Saturday, November 27, 2004
coconuts falling
Lately, I've heard coconuts falling. It actually sounds like someone on the roof is tossing bombs over the side which crash through the trees before slamming onto Arturo's patio below my window. The other night, he and a friend woke me up trying to wrestle the coconuts off the patio and onto a huge, noisy, plastic tarp so the friend could haul them away. Did I mention this occurred at 1AM? It's difficult to get angry with Arturo. He is our landlord and incredibly handsome. He thinks Colleen and I are the most beautiful women in Vallarta. Oh, and rich too since we're always working. Too bad he plays for the "other team"!
And then there is the "new" dog in the neighbourhood. He must be very big because he is very loud. And he always starts his barking AFTER 11PM, like some kind of weird, inverted noise by-law. One night last week, at approximately midnight, I threw my jean jacket over my PJs and headed outside with a flashlight to investigate. There is a condo building way up on top of the hill directly east of our house. This poor dog was out on the balcony, whimpering, barking and pawing at the glass doors. If I can ever figure out a way to get up there, those dog owners better watch out! Thank the Goddess I know how to say "SHUT UP" in both English and Spanish. [El Diario de la Diosa]
And then there is the "new" dog in the neighbourhood. He must be very big because he is very loud. And he always starts his barking AFTER 11PM, like some kind of weird, inverted noise by-law. One night last week, at approximately midnight, I threw my jean jacket over my PJs and headed outside with a flashlight to investigate. There is a condo building way up on top of the hill directly east of our house. This poor dog was out on the balcony, whimpering, barking and pawing at the glass doors. If I can ever figure out a way to get up there, those dog owners better watch out! Thank the Goddess I know how to say "SHUT UP" in both English and Spanish. [El Diario de la Diosa]
the shotgun looks inviting tonight
I did not write yesterday because I was really tired and frustrated at work. I got a "pink slip" stating that I was almost $100 short in my register drawer. Not possible! I protested the slip and asked for a full investigation. After some hemming and hawing, the boss of the registers and cash office gave me a signed note absolving me of responsibility for the loss. I blame the cash office or one of my co-employees. I have decided not to use a register in my department again. Too few controls and too much possibility for trouble.
Had a good night tonight. Completely ignored Surly and Shadow and did my own thing. Not much teamwork, but our department is completely devoid of any such thing. Customers tonight were great. I did good work and got lots of complements. Got some return customers who were very happy with the purchases I helped them with. It made me feel great.
My diet is dead. I have been eating badly and at odd hours. My exercise has been nil and all I seem to do is work, eat and sleep. The house needs a lot of work and the yard does too. I have the next two days off and hope to use them to get some things done here.
Hopefully I will have better news tomorrow.
Please] remember, oh most gracious Virgin Mary, that never was it known that anyone who fled to thy protection, implored thy help, or sought thy intercession was left unaided. Inspired by this confidence I fly unto thee, oh Virgin of Virgins, my Mother. To thee do I come, before thee I [kneel], sinful and [most] sorrowful. Oh Mother of the Word Incarnate, [please] despise not my petitions but in thy [infinite] mercy [please] hear and answer me. Amen.
I did pretty well for the first two or three days of my vacation and then I fucked up. I ate a little more and more each day until I was back to my baddest habits. For shame! There was just too much food and too little else to capture my attention, he said trying to avoid responsibility for his misdeeds. Oh well, I am back in the saddle again, more or less, and hope to do reasonably better. (Although I must admit to eating a lot of chips and dip upon coming home from Wal-Mart tonight.)
The return to work was unremarkable. The day went well and I seem to have pleased several customers. I kept hard at it and got a lot done (for my just-over-minimum-wage+$0.55/hr-raise). Chatted with a nice woman co-worker at lunch and just let the day drift by.
I have been day dreaming about sex with two young women who work at Wal-Mart with me. One is a tiny Hispanic girl of 20-22 years who has a very hot body. She is about 4' 10" or so tall and might weigh about 85 pounds. She has bigish tits for her size and wears very tight pants and shirts. I keep thinking of eating her pussy and bung. I think I would like it a lot, though I am not sure she would. Oh well, the lame (limp) dreams of an old man. I also was thinking about a 19 year old black girl who works at WM too. She is not as hot, but I like her personality and would like to slow fuck her several times. I keep imagining screwing her bareback and pumping my load deep into her a lot. She might even like it. She is hard to figure out. But all of it is the vanity of someone far from reality.
I am really a compulsive-obsessive person. I can not seem to do anything reasonably. I am either at full speed ahead or all stop. I wish I could be more reasonable. I think it is the bane of my existence to be so up and down. I do not know where it comes from and it frustrates me. I used to smoke and was able to quit. I used to take drugs, especially marijuana, pretty regularly and quit that too. I used to drink alcohol (beer mostly) on a very regular basis and have been able to set that down too. Now I eat. I need to try to transfer my obsession to work or something more constructive. I am the victim of my own folly. I am feeling very helpless now.
The shotgun looks inviting tonight. I wonder if I would feel anything or hear anything as I shot my own head off. I have been wondering lately how it would be to be beheaded by a smooth functioning guillotine. If my head was cut off cleanly and quickly would my mind still be active for a while? Would I be able to open my eyes and see? That would be very strange.
[ oneless]
Had a good night tonight. Completely ignored Surly and Shadow and did my own thing. Not much teamwork, but our department is completely devoid of any such thing. Customers tonight were great. I did good work and got lots of complements. Got some return customers who were very happy with the purchases I helped them with. It made me feel great.
My diet is dead. I have been eating badly and at odd hours. My exercise has been nil and all I seem to do is work, eat and sleep. The house needs a lot of work and the yard does too. I have the next two days off and hope to use them to get some things done here.
Hopefully I will have better news tomorrow.
Please] remember, oh most gracious Virgin Mary, that never was it known that anyone who fled to thy protection, implored thy help, or sought thy intercession was left unaided. Inspired by this confidence I fly unto thee, oh Virgin of Virgins, my Mother. To thee do I come, before thee I [kneel], sinful and [most] sorrowful. Oh Mother of the Word Incarnate, [please] despise not my petitions but in thy [infinite] mercy [please] hear and answer me. Amen.
I did pretty well for the first two or three days of my vacation and then I fucked up. I ate a little more and more each day until I was back to my baddest habits. For shame! There was just too much food and too little else to capture my attention, he said trying to avoid responsibility for his misdeeds. Oh well, I am back in the saddle again, more or less, and hope to do reasonably better. (Although I must admit to eating a lot of chips and dip upon coming home from Wal-Mart tonight.)
The return to work was unremarkable. The day went well and I seem to have pleased several customers. I kept hard at it and got a lot done (for my just-over-minimum-wage+$0.55/hr-raise). Chatted with a nice woman co-worker at lunch and just let the day drift by.
I have been day dreaming about sex with two young women who work at Wal-Mart with me. One is a tiny Hispanic girl of 20-22 years who has a very hot body. She is about 4' 10" or so tall and might weigh about 85 pounds. She has bigish tits for her size and wears very tight pants and shirts. I keep thinking of eating her pussy and bung. I think I would like it a lot, though I am not sure she would. Oh well, the lame (limp) dreams of an old man. I also was thinking about a 19 year old black girl who works at WM too. She is not as hot, but I like her personality and would like to slow fuck her several times. I keep imagining screwing her bareback and pumping my load deep into her a lot. She might even like it. She is hard to figure out. But all of it is the vanity of someone far from reality.
I am really a compulsive-obsessive person. I can not seem to do anything reasonably. I am either at full speed ahead or all stop. I wish I could be more reasonable. I think it is the bane of my existence to be so up and down. I do not know where it comes from and it frustrates me. I used to smoke and was able to quit. I used to take drugs, especially marijuana, pretty regularly and quit that too. I used to drink alcohol (beer mostly) on a very regular basis and have been able to set that down too. Now I eat. I need to try to transfer my obsession to work or something more constructive. I am the victim of my own folly. I am feeling very helpless now.
The shotgun looks inviting tonight. I wonder if I would feel anything or hear anything as I shot my own head off. I have been wondering lately how it would be to be beheaded by a smooth functioning guillotine. If my head was cut off cleanly and quickly would my mind still be active for a while? Would I be able to open my eyes and see? That would be very strange.
[ oneless]
the perfect murder
'Suicide tree' toxin is 'perfect' murder weapon
A plant dubbed the suicide tree kills many more people in Indian communities than was previously thought. The warning comes from forensic toxicologists in India and France who have conducted a review of deaths caused by plant-derived poisons.
Cerbera odollam, which grows across India and south-east Asia, is used by more people to commit suicide than any other plant, the toxicologists say. But they also warn that doctors, pathologists and coroners are failing to detect how often it is used to murder people.
A team led by Yvan Gaillard of the Laboratory of Analytical Toxicology in La Voulte-sur-Rhône, France, documented more than 500 cases of fatal Cerbera poisoning between 1989 and 1999 in the south-west Indian state of Kerala alone. Half of Kerala’s plant poisoning deaths, and one in 10 of all fatal poisonings, are put down to Cerbera.
But the true number of deaths due to Cerbera poisoning in Kerala could be twice that, the team estimates, as poisonings are difficult to identify by conventional means.
Unnoticed homicides
Using high-performance liquid chromatography coupled with mass spectrometry to examine autopsy tissues for traces of the plant, the team uncovered a number of homicides that would otherwise have gone unnoticed. This also suggests that some cases put down to suicide may actually have been murders, they say.
Although the kernels of the tree have a bitter taste, this can be disguised if they are crushed and mixed with spicy food. They contain a potent heart toxin called cerberin, similar in structure to digoxin, found in the foxglove.
Digoxin kills by blocking calcium ion channels in heart muscles, which disrupts the heartbeat. But while foxglove poisoning is well known to western toxicologists, Gaillard says pathologists would not be able to identify Cerbera poisoning unless there is evidence the victim had eaten the plant. “It is the perfect murder,” he says.
Three-quarters of Cerbera victims are women. The team says that this may mean the plant is being used to kill young wives who do not meet the exacting standards of some Indian families. It is also likely that many cases of homicide using the plant go unnoticed in countries where it does not grow naturally.
[Journal reference: Journal of Ethnopharmacology (vol 95, p 123), new scientist]
A plant dubbed the suicide tree kills many more people in Indian communities than was previously thought. The warning comes from forensic toxicologists in India and France who have conducted a review of deaths caused by plant-derived poisons.
Cerbera odollam, which grows across India and south-east Asia, is used by more people to commit suicide than any other plant, the toxicologists say. But they also warn that doctors, pathologists and coroners are failing to detect how often it is used to murder people.
A team led by Yvan Gaillard of the Laboratory of Analytical Toxicology in La Voulte-sur-Rhône, France, documented more than 500 cases of fatal Cerbera poisoning between 1989 and 1999 in the south-west Indian state of Kerala alone. Half of Kerala’s plant poisoning deaths, and one in 10 of all fatal poisonings, are put down to Cerbera.
But the true number of deaths due to Cerbera poisoning in Kerala could be twice that, the team estimates, as poisonings are difficult to identify by conventional means.
Unnoticed homicides
Using high-performance liquid chromatography coupled with mass spectrometry to examine autopsy tissues for traces of the plant, the team uncovered a number of homicides that would otherwise have gone unnoticed. This also suggests that some cases put down to suicide may actually have been murders, they say.
Although the kernels of the tree have a bitter taste, this can be disguised if they are crushed and mixed with spicy food. They contain a potent heart toxin called cerberin, similar in structure to digoxin, found in the foxglove.
Digoxin kills by blocking calcium ion channels in heart muscles, which disrupts the heartbeat. But while foxglove poisoning is well known to western toxicologists, Gaillard says pathologists would not be able to identify Cerbera poisoning unless there is evidence the victim had eaten the plant. “It is the perfect murder,” he says.
Three-quarters of Cerbera victims are women. The team says that this may mean the plant is being used to kill young wives who do not meet the exacting standards of some Indian families. It is also likely that many cases of homicide using the plant go unnoticed in countries where it does not grow naturally.
[Journal reference: Journal of Ethnopharmacology (vol 95, p 123), new scientist]
bridal henna
Commuted down to Rain's place to do her bridal henna in the afternoon. Packed my antique MP3 player and a novel for the long ride. Why did you have to move so far, woman? If you hadn't, I only need to cross a junction to get to your place! Hee.. There was no eye-candy on the train at all once you've past a certain part of the island. Just some skanky boy-mats with their tapered uniform pants and spiky hairdos. *cringes* Thank God for Margaret Atwood's trans-high-tech-post-apocalyptic-alternate-universe narrative. It is possible to be a stranger in your own country, really.
Had lunch at Rain's place before starting her bridal henna at about 2.30pm. Half-way through slinging, my throat began to tickle. Then it began to hurt. And my nose started to run. I begged a couple of Panadols from her mother and continued slinging, blowing my nose intermittently. Meanwhile outside, it had began to rain, with thunder and lightning... and a power surge caused the whole house to trip. Little Qistina was telling us "Taatut!" and huddling close to her auntie Rain. No one knew which switch to flip on the DB, so I had to abandon my cone for a bit and help them bring the electricity back.
I was done by 4.30pm and asked her to leave it on until 6.30pm.
"Is it 6 yet?"
"No, it's just 4.40!"
"What am I supposed to do?"
"I dunno... watch TV or something?"
"Watch TV until 6.30?" Rain is now wearing a worried little scrunchy frown on her flawless forehead.
"What do you want me to do? Bellydance for you?" Red shimmies gently to imaginary music. "Or do a stripper number?" Red swivels a figure-8 with her pelvis.
Rain chortles. "You know, you ought to package that into your henna service." (And risk ruining my business? Nuts.)
Took leave of Rain soon afterwards and cabbed (ok, I made this word up) back home, saddled with the worsening sore throat and runny nose. Thank you for the generous tip, Rain :) *hugs*
Took a couple more Panadols after dinner at about 8 or so and went to bed. Woke up three hours later in cold sweat and couldn't get back to sleep fast enough. And I have another gig bright and early tomorrow. *groans*
I could hear footsteps walking to and fro across my ceiling, coming from the unit above. And the best part is, the unit above is under renovation and no one was staying in it.
Go figure!
Friday: Bridezilla
Dragged myself out of bed and despite the floaty-shaky feeling, went out for the gig anyway. If I could find a replacement artist for the girl, I would have done so and stayed in bed. But I couldn't. And if certain factions had their way, there would be a sentinel at my door to see that I stay a-bed until I'm bug-free. *snerk*
There were Bridezilla moments in this particular gig. Bad manners that are just appalling, and if you're not in your early teens, there is no excuse for that. I shall be professional and not elaborate. *flicks hair*
After that gig, I hopped downtown to meet Miss Aida and hunt for Rain's wedding pressie. Both of us were pretty much flu-ish. We got Rain something nice and soft and satiny from Marks and Spencer. At some point, I got an SMS, requesting if I could do a last minute gig for that night. By that time, my head was about to split apart, and I had to decline. As much as I would like to help, I have to help myself first.
Got home, decorated the gift box, showered, took two Panadols again and went to bed. Woke up 6 hours later and couldn't get back to sleep fast enough. I hate waking up in the middle of the night. One of the ways to circumvent that is to physically exhaust myself in the day and then sink into a dreamless stupor later. It's highly detrimental in the long run, though.
More funny noises coming from the empty apartment upstairs. This time, it sounds like something being rolled across the floor.
Whatever lah.
Saturday: The Big Day Out
Miss Aida picked me up bright and early. Wiedeee was with her and, man, we had a most interesting morning bitchfest in the car. Yeah, bad, bad, baaaaaad! *snerk*
Rain looked awesome in her bridal outfit :) Alhamdulillah, all went well during the nikah. We trooped home after lunch and would come back in the evening for the dinner.
Wiedeee picked me up in the evening. And we were so busy chatting that we missed the exit on the expressway. Called another girlfriend to see if our situation can be salvaged (Can we say airheads, boys and babes? Absolute bimbos, we are.) So we both arrived "supremely late", Girls Gone Wild stunt notwithstanding. *both Wiedeee and Red bats eyelashes innocently*
Wiedeee gave a speech before dinner began; short, sharp, sweet and not entirely without humour.
During dinner we were alternately amused and annoyed by the deejay. At some point I was literally growling my annoyance and someone said, "Please take that fork away from her..." Hee..
But the deejay's daughter impressed us with her rendition of Siti Nurhaliza's songs. The young girl sounded exactly like Siti!
I suppose I better wrap this ramble up because it's gonna be another long day later. Here's an excerpt from Wiedeee's lovely speech (published without permission. Hehe..):
"...The best thing though, although life pulls us in different directions and continents even, when we all meet up, we always have a good time...
...Our wishes for Ain and Alim are that they have a continued loving friendship and partnership; that they enjoy success and laughter; that they are blessed with children; and that they always see and talk with their heart. Our greatest wish for the two of you is that through the years, your love for each other will deepen and grow. Years from now, may you look back on this day, your wedding day, as the day you loved each other the least. We wish you all the very best that life can bring. Insya Allah."
Amin.
You know what, ladies? The lyrics of our alma mater's song is running through my head.
Moribus modestus. *winks*
Red Herring got her henna fix at 1:16 AM | No one was hennaed
Wednesday, November 24, 2004
Nora's henna and then some.
She's got petite hands and feet and wants the simplest palm pattern for (psuedo)bridal henna. And she has a huge chocolate-point Siamese (or more correctly, Tonkinese) tom as a pet; he's absolutely gorgeous! He's got distinct point markings, but the colour of his coat is dark brown instead of the cream shades that are prevalent in Siamese cats. He doesn't have the slender, slinky lines of a Siamese nor it's wedge-shaped face; he's a lot more solid that that! Think a mini bolster covered in velvet and has four legs. Yup, that's Boy.
I didn't get to glomp that kitty; he scooted off at the sight of me. I didn't even get a picture of him. Hee..
In the meantime, enjoy my aural flavour of the moment.
So Unsexy - Alanis Morissette
Oh these little rejections how they add up quickly
One small sideways look and I feel so ungood
Somewhere along the way I think I gave you the power to make
Me feel the way I thought only my father could
Oh these little rejections how they seem so real to me
One forgotten birthday I'm all but cooked
How these little abandonments seem to sting so easily
I'm 13 again am I 13 for good?
I can feel so unsexy for someone so beautiful
So unloved for someone so fine
I can feel so boring for someone so interesting
So ignorant for someone of sound mind
Oh these little protections how they fail to serve me
One forgotten phone call and I'm deflated
Oh these little defenses how they fail to comfort me
Your hand pulling away and I'm devastated
When will you stop leaving baby?
When will I stop deserting baby?
When will I start staying with myself?
Oh these little projections how they keep springing from me
I jump my ship as I take it personally
Oh these little rejections how they disappear quickly
The moment I decide not to abandon me
Red Herring got her henna fix at 1:14 PM | 18 henna victims
Sunday, November 21, 2004
The best laid plans of mice and men.
*pirouettes gleefully across freshly mopped floors*
Ah, my toes are so happy.
The aftermath of an open house is really something, especially when there are kids aged 6 years and below running around. You have to keep one eye on the food supply and one eye on them lest they smash that crystal vase. I'm a little less indulgent about the said kids poking around where they shouldn't this year, and I have no qualms about issuing very firm warnings to them, even if their parents cast me an evil eye.
Don't like it? Tough.
Heck, if you can't do your job, allow me to do it for you and don't let be such that I've tell it to your face. You wouldn't want my kids fiddling with your computers and bouncing on your bed, right? Ah... so glad we have an understanding. *polite nod*
Yeap, I've morphed into a cantankerous old monster.
What's left to do? Just to turn on this light and wind down with a book, of course...
Oh boy... Did I just hear the doorbell? At this time of the night? *groans*
Red Herring got her henna fix at 9:20 PM | 4 henna victims
Friday, November 19, 2004
The light in my grotto is soft and dim.
I was lazing on the bed on the eve of Eid, watching TV and winding down after all that cleaning. The nightlight was on, and the little shutterbug in the attic had to spot the Kodak moment. Out came the trusty old Canon and the tripod and these happened...
I'm a-dying to put in a different soundtrack in this corner of cyberspace but can't decide which one from my ecclectic collection. *rummages through various and sundry files*
The Eid mood is fast wearing thin.
*pulls out a file* Hmmm. Reminiscent of that X-Files movie "Fight the Future". *shrugs and uploads*
Red Herring got her henna fix at 7:38 AM | 11 henna victims
Thursday, November 11, 2004
You're beautiful, ladies!
To all the ladies who came by OVA and had themselves prettified with henna, many thanks to all of you for your support. To the ladies who spread the word for the Hennaphiles, we thank you too for the airtime. And above all, a huge thank you to sis Aminah, the owner of OVA, for lending us her boutique space and bearing with the banter and chatter and the henna crumbs.
*hearts all*
Hope we could gather again, in such lively camaraderie :)
Eid Mubarak...
Al-Fatihah...
Buat Encik Yasser Arafat. Semoga rohnya dicucuri rahmat. Semoga obor perjuangannya tidak padam dengan kepergiannya. Amin.
Red Herring got her henna fix at 7:23 PM | 18 henna victims [redboudoir]
Had lunch at Rain's place before starting her bridal henna at about 2.30pm. Half-way through slinging, my throat began to tickle. Then it began to hurt. And my nose started to run. I begged a couple of Panadols from her mother and continued slinging, blowing my nose intermittently. Meanwhile outside, it had began to rain, with thunder and lightning... and a power surge caused the whole house to trip. Little Qistina was telling us "Taatut!" and huddling close to her auntie Rain. No one knew which switch to flip on the DB, so I had to abandon my cone for a bit and help them bring the electricity back.
I was done by 4.30pm and asked her to leave it on until 6.30pm.
"Is it 6 yet?"
"No, it's just 4.40!"
"What am I supposed to do?"
"I dunno... watch TV or something?"
"Watch TV until 6.30?" Rain is now wearing a worried little scrunchy frown on her flawless forehead.
"What do you want me to do? Bellydance for you?" Red shimmies gently to imaginary music. "Or do a stripper number?" Red swivels a figure-8 with her pelvis.
Rain chortles. "You know, you ought to package that into your henna service." (And risk ruining my business? Nuts.)
Took leave of Rain soon afterwards and cabbed (ok, I made this word up) back home, saddled with the worsening sore throat and runny nose. Thank you for the generous tip, Rain :) *hugs*
Took a couple more Panadols after dinner at about 8 or so and went to bed. Woke up three hours later in cold sweat and couldn't get back to sleep fast enough. And I have another gig bright and early tomorrow. *groans*
I could hear footsteps walking to and fro across my ceiling, coming from the unit above. And the best part is, the unit above is under renovation and no one was staying in it.
Go figure!
Friday: Bridezilla
Dragged myself out of bed and despite the floaty-shaky feeling, went out for the gig anyway. If I could find a replacement artist for the girl, I would have done so and stayed in bed. But I couldn't. And if certain factions had their way, there would be a sentinel at my door to see that I stay a-bed until I'm bug-free. *snerk*
There were Bridezilla moments in this particular gig. Bad manners that are just appalling, and if you're not in your early teens, there is no excuse for that. I shall be professional and not elaborate. *flicks hair*
After that gig, I hopped downtown to meet Miss Aida and hunt for Rain's wedding pressie. Both of us were pretty much flu-ish. We got Rain something nice and soft and satiny from Marks and Spencer. At some point, I got an SMS, requesting if I could do a last minute gig for that night. By that time, my head was about to split apart, and I had to decline. As much as I would like to help, I have to help myself first.
Got home, decorated the gift box, showered, took two Panadols again and went to bed. Woke up 6 hours later and couldn't get back to sleep fast enough. I hate waking up in the middle of the night. One of the ways to circumvent that is to physically exhaust myself in the day and then sink into a dreamless stupor later. It's highly detrimental in the long run, though.
More funny noises coming from the empty apartment upstairs. This time, it sounds like something being rolled across the floor.
Whatever lah.
Saturday: The Big Day Out
Miss Aida picked me up bright and early. Wiedeee was with her and, man, we had a most interesting morning bitchfest in the car. Yeah, bad, bad, baaaaaad! *snerk*
Rain looked awesome in her bridal outfit :) Alhamdulillah, all went well during the nikah. We trooped home after lunch and would come back in the evening for the dinner.
Wiedeee picked me up in the evening. And we were so busy chatting that we missed the exit on the expressway. Called another girlfriend to see if our situation can be salvaged (Can we say airheads, boys and babes? Absolute bimbos, we are.) So we both arrived "supremely late", Girls Gone Wild stunt notwithstanding. *both Wiedeee and Red bats eyelashes innocently*
Wiedeee gave a speech before dinner began; short, sharp, sweet and not entirely without humour.
During dinner we were alternately amused and annoyed by the deejay. At some point I was literally growling my annoyance and someone said, "Please take that fork away from her..." Hee..
But the deejay's daughter impressed us with her rendition of Siti Nurhaliza's songs. The young girl sounded exactly like Siti!
I suppose I better wrap this ramble up because it's gonna be another long day later. Here's an excerpt from Wiedeee's lovely speech (published without permission. Hehe..):
"...The best thing though, although life pulls us in different directions and continents even, when we all meet up, we always have a good time...
...Our wishes for Ain and Alim are that they have a continued loving friendship and partnership; that they enjoy success and laughter; that they are blessed with children; and that they always see and talk with their heart. Our greatest wish for the two of you is that through the years, your love for each other will deepen and grow. Years from now, may you look back on this day, your wedding day, as the day you loved each other the least. We wish you all the very best that life can bring. Insya Allah."
Amin.
You know what, ladies? The lyrics of our alma mater's song is running through my head.
Moribus modestus. *winks*
Red Herring got her henna fix at 1:16 AM | No one was hennaed
Wednesday, November 24, 2004
Nora's henna and then some.
She's got petite hands and feet and wants the simplest palm pattern for (psuedo)bridal henna. And she has a huge chocolate-point Siamese (or more correctly, Tonkinese) tom as a pet; he's absolutely gorgeous! He's got distinct point markings, but the colour of his coat is dark brown instead of the cream shades that are prevalent in Siamese cats. He doesn't have the slender, slinky lines of a Siamese nor it's wedge-shaped face; he's a lot more solid that that! Think a mini bolster covered in velvet and has four legs. Yup, that's Boy.
I didn't get to glomp that kitty; he scooted off at the sight of me. I didn't even get a picture of him. Hee..
In the meantime, enjoy my aural flavour of the moment.
So Unsexy - Alanis Morissette
Oh these little rejections how they add up quickly
One small sideways look and I feel so ungood
Somewhere along the way I think I gave you the power to make
Me feel the way I thought only my father could
Oh these little rejections how they seem so real to me
One forgotten birthday I'm all but cooked
How these little abandonments seem to sting so easily
I'm 13 again am I 13 for good?
I can feel so unsexy for someone so beautiful
So unloved for someone so fine
I can feel so boring for someone so interesting
So ignorant for someone of sound mind
Oh these little protections how they fail to serve me
One forgotten phone call and I'm deflated
Oh these little defenses how they fail to comfort me
Your hand pulling away and I'm devastated
When will you stop leaving baby?
When will I stop deserting baby?
When will I start staying with myself?
Oh these little projections how they keep springing from me
I jump my ship as I take it personally
Oh these little rejections how they disappear quickly
The moment I decide not to abandon me
Red Herring got her henna fix at 1:14 PM | 18 henna victims
Sunday, November 21, 2004
The best laid plans of mice and men.
*pirouettes gleefully across freshly mopped floors*
Ah, my toes are so happy.
The aftermath of an open house is really something, especially when there are kids aged 6 years and below running around. You have to keep one eye on the food supply and one eye on them lest they smash that crystal vase. I'm a little less indulgent about the said kids poking around where they shouldn't this year, and I have no qualms about issuing very firm warnings to them, even if their parents cast me an evil eye.
Don't like it? Tough.
Heck, if you can't do your job, allow me to do it for you and don't let be such that I've tell it to your face. You wouldn't want my kids fiddling with your computers and bouncing on your bed, right? Ah... so glad we have an understanding. *polite nod*
Yeap, I've morphed into a cantankerous old monster.
What's left to do? Just to turn on this light and wind down with a book, of course...
Oh boy... Did I just hear the doorbell? At this time of the night? *groans*
Red Herring got her henna fix at 9:20 PM | 4 henna victims
Friday, November 19, 2004
The light in my grotto is soft and dim.
I was lazing on the bed on the eve of Eid, watching TV and winding down after all that cleaning. The nightlight was on, and the little shutterbug in the attic had to spot the Kodak moment. Out came the trusty old Canon and the tripod and these happened...
I'm a-dying to put in a different soundtrack in this corner of cyberspace but can't decide which one from my ecclectic collection. *rummages through various and sundry files*
The Eid mood is fast wearing thin.
*pulls out a file* Hmmm. Reminiscent of that X-Files movie "Fight the Future". *shrugs and uploads*
Red Herring got her henna fix at 7:38 AM | 11 henna victims
Thursday, November 11, 2004
You're beautiful, ladies!
To all the ladies who came by OVA and had themselves prettified with henna, many thanks to all of you for your support. To the ladies who spread the word for the Hennaphiles, we thank you too for the airtime. And above all, a huge thank you to sis Aminah, the owner of OVA, for lending us her boutique space and bearing with the banter and chatter and the henna crumbs.
*hearts all*
Hope we could gather again, in such lively camaraderie :)
Eid Mubarak...
Al-Fatihah...
Buat Encik Yasser Arafat. Semoga rohnya dicucuri rahmat. Semoga obor perjuangannya tidak padam dengan kepergiannya. Amin.
Red Herring got her henna fix at 7:23 PM | 18 henna victims [redboudoir]
Friday, November 26, 2004
the heart's dagger
Just have to communicate, then you can solve your indescrepansys. Motivation might not always be detectable but it is there. Maybe you wont solve anything when you talk to somone about their motivation, b/c to them it is invisible, or maybe you will illustrate it for them, and they will understand. An understanding of your motivations, you have to be honest, or you wont solve anything. No need for hush tight mouth, no need for slander. Sometimes you are thrown off track, but atleast you made the effort. [vixengritty]
The Heart's Dagger
Laurel was shocked back to instinct as something sharp pricked her neck, and she drew back forcefully, wild eyed. Her heart was throbbing in her ears, and her hand went to her throat, feeling at the spot. With a tremor of relief, she felt no blood, just a tiny indent.
Vrolok watched her with eyes full of pain, turned away, and she could see the way he licked angrily at the long canines protruding just beyond his lips. "I'm sorry..." His voice was barely a murmur.
Laurel's throat tightened, and she glanced at the stake lain to rest upon the cobbles. "I have to go."
He turned slowly, avoiding her eye. "Why?"
"I- they'll come looking for me if I don't-"
"No." He gave her a hard look. "I meant, why did you do this?"
She gazed at him, trying to read something beyond the pain in his face. Anger? She felt her skin prickle.
He began to shake his head, a bitter grin on his lips. "This." He tossed her back her cloak, and gestured at the stake on the floor, bit at his lip.
"Why didn't I kill you?"
"Hmm, no. I think I have that figured out by now, Laurel."
She felt herself blush, and caught the flicker of amusement in his eyes.
"No. Not that...but..."
"Why did I...?"
"...Trust me?"
She could only watch his features turn slowly questioning, a soft prod, eyes locked to hers. Suddenly, she coudn't find her voice.
Something in his eyes changed. Concern, to reproof, and hurt. "You don't even know, do you?" He looked away. "Hmm. Why should you trust me."
"Vrolok..."
"No, just...go. You said you had to go. They'll be looking for you by now."
"They're all asleep."
He turned sharply, glaring. "You'll trust me with your life, but you won't even tell me truthfully why you want to get away from me? What do you want from me, huntress? Amusement?"
"No, that's not-"
"Then what?"
"I just...you're still..."
Bitterness filled the whole of him, and she could see it plainly. "I can't help what I am. If that repulses you so, then you should just leave."
"No."
"What, haven't toyed with me enough, yet? Need to use me again, and try to find a good reason to kill me?"
She stood, dead silent, shocked.
He glared at her. "Need I give you one?"
Confrontations and Confusion
It was a long while later that Sheela awoke. She was shocked to see where she had dozed off, and more so to see who sat in a chair across from her, gazing at the heavenly sky. Even in the silvery moonlight, his eyes still seemed to have their own golden glow, and for once, she thought he looked at rest. Slowly, she crept off the couch, hoping to slip away quietly, and stole a last, furtive glance back at him.
“You’re the awful sly type, Ranger.” He hadn’t even glanced at her. She froze.
“How did you…”
He turned to look at her, grinning, as if her bewilderment amused him. “You’ve been asleep awhile.” She sighed. “It’s late, and it’s been a long day…a long week…I guess I was worn out.”
“Yeah well, you don’t cook for fourteen sumodd people every night and day. And you’re the one who’s tired?”
She laughed, and he smiled back at her, the first display of truly heartened emotion that she had seen in him for a while. Or from anyone, for that matter, she thought.
He glanced back at the moon, hesitated. “It’s awful late, Sheela. You probably aught to get back to your rooms and get some sleep.”
For a moment, she was stunned. “Ah, yes, I- I guess I should go…” She glanced out at the dark halls, and felt a chill pass through her. “But I’m not really sure…” Their eyes met, and she could feel the odd tension between them. Then he blinked and looked away.
“I’ll take you to the right hall.” He passed by her without another word, and she tried to fight back the disappointment growing as she followed him.
Sheela gave a soft sigh as her door came into view.
“Well, here you are, Miss Windrow.”
She glanced back at Ardon, a sad look in her eyes.
“Ardon, you called me Sheela earlier…”
“I- I’m sorry, that was out of place, I didn’t mean…”
“It’s not that I didn’t…”
“Sheela, I- ”
“Yes?”
“I…”
She turned around to face him, and they were so close that she could see her amber reflection in his eyes. She felt her heart racing, her throat tighten…and something else she had never felt before, something she couldn’t name…and she liked it. He drew a little closer, but she stayed frozen to the spot. He was even closer now…closer…she could feel his warm breath on her mouth…His lips brushed hers, leaving a tingling sensation, and a shiver ran down her spine…
“Hello?”
Sheela jumped, and for a split second felt her lips press against his. Then they both leaped back, shock a shared expression, and spun in unison toward the voice.
Avalon paused as she recognized the faces of Sheela and Ardon in the dim lamplight.
“Ah….I’m not interuptin’ anythin’, am I lassie?” she asked slowly. She watched, with naught a little amusement,
as they both turned scarlett. Ardon, in particular, looked mortified as he glanced back at the Ranger, as if he had done
something unspeakable.
“You two all right?”
Sheela regained her wits first. “Ahm, yes, fine thank you, Avalon. It’s late, I’ll be heading to bed.” She nodded at Ardon, avoiding looking him in the eye, and rushed to her room, shutting the door with a firm click.
Ardon watched her go, his eyes distant-looking. Then he blinked, staring at Avalon as though he had just noticed her.
A fiery eyebrow rose. “And you, laddie?”
“Ah, right, I should get going…” He turned and started back down the hall, but the theif gave a low whistle of reproof. “Back out there, aye? I’m thinkin’ that shant be yer best idea yet, boyo. You’d better stay in one of these rooms fer the night, to be safe.” She paused, thinking. “In fact, we might as well all stay on the same hall from now on, fer safety reasons. We can move Red an’ Marles in the morn. Don’t want anyone caught by one o’ his vermin!” She paused dramatically, grinning wickedly. “Besides, I shant think that Miss Windrow would enjoy buryin’ ye six feet under if somethin’ did happen to ye, lad!” She watched, with an immeasurable surge of satisfaction, as his face flushed scarlett all over again. You still got it, lass! She thought triumphantly.
Ardon glared. “And Balinor?”
It was her turn to blush. “That…That’s all been taken care of, laddie.”
An equally wicked smirk formed upon his lips. “And he’s staying in…”
“That’d be none o’ yer business, aye!” And the door was slammed abruptly in his face.
* * *
Sheela was beside herself. “Bloody Fathron! What in the world was I thinking?! Shikes!” She paced the room, thankful subconciously that it was a large room, but the rest of her mind was in a tumult, and swearing profanities seemed the only way to vent all of her built up emotions, most of which she did not even understand.
It was several more minuites before she felt weary enough to sit down. She was tired, but her head was in an endless buzz; she felt as if she had been drinking too much rum, omitting the disorientation. I wish it were that simple, she thought desperately, just a night at the pub with Rellen and Morgan…She sighed. Even just to go home and see the ocean…idly she picked up a small mirror left on the nightstand, and gazed critically at her reflection.
The blue dye virtually gone, only her simple reddish brown locks remained, framing her face in a common, unexotic manner. Here and there, she could pick out a strand which still held stubbornly to a fading cerulean color, but other than that, her natural hair color had returned. I’ll have to dye it again soon, she thought, for the Festival of Tides. But maybe I’ll wait ‘till I can go home.
She was turning toward the nightstand, reflection in the glass mirror wistful, when the screaming began.
The mirror slipped from her fingers, shattered on the wood floor, and lay forgotten as the Ranger bolted for the door
Love of the Doomed...
Laurel crept down the dark passageway, the dry scent of the dead clogging her sense. Or maybe it wasn't a scent at all.
She really didn't care any more. She had to find him.
As the passageway grew darker, danker, more narrow, she knew this was the right way. Where else would the undead hide? It was always the same. A cold, stone crypt, a cool, smooth wooden coffin. A pale, slumbering figure, the shade of ash, hair of greasy black and rose petal lips. Except Vrolock; midnight black, and suddenly rose petals sounded so delicious. Laurel shook her head and went on.
She had lost track of time. She only knew by distance now, by sense; she could taste the aged air, fermented beneath crypts and spiced with wandering souls. No doubt, confused victims of Vroloks. Laurel felt her heart flutter. She stopped. Could she really do this? She tried to play out the images in her mind; a wooden stake, sharp and strong, rough in her hands. That same stake, bathed in blood, while her hunted lay dying silently in their coffin. She almost shrieked as she tried to replace those thousand faces with Vrolok's.
It was the thick dust mote drifting by that shook her from her reveries. The mote was moving too quickly. Then she heard it; the scrape of a boot behind her. The stake was in her hand before she turned, lunging, bloodlust and instinct a sudden, wild drive. A hand caught her wrist, stopped it dead, hurting her. She cried out, and tried not to look up. She couldn't look into those eyes, she couldn't....
Another hand came to her face now, cradling, and the first loosened. "Laurel."
She knew that voice. She looked up. Staring back at her, Vrolok looked the most alive as any vampire ever had. His eyes held naught the dead, empty void she had always seen in others. His were black jade, obsidian, bright with emotion, but tempered softer. For her. She shivered. I can't think like this. I can't...I can't let my...
He brushed the side of her cheek softly, and leaned toward her neck. She stiffened. "I can't..."
"I won't," he murmured softly, a tickle in her ear. Rose petal lips found her pale throat, and kissed lightly.
The stake slipped from distracted hands, and clattered to the cobbles, forgotten. [estoree tangents]
The Heart's Dagger
Laurel was shocked back to instinct as something sharp pricked her neck, and she drew back forcefully, wild eyed. Her heart was throbbing in her ears, and her hand went to her throat, feeling at the spot. With a tremor of relief, she felt no blood, just a tiny indent.
Vrolok watched her with eyes full of pain, turned away, and she could see the way he licked angrily at the long canines protruding just beyond his lips. "I'm sorry..." His voice was barely a murmur.
Laurel's throat tightened, and she glanced at the stake lain to rest upon the cobbles. "I have to go."
He turned slowly, avoiding her eye. "Why?"
"I- they'll come looking for me if I don't-"
"No." He gave her a hard look. "I meant, why did you do this?"
She gazed at him, trying to read something beyond the pain in his face. Anger? She felt her skin prickle.
He began to shake his head, a bitter grin on his lips. "This." He tossed her back her cloak, and gestured at the stake on the floor, bit at his lip.
"Why didn't I kill you?"
"Hmm, no. I think I have that figured out by now, Laurel."
She felt herself blush, and caught the flicker of amusement in his eyes.
"No. Not that...but..."
"Why did I...?"
"...Trust me?"
She could only watch his features turn slowly questioning, a soft prod, eyes locked to hers. Suddenly, she coudn't find her voice.
Something in his eyes changed. Concern, to reproof, and hurt. "You don't even know, do you?" He looked away. "Hmm. Why should you trust me."
"Vrolok..."
"No, just...go. You said you had to go. They'll be looking for you by now."
"They're all asleep."
He turned sharply, glaring. "You'll trust me with your life, but you won't even tell me truthfully why you want to get away from me? What do you want from me, huntress? Amusement?"
"No, that's not-"
"Then what?"
"I just...you're still..."
Bitterness filled the whole of him, and she could see it plainly. "I can't help what I am. If that repulses you so, then you should just leave."
"No."
"What, haven't toyed with me enough, yet? Need to use me again, and try to find a good reason to kill me?"
She stood, dead silent, shocked.
He glared at her. "Need I give you one?"
Confrontations and Confusion
It was a long while later that Sheela awoke. She was shocked to see where she had dozed off, and more so to see who sat in a chair across from her, gazing at the heavenly sky. Even in the silvery moonlight, his eyes still seemed to have their own golden glow, and for once, she thought he looked at rest. Slowly, she crept off the couch, hoping to slip away quietly, and stole a last, furtive glance back at him.
“You’re the awful sly type, Ranger.” He hadn’t even glanced at her. She froze.
“How did you…”
He turned to look at her, grinning, as if her bewilderment amused him. “You’ve been asleep awhile.” She sighed. “It’s late, and it’s been a long day…a long week…I guess I was worn out.”
“Yeah well, you don’t cook for fourteen sumodd people every night and day. And you’re the one who’s tired?”
She laughed, and he smiled back at her, the first display of truly heartened emotion that she had seen in him for a while. Or from anyone, for that matter, she thought.
He glanced back at the moon, hesitated. “It’s awful late, Sheela. You probably aught to get back to your rooms and get some sleep.”
For a moment, she was stunned. “Ah, yes, I- I guess I should go…” She glanced out at the dark halls, and felt a chill pass through her. “But I’m not really sure…” Their eyes met, and she could feel the odd tension between them. Then he blinked and looked away.
“I’ll take you to the right hall.” He passed by her without another word, and she tried to fight back the disappointment growing as she followed him.
Sheela gave a soft sigh as her door came into view.
“Well, here you are, Miss Windrow.”
She glanced back at Ardon, a sad look in her eyes.
“Ardon, you called me Sheela earlier…”
“I- I’m sorry, that was out of place, I didn’t mean…”
“It’s not that I didn’t…”
“Sheela, I- ”
“Yes?”
“I…”
She turned around to face him, and they were so close that she could see her amber reflection in his eyes. She felt her heart racing, her throat tighten…and something else she had never felt before, something she couldn’t name…and she liked it. He drew a little closer, but she stayed frozen to the spot. He was even closer now…closer…she could feel his warm breath on her mouth…His lips brushed hers, leaving a tingling sensation, and a shiver ran down her spine…
“Hello?”
Sheela jumped, and for a split second felt her lips press against his. Then they both leaped back, shock a shared expression, and spun in unison toward the voice.
Avalon paused as she recognized the faces of Sheela and Ardon in the dim lamplight.
“Ah….I’m not interuptin’ anythin’, am I lassie?” she asked slowly. She watched, with naught a little amusement,
as they both turned scarlett. Ardon, in particular, looked mortified as he glanced back at the Ranger, as if he had done
something unspeakable.
“You two all right?”
Sheela regained her wits first. “Ahm, yes, fine thank you, Avalon. It’s late, I’ll be heading to bed.” She nodded at Ardon, avoiding looking him in the eye, and rushed to her room, shutting the door with a firm click.
Ardon watched her go, his eyes distant-looking. Then he blinked, staring at Avalon as though he had just noticed her.
A fiery eyebrow rose. “And you, laddie?”
“Ah, right, I should get going…” He turned and started back down the hall, but the theif gave a low whistle of reproof. “Back out there, aye? I’m thinkin’ that shant be yer best idea yet, boyo. You’d better stay in one of these rooms fer the night, to be safe.” She paused, thinking. “In fact, we might as well all stay on the same hall from now on, fer safety reasons. We can move Red an’ Marles in the morn. Don’t want anyone caught by one o’ his vermin!” She paused dramatically, grinning wickedly. “Besides, I shant think that Miss Windrow would enjoy buryin’ ye six feet under if somethin’ did happen to ye, lad!” She watched, with an immeasurable surge of satisfaction, as his face flushed scarlett all over again. You still got it, lass! She thought triumphantly.
Ardon glared. “And Balinor?”
It was her turn to blush. “That…That’s all been taken care of, laddie.”
An equally wicked smirk formed upon his lips. “And he’s staying in…”
“That’d be none o’ yer business, aye!” And the door was slammed abruptly in his face.
* * *
Sheela was beside herself. “Bloody Fathron! What in the world was I thinking?! Shikes!” She paced the room, thankful subconciously that it was a large room, but the rest of her mind was in a tumult, and swearing profanities seemed the only way to vent all of her built up emotions, most of which she did not even understand.
It was several more minuites before she felt weary enough to sit down. She was tired, but her head was in an endless buzz; she felt as if she had been drinking too much rum, omitting the disorientation. I wish it were that simple, she thought desperately, just a night at the pub with Rellen and Morgan…She sighed. Even just to go home and see the ocean…idly she picked up a small mirror left on the nightstand, and gazed critically at her reflection.
The blue dye virtually gone, only her simple reddish brown locks remained, framing her face in a common, unexotic manner. Here and there, she could pick out a strand which still held stubbornly to a fading cerulean color, but other than that, her natural hair color had returned. I’ll have to dye it again soon, she thought, for the Festival of Tides. But maybe I’ll wait ‘till I can go home.
She was turning toward the nightstand, reflection in the glass mirror wistful, when the screaming began.
The mirror slipped from her fingers, shattered on the wood floor, and lay forgotten as the Ranger bolted for the door
Love of the Doomed...
Laurel crept down the dark passageway, the dry scent of the dead clogging her sense. Or maybe it wasn't a scent at all.
She really didn't care any more. She had to find him.
As the passageway grew darker, danker, more narrow, she knew this was the right way. Where else would the undead hide? It was always the same. A cold, stone crypt, a cool, smooth wooden coffin. A pale, slumbering figure, the shade of ash, hair of greasy black and rose petal lips. Except Vrolock; midnight black, and suddenly rose petals sounded so delicious. Laurel shook her head and went on.
She had lost track of time. She only knew by distance now, by sense; she could taste the aged air, fermented beneath crypts and spiced with wandering souls. No doubt, confused victims of Vroloks. Laurel felt her heart flutter. She stopped. Could she really do this? She tried to play out the images in her mind; a wooden stake, sharp and strong, rough in her hands. That same stake, bathed in blood, while her hunted lay dying silently in their coffin. She almost shrieked as she tried to replace those thousand faces with Vrolok's.
It was the thick dust mote drifting by that shook her from her reveries. The mote was moving too quickly. Then she heard it; the scrape of a boot behind her. The stake was in her hand before she turned, lunging, bloodlust and instinct a sudden, wild drive. A hand caught her wrist, stopped it dead, hurting her. She cried out, and tried not to look up. She couldn't look into those eyes, she couldn't....
Another hand came to her face now, cradling, and the first loosened. "Laurel."
She knew that voice. She looked up. Staring back at her, Vrolok looked the most alive as any vampire ever had. His eyes held naught the dead, empty void she had always seen in others. His were black jade, obsidian, bright with emotion, but tempered softer. For her. She shivered. I can't think like this. I can't...I can't let my...
He brushed the side of her cheek softly, and leaned toward her neck. She stiffened. "I can't..."
"I won't," he murmured softly, a tickle in her ear. Rose petal lips found her pale throat, and kissed lightly.
The stake slipped from distracted hands, and clattered to the cobbles, forgotten. [estoree tangents]
our hair shaggy little pits of crazy
I love people generally because I understand them easily and well. Love of people is an appreciation of all that encompasses a person—both their virtues and flaws. In social settings people are drawn to me. They tend to share intimate details about themselves that they claim they never share with anyone else. Others say that I am easy-going, light-hearted and genuine which generally puts them at ease. It helps to be a good listener and observer.
Human diversity fascinates me. I try to understand the complexities of perspective, individual opinions, and notice idiosyncrasies, quirks and how each person is so incredibly unique. If I am perceptive as I believe, I can only improve by learning as much as I can about what makes each of us unique. The domino effect of course, is that as my perception and intuition grows, the more insightful I become as a marketing strategist. The danger is that I could over generalize and my assumptions could be off base—thankfully, that is rare.
Today I met this handsome young man in a coffeehouse. He was tall, slender and blond with green eyes. His complexion; flawless and creamy with slight natural blushes on is angelic cheeks. His hair was slightly textured, mildly coarse, with a gentle wave that darted out ever so innocently from his baseball cap. I enjoyed studying his facial expressions and mannerisms; formal but comfortable and at ease with himself and those around him.
We talked about politics, economics, martial arts, and philosophy. Despite our different native languages, his German, mine English, we communicated very well. I commented how I was amused by the way that some people connect and others don’t as if they’re on an entirely different wavelength. He agreed and pointed out how fundamental values and beliefs serve as an interpersonal filter and affect how a person interprets ideas and events. We seemed to be on the same page.
Our conversation about philosophy turned to the subject of love; love manifest in a spiritual rather than a romantic nature. The idea is that true love is wholehearted and selfless. It requires nothing of the loved person and everything of the individual giving love. In all honesty, I think that we really must understand ourselves to understand love. Understanding our own virtues and shortcomings is a start.
In talking about love, he shared his thoughts and interpretations of notable German philosophers. I felt so connected to this guy; mostly because he expressed his ideas on such a purely intellectual level. The notion of discussing one of the most passionate emotions in a non-emotional, purely rational way in hindsight was a little strange. As we chatted, I realized more about my own knowledge, values and beliefs about love, its profundities, complexities, and how that relates to the human experience using Eastern and Western notions of enlightenment, wisdom, and charity. The take away message is that understanding one another is the best form of love. You cannot resist loving another person when you really understand him or her.
Love that lasts involves a real and genuine concern for others as persons, for their values as they feel them. ~Evelyn Duvall
[any day is a good day]
Oh man! i'm loving life! Today sorta sucked earlier on.. i had to work with bill although i made $20 and got free lunch! Later on i was on aol.. i couldn't stop thinking of justin. I called jeff and we talked for a while.. hes nice. then i looked up Justins # in the phone book. i wanted to talk to him so bad. So i look in the phone book and theres two walt burdicks and they are both at the same address. i was like SHIT! But i finally worked up enough guts to call him.. so i tried the first one.. it was busy. then i tried the second one. justins dad answered and i asked for justin. this is how it went
"Hey Justin this is carly"
"Hey" -justin
"OMG i feel like such a stalker calling you i looked your # up in the phone book because i really wanted to talk to you"
"I'm SO glad you called i wanted to talk to you too i was gonna ask for your number. your fucking hot!"-justin
then i told him i thought he was hot too and he asked for my ## to call me tomorrow so we could hang out!!!
I'm soo friken excited to hang out with him. you have no idea!!!!
He said that i was HOT!!!!!!
then tomorrow i'm going to the palace with vicki!
[yours truly]
Last night, at the plant, was the annual Gender Bender Drag show, put on by the U's multi-consonant minority group. O'erall it wasn't that great, there were only three shows, they were all fairly lame. As one person put it, they weren't bitchy enough. A few blurry and dark pictures are up on flickr, don't blame me, Ben took 'em.
Anywho, Kyla got to sit through a fag-fest at our table up above. Mark was there with his b-friend Alex, both of them in white long-sleeved shirts with dark vertical stripes, and I think they were both wearing blue-jeans. They also had their hair short and gelled with it coming up a little at the front. Then there was Ben and I, our hair shaggy little pits of crazy, him in a pink shirt (a band shirt, honest), me in the most god-aweful ugly shirt ever (the fabric is like a dish towel, seriously, I'm low on laundry...). I was also all griseled, but I shaved so its all good. Then there was Kyla, smoking a cigarette and fingering herself in the corner...
There was a point to this, I wanted to point out that Alex was not what I expected at all. Mark is rather hyperactive and really outgoing. Alex was the opposite, fairly quiet and reserved, and softspoken too...
In other news I dragged Ben over to give him a kiss this morning before I took the elevator in chemistry.
[remarkably unreactive]
Human diversity fascinates me. I try to understand the complexities of perspective, individual opinions, and notice idiosyncrasies, quirks and how each person is so incredibly unique. If I am perceptive as I believe, I can only improve by learning as much as I can about what makes each of us unique. The domino effect of course, is that as my perception and intuition grows, the more insightful I become as a marketing strategist. The danger is that I could over generalize and my assumptions could be off base—thankfully, that is rare.
Today I met this handsome young man in a coffeehouse. He was tall, slender and blond with green eyes. His complexion; flawless and creamy with slight natural blushes on is angelic cheeks. His hair was slightly textured, mildly coarse, with a gentle wave that darted out ever so innocently from his baseball cap. I enjoyed studying his facial expressions and mannerisms; formal but comfortable and at ease with himself and those around him.
We talked about politics, economics, martial arts, and philosophy. Despite our different native languages, his German, mine English, we communicated very well. I commented how I was amused by the way that some people connect and others don’t as if they’re on an entirely different wavelength. He agreed and pointed out how fundamental values and beliefs serve as an interpersonal filter and affect how a person interprets ideas and events. We seemed to be on the same page.
Our conversation about philosophy turned to the subject of love; love manifest in a spiritual rather than a romantic nature. The idea is that true love is wholehearted and selfless. It requires nothing of the loved person and everything of the individual giving love. In all honesty, I think that we really must understand ourselves to understand love. Understanding our own virtues and shortcomings is a start.
In talking about love, he shared his thoughts and interpretations of notable German philosophers. I felt so connected to this guy; mostly because he expressed his ideas on such a purely intellectual level. The notion of discussing one of the most passionate emotions in a non-emotional, purely rational way in hindsight was a little strange. As we chatted, I realized more about my own knowledge, values and beliefs about love, its profundities, complexities, and how that relates to the human experience using Eastern and Western notions of enlightenment, wisdom, and charity. The take away message is that understanding one another is the best form of love. You cannot resist loving another person when you really understand him or her.
Love that lasts involves a real and genuine concern for others as persons, for their values as they feel them. ~Evelyn Duvall
[any day is a good day]
Oh man! i'm loving life! Today sorta sucked earlier on.. i had to work with bill although i made $20 and got free lunch! Later on i was on aol.. i couldn't stop thinking of justin. I called jeff and we talked for a while.. hes nice. then i looked up Justins # in the phone book. i wanted to talk to him so bad. So i look in the phone book and theres two walt burdicks and they are both at the same address. i was like SHIT! But i finally worked up enough guts to call him.. so i tried the first one.. it was busy. then i tried the second one. justins dad answered and i asked for justin. this is how it went
"Hey Justin this is carly"
"Hey" -justin
"OMG i feel like such a stalker calling you i looked your # up in the phone book because i really wanted to talk to you"
"I'm SO glad you called i wanted to talk to you too i was gonna ask for your number. your fucking hot!"-justin
then i told him i thought he was hot too and he asked for my ## to call me tomorrow so we could hang out!!!
I'm soo friken excited to hang out with him. you have no idea!!!!
He said that i was HOT!!!!!!
then tomorrow i'm going to the palace with vicki!
[yours truly]
Last night, at the plant, was the annual Gender Bender Drag show, put on by the U's multi-consonant minority group. O'erall it wasn't that great, there were only three shows, they were all fairly lame. As one person put it, they weren't bitchy enough. A few blurry and dark pictures are up on flickr, don't blame me, Ben took 'em.
Anywho, Kyla got to sit through a fag-fest at our table up above. Mark was there with his b-friend Alex, both of them in white long-sleeved shirts with dark vertical stripes, and I think they were both wearing blue-jeans. They also had their hair short and gelled with it coming up a little at the front. Then there was Ben and I, our hair shaggy little pits of crazy, him in a pink shirt (a band shirt, honest), me in the most god-aweful ugly shirt ever (the fabric is like a dish towel, seriously, I'm low on laundry...). I was also all griseled, but I shaved so its all good. Then there was Kyla, smoking a cigarette and fingering herself in the corner...
There was a point to this, I wanted to point out that Alex was not what I expected at all. Mark is rather hyperactive and really outgoing. Alex was the opposite, fairly quiet and reserved, and softspoken too...
In other news I dragged Ben over to give him a kiss this morning before I took the elevator in chemistry.
[remarkably unreactive]
