tommy & stuff

I’m so psyched about Rock Star Supernova that Tommy Lee has totally joined the cast of my dreams. He’s just there, all the time, hanging out with me. What fun! I tried to watch an episode of Idol the other night, but once you’ve gone Rock Star there’s just no turning back. I watched Global-TV’s special on the auditions, where six Canadians made it into the top 50 in the world. One guy gave me goosebumps when he performed. I hope he goes far.

I’m also looking forward to Big Brother All-Stars. Will, the evil doctor, was so entertaining to watch. I hope he gets voted back into the house. I can’t imagine an all-stars without him.

And that’s all I’m watching this summer. Not getting into anything else. Though I’ll be doing the Oscar-winning dvds for my list. I feel like I’m off my game, with regard to the list, to life in general. I’ve run off the road, just spinning my tires in the ditch. Need someone to give me a push I think.

Mood: damp
Drinking: coffee
Listening To: KIIS-FM, Ryan Seacrest
Hair: bed-head


Humidy’s high. Not good for my joints. Not good for sleeping. Not good for alertness or brain power or anything worthwhile. Blech! Days like these are hard on me. I want to go shopping. Need more summertime fare. I changed my clothes at least six times yesterday, trying to get something semi-comfortable in this weather. My upstairs seems hotter this year than last. I’m wondering if it has to do with those trees being cut down or if I’m just running hotter or if the temperatures are truly higher or what is going on. After getting back from Moncton yesterday, it was so hot here that I couldn’t function. Couldn’t make dinner. Couldn’t think. I went out to the Dollar store and bought a bar of Fa Soap, two 8×10 picture frames and a ceramic teapot (10 bucks+, it’s not a REAL dollar store). Then I went to Save-Easy in search of frozen yogurt, but Chapman’s Ice Cream was on sale two for $5, so I got Cherry Vanilla and Orange Pineapple (the only flavours available, perhaps I’ll check back today for others). The Co-Op renos are done I think. Want to go and see what they’ve got for fresh produce, different stuff. Plus I want a bottle of wine. Want to do pasta, maybe even a zitti, something with hot sausage, but can hardly do that without having a glass of red with it (watched The Godfather Part II, they eat a lot in that one). Darn-it! Got the hiccoughs!

Mood: fuzzy
Drinking: cold coffee
Listening To: Sanctuary, The Local Division
Hair: poufy

You Spin Me Round

Setting for your story: at a dance

Starting phrase for your story: He told me

Four words you must include in your story: Probability, Wimp, Ad-lib, Moo

15 minutes on the clock . . .

And go!

He told me the probability that he’d show up was next to none. He had no money. No urge. But I went to the dance anyway, just in case. He knew I’d be there. If he showed it would be to see me.

Six weeks earlier I’d broken up with him. Out in a blaze of glory, a heated argument. We had the best arguments, so much passion and chemistry between us. I regretted the break-up after one week. What was I thinking? For God’s sake, he was the love of my life! But I’d made my bed and I was determined to lay in it, so I didn’t call him, didn’t hang around his usual haunts. By the third week I was miserable. Took to my bed, refused to eat, refused to see anyone. The fourth week friends threatened to call him for an intervention if I didn’t start making some effort, shower at least, have a cup of tea. I couldn’t have him see me like this. So I got up. I showered. I drank tea. I made scrambled eggs. I went through all the motions, put up the front I needed to in order to convince everyone I wasn’t the big wimp they pegged me for.

And that’s how I ended up at the club Friday night, the night before the dance, playing pool with the club boys, laughing, flirting, drinking, generally convincing myself and everyone else that I was so over him. Then he walked into the room and everything stopped. My heart stopped. And I knew the truth. I had to be with him. I had to get him back. I’d never loved anyone like that before. I’d never love anyone like that again. A smile broke across my face and I started toward him just as she stepped in behind him. A blonde I’d never seen before. A real cow. One of those giddy young girls without a clue in her head. And he was holding her hand. My God! What could he possibly see in her? He stopped when he saw me, taken aback by my presence. And the room went silent as everyone waited to see what would happen.

I’d be damned if I’d let him know how much he’d hurt me. My smile broadened and I could feel the twinkle in my eyes and I sidled up to him and said hello. “Hey stranger,” he said. “Moo,” the cow ad-libbed before my eyes shot poison arrows turning her into tainted beef. I played it so cool, so aloof, he couldn’t help but be drawn to me. By the end of the night the cow jumped over the moon and I was sitting back in my rightful place, beside him in his car as he drove me home.

As we got closer to my place, the plan fell apart. My calm collectiveness evaporated and I started blubbering, begging for another chance. Just like he had blubbered and begged the night I broke up with him. And just like me that night, he now turned to stone and let his heart turn cold toward me. He wanted to hurt me as bad as I had hurt him. I can’t say I blame him. It’s what I would’ve done. But I would’ve regretted it later. And I would’ve changed my mind. That’s what I would’ve done. And we were so much alike I thought maybe that’s what he’d do too. So I sucked it up and laid it on the line.

“Okay. I can accept this. You’ve got every right to hate me. But if you change your mind. Like tomorrow, after you’ve had some time to sleep on it. If you decide you would like to try again, start over, then I’ll be at the dance.” He told me again about how he didn’t have any money and wouldn’t be at that dance and I said that was fine I was just letting him know where I’d be, just in case.

Saturday night, I went to the dance.

And we’re all outta time. That’s all for today. I’m not liking these first person prompts too much. I’d rather write in third person. Maybe tomorrow I’ll try a different tool.

Mood: starving marven
Drinking: coffee, the cheap stuff, blech!
Listening To: i’m not sure, it sounds like motor boats . . . but we’ve got no place close for motor boats, perhaps it’s a lawnmower
Hair: tousled

New Blog

Not mine. Don’t panic. I have enough problems keeping up with all the blogs I’m currently looking after. On the weekend I heard from Gerry. You’ll recall I met him at the WFNB AGM in Moncton last year. His workshop made a big impression on me. And now he’s starting blogging, tho with four littles underfoot this summer, who knows how much time he’ll have for such things, but I’m really liking what I’m seeing there so far. Be sure to check out his “Sightings of Bono” and “How do we cope with Gerry?” posts on his Dead Beat blog.

Meeting in Moncton Tuesday afternoon. What is it about Tuesdays? *Sigh*

Today I cooked Tandoori chicken and corn on the cob. Meat was beyond scrum. Corn was a little bland. No cherries to be found anywhere.

I noticed a surge in male eyes upon me today as I went about my run-around. With the first guy I thought something must’ve been wrong, zipper down, toilet paper stuck in my pants, you know, something terribly embarrassing and completely Kellie-like. But then there were two more . . . and then another and another . . . and finally I got home and checked myself out in the mirror . . . and without seeing anything out of place, I’ll have to chalk it up to an amazing hair day, good bra, and a Tommy Hilfiger hooter sweater. OR maybe men have been looking all along and I just haven’t noticed. Maybe I’m not as invisible as I thought.

Mood: sleepy
Drinking: rooibos vanilla tea
Listening To: Maybe Sparrow, Neko Case
Hair: growing to the perfect length, nearly there

Another Spin

Here are your Story Spinner results…..

Setting for your story: at a square dance

Starting phrase for your story: If I could relive a day

Four words you must include in your story: Jello, Chew, Ostrich, Belly Flop

15 minutes on the clock . . .

And GO!

If I could relive a day it would not be the day Great Aunt Louise got married. Her sixth, his fourth, and they wanted to shake things up a little. Do something just a little different. But with 10 weddings between them, new ideas were hard to come by. Barefoot on the beach, aboard a hot air balloon, with a view of the Eiffel Tower–done, done, done. So they rounded everyone up, herded us out to a Colarado Dude Ranch, for the biggest hoe-down of the year complete with square dancing and weathered old cowboys sucking on a chew of tobacco. Jello moulds, belly flops into the duck pond, the smell of manure, and a straw itchyness that never went away–this was one classy affair, rivalled only by Aunt Lousie’s third nuptials of the burlesque theme for which hundreds of ostrich sacrificed their feathers. Oh, there’s nothing like a good wedding to bring a family closer. But these nuptials in particular . . . this wedding especially needs to be forgotten. Because that was the day I met Hank. Sensible, direct, broad-shouldered, man of few words, Hank. I wish I had never laid eyes on him.

And time. And again I’m in the west. For godsake! What is up with that?! And again, I’ve only got a beginning, not a story and no idea really where I was heading. Blech! I suck at this. But hey, why do you think meeting Hank was a day not worth reliving? Lets bandy about some ideas, see where this goes.

Mood: hungry
Drinking: coffee
Listening To: traffic in the rain
Hair: oh boy!

New Week Begins

From my Weekly Horoscope Forecast for June 26 to July 02:

” . . . You have been through a frustrating week as you have tried to get important administration out of the way, or to get documents and contracts dealt with in a timely manner. This week as Mars has moved past Saturn, things should be easier . . .”

Well, ain’t that the truth! Amen to that sister!

Last night I dreamed I was at a graduation, high school maybe, because I was having a conversation with one of my old classmates, but the size of the class was too large to be my real high school, and it seemed more like university to me. I was definitely graduating though, in this group of hundreds doing likewise. Only two of the students, both girls I didn’t know, wore the gowns (the uniform of graduation), in beautiful bright royal blue. They sat in the front row in the first two seats on the left and their brightness made them stand out against the rest of the class like they were the only ones in colour and every one else was in grayscale. I couldn’t understand this, why nobody else wanted to wear a gown. I really wanted one, but couldn’t find out how to get one. I was like, this is a once in a lifetime moment, why isn’t everyone taking advantage of and enjoying all the tradition that comes with it? And I was sad to be among the hundreds in civilian clothes.

A vivid dream, I felt compelled to look into meaning:

“To dream you are at a graduation, represents your achievements and a successful transition to a higher level of ability. You are ready to move forward with your accomplishments and do more important things.”

“To see your childhood friend in your dream, signifies regression into your past where you had no responsibilities and things were much simpler and carefree. You may be wanting to escape the the pressures and stresses of adulthood. Alternatively, the childhood friend may be suggesting that you have been acting in a childish manner and you need to start acting like an adult.”

“To see a person in uniform, indicates that you may be conforming too much and living in too much of a regimented manner. Also, you may need to fit in and stop going against the crowd.”

“Blue represents truth, wisdom, heaven, eternity, devotion, tranquility, loyalty and openness. The presence of this color in your dream, may symbolize your spiritual guide and your optimism of the future. You have clarity of mind. Depending on the context of your dream, the color blue may also be a metaphor of ‘being blue’ and feeling sad.”

Put it all together and what have you got? Last week was one helluva shitty week! I’ve felt something going on within me for a few months now, a shift. With the horoscope and this dream, not to mention the new moon, I’m thinking I’m just about at the end of it, almost through the painful growing part and ready to emerge as a beautiful butterfly, content until the next growth spurt. Perhaps a couple of months of peace will ensue. Wouldn’t that be lovely?

In other news, two inmates on the loose, one considered dangerous. Not a good day for me to be out and about flaunting my con-attractive personality. Especially at bus stations.

Mood: better
Drinking: coffee
Listening To: renos happening across the way
Hair: everywhich way but flat


Need to do more timed exercises. So I found this site. Keeping in mind the three Os (Objective, Obstacle, Outcome). Fifteen minutes on the clock. Spinning . . .

Setting for your story: in the wild west

Starting phrase for your story: The moment I took off

Four words you must include in your story: Semester, Coach, Quest, Olive Oil

The moment I took off on my quest I knew the Coach Gang would not be easily penetrated. Everybody was heading west to find their fortune in gold, or to profit off the gold-diggers through gambling saloons and other commerce. Some went west to escape the law, some went for an adventure. I went for none of these reasons. Nobody expected a student of the theatre to leave New York city mid-semester and head west. And a woman travelling alone! Yes, there were stories of some women in the wild country who drank, cussed and killed as good as any man–Calamity Jane’s legend continued. But for a city woman, still a girl really, to enter the territories on her own . . . My mission was dangerous, downright deadly, but with my sister’s life hanging in the balance I saw no other choice.

My sister June, the blushing bride, barely 17 years old, enroute to a new life, a homestead out west, when the stage was overtaken, robbed, the men killed, my dear baby sister taken prisoner by the Coach Gang. We learned this from the young boy, the stage driver’s son, who tagged along with his father that day and slipped into the brush to hide as his father had taught him to do at the first sign of trouble. The boy saw everything, remained hidden until the next coach came upon the scene. The authorities said it was hopeless. There was no law out there to speak of, women disappeared, were forced into prostitution, servitude. We’d never see June again and there was nothing we could do about it. So there was no choice. Someone had to go look for her and since we had no brothers and with father in his sick-bed, the task fell on my shoulders. A single woman, travelling alone.

The idea invited trouble. Being a woman often had its advantages for bending people to my will, but it wouldn’t serve me well out there. No. If I were to succeed I needed a man. Being a person of the theatre, rather flat-chested, strong features . . . yes, I could pull it off. As I watched my blonde curls fall to the floor during the cutting, I knew I could do it.

And time’s up! Blech! The west for godsake! What kind of crazy prompt is that? My problem in doing these exercises is getting a complete story done. I mean by the time I came up with an objective – to rescue the sister – and an obstacle – the gang and being a woman in the west travelling alone – there was just no time left to get to the outcome – where she pulls it off. And who on earth would want to read such a story anyway? Blech!

Mood: achy
Drinking: coffee with cream
Listening To: birds and rain
Hair: getting there