallow squares for some odd reason. I think you are wearing a pair of black track pants that you've cut into shorts, runners no socks, and a light material jacket. I think you just got back from a run. Don't ask why, just roll with it. I imagine you're sitting there reading this, seriously arguing with yourself about something your buddy said to you. Maybe you went to some random palm reader or something with them so they didn't feel so embarrassed about it. And I think the reader did your tarots for you, giving you some out of the blue information that you're unable to get out of your mind.  You want to ask my thoughts on the cards...and that's the inner argue.

Oh Herman; Mr. Scratchy. These post its might seem easy but trust me, they're not.
As always, dream of me

Tuesday, March 28, 2017

All out of cute media

I'm sitting here this morning, trying to figure out some stuff. Relationship wise, if you want to call my social status on social media a relationship?  If you've been reading this for any real bit of time, you've seen me say that my aunt who is a life coach and apparent social media goddess; keeps trying to get me to turn my facebook and youtube and instagram into my gateway to romance. Which, I'm sure, millions of people can do easily, suavely and not think twice about it.
The me of twenty-five years ago, probably could have too. The me of now. Not so much. 

My aunt has this philosophy that the average person has 10 people in their lifetime fall in love with them, beautiful people have around 50, and famous people have a few hundred. Now, add in social media and the numbers sky rocket. The average person suddenly goes upwards to about 2000, beautiful people in the millions, and famous people...why bother trying to count?
So, according to my aunt, just because of the invention of youtube and instagram, I should be sporting a score of 1550, give or take twenty.

Obviously, not the case, otherwise I'd be happily married by this point. Or at the very lest, running a fan page for myself on facebook.

I made the sad mistake of actually checking my youtube stats this morning. My results were nothing that could indicate my future husband was watching me, one handed.  I've always assumed my target audience were A ) wrestlers, B ) gay men, C ) male witches, D ) men between 28-40.   It seems, not the case. According to youtube, my core audience are women in their 50's.  Yeah, I don't know how that happened either?

I guess it's time to buy a new push-up bra and a tight black dress or something.


Saturday, February 25, 2017

Dirty Laundry 67

I just got a message from Marie asking me if I knew who the new tarot reader at the cafe was?  I didn't. Have to admit, little bit hurt to learn they hired someone new. Could be why my ears have been burning for the last 3 days, not too sure.  Could also be why I feel like something has shifted last few days. At first, I thought it was just where the temperature has jumped and the pressure has dropped. But, it would seem it's something more than just that.
I just finished reading a book, one that I had read 20 years ago. Found myself crying a lot for some unknown reason while reading it this time. It's not particularly a sad story, but for whatever reason, this time around it really got to me?

And if you're wondering, no I never did hear from Yoga Guy. Then again, I wasn't putting any stock into it. Not to say it wouldn't have been nice to finally get back off the shelf, but I knew the second Pussycat told me he'd tried to play cupid that nothing would come of it.  Love him to death, he's got a good heart. But really crappy taste in men.

Jane Austen once said "for a woman to find the perfect guy, she has to write him herself".  Fits right in with my Frankenstein themes.  Would you be shocked to know that I can't even hear myself think right now because I've got my music blasting in my ear phones? Have to, the neighbour's on the other side of my kitchen wall, are going at it like rabid dogs. Seriously, I guess someone took the blue pills instead of the red.

Wednesday, February 22, 2017

post it note Feb 22nd

Dear Mr. Scratchy:

Deep breath, letting my shoulders slump, eyes closed. It's been one of those days where I've taken in everyone else's energy.  Which for me, keeps me distracted from writing. My one real love.  Anyways, I keep being told to step out of my comfort zone if I want to actually change my direction in things. I have to confess something. I've been sober now for almost two years. Yeah. no painkillers, since April of 2015. Round the same time I stopped watching company number one actually. But I digress. Damn, I had been living on those things since I was 10 years old. So roughly 30 years of my life had been spent on Demerol and Oxycodone.  I've talked about my injuries so that's really not much of a shocker.
Stepping farther out of my comfort zone, which I'm sure will be laughable to you, but I spent the other day commenting on people's youtubes. I don't comment. Ever. I just panic when I simply think of leaving a comment and never do. It's got the same irrational effect on me as phoning a man does. Sets off a fear and cold sweats. So for the first time, I spent an hour on some of my favourite youtube channels and actually left comments. 6 goth fashion tubes, 4 cooking tubes and 1 wrestling tube later; embarrassment filled but lest I didn't vomit, so that's good.  I know, I've become such an emotional hermit, and you wonder why I blog so much?

I'm not sure why I continue to address these to you Herman. We both know you're more of a figure head now than an actual man anymore. Which pretty much seals it in stone you are/were who I thought you were back in 2008. But addressing 'to Herman's buddies who might have taken over the role' is a bit long to write all the time. But hey, there has been like 5 actors over the decades that did play Herman Munster so what the hell right? The metaphor is very fitting.

Anyways, Mr. Scratchy, I think you're checking in tonight, dressed in a pair of green boxers. Yes, green. And I believe you are wearing a black t-shirt with mustard stains on it. I believe you are sitting with a cup of coffee beside you and a plate of nachos. Yes, nachos. I think you're having a real relaxed sort of night. Maybe have a Doors cd on in the background.

As always, Herman, I hope I made you smile.

Dirty Laundry 66

Pussycat-:"Tell me how it went with Yoga Guy?"

Me-:"He never messaged."

Pussycat-:"Really? I'm sure he will still."

Me-:"Okay sure."

That's how my morning started. Smooth when you think about it. Then, Marie messaged, asking me if I've had any issues with facebook lately? 

Me-:"Haven't been in there in months. Can't say."

Marie-:"Can you please? I'm having issues with messages in there. I sent one to buddy and he hasn't answered. I need to know it's working."

So I did. Everything ended up being fine, the message to her went through, her message back to me went through. Smooth right.  Yeah.

Me-:"Why wouldn't he be answering? You get into a fight?"

Marie-:"No. Don't know?"

Me-:"Has he asked you yet this week about going to Vegas?"   This guy lives there, and about three times a week, he tries to convince her to join him.

Marie-:"lol"

Me-:"I'll take that as a yes. Why do you keep turning him down? He's going to stop asking soon."

Marie-:"Everything in it's divine time remember."

Me-:"Yeah, well I've got no mind for being patient."

Marie-:"So tell me about your guy?"

Me-:"What guy? You been chatting with Pussycat?"

Marie-:"No. Why what's going on there?"

Me-:"Nothing. He's been playing cupid so nothing."

Marie-:"No, I mean the one I saw the other week for you. The one with the light hair and the pink and yellow."

So this was one of those random moments Marie, who is a witch/medium was referring to.  I'm lucky to be accurate once out of twenty when I get those random tarot moments. But Marie, she's scoring 100% every time. This happened about two weeks ago, we were talking about her daughter in law, when she just started giggling and snorting back a laugh pointed at me and declared "there's a new guy, yellow and pink and he's got light coloured hair. Pay attention."   Which, of course could mean anything. So I'm suppose to be on the watch for a guy with either light brown hair or dark blonde hair or red hair or white hair or dyed pink and yellow for all I know?

Me-:"Nothing. I'm starting to think that all the straight single men on the planet have been vacuumed up into oblivion."

Marie-:"This new guy, he's a keeper so keep an eye open."

Me-:"Eye open for a flamingo got it"

Monday, February 20, 2017

Dirty Laundry 65

My phone rang. Scared the life out of me cause other than my mother, everyone else texts. So it rang, and the caller id said it was the hospital. I went to full on panic mode. Ended up being Pussycat.

Me-:"What happened?"

Pussycat-:"What. Nothing, lost my phone so stopped in here to use the phone. Oh my god, I couldn't even think where to go to find a phone anymore. They need to bring back phone booths for when stuff like this happens."

Me-:"You bastard! What do you want?"

Pussycat-:"I met a guy!"

Me-:"The guy from Valentine's?"

Pussycat-:"What? No doll, not him he's done. Done had and no repeats remember. No I mean I met a guy for you."

Me-:"I'm not interested."    as much as I love Pussycat, I'm not sure I want to trust his taste in men. Which is sad, cause if he were straight, I'd be totally after him. Yeah, dude, that's messed up I know. The irony is not totally lost on me.

Pussycat-:"You know it cost 75 cents for this call? Oh my god, I remember when it was 10 cents for local calls."

Me-:"Well, like you said no one needs phone booths anymore."

Pussycat-:"Well, they should. Make it so much easier for when you loose your phone. But, you need to meet this guy, he's perfect for you. He's a bartender..."

Me-:"I'm not interested."

Pussycat-:"Shut up and listen. He's a bartender, met him in my yoga class. Girl! The ass on him was like a big slab of butter! I wanted to cry his ass was perfect! Like that guy from that superhero movie the British guy Cubberbutt or what is his name?"

Me-:"Benedict Cumberbatch."

Pussycat-:"Yeah that guy. He's hot."

Me-:"Yes he is. His butt is little on the flat side for me but...all puns intended."

Pussycat-:"Well I think it's perfect. Anyways, he's got a beard, long dark hair..."

Me-:"I'm really not interested. No seriously, I hate long hair on men. I'm not overly thrilled with beards either." 

Pussycat-:"He's just gotten divorced..."

Me-:"I don't date divorced men either. Give up. Thanks for thinking of me, but everything you just listed, I've dated before. Like, broken my own rules gone against my gut instincts and massively regretted it; dated before. I'm grateful you thought of me when you saw him, but he's not my type in anyway."

Pussycat-:"Okay miss thang. Miss king shit. What then is your type?"

Me-:"For starters, short hair. And I mean short hair, like if it's at the collar it's too long. Clean shaven, thick thighs. Bit of a tummy, chest hair. Men who look like their age you know. I don't want to be with a guy wondering if I should be blowing him or burping him. That too smooth skinned waxing thing men do way too often is a turn off."    when guys are like walking skeletons that's a turn off too. I've lost a lot of weight in the last year, but I have this thing about being with men who's thighs are at lest as large as my own.

Pussycat-:"The Salesman had a beard."

Me-:"Not when I first met him he didn't. And he only had the beard for like a month before he shaved it off again."

Pussycat-:"Well, pretend to be interested because I gave him your number told him to text you."