A Lounge Moment

Rarely do I stop what I'm doing to watch a television commercial, but the Starbuck Frappucino advert stops me in my tracks every damned time. The singer in the commercial, Michael Bublé, makes me want to don a zebra-print lounge jacket and sip on martinis. He also makes me want to become that woman in the commercial and grab him instead of the flower. So I did some research on Mr. Bublé and found out that his perfection far exceeds his smooth croon: he's Canadian! Jesus H. Christ on a pink pogo stick! I must get me to Vancouver and hang out with this delicious dude. I don't care if I'm old enough to be his mumsy...or at least an aunt. I want to fly away with him to Acapulco Bay.

Ultimate Serenade

Okay....

My fantasy du jour ~~~

I'm kicked back on an exquisitely designed divan eating deeply ripe strawberries and cream cheese dip whilst being fanned with gigantic leaves from the heart of darkest Africa by Vin Diesel and the Rock. While they fan me and caress me on occasion, I lazily turn my eyes to the corner of the room where Michael Bublé, Harry Connick Jr., and Richard Cheese are mixing it up and lounging to the nth degree just for me. I'm grooving to the music and am overcome from the scent of Diesel and Rock pheromones combined with the sweet, sweet strawberries, and I fall into a swoon, whereupon the hunks and lounge singers ravish me until I disintigrate and become one with The Force.

Amen and hallelujah.

**EDIT**
After hearing Will Smith on the radio, I must include him in this orgy of smooth music, smooth talking, and smooth bodies. He gives the lounge singers some fine rhythms and sets the pace for my eventual molestation. Ah, Will!!!!

A Creation Tale

This was written about 10 years ago for a dedicant's initiation. It's not canon as far as the Tarmian myths are concerned, and really just stands on its own.

I remember well in the ancient realms of Memory the old, old tales from the people of the Goddess Dana and their progeny. They have spoken to me in the breath of the winds that blow across the night sky, in the firm silences of the mountains primeval, in the cascading seas foaming with history, in the crackling rhythm of a balefire wrought in passion. They have spoken to me through the spirits of my dreams and in the words of fantasy turned truth. And so I pass the tale to you of the coming to be of this, our existence, and how we are the sacred ones who must carry and pass on to the others the flame of the story and the beauty of its telling.

Before there was anything at all, there was She Who Dwells in All Things and She was sore lonely and sad that there was naught to commune with save Her vast mind in the darkness of the Void. And so She drifted slowly, Her mind searching for some sign of companionship until She came finally to a surface silver and black, and great in its conjuring. And, looking upon the surface, She saw a face of such overwhelming beauty, She Who Dwells in All Things uttered a song in praise and gave Her reflection sentience and power that it may join Her in the singing and create Song Eternal.

Emerging from the surface, Her companion sang in praise of Her and joined her in the Great Song, and together they danced, She Who Dwells in All Things and Her surface twin, across the expanse of the Void in great joy until it came to be that the surface being grew to love deeply She who had brought her froth from the surface, and sought to merge with Her in the ecstasy of their spirits.

And so it was that their joy became passion and, in their union, the Song grew stronger and flew out across the Void, going further and further through the surfaces and veils, and it gathered mass and matter and soon exploded in the zenith of their lovemaking, creating all that is and all that is yet to be.

Fascinated by their creation, She Who Dwells in All Things and Her companion traveled into its heart to understand its mystery and commune with it. Upon going to that realm, the surface being, being a reflection of She Who Dwells in All Things, and who was Her opposite and Her complement, changed in the new realms and was He Who Dwells in All Things for all time hence. And their love has spanned eternity, as does their ancient song, in constant creation of all that is and all that is yet to be.

Know this, sacred child of Dana: that you are born of love with the song of life upon your lips, and all that you are and all that you will be is determined by your love and the song within your soul. Go now into all creation and make your magicks, sing your songs, and make love in all its sacredness and beauty and, when the time is right for you to pass this flame to another, tell the tale so that the story will not die and so the children may prosper.

Dear MercyMe

I can only imagine shutting your pie-holes with a standard-size brick.

Yours in Jeebus,
Tinhuviel

Heat

Instead of doing my duty yesterday by mowing the grass, I put it off until today. Go me! Why I put off the inevitability of a horrible experience only to dread it longer is beyond my ability to comprehend. After work, I must go home, get the gas can, head to the nearest gas station, give them $1000 for 3 gallons of gas, return home, and proceed with my yard work in the blistering heat.

It's hot and humid outside. The joy of living in the subtropics often overcomes me with heatstroke joy and thankfulness.

And the insect population is just completely out of control this year. They're flourishing in this oppressive weather, so I'm expecting to be stung, bitten, or equally tormented by some other method during my time outside this afternoon. Really, I'd rather be flattened by an industrial landscaper than suffer being outside in the heat and pestilence.

What's worse is my ability to tolerate heat has seemed to disappear. green_goblin70 gave me the nickname Reptile because I never used to sweat. Once upon a time, I would drive about in late July/early August with my car windows up and no air on. The heat felt good to me...almost as good as the cold made me miserable. But now, I'm a sweating bit of misery. I can't seem to get cool no matter what I do. I'm even having to keep my hair up in a knot or ponytail because it's slowcooking my neck. I am Reptile no more, alas!

Maybe it's the peri-menopause thing. Dunno. Whatever it is, I'm hating it. So far, this Summer has made me completely uncomfortable and unhappy. I keep dreaming of diving into pools fed by waterfalls. I need to dip my itchy, hot body in a large body of ice cold water....cold enough to take away my breath. And I need a flamethrower to ward off all the biting, stinging insects that come for me in droves when I'm outside.

Yes, I want to float about in a river, frying bugs on the wing with a flamethrower. That is my ultimate wish. Well....that, and a night on the town in Las Vegas with Michael Bublé. Sad to say, all I'll be getting is a gigantic yard full of growing grass, a stinky mower, and swarms of vermin.

Poll Dancing

[Poll #526440]

Insect Bitching

I'm sick and tired of having every bloodsucking critter come and chew on me. Even the fleas prefer me to the smorgasbord of cats and dogs around my home.

Fleas, mosquitoes, biting flies, bees, bugs with no name except to entomologists with too much time on their hands: they all come and nosh on my flesh and blood.

And I'm allergic to the bites. Every one of them becomes blistered or scabbed over.

Every Summer I look like I have leprosy. If I were living in Judea about 2000 years ago, Jesus would have chased me down to heal me of a disease I don't bloody have. Hey J, can you cure me of being so attractive to the 6-legged monsters that attach themselves to me each time I step outside? Hm? That would be nice. Thanks.

Oh, and I have another lovely pest to endure now that I'm sweating: sweat bees! Hate 'em. Between them and the gnats trying to fly into my eyeballs, my time outside is a literal hell. I'm so glad it's July. Two more months and we'll begin to see a semblance of relief from the heat and bugs.

Stick a fork in me for, verily, I am done

I mowed all the grass, including Uncle Michael's back yard and driveway. I can't get to his front yard now that they've laid a concrete pad out front. It's hard to explain, but there's no way to get there, so I'll leave it up to Janice and the family to finish that bit.

In my back yard, I discovered a wasps' nest in the metal cross-pipe of our clotheslines. How did I discover it? I hit the pole with the mower and out came the wasps, pissed off and ready to rumble. I screamed "shit!!!!" and ran with the mower like a bat out of hell. Thankfully, I did not get stung.

After an hour and a half of non-stop turbo mowing, I teetered into the house, peeling off my wet duds and ready for a shower. Before I got a shower, I called Llew and told him there was no way I was coming over. I was ready to curl up and die. Maybe tomorrow.

So now I'm showered and still in the cooling-off process. I won't have to worry about the grass for at least four days.