Time to play: What's that lyric?

I'm sitting here at work listening to "Hungry Like The Wolf" and I've come to the realization that I'm baffled by a lyric that has stared me so blatantly in the face for almost 25 years and I never noticed it before. I quickly went to the internet for my answer, which of course only confused matters. So I'm a little confused and bewildered. Two reasons 1) I can't believe I've not caught it before and 2) One of the lyrical options (if the internet is to be believed) clearly makes more sense than the other. However, this is Simon Le Bon we're talking about, and so all assumptions go out the window. This is; after all; the same lyrical genius (and I mean that with all sincerity) who brought us lyrics like "My head is full of chopstick" (HUH?) and "I stayed a cold day, with a lonely satellite" (WHA??)

Okay so..it's really not that this lyric doesn't make sense per se, I'm just not sure quite what exactly the lyric is. There's contradicting lyrics on the internet, and while I could probably tweet about it or Simon, John, DDHQ, Katy or even DM Andy Taylor if I wanted to and ask him directly (although I feel that's kind of an abuse of power and a cheeky bold move) I figure I'll just blog about it and someone's bound to know and answer. And if not...Whatever.

So like I said, one lyric makes sense and the other...doesn't...not as much anyway. But as I said, this is Simon, so either is possible. So I ask you dear readers is it:

"Straddle the line, in discord and rhyme"

OR

"Strut on a/the line, in discord and rhyme"

I have always sang "strut" but now I don't know if that's right and I find I'm second guessing myself. Now even when I know the answer, it's not like having the right answer is going to solve the world's fuel price crisis or world hunger or anything else like that. But at least I'd be able to strike it off my list of "the things that perplex and bother me when it comes to lyrics". I hate getting lyrics wrong or not knowing the correct lyrics in general. It's a pet peeve of mine...one of many rest assured.

One Last Glimpse,

~K

My Grandmother: my protector

Julie Anne Rhodes revealed a bullying story today on her blog from when she was a child. I can certainly relate. When I was young I was always called names. Always. Teased for my weight, glasses, braces, my accent when I lived in Michigan - I was Canadian after all! Pretty much everything and anything. Children can be unmitigated assholes to each other. And as children we truly have no concept or ability to deal with the cruelty other children dish out. And for some, childhood can be a complete misery, when it should be fun.

When I was about 7 years old My Mother, sister and I moved in with my Grandparents for about a year. My Mom was saving money and my Grandparents offered to have us live there while she did so. I have some fantastic (and some not so fantastic) memories of living with them. Nothing volatile, but my Mom and my Grandmother would butt heads often so sometimes it would be eggshell city.

My Grandparents lived in a very nice and established neighborhood (upper middle class subdivision that butted up on an upper class subdivision) I loved their house. it was quite similar to the one my parents had owned when they were still married. Same subdivision, around the corner (literally) in fact. But I digress.

My Grandparents home on Google Maps - Slightly different than when they owned it (different windows landscaping and such).

My sister and I went to a school that was about a 5-10 minute walk from my Grandparent's house. 15 if we really dragged our asses. For some reason one day this older boy (I'd guess he was in about grade 7 or so, I was in grade 2) took to tormenting me. One afternoon he decided how fun it would be to pelt me with snowballs all the way home. When we got within eyesight of our houses on our street (he lived kiddy corner to where my Grandmother's house was) he said to me "I'll give you a 10 second head start, you'd better hope I don't catch you." I made it to out in front of his place before he caught hold of the back of my scarf yanking me back and choking me to a stop and then shoving my face into the snow. I remember my world going dark and my face being told, then gasping for air and the world going dark again as he continued his assault against me.

You can see my Grandparents home on the left far corner the house here on the right (where you can only see the garage is where I was...just before the driveway).

The next thing I recall is hearing my Grandmother cursing a blue streak with him by his scruff and me falling to the ground when he left me go. It was a surreal unbelievable moment. here is my Grandmother - in her slippers no less; with this kid now with a terrified look on HIS face being held up by his scruff while this elderly woman lit into him something fierce. She screamed at him something about if she ever saw him touching her Grandchildren again she'd "Force feed him his fucking balls".

I guess my Grandmother had been standing at the front door watching us walk down the street, saw me get launched face first into a snow bank. Kristen had hauled ass down the street to get help from her, she came flying down the driveway telling her to get in the house. After she went all momma bear on his ass she "escorted" him up to his door (read marched his ass while still holding him by the scruff) and promptly told his Mother if he EVER touched me again, she would personally see to it that he never had children but not before she had him charged with assault. I was STUNNED!!

I always appreciated what she did for me that day. I supposed it's nothing less than any caring parental unit would do. But it meant something to me. We lived there for another six months after that happened, never once did he touch or speak to me again. Truthfully, I think he was too afraid to! And had I been him, seeing Grandma come at me the way she did him...I would have been too!!

One Last Glimpse,

~K

Working the day shift

 I was asked to work 12-8 today instead of my usual 3-11. Apparently assholes are everywhere no matter what shift you work.

Dear Asshole,

Hey Fucktard!! Just wanted to let you know a few things! You dear sir are a grade A super-sized asshole! Oh, come on now! Don't look so shocked and surprised! I'm fairly confident I'm not the first person who has felt this way about you - nor will I be the last!

The way you treat people is unbelievable. You're an adult - act like it. As for the whole issue of you telling me I'm "mistaken" (a thinly veiled "polite" way for you to tell me I was lying) about the outside lane being pay at the pump only for more than a month now, unless someone (ie. Sheila) has been authorizing it for you, and letting you pump when you shouldn't be - then you are incorrect. One of us works here Assface, and one of us does not. Care to guess which one?

As for your $150 in diesel , I know exactly what you can do with it and I don't think you need me to spell it out for you Sport-o.

Oh! And dare I forget you throwing down the nozzle onto the ground when you went to move from pump 6 to pump 7! So very mature you cock knocker! And of course lets not forget le piece de resistance in your burn out of the parking lot sending pile-ons flying. You know, seriously, I would have laughed my ass off if you'd sent that pile-on flying and the cap had popped off and dinged your truck. Bravo you fuckwit. Congratulations you're a big man!

Thank you again for your patronage fuckface! And don't come again.

One Last Glimpse,

~K 

Reach up for the Sunrise: And quit yer bitchin!

What's the old adage? You can't please everyone? I guess that certainly seems to be ringing true lately. It's coming into that time of year when singers and bands are getting their summer tours together. This year, it seems we're talking full on "World Tours" from most of these bands, not just tiny ones. Ones like what they used to put together in the 80's. I mean Duran (for example) has been on their "World Tour" for over a year now. Granted with Duran; they were waylaid for about four months with Simon's "Vox Box" and waiting for that to heal; but even if things had been "go for launch" they'd still be on the road now. It's got to be exhausting!

And these tours lately that are coming out are big ones! Not just in length, but in the bands that are teaming up with one another. Bands like Motley Crue and Kiss, Poison and Def Leppard, hell even Van Halen and Kool and the Gang! These are major double headliners of 80's bands! And I think it's great!!

But, when the artists say "it's grueling" or "it's exhausting" I'm certain it is! I don't think they're saying it to be melodramatic or whatever. I mean really, these people have to be "enpointe" for upwards of 18 hours at a time. No wonder so many of them have issues! I'd crack up too! I think fans often expect them to be omnipotent and all powerful and then are disappointed, mad or crushed when they find out they're not perfect. As my friend Rachel puts it "everybody shits".

The bitching that goes on about dates on Twitter and Facebook however is overwhelming!  Maybe it's because social networking is at an all time high and we're just now noticing it but it's pretty bad when you see a member of one of these bands Tweet "Quit bitching about dates" (and NO it WASN'T someone from Duran that tweeted this - it was a drummer from a different WELL KNOWN band entirely).  It can't be easy to accommodate everyone, damn near impossible I'd say. In fact, we as fans really shouldn't be bitching to the "talent" at all in my opinion. How much do we (as fans) really think that the artists have as input as to where the tour goes? I mean seriously...think about it for a tick. Even a band like Duran, as much as they might like to control every aspect and detail of their band...just can't. It would be too massive of a task to undertake. And I feel for people (like Katy who works for Duran) who I'm certain gets slammed with "WTF why are they going to Windsor Ontario! What about Detroit!!!" I'd be tempted (if I were Katy) to say "If you can't get your ass across a river 6 months from now to see them...then perhaps you don't "love them" as much as you claim to." It's a fucking river folks. Yes okay it's in a "different country" but seriously??? It's one of those.. "I'm in Canada...I'm in America...I'm in Canada" situations. Get bent!!! I'm sure they say we'd LIKE our tour to include "these locations". But really - it'll only happen if it can be accommodated.  If it can't be...then they either look for a different date, or a near by locale if they REALLY want that area! Keep in mind if they took care of everything, they'd never tour if that were the case. I think they have a serious hand in their tour, but there is only so much they can do before it's GOT to be left up to someone else.  I mean seriously think about it for a moment, and while you're at it...give your head a much needed shake if you are one of these people I'm talking about.

Money talks. Period. End of. Of course they're going to go where they can make money and get a sizable amount of promotion out. Wouldn't you? They're promoting their product as well as having a party. If you only played where you were from, you may as well just go back to being a house band for a bar for the rest of your career or a lounge lizard. Otherwise, what's the fucking point?

Yes, alright I'll give you the whole "if it weren't for us fans" logic. You're right. Absolutely. But then you have to realize "us fans" are more than just their backyard. It's a crazy, big world out here that consists of more than just your "backyard".

As for Duran not rescheduling dates and fans not getting their money back. They're not getting paid either ladies and gentlemen! The promoter fucked off with the cash, and as I understand it the promoter has very little, if nothing to do with the Duran Duran realm. And as for the "that's what insurance is for"...I'm CERTAIN that the insurance paid out for a promoter (if any) fucking off with the money is minimal. But I seem to recall Duran posting something on the website saying they weren't getting paid either.

The bottom line is this: You cannot please everyone all the time. Not with concerts or anything, it's a fact of life. But these people are doing the best way they know how to please people, and "us fans" keep kicking them in the teeth about it.

"You can't always get what you want. But if you try sometimes..." You know the rest.

One Last Glimpse,

~K

Dreaming in Timeshift

The dream I had last night was very bizarre, and I'm going to try to describe it the best way I can in this entry. Please bare with me. I hope it comes across clearly and as it did when I dreamed it. 

I'm sitting in a theater, I'm the age I am now, I'm aware of the fact that it's 2012. The theater is Gothic in nature, with rich, velvet, lush seats.  I'm there to see a "run through" of a show.  A rehearsal or practice of what I have no idea. There are a few others milling around the theater doing various things. Some are chatting to each other in excitement, some are sitting reading. I'm writing in a notebook - what I'm writing however, I haven't the foggiest.

I'm there in a "professional capacity", but what that capacity is I'm not sure. I begin to notice however out of the 50 others that are in the theater with me are in various "time" stages of dress. The young ones seem to be dressed in 80's fashions, the mid 20's in 90's and so forth. But the older  they're dressed they have almost a faded effect on them, like a faded, washed out photo. The closer in time they are to current, the sharper the image. (If that makes any sense whatsoever).

Even though the houselights remain "up" as the show begins. For the first time I notice that it's Duran that's performing. But as I'm watching them perform or practice, I notice that Simon goes from appearing as he looks now, to having a younger appearance. Roger remains in his current state, and Nick while he appears as he does currently, his hair is slightly a darker blonder colour and not quite as fair or white blond as it is now. My eyes path to where John normally stands...he has his back to me, head down and is crouched. He appears to be in leather pants (always an asset in my humble opinion) and be wearing a t-shirt that are modern (He's wearing his LAMF shirt I find out later for those wondering). I'm uncertain if he's tuning his bass, but he's doing something to it and judging by the string of curses coming from him - he's not happy. He turns around and plays a couple notes. He's still not pleased, his mouth is down turned in displeasure. Again I read "fuck" off his mouth. He's not a happy camper. His appearance is young, and his floppy burgundy hair is a tell tale sign of that. My eyes pan over to the guitarist position and a young, long haired Andy Taylor's grinning face greets my gaze. ANDY?! Not who I expected to see. I'm surprised. And find that I'm pleased. "HOLY CRAP Andy looks so young!!" I chuckle to myself. So baby faced. John too.

The mics cut out, lights aren't functioning as they should be - and Simon quickly is becoming increasingly frustrated. He informs everyone to take 5 "or however long it takes for the sound crew to get their heads out of their collective asses" and a young, spirited and angry Simon Le Bon walks off stage into the wings. Roger bites the inside of his cheek and raises his eyebrow, twirling his drumstick. He checks some settings on his drums and then walks off stage.

John slips his fedora on his head, and sits with Andy at the edge of the stage, instruments still strapped on, legs dangling over the side chatting to each other. The young 80's girls flock to them as I see John's smile creep across his face in appreciation of their appreciation of him. He's checking them out! I think to myself chuckling. The girls are fawning over him (and Andy) and they are lapping every minute of it up. Rightfully so I think to myself. They are Duran Duran after all.

Nick is watching over the scene almost as if he's recalling a memory. With a slight far off bemused grin, and recollection. Like it's a memory, his memory that's playing out before him. I stand up to walk over to John and Andy, while I'm here; I think to myself; I may as well get their autograph. (Clearly at this point the "professional capacity" that I am there as has gone out the window - and I am about to go all "fangirl"). I'm stopped however ,as Nick has stepped in my path. He's grinning from ear to ear now like he's greeting a long lost friend, or has just heard the funniest thing ever, he has that spark of mischief he gets that is ferociously wild in his eyes. He greets me with an embrace and wants to know why he was not informed that I was coming. "Beats the shit out of me" is my reply. And it's the truth. I have no idea why he was not informed that I was coming. It's as much of a surprise to me that I am where I am, as it is to him.

I look over toward John and Andy who are signing autographs and posing for pictures. John and I lock eyes momentarily and he nods in respect or recognition I'm not sure which, and I continue my conversation with Nick. I hear a voice over my shoulder I recognize as Simon's he's now walking past some girls with people I recognize and is walking towards where Nick and I stand. He's a little more relaxed now and has a smile on his face. He nods at Nick, smiles at me at puts his arm across my shoulders and says "Well, that was a colossal cluster fuck waddinit?". I shrug at him and manage something to the effect of "It could have been worse, the wonder twins could have been coked off their tits." Nodding towards Andy and John. A ballsy statement to be making to Simon Le Bon, but hey...he asked and it's my dream dammit! I can say whatever the hell I want to! He throws his head back and laughs one of those really loud appreciative laughs and nods in agreement. He tells Nick that he thinks that the sound guys have their shit together and it's finally time to start the run through. Simon smiles once more and walks away as Nick does as well.

John and Andy are finding their positions, and they are now back to their current age, however John still has not lost the grin or the hat. Roger seats himself back behind his drums, but not before a smile and a wave to everyone.

I'm once again sitting in the theater, with some of my "sisters" about 20 or so of us stretched in this one row across the front, and this time the house lights lights start to dim. I feel a smile creep over my face as the opening to "Diamond in the Mind" begins and the stage lights slowly come up. I've found myself in this moment once before; I think to myself; and I'm eagerly anticipating to find myself there again. I inch myself to the edge of my seat, staring in fascination at the fantastic performance unfolding before me. The magnificent music ebbing it's way to my ears, those sounds that only Duran can make. I know at any moment I'm going to leap from my seat, the feeling of excitement is building and soon there will be no way I will be able to contain myself. Nick catches my eye once more and smiles broadly nodding his head. They've found their groove, and once again all is right with the world. I stand with my sisters, we're cheering, whistling and appreciating the guys...OUR guys. And they smile.

I woke up at this point... my first thought (funnily enough) was "Dammit!! If Nick hadn't gotten in my way I TOTALLY would have gotten John's autograph. What a cockblocker!" Keeping in mind, I didn't get Nick or Simon's autograph either. Ahh well, maybe next time.

One Last Glimpse,


~K

And I ran...(I blame John)

John Taylor (of Duran Duran) Tweeted that he went for a "run in an Adelaide park" on his day off today; while on the current leg of their "All You Need is Now" tour, currently stopped in Australia; and saw a "flock of parrots". I was at work when he tweeted that -- and truthfully, had to read it twice. A flock of parrots?? Really?? How surreal! How fantastically, beautifully, surreal! At first I thought perhaps he was just joking and having a laugh - but I'm fairly certain he was being completely serious. I will add; before I continue; ever since then, I've had "I ran" by Flock of Seagulls stuck in my head. And now, I'm sure you do as well...You're welcome! (I've actually since moved on from "I Ran" and moved on to "Be" and "Lonely Looking Sky" from Johnathan Livingston Seagull Soundtrack by Neil Diamond, as well as of course Seal's "I Believe I Can Fly". Sorry!)

I found his Tweet (for whatever reason) and the imagery it conjures intriguingly visually fascinating. I'm not quite sure why I found it as fascinating as I did. I suppose because it's bewildering to me to see such a thing, I've never seen it, we certainly don't have them here -- and I just think it would be a spectacular sight! I just picture him out for a leisurely run...plodding along at his own pace, music in his ears, sun shining down through this park, maybe running down a park path, coming around a corner, down a slight hill, perhaps by a pond and seeing in a field (perhaps just taking off) a huge mass flock of parrots. Blues, greens, yellows and vibrant reds. I think it would certainly be bewildering and unexpected. What a fantastic moment of peace and beauty. (Provided he didn't get parrot shit on him -- that would sort of ruin the moment).

It also made me become painfully aware how while I have done some travelling, there's still so much more of this world I'd love to see. There are parts of this world that are in my own country that I'd still love to see, that I never have (I've never been any farther than Quebec to the east...and I've been about as west as I can go). There are places in the States I'd like to go (San Francisco/Vegas and the Grand Canyon chief among them). UK, Germany, Italy, Rome, Greece, Russia, China, Japan, Australia, New Zealand, and while I'd like to SEE the pyramids, I don't necessarily want to visit Egypt. If that makes any sense. I guess what I mean by that is, while I'd take a couple days to visit the pyramids, I wouldn't make a trip just to solely go to Egypt. It would be en route to or en route from somewhere. There are other places; as well of course; that I'd love to visit but those are some of the highlights.

The thought of travelling and taking flight just like those birds John saw today is truly awe inspiring. Someday, hopefully maybe I'll have the opportunity to take a walk (or run) through an Adelaide park on a sunny Tuesday afternoon and see a flock of parrots just like John. Until then, I can only imagine the picturesque beauty he must have seen, and smile.

One Last Glimpse,

~K

"The Story"

Before I begin this blog entry I will preface it with a little back story. When I was in grade nine; a mere freshman in high school; I met someone who has become one of my dearest friends. Rachel and I met via another friend, but not before I had heard for months other people speaking her name. I was curious who this person was, and one day...very unexpectedly our paths crossed. A mutual friend introduced us - she remarked on a folder cover I had that had a Duran Duran photograph on it and a friendship was struck, over Duran Duran. And that is where this story, about "The Story" begins.

Once upon a time; back in a year known as 1985; one of the biggest bands known as Duran Duran were hitting the airwaves and climbing the music charts. Five strikingly handsome young men, all unique in their appearance and with an abundance of talent. Each with their own ability to make women swoon, scream and have a sexual awakening. With the likes of Simon, John, Nick, Roger and Andy - I can assure you they were for many their first love, their first sexual self exploration. And I was no exception.

Before "fan fiction" had an actual name (as far as I am aware), people were writing stories about those actors/musicians/people they fantasied about. I was one of these people. Having decided that someday I (among several hundred, even thousands of others) was clandestined to meet John Taylor of Duran Duran (and the rest of the guys of course) - I decided I was going to write a story about meeting them, falling in love, getting married and in great, vivid Technicolour detail about a mad passionate love affair or affairs (in somecases...) or Ménage à trois, quatre, etc, etc, etc. We met, had affairs with, married, had kids, entered rehab, left rehab, got divorced and got married again...not to mention murders, rapes, blackmail and intrigue. But...not just involving myself and Duran...I decided to bring Rachel along for the ride as well.

Rachel was one of my few friends who enjoyed Duran the way I did, and I remember when I first wrote my first chapter (where my passion for writing truly began). I showed it to her with great trepidation and hesitancy. What if she thought it sucked? What if she thought it was stupid and I a moron for even having the notion of writing such a frank, blunt and very graphic detailed story to begin with. Although it didn't start out that way...in fact...for the first 4 or 5 pages it was all quite innocent and it was us meeting Wham! at first and then progressively meeting Duran. And then....it all got very interesting, convoluted and in some cases a might perverse. To my thrill and surprise...Rachel not only loved what I wrote, and more importantly how I wrote...but encouraged me to write more.

So I did. I wrote so much more that it consumed me. I wrote during classes, during lunch, before and after school, while watching television, while driving to piano on Fridays, while at my Dad's...it didn't matter. I wrote and wrote and wrote. Some asked what I was writing, some people I told, others I didn't dare. Some were intrigued, others didn't care. At one point I felt it was being shoved too much too the limelight and people wanted to be a part of it. I didn't want that. I wanted only Rachel and I to know about it...so I said I had quit...just like that...cold turkey...and like a hidden decadence I stowed it away in my hiding place in my room under my dresser. Until one day, I came home and it wasn't there...it was sitting in plain sight on my bed which had freshly bought and laundered sheets and a new comforter. It was obvious my Mom had been in my room and thought she was being "helpful" and cleaned and vacuumed my room to go with my new sheets and comforter. She confronted me about my deviant little secret; which she had read; cover to cover (that was now upwards of 300+ pages at that point) and her only pearls of wisdom was "I'd be careful with that if I were you".

I coveted this journey I had taken myself and Rachel on. I lost myself within it's pages and fantasy. It was my own little coke habit, and in retrospect there were parts of the story that were very true (from what I understand now) of the life and times of Duran Duran from that era. Knowing what I wrote, and how it all actually played out for Duran Duran...its very surreal actually.

It all came to a screeching halt however. I had managed in 2 years time to write upwards of 600 pages, until one fateful weekend my sister and I went to our fathers house. He had been away on business, come home on the train for a week, rented a car and was on his way back to Montreal at the end of the weekend when he dropped us off. I got out of the car, took my stuff inside, said good by to my Father and waved goodbye as he drove away. I went to take my stuff up to my room and in that moment realized that my entire life, my entire story, my entire work was gone in the backseat of my Dad's rental car. I hope whomever cleaned out the car upon it's return enjoyed the saga of my writings.

I'm thankful I wrote what I did, I'm not embarrassed by it (Although I likely would be if any member of Duran Duran ever read it - it was quite explicit) and I know that there was writing in it that for my age was damn good story telling. It was my "grass roots" so to speak of the passion and fire I have now for writing. So I'm thankful and glad that I had that experience. Without it, I wouldn't be where I am now.

So, there you have it Hazel, since this entry was for you...that's "The Story".

One Last Glimpse,

~K

Family stories

It's come to my attention that my last few blog entries have been a little bit...erm...well...depressing. I'm aiming to change that right now. Despite the fact that my last few shifts here at work have been less than stellar, and assholes have abounded...I've decided this post is going to be upbeat.

I have five "first" cousins. My Father is the middle of 3 boys - my Older Uncle (Uncle Jim) only had one child (My cousin Kerry who is a few years older than I), Then my Dad (who had my sister Kristen and myself), and then my Uncle John who had my cousins Michael (who is older than I am by a year but younger than my sister), My cousin Ted (who is six months younger than I) followed by Jennifer and then Joe bringing up the rear.

My cousin Mike married a girl named Jennie and converted to the Catholic church. We were not raised as such, and when he and Jennie became engaged it was a large part of her upbringing and Mike had no problem converting. So he did.

His wedding was late starting (for a multitude of reasons), so here we sat (for upwards of an hour) in a packed Catholic church that had no air conditioning. It was completely on the blink. And it's late August/Early September. And it's hot. And there are a LOT of people in the church.

The first cousins all were sat together (that were not in the wedding party). My cousin Kerry and her husband John, then me, my sister Kristen and her now husband Richard and then My Mom and Dad on the end.

Kerry is snapping away pictures (keep in mind this was BEFORE digital cameras - this will become important later on) and John is cracking jokes while we wait. At the front of the church; by the alter; the dome was painted a sky blue colour which John referred to as "The Skydome" which we all cracked up about. (The Skydome was the original name for the stadium where the Toronto Blue Jays play). We're all having a bit of a laugh because we're a bit punchy because we've been sitting for a while and it's hot as hell. (Pun intended).

Finally the wedding begins and Kerry continues taking pictures as Jennie and the wedding party start up the isle. As Jennie gets to the front Kerry runs out of film and it begins to automatically rewind making a very loud vibrating noise. I look to my left to see where this noise is coming from, just in time to see Kerry hike the camera up her skirt and clamp her legs shut...with her hand still up her skirt. So now (stay with me folks), here's my cousin Kerry with her hand up her skirt - IN CHURCH - and there's a loud vibrating noise emanating from her crotch. I. AM. HYSTERICAL. Tears begin streaming down my face I'm laughing so hard. My sister, Richard and Mother are a little put out and then they see what the three of us are hysterically laughing about and they start too. My Dad who has been wandering the church snapping photographs for my cousin comes back to the pew, shoots me a look -- and then sees what now everyone in our pew is hysterical over and starts to laugh himself. This of course is only AFTER I burst out with my initial spontaneous and completely unexpected HA!!!! Oh yea...and the priest gave me "The look". OOPS! Sorry Padre! I am SOOOooo going to hell.

It was one of those moments even now... looking back at it...still makes me laugh and smile when I think about it.

One last glimpse,

~K

Open Letter # 4 - Aunt Bev

I'm actually considering sending this...but if I don't, perhaps it's a therapeutic moment on my way to getting this toxic shit out of me.

Aunt Bev,

I’m fairly certain this is going to come out at you from left field. I’m almost 41 after all, and with this we’re going back 35+ years. But it doesn’t make it any less tragic, trivial or devastating to me. In fact…it’s something I still think about or dream about or have some effect on me almost every day. And I know to some degree there was nothing you could do about it or didn't have any hand in whatsoever, however let me assure you…the parts you could have done something about, you should have. Let me tell you Aunt Bev…there’s a LOT of anger still there…some misplaced granted as I can never tell that little cock knocking little shit weasel of an ex-husband of yours what I truly think of him because he's dead and rotting in Hell where he belongs, but some of this rage and blame I have sits firmly and squarely on your shoulders.

When I was 4 and 5, Kristen and my world was turned upside down. We were shuttled off to you in Toronto (keep in mind we didn’t really know you, or if we did know you…it certainly wasn’t well – you did live in Toronto after all with Bruce and Noel, and really anything outside of Sarnia was a great mystery) to live in your home with you. You were the allusive Auntie Bev...a mystery, a wonder, a curiosity...and I thought my champion. How wrong and disillusioned I was.

I understand now; as an adult; the difficulty of which it must have been bringing 2 children in whose parents were going through a divorce, into your home. Children who had no concept of what was going on to their family. But let me assure you, the manner in which we were treated was unconscionable and scarred both Kristen and I permanently.

Don’t get me wrong; the trips to CN Tower, Science Centre, Casa Loma, Centre Island, and The Toronto Zoo were GREAT things to do with kids, not to mention the Pow Wow you had…fantastic!  Kids love culture, and I’m a firm believer in that sort of thing. But having said that, what we had to go through to get those little tastes of freedom, was traumatic.

Just let me refresh your memory in case you have forgotten, because let me assure you – I have not. I think one of the most traumatic memories you had a hand in was the large black developer timer in the kitchen. You used it so that when we would get behind in eating our breakfast it would help speed us up. News flash sister...it didn't help. I remember feeling a sense of impending doom so you could lock us out in the backyard for the day, if we weren’t done by the time that timer buzzed…tough shit, out the door without the rest of our breakfast. I remember one day, being so damn tired, and that tick, tick, tick began…and I began to sob. Literally sob because I knew, there was no way that I would ever finish my food before that Godforsaken buzzer would go off. I remember gagging on my eggs and feeling literal trauma wash over me. I have a vague recollection of being laughed at and being told to “Hurry up then”. And I’m sure you’ll say it was Noel’s idea (and what the hell do I know! Maybe it was!) But it doesn’t make it any less cruel. WE WERE CHILDREN FOR FUCK SAKES. Did you know that 20+ years later, Kristen and I were wandering through Kensington Market one Saturday or Sunday afternoon and she about had a nervous break down and burst into tears because we saw one for sale at a flea market? She couldn't recall where she'd seen one before, but what a Pavlovian response. I knew exactly where she had seen that hateful dial before. I vowed from that moment, I would never...EVER rush my children to eat their breakfast, lunch or dinner. NOTHING was worth the trauma or scars. NOTHING.

Once we did (or didn’t) complete breakfast we were locked out….LOCKED OUT of the house so that you and Noel could work – What the hell you did that we had to be locked out of the house for is beyond me. I certainly don’t recall anyone coming over to the house besides perhaps Bruce’s friends – and truthfully I don’t really recall any of them either because we never saw past the fence with the exception of the Pow Wow. But to hear you talk, we knew everyone of his friends. Well no, I hate to break it to you...but we didn't because we never left that fucking back yard. Kristen and I could practically speak rudimentary Italian by the end of the first summer because of the lady next door out gardening everyday would teach us things for crying out loud! She would hand us fruits and veggies out of her garden to snack on. Bring us glasses of water...not a day went by that we didn't get a 'Buongiorno' from her. Did you never notice? Do you really go through life with your head that far shoved up your ass or in the sand? I can't fathom that.

Have you any idea how many times Kristen or I peed in the back yard because you didn’t get to the door in time for us to go to the washroom? And God FORBID we pee our pants! I can’t even imagine that! Do you have any idea how bored we were? We had a pool, and a card table with crayons and paper for fuck sakes. No books, no interaction with ANYONE else except with each other (and the lady next door), and thank the GODS for that. And THEN, when that sick fuck of a husband of yours got annoyed that Kristen was upset and crying (AT SIX YEARS OLD, FOR MISSING HER PARENTS) he sat there and said he was going to get a crib for her to sleep in because she was a baby. SHE WAS SIX YEARS OLD FOR FUCK SAKES!!!

Do you know we would PRAY for rain? Literally? PRAY for it to be a rainy day. On rainy days we couldn’t possibly go outside! Fantastic! What child PRAYS for it to be a rainy day??? I can assure you, we did.

And I will reiterate, I realize not EVERY ounce of this is your fault, or your doing – but you certainly didn’t help our situation. You should have been our advocate, our champion…but you weren’t, at all. And unfortunately I will never forget that.

I’ve tried in vain to let it go. I’ve tried to move on. I’ve looked at pictures of the house (and truthfully it’s a lovely house visually). The house is ingrained on my mind, seared in to my minds eye. I know every inch of that house by heart, whether I want to, or not. Maybe I need therapy to let this go and get over it. But I also think I need to yank your head out of the sand and make you realize that it wasn’t this fantastic fabulous vacation that you’ve made it out to be in your head.

Did you realize Kristen and I have even wondered if we were molested by Noel? I’d LIKE to think if we were, and you knew about it…you would have put a stop to it. But that begs the question…if we were…did you know about it? There’s just some shit that doesn’t add up. Weird moments, memories that was just…wrong.

I don’t think Mom ever knew about any of these horrific memories. I know I never spoke to her about them. I know we begged Dad at one point during one of the summers to take us back to Sarnia with him when he came to Toronto for a visit. Literally begged him. I remember Kristen sobbing hysterically and pleading with him to no avail.What was he to do? He wasn't prepared to take us home, he had no where to put us, not to mention the fact that he was an emotional basket case himself. His marriage had fallen apart and his life was a mess. What was he to do? Here he thought we'd been left in a stable environment...he knows the truth now though. Rest assured.

I wish, I truly, truly wish that I could erase all the bad memories and feelings I have of those two summers from my head and remember them as you do as fun, carefree days of summer. But sadly, and truthfully – those are false memories and delusions. As I said before some of the days, some of the memories were exonerated bliss from our backyard prison. But sadly, they were few and far between – and certainly do not make up for the torturous horrendous scars they left behind.

I love you Aunt Bev, I truly do. You are one of my last few links I have left back to my Mother and I want to forgive you for your hand in this. But the emotional weight of the scars that you had a hand in, weigh heavy on me sometimes. Those days helped mould me into the person that I am today…and not always in a good way. Unfortunately those sorrowful scars and hurt cannot be taken away with a slide show or a quaint limerick or a ride on the subway.

~K

Letting it go....or maybe not

I'm awake early this morning (early for me - I went to be just after 3am). It's 9:30 and I woke up a little over a half hour ago. If you've read my blog (or know me at all) you've heard me talk about when I was about 4 or 5 and having to stay with my Aunt in Toronto at her house over two separate summers. If you haven't, let's just say it wasn't the best time of my life to be sure.

I had a dream last night that for whatever reason Alan (the hubby) was dropping me off at this house for a stay. I didn't know whose house it was - and the exterior was different from the interior. I was not happy about having to stay there, but I remember as Alan and I were saying goodbye he said to me "It's only for a couple months, remember that". I just remember feeling a sense of impending doom as I grabbed my bag out of the back of the car. There was an elderly balding gentleman at the gate who was about to get on a PA and announce my arrival for this garden party that was going on in the back yard. I told him that wasn't required or necessary and I'd rather he didn't and that I was expected. And I was not a guest of the garden party although I was expected. I recall he nodded in understanding and went about his business.

Once I hit the interior (although different) I knew exactly whose house it was that I was entering and I wanted desperately to run in the opposite direction. I remember it was a very large (almost mansion like) from the outside although like I said the interior of the house did not match the exterior of the house, both in my dream and in a psychological sense in the reality of my situation when I was young. It was a lovely house on the outside, the inside...and the goings on for me personally, was a different ball of wax all together. I walked my way in the front door and began walking through the house. The farther I got into the house, and the more stairs I climbed to get up to my room, the sadder I became. I remember I walked past this girl's bedroom, she was standing there - I want to say she was packing a suitcase. She looked out at me  with the saddest expression on her face, I'm not sure if she was sad she was leaving or if it was a look of sympathy to me. I remember that there was a Duran song playing from a radio in her room which I knew what it was at the time...but now...in retrospect, for the life of me...I can't recall what it was. I want to say it was "Other People's Lives" but I'm not convinced of that fact, it was something off the new album...but now that I'm awake, I'm really not certain which one it was. At the time though, I definitively knew which song it was. In fact I recall thinking at the time "I should ask her which Toronto radio station that is...if Toronto radio is playing Duran regularly then maybe I can actually make it through this next few months of hell away from Alan". But I never did turn around and ask her what radio station it was, and I can't now recall definitively which Duran song it was that was playing. Not that it really matters, although it would have been nice to recall.

I remember I kept walking up and up and up. At one point I was walking up a metal set of stairs that were grated and painted green that jutted out of the walls in a spiral nature. I guess if I were to go all Freudian on myself I'd say the spiral stairs represented that I felt that when I think of staying at my Aunt's I felt like I was sequestered away and imagine myself in a castle tower waiting for my prince to come and rescue me. I remember I got up to my room and peered out the window, in the backyard, was the aforementioned garden party going on. I looked around for my Aunt, could not see her. I didn't want to see the man she was married to at the time (I refuse to refer to him as my "Uncle", he was a lecherous man who was a short, evil, British alcoholic troll). I remember I began to shake and slam my fists on the lead trimmed glass, screaming "Help me! Get me out of here". But it was like no one could hear me, like a scene out of a movie where someone pounds on the glass and no one hears a thing.. No one looked up, or even noticed I was there. I began to cry, and when I went to wipe my tears away I had blood on my fingers. (How's THAT for mellow dramatic?).

I think it's around there that I woke up, and I've been awake ever since. I was sad and angry when I woke up. Sad because I'd gone there, and angry with myself and once more angry with my Aunt and that little lecherous troll of a man she was married to at the time. I honestly thought after finding the house and seeing the house, and recognizing that it was just a house...nothing more (and a nice looking house at that), that I could put this whole thing behind me and put it all to bed. Clearly my subconscious isn't ready to do that just quite yet, and so...I trudge on in the hopes that someday...I can let it all go.

One Last Glimpse,

~K

Dinner Party from Hell

When I was in grade 11 (1987), I made several diverse, different and new friends. Some; to this day; I am still very close with, others...not so much. Two of the people I met, were friends already through church. Truth be told she didn't go to his church (his family were, and still are HIGHLY religious) except for Friday Night Youth Group and the occasional Sunday service. But let me assure you her going to his church was not to glean any teachings of the Lord. it was because she desperately wanted in the pants of our friend. I'm still not certain to this day how or why I ever introduced my friend Rachel to Richard and in turn Lori Ann - I just know that I did. None of us were really friends with Lori Ann, she was just sort of there because that's where Richard was. Honestly folks, the story you are about to read is completely true. I wish I could make this shit up, but I kid you not...truth is most definitely stranger than fiction. ****I was asked if I have changed the names to protect the innocent. The answer is No, I did not. My thought is...if I'm going down...we're ALL going down. LOL****

Rachel, Richard and I hung around together most lunches (there were others involved but really the core was the three of us - Lori Ann was there too of course but really not by any of our choices). Never did you see a stranger mix of people. Rachel was fashion forward and chic with her finger on the pulse of what was  "cool" in the world (in my eyes), I was a geek with chic connections, and Richard was our good Christian boy. Rachel being Rachel would frequently push the envelope with Richard. I think she often wanted to either see just how far she could push him or see if she could crack him like a walnut. I often bit my tongue and watched to see how it would all play out. Sometimes Rachel liked to stir the pot -- truthfully (even to this day) sometimes it cracks me up when she does it. I was the wide eyed kid waiting to see what would happen next. I think more often than not Richard was intrigued by what made Rachel tick. I think he often over analyzed her and made more out of situations than there was.

Lori Ann forever trailed behind diligently waiting for some form of attention from him that never came. She was like an annoying yappy dog that won't go away and tries to hump your leg. She would often open her mouth and speak about things she had zero concept or clue about. Something that would come back to bite her in the ass during our "Christmas dinner" at Richard's parent's home.

Now, when I say Richard's family were religious...I mean to say hands in the air, praising the Lord, Tent revival, healing hands, speaking in tongues,  Get behind me Satan, Yer going to hell if you don't believe and believe THEIR way - Religious. Neither Rachel nor I were raised as such...in the slightest, I believe Rachel had a more formed religious upbringing than I of that I'm fairly certain.  On top of this, his parents were rich - and I'm talking both filthy AND stinking. I was 16, and uptight parents (like Richard's) made me VERY nervous.

Rachel had had a dinner for us at her family's home and of course not to be out done Richard invited us to his house - Lori Ann had invited herself, much to all of our chagrin. And Richard being Richard...didn't un-invite her either.

I remember Rachel calling me that afternoon after I had come home from a funeral that I had been to. A friend of mine had killed himself and the funeral had been that afternoon. She called to make sure I was alright, and that I still wanted to go to Richard's that evening. She was concerned and said it wasn't too late to back out if I didn't want to go, that Richard would have to understand. I know she didn't particularly want to go, but felt obligated as he had come to hers. I told her I was fine, and we went anyway.

We were dressed up (dinner was semi-formal) and we sat in the "formal" living room. The formal living room was the kind of room that is sparsely decorated with extremely expensive furniture that no one should be sitting on, but it's what you're "supposed to have" in that sort of room. It usually tends to have a floral print on it and has plastic over it that squeaks no matter how slowly you try to sit down or how little you move on it.

Rachel was nervous and I was uncomfortable. Richard's Mother loathed me (I think She felt I was a promiscuous whore who was only there to lure her innocent baby boy into temptation - a Jezebel in her midst! I dyed my hair and wore make up and listened to "devil music" -- I wonder how Duran Duran or Wham! would've felt about their music being referred to as "devil music"? LOL ) and Lori Ann...well she was oblivious which was about to come to light in a blinding sort of way. Honestly I think she disliked Lori Ann more than I...Lori Ann would tend to hang off of Richard, something I NEVER did. Strike One against Lori Ann....strikes 2 and 3 were quickly approaching during dinner. Batter up!!

Dinner for me is somewhat of a blur. I do recall Lori Ann turning to Rachel during the salad and saying she thought it was "weird" that Rachel was using her knife and fork to eat it with, and that she was taking the time to cut the larger pieces of the lettuce down into smaller bite sized pieces. Mrs. Mc Cutcheon turned to Rachel at this point and quickly interjected with a "That's European isn't it dear?". To which I can recall a mortified Rachel nodding her head. Strike Two for Lori Ann.

Make no mistake, Lori Ann was not trying in anyway to make Rachel look stupid or feel bad - this chick  (even to this day) is not the tallest Hobbit in the Shire. I kid you not. I'm not saying that to be mean or rude...but she's completely clueless and vapid. She doesn't even realize that she's clueless, which I think makes matters worse.

Dinner progresses and some how (I don't remember how) the conversation turns to World War II and Oskar Schindler's involvement and what he did for the Jewish people. At that point I knew very little about World War II (at the level they were discussing it) and knew nothing about Oskar Schindler. I was intrigued by the conversation so I sat, listened and learned. At some juncture in the conversation Lori Ann who has gleaned that the conversation is about "a war" of some sort pipes up with "I've seen the movie Platoon". For those of you who may not have seen Platoon - it is not about World War II. It is about Vietnam. It has nothing to do with Oskar Schindler and aside from the fact that it was about a war - it had no barring on the conversation at all.  Strike Three for Lori Ann.

I remember you could have heard a pin drop in that moment after she made her statement. I think we were all completely dumbfounded that she'd made such a daft statement. I recall I opened my mouth to say something, and then closed it again when nothing would come out. Across the table came this loud laughter from Richard who knew how much of a stupid statement Lori Ann had just made. Richard's Mother sat with this perplexed look on her face as if she'd passed out and missed a bunch of conversation and was trying to figure out how they had gone from talking about Oskar Schindler to a recently released (for that time) movie about the Vietnam War. I believe Mr. McCutcheon gently said something like "That's about the Vietnam War wasn't it?" putting a little stress on the word "Vietnam" hoping Lori Ann would clue in that her statement had been a completely random one. That it had nothing to do with the conversation that had been going on, Oskar Schindler, his roll in World War II or what he had done for the Jews. But in typical Lori Ann form it went completely over her head and she was clueless. I could not wait for dinner to be over.

Of course, like all nights that you wish would just end so you can just go and relax it never does. I'm certain in some alternate universe I'm still stuck there...me and Rach. It's our own private hell. I think truthfully after that "Platoon" comment Rach and I would have been more than happy to pack it in and call it a day. We had all had more than enough of Lori Ann to be sure - who may I remind you had invited herself (not the first time nor would it be the last!). Eventually the night ended, I went back to Rachel's house to spend the night while we still sat in her basement shaking our heads about Lori Ann, and the entire dinner. It was one of those nights that was bizarre from beginning to end - and really maybe you had to be there. But I can assure you, I really wish I hadn't been! 

One Last Glimpse,

~K

Literature Luddite or Trendy Techy: The tightrope we walk

I don't have a "Kindle" or any of these high tech "Ebook" readers. Honestly, I suspect I probably won't ever either, which may surprise some of you due to my geek/tech factor. Although, I don't have an iphone/pad/touch either so maybe not. It's not for lack of want on my part for the not having of the iphone/pad/touch it's more...lack of funds. Same reason I don't have a Mac...it's not for lack of want that's for damn sure!

But I feel that the Kindle/Ebook is different. I think; much like my music; while I see the usage and possibility of an MP3...I love the tangibility of the CD/Record (I had tapes of course...but was mostly had the ever popular "mixed tape" going on - I was far more a Record/CD gal) or in the case of this blog entry...a book. (And don't get me wrong it isn't lost on me that statement. I get the irony of the fact that you are sitting, at your computer/laptop/iphone/mobilephone/tablet/Macbook reading this much like you would an Ebook).

If you have ever opened a Dr. Seuss book; for example; if you sniff the pages, for some reason they have a VERY distinctive smell that you will never find in any other book.(I have tested this theory by the way) I have no idea why, or what it is about Dr. Seuss books specifically...but it is distinctive to Dr. Seuss books only - perhaps it's the paper, or the ink, but truthfully I'm not sure. I just know that it's true and that I love that smell.

Same with The Bible and the onion skin paper it's printed on. It's specific. Yes, sometimes it's trimmed in red or blue or gold or silver...but the paper it's printed on is always the same thin, translucent paper that there is no mistaking it to be anything else but. I don't know why it's printed on onion skin paper. I'm sure there's a reason, but I don't know what it is. But it makes it unique to itself...and I like that.

I have to admit; there have been; and I do have, books in my shelf that were bought specifically because of the paper, or the cover, or the bindings that I have never read, or have yet to read that I bought upwards of 5 years ago. Is that strange? I have some books in my case (some of my favorites actually - that I have read) that I just liked the way the cover felt under my fingertips. The bumps and grooves of the artistry or the title works under my fingers. Odd how important that actually is...the window dressing. I have full intent of reading the books that have sat on my shelf, I just haven't gotten around to it yet.

I guess in a way a physical copy of a book is much like the artistry on a record. Or the sleeve insert like the pages or the texture of the pages. The voice or tune of the music is the voice or tune of the novel or story. I think it would be such a loss if we moved completely to that technology and left behind books as they are. A lost art to be sure.

One Last Glimpse,

~K

Venting: Idiots abound

I'm going to apologize ahead of time. I know I have some new readers to my blog, so just let me say...sometimes in some of my blog entries, I do swear/curse. Unabashedly. This is one of those times...you have been warned.

~K


I know I've mentioned before that I work at a gas station. It's can be a mindless (at times) job - sitting for 8 hours in my little glass enclosure sometimes I feel like I'm on display. Usually I will write and listen to music while Tweeting or texting occasionally. It's a job that truly leaves me time to do other things I enjoy. Which is fantastic for me.

The downsides (and there are a few actually) is that occasionally the "clientele" gets on my nerves. Now...I'm a people person - I play well with others, I don't have a qualm with sharing my toys...But...don't be a fucking idiot or I may just have to drop kick your ass. Capiche?

Seriously though, I recognize it takes all kinds to make the world go round...and that each village has two things "the village bicycle" and "the village idiot". Let me tell you - speaking on behalf of the "village" that I live in - we have an over abundance of both.

As gas prices rise we are more commonly seeing what we call in "the biz" as a "drive off". The people who do this with the intent to accomplish this, will usually go to the farthest most pump from me. This enables them to have a better chance at "the get away with it" factor without getting caught. As a result my boss has put the two outside pumps to "Pay at the pump" only.

This my dear readers, has caused chaos. I mean serious, over the top chaos. It's normal for most stations within the city limits now a days to do this, but for us, with some it seems it is the most heinous crime imaginable. I have watched people pitching full on temper tantrums about it. Slamming the pump back into the holster and doing a burn out of the parking lot arms flailing, screaming full on hissy fit. Seriously dude - is it that big a deal? Yer a grown man, act like it!

This mixed with the normal everyday "there are stupid people among us" routine can make for some fantastic evening's entertainment and it was actually a little disconcerting to see how many impatient people there really are out there.

I had one woman in tonight who went to the outside pump. She picked the nozzle up, I went on the intercom and told her exactly what she had to do. She slammed the pump down and got into her car slamming the door. A moment later, she got out again and AGAIN did the same thing (calmly) - and again I told her exactly what she had to do. She peeked around the corner of the pump at me and shot me a look. She slammed the pump down and came inside. I explained again  she was very polite to me (as was I to her). She walked back out to the pump and did the same thing AGAIN. After I picked my jaw up off the floor I reminded her, she slammed it down, got into her car (Arms flailing while I'm certain she was cursing my family lineage back ten generations) slammed the car door SO hard her car VISIBLY rocked - and peeled out of the spot. She moved into another one (that is NOT strictly pay at the pump) Got out of the car, pumped her gas (calmly) came in, paid, asked to use the restroom and asked if it was okay if she left her car at the pump she had been at (we were busy valid question) And then she said "If only I could remember where I put my car"....Seriously? And you're driving???

Then there was the older woman (I'm guessing she's 75ish if not pushing 80) who thinks (I am convinced) that she is Snooki from the Jersey Shore but with seriously over processed and dried out "blonde" hair. Last week she was donned in tight pants with a jean jacket and black studded thigh high stiletto boots (which I actually liked -- just not on a 70+ year old woman). This week it was black leather pants with a wool jacket with sequins and sneakers. But there's the matter also of her make-up...How can I describe it...uhh well lets put it this way Dee Snider from Twisted Sister called, he's asking you to please - PLEASE stop stealing his makeup look. And I KNOW you're likely thinking "WOW WTF Kendra, that's a little fuckin catty don'tcha think?" And I know I'm no prize winner - but good grief and little fishes people!

Which brings me to my co-worker...(she has several nicknames she is referred to as: Ms. Phony-face Ms. G (for grumpy), Snaggletooth (self explanatory)). We don't get along - never have - and I think I've mentioned (if I have it's a recap, if not...well here you go) If I ever were to say to her "I know we don't get along but..." She would slap a smile on her face and say in a phony voice "Oh honey I like you." Yea...okay right. ANYWAY! My point (And I do have one) is she is no better than some of the aforementioned idiots. (That is NOT to say that ALL of my customers are idiots but I'd say a good 40%  are and that; sadly; is with all sincerity). My co-worker had this habit of (at the end of her shift) taking her till in the back room to count. Same time. Every day. Past an unsecured area into a non videotaped area. Oh she's a cracker jack genius that one! Then, when the boss called her on it and SPECIFICALLY said that she didn't want her doing that...she said she NEVER did that and that was the first time (WHAT?) but she was only doing it that day because we had an electrician in who was doing some wiring. The boss said no, don't do it please. She then got indignant with our boss and huffed out of the store. The next day she had the unmitigated gall to TEXT our boss and TELL her that she was doing EXACTLY what the boss had told her NOT to do, but that she had locked the door. Needless to say the boss was livid. I was like "Are you KIDDING me?". Stupid. And I mean for fucksakes, I'm no rocket scientist but it doesn't take much for me to figure out that "x" to the power of infinity equals YER A DUMBASS!!!

One Last Glimpse,


~K

Time

Sometimes I'll let myself go and completely clear my mind and words will spill out. Sometimes they're complete trash and total gibberish...but sometimes, I like the imagery that they conjure up. I have no idea where they come from...I just know they do. This is one of those moments.

Lost on a winding road

With a castle in the sky

The moat has long run dry

And the war has long since been won

The clouds drift lazily past

As I drudge on and on

Toward the earths end

Toward you

I’d travel till forever

To get to where you are

To come home to your heart

To your soul

The wind whips past

The rain pours down

The days travel on

And I toward you

Skies go by

From day into night

From today into tomorrow

As time ticks past

I’d travel till the ends of the world

To meet where you are

To come home to your eyes

To your smile

Forever never seems

Like quite long enough

The dreams of the immortals

Like when we were young

Reverse the hands of time

Turning back the clock

Recapturing our youth

Of days gone by

At the edge of the world

To the edge of tomorrows

I’ve come home to your touch

To your love

c-2012 KMC