Pizza Dreams

Time with Van Halen

2012-01-19T09:31:00.000-08:00

I managed to be one of the first to purchase Van Halen tickets, but I become paranoid thinking I used the wrong credit card when I ordered them. I was just sick thinking the card would get denied and all the while, managed to score a good seat.

I go down to the arena where I know the concert will be in a few months, and just imagine myself there while the band is playing. The entire arena is empty, and I walked around with no security to question me. I walked backstage, knowing Van Halen would be back there before and after the show. I was so excited at the thought of the whole experience.

Without being too shocked, Eddie Van Halen is there and says hello to me. I didn't even notice that David Lee Roth was standing next to him. Eddie and I are chatting and at one point I tell him how pissed I am that I might have used the wrong credit card to purchase my tickets to the show. We must have been standing there for several minutes talking about how ordering tickets is so different now compared to back when they first started touring. How complicated it was, and so on. Then Eddie started to talk about the band line-up and how he's sorry Mike isn't with the band, but he has hopes for his son (Wolfgang) filling in for him on bass. When I noticed David Lee Roth, I took his hands and said, "Thank you for being back with this band." I meant it. I loved DLR-era Van Halen. Diamond Dave was flattered, and gave me a light, quick, friendly kiss on the lips. I was thrilled.

And then... there he was, the object of my girlish crush for the last twenty-five years or more: Alex Van Halen. When he heard us talking and walked toward us, I suddenly felt shy. He came over to me to take my hand to shake it, and I could barely look at him. The one man I would have given up all my virtues for, to be a cheap groupie for a night, and here I was, unable to even look at him. But his hand felt nice, covering mine.

I caught a glimpse of his face. He had looked at me for a moment, and I melted. The three veteran Van Halen members had to go, but not before wishing me luck with my ticket.

I went back out to the arena and saw Sammy Hagar perched on a bench as people began to filter inside. With Sammy I felt completely relaxed. I went over and said hello, and asked what he was doing there. He and I would chat like friends for some time, but he didn't have anything good to say about Van Halen. I tried to explain to him how wrong it was for him to not sing his Valen Halen songs with Chickenfoot, and as defiant as he was, he did listen to my explanation. I said, "Your fans from that time loved you during those years and you are denying your fans a huge portion of your career by just refusing to perform them." I went on to say I understood it was personal, but for fans it was personal for them too, and to compromise just a bit to show them you appreciated their support while he was with Van Halen.

Somehow, I managed to get Sammy Hagar to agree with me. He sat and listened and looked upward in thought, nodding and then telling me I was right.

Wow.

I just finished chatting with Eddie Van Halen, was kissed by Diamond Dave, Alex Van Halen held my hand while coping with my shyness, and now gabbing with Sammy Hagar, I nearly forgot about my entire ticket ordeal.

I couldn't have paid enough money for these moments, and here I was getting them for free.

After all was said and done, I think just having this moment with the band was making up for it.

All Those Joes

2012-01-14T10:17:00.000-08:00

My ex-boyfriend Joe wants me back, but I don't exactly know how to react to his somewhat flippant attitude about it. He tells me his recent girlfriend dumped him and for convenience, we should get back together.

I agree, but only for convenience. Joe did have some good attributes, even if he was screwed up.

We decide to go to look for a place to live, and one place he has in mind is somewhere he used to live on his own. When we get there to see if any suites are available, I notice another guy I used to date was there fixing up the building. His name is also Joe. He's older, and takes an immediate dislike to Joe.

Joe avoids Joe, and I'm left telling Joe we need a place to stay and wondered if what he's working on will be finished up soon. Joe doesn't know. So Joe and I are left to take a chance and rent a suite anyway.

In our new neighbourhood, I need to find a different job nearby, so I go to the mall to apply for work selling purses. The manager hiring me is named Joe. So now I work for Joe, I'm in a relationship with Joe, and Joe is fixing up our suite.

Once the suite was fixed up, it looks exactly like the house I grew up in as a child. Just like before, Joe was home and doing nothing. My old anxiety came back as to what it was like being with him. I leave the suite and find my other ex, Joe working on the building somewhere else. Perhaps I chose the wrong Joe? No. This one caused me even more anxiety, so I decide against entertaining the thought. But Joe sees me and demands to know if I'm looking for him for sexual reasons. I said no. He tells me I should weigh out the pros and cons between the two Joes. They each had pros and cons, but their cons were both awful. One was suicidal and an emotional train wreck, the other, abusive.

I went to work the next day and Joe asked me if things were alright. I thought about it all. I hated this job, I hated where I lived. I hated the situation I was put in.

I just hated all those Joes.

Erica Cuts my Hair

2012-01-05T13:27:00.000-08:00

Erica and I are arguing in the car. We're on our way to dinner with other friends, and I'm driving. I'm not sure what brought it on, but Erica, being impossible won't let up her end of the argument. I didn't think it would affect our friendship, after all, friends argue, right?

Before heading in to the dinner party, I tell Erica that I wished I had done my hair before going in. Erica was a hairstylist and said she would cut and style my hair for me. I didn't feel right about her doing this, especially after a big argument in the car, but I agreed anyway. We, two mature people, should be able to get through a haircut.

We stop in to a salon, where Erica asks the shop owner if she can rent a chair really quick for me. The shop owner, puzzled, agrees to let us use the salon. I sit in the chair and while my hair is dry, Erica grabs a hunk of hair from the right side and positions the scissors down to cut near the base of my scalp, leaving about one inch of hair. As she cuts, I move my head away and say, "You're giving me short hair!" "Yep," she responds defiantly.

The damage was already done, and I looked at how much hair was gone on the one side. What was strange is that the short section of hair could be concealed with hair from the back if brushed forward. In some weird way, this almost looked quite funky, a little like Cyndi Lauper's "She So Unusual" days. Mix in a bit of hair product and it actually looked like I was supposed to have this punk-rock sort of look. Even the stylists were in agreement.

Erica was seething. She didn't want this outcome. She wanted to do damage to me, and have me look ridiculous. It was all over an idiotic argument, and Erica could not just let it go and be cool. She was willing to do months worth of damage to my appearance, and for what?

When we leave, I tell Erica, "You know what you did in there was so uncool, but at least I ended up with a look that people liked before you kept cutting." Erica was acting like a brat, childishly telling me she wanted my whole head of hair gone. But I interrupted, "You know what would happen if you did manage to do that? People would look at me and say, 'Oh no what happened to your hair?' and my answer would be the truth: 'Erica cut it all off'."

It's true. When we arrive at the dinner party, people said, "Oh.. your hair?" I said, "Yeah, I let Erica cut it thinking she'd just give me a trim, but she decided to go bananas with the scissors." They tell me the only person looking bad is Erica, not me. Hair can grow back, but the act of what she originally tried to do won't be forgotten, and only denigrates her character.

I was glad people saw what the truth is. I made the best out of a bad situation, and Erica shot herself in the foot.

Moving in to a House with Nice Killers

2012-01-04T15:27:00.000-08:00

We decided to move to a different part of the city, but the showing for the apartment was at night, which I found odd. When we got there, a group of hitmen were there to show us around. I asked if they were in fact, living there, and they said they were not anymore. They were being extremely nice, and I was actually very grateful that these killers were actually nice guys.

We sat down for a bit, and ate a few snacks, talked, and had some laughs. But at any moment I asked them something personal, they steered away from it. I sensed that they did not want me knowing much about them, and for good reason. I also knew, thought it wasn't said, that they would look out for me. Try and explain this to my parents, right? "Hey, mom, dad, I'm living in this new place that a few hitmen were living in. But don't worry, they're nice."

After signing a lease and arranging a date to move in, I found a grey, velvet alchemist-style pouch with something inside. I looked inside and it was a metal key.

"Is this the key to the place?" I asked. They said no, and I would figure out later what it was for.

The next few days, after moving, I went to a place down the block that looked like a bank. A lot of Asians were there, and one of them was my old friend Sian. He was with his boyfriend, and introduced me to some of his friends. At one point, we heard a gunshot, but I couldn't see if someone was hurt. People scrambled for cover for a bit, but I stuck with Sian. People were scared, and all of the Cantonese and other Asian languages were hurting my head. I couldn't concentrate.

I got up to see one of my old friends from the night I agreed to rent the apartment. I went straight up to him, and asked what was going on. He lingered at me for a while, but motioned to some people and said some things in Cantonese to them.

"No one will hurt you here," he said. They all nodded. Another couple of shootings happened right there, and this time I was watching them. But I knew I was immune to any danger. I may not have liked to see it, or know it was going on, but I went about my business, and everyone knew to leave me alone.

Frank, Drunk

2012-01-03T07:51:00.000-08:00

I was stopped by the police for cutting off a truck going on to a freeway entrance. I wasn't given a ticket, but I was shaken up, simply by the fact I could have been penalized for it. I went to see Frank at work, and found him in an office, talking to some colleagues. He sees me, and excuses himself from them.

He quickly sees that I'm upset, and gives me a kiss in the hallway outside his office. I know he's busy at work and I don't want to keep him, but he's also in a good mood and looking so handsome today. He's let his shoulder-length hair down, and is wearing a smart, casual office outfit. He's happy, for once, but I also can tell there was some celebrating in the office.

A colleague comes out with a drink. "Did you want to have a drink with us?" he asks. I say no, but now that I observe them a bit more, I notice Frank is getting drunk--at work.

I feel many things about this. One is, I want to protect Frankie from being in any sort of trouble from his senior management. The other is I am annoyed that he's made a choice to be drinking at work. Last, I am happy to see him so joyful and affectionate toward me, that even being drunk at work, I'll take it.

Frank continues to drink as we go in to a separate office, but now he's flirting with me. I tell him that I'd like to go to the mall for a bit, and perhaps be back later to see him. He pulls out his wallet and thumbs through some money, pulling out a few bills and hands them to me. "Here, go buy something nice." He slumps down in to a chair, still holding his wallet. He's become more drunk as the minutes go by.

I go to him, steady his shoulders so he can balance, and he reaches up to hold my hands. He raises an eyebrow and says in a cheesy tone, "Wanna head to the nurse's room and do a 360?" All I can do is look at him, trying not to laugh. But I have to ask, "A 360?"

Even Frank, being drunk, realized how idiotic that sounded. But then, he came right back with an explanation. "Yeah, a 360! You and me can hold on to each other and roll around."

I laugh. I definitely thought putting him to bed was wise, but only to sober up. My handsome idiot.

Brandon Killing Video Game Characters

2011-12-31T12:53:00.000-08:00

Brandon begins to give me a hard time for not playing World of Warcraft. I hadn't for a long time, but he tells me the game has changed, and I should play again. I ask him in what way has it changed?

He says he won't tell me, he'll show me. I'm to log in to my priest and he'll take me on a tour.

I log in, but instead of watching my character on the screen, I become my character. I'm actually virtually playing World of Warcraft. Brandon is also no longer his usual character, he's himself, decked out in fantasy gear. We both look ridiculous. Well.. not me. I think I look pretty cool.

Brandon decides he's going to "solo Lougheed Mall". By this, soloing usually means to take your character through an instance which consists of fighting mobs and bosses appropriate to the suggested level that a group would go through to obtain better gear. Brandon was advanced. But Lougheed Mall certainly didn't sound so frightening.

When we started out, we were at the main doors of Lougheed Mall and Brandon had to kill shoplifters who were bee-lining for him. Everything looked so amazing. It was lifelike, and the people running toward us were also very realistic.

But after a while, the wonder of being in this virtual game wore off and I noticed Brandon doing something weird. Each time he'd kill an enemy player, he'd kneel down by them, and with his thumb, trace the sign of the cross on their forehead.

"What are you doing?" I asked, partly annoyed.

"It's just a nice thing to do when someone dies," he defended.

"But you're a practicing Hindu. How much meaning does that possibly have for you?"

Brandon gets up from a freshly crossed body and laughs. "I guess nothing. Whatever. Doesn't it mean something to you?"

"No," I answered. "I'm an atheist."

We both laughed, and Brandon continued to kill the shoplifters, only now we could speed things up because he was no longer blessing them as he killed them.

It really was a cool way to play World of Warcraft.

Outwitting Pink

2011-12-27T15:59:00.000-08:00

I am back in highschool and not getting along with some of the girls. It really mattered so little, as some of these girls were destined to just become nothing in life. However, one in particular was Pink. If I had great ideas to do something in school, Pink was right there to try and hi-jack my idea and sell it off as her own. At the same time, I thought it made sense to become friends with her, so I could find out why she was doing this, or get her to stop.

We did become friends, but the only good thing about this was the fact she could silence other girls in school from being bitches towards me. It only made the problem worse between her and I. At one time she even set me up to get in to some serious trouble by skipping an assembly to hang out in the boys' locker room. We were there talking with two boys, but when we were discovered (Pink ran water in the locker room and it attracted someone to come inside and look), the two of us were punished. The two boys were not because it was perfectly okay for the boys to be in the locker room.

We were given a choice on how to be punished. We could be suspended for a day, or we could select a task to do, kind of like a kangaroo court style of punishment. I chose to do the trick. So did Pink.

My trick was to go to the back of the school, where there was a river, and let a dolphin jump over my head. Pink had to do something much more complex. To get out of it, the person who was training the dolphins was a very handsome black man, and I explained why I was even there. We began to talk and he realized that I shouldn't have been there in the first place. We had a very nice visit, and he finally said, "I'm not going to get you to do this. I'll just write down that you did." I said that I would prefer it if he would mark down that I shouldn't be doing it at all, that I was a first-time offender in the school, and that was because of certain circumstances.

He thought about it, and said, "I really need to acknowledge that you are here for a reason." So while thinking about it, he would mark down on a piece of paper some notes and then gave it to me, and I left. The note read something like, "To be removed from record." I went back, gave it to my highschool's office, and they complied with the note's instructions.

When Pink came back, she asked how I did. I proudly said there was no punishment, and that the entire ordeal was removed from my record. I could tell she was angry. She did have to go through with the punishment and the record remained on her file. I think her only concern was to try and blacklist me somehow, preventing me from going through school with a clean file. She was already a heap of trouble, and just added one more thing to her file just to try and do some harm to me.

Well, that's what you get for trying to be an asshole towards someone, in hopes to get them to pay for something, or in hopes to just ruin them. No matter what the outcome is, whether you succeed or not, you still remain an asshole. The original asshole.

**Pink is actually seven years younger than me. But in this dream, we were the same age.

Deaf Dana

2011-12-25T15:27:00.000-08:00

Dana lost her hearing suddenly, but she was being very cool about it. She put everyone's mind at ease that she could read lips. So I tried to test how well she was doing by speaking directly to her in a normal voice to see how she could decipher what I was saying.

She did very well. So I went another step further, and started to speak in different accents. Amazingly, she could still understand what I was saying. Then I tried to speak with unusual speech, keeping my lips stiff. She could still understand me! It was incredible. I even got her to turn her head a little so that out of her peripheral vision could just see me only a little bit, and I spoke to her again. Dana never once faltered. She could lip read anything! Being deaf certainly did not seem to affect her ability to understand others.

However, Dana almost instantly developed a typical deaf-person's speech. Up until losing her hearing she spoke normally, but the day she became deaf, she began to speak like Marlee Matlin. I felt so bad for her.
I asked Loryn, but she thought it was rude I was even asking her, and said that this was Dana, and we should love her no matter what, and be proud of her for taking her loss of hearing so well, and being able to still understand us with her amazing lip reading.

The three of us went to a bulk food store, where in one aisle, we found that someone spilled Fruit Loops everywhere. I went to clean it up, and in Dana's Marlee voice asked, "What are you doing?" I said, "I'm going to clean it up." She had a quizzical look on her face. I said again, "I'm going to clean it up." She still gave me a funny look. I was confused. It was such a simple sentence. Why was she having trouble?

I went right up to her face, and annunciated every word separately. "I'm. Going. To. Clean. It. Up."

In her Marlee voice she said, "That's rude. I understood what you said, I just don't understand why you are doing it."

I felt like an asshole. Here I was, cleaning up Fruit Loops, and all the while, was insulting Dana.

The Rubber People

2011-12-17T19:02:00.000-08:00

I sense something is wrong with Frank but can't exactly put my finger on the problem. Everything is as it usually is. One day distant, the next day close.

Two things happen at the same time on this one evening we are joining friends for dinner. One is coming to a realization of something that I dreaded, and the other is a confession.

We are in company with about ten other people, half of them my friends, half his. Frank's attention is on all of the females in the room except me. Normally not the jealous type, I would have otherwise not cared. But something about his mood and his interactions bother me. It's then that I conclude that Frank is sleeping with someone else.

The food I'm eating is making me sick, and the laughing and innocent jokes between the others irritate me. Frank looks my way, and I believe he knows that I have hit a road block and this time it's serious.

"Guys, I don't want to be rude, can you give us a minute?" he announces to the table. Everyone politely allows us to get up from the table and leave the room. I can hear them chatter away about nothing in particular as Frank ushers me in to another room, with his hand on my back. Still, his touch makes me shiver.

I expected a brow-beating from him about how I appeared to be sulking or distant, spoiling his good time. I was so devastatingly angry that I didn't know whether to cry or simply leave, having quite enough of Frank and his exhausting personality and lifestyle. There was no doubt that my feelings were so strong, suspecting of another woman, that it would be impossible to convince me otherwise. This time I wasn't just ignored, now I was insulted, and very disrespected. How ever long it had been going on, I wasn't sure, and by now didn't care. Anger overcame all of my positive feelings, and there was no turning back.

"I need to tell you something," Frank said, with sad eyes.

And then it happened. Right there, in another room, of a home where we were being entertained in by our friends, Frank quietly told me he had been unfaithful. I had already developed my anger and sadness by suspecting it, that when he told me, it wasn't even such a shock. Frank searched my face for any signs of how I felt, but I just stared at him. I had already known. Now, he was just confirming it.

He began to explain the situation, but I told him to shut up, to stop talking about it, and that when we go home, we will separate. Frank's face flashed a look of panic, and steadied me while we stood facing each other to try and beg me in his own charming way that we can work on this. I told him we couldn't I had enough.

We returned to our friends who asked if things were fine. I said yes, and Frank said nothing. I ignored Frank, but felt his eyes on me the rest of the evening. Sometimes his eyes were pleading. Sometimes they were staring far off in thought. I didn't care. I was too mad to ask.

We finally went home where I still commanded Frank not to speak to me. He would speak in quiet, short sentences that had nothing to do with anything. For example, when I went to open the door, he'd say, "Let me get that," or when we walked through the kitchen, he'd ask, "Want a drink?" I was so sad that the man I had pinned my hopes on was capable of being this hurtful. But then part of me didn't let his honesty go unnoticed. He could have kept this secret and taken advantage of my adoration towards him.

We begin to talk about the separation, Frank only agreeing with what ever I wanted to do. That's the beauty of being cheated on, I suppose. You get to call the shots.

Hours go by, and it's so late in the evening that it's almost morning. We sleep in separate rooms and I can hear Frank frustrated, trying to find ways to be comfortable in the guest bedroom.

In the morning we meet in the kitchen to have coffee. A usual routine, only this time we aren't exactly greeting with each other with affection. Frank still looks at me with hope, and I try to ignore him.

This goes on for days.

Eventually I come home from work and find Frank in the living room with two huge crate-boxes sitting on the floor.

"What are these?" I ask.

"I bought these for us," he says quite seriously. They have already been opened by Frank, so he lifts the lid off of one and pulls out a life-sized figure of what looks exactly like himself. It's a love doll, only made to look eerily identical to Frank. I'm speechless. I remember watching a documentary once on Realdolls, the company, and how they make life-like dolls that can cost thousands of dollars. A custom-made doll can run thousands more. But I know this was something Frank could afford, and obviously he had thought this was a good idea.

As predicted, in the other crate, was a doll that looked like me. Frank pulled her out carefully and stroked her hair, smoothing it down and brushing it off her face. In a weird way I got to see what he looked like petting me. We did look like a nice couple after all.

Snapping out of it, I asked, "And what were you thinking we would do with these?"

He answered, "Well, one is for me, and one's for you. Since you don't want to be with me, but I still want to be with you, I thought I could still be with you in an indirect way with this," he pinched the doll's cheek, pulling her face to look at me.

"And what am I going to do with that doll?" I motioned to the rubber Frank.

"Have sex with it," he said, matter-of-factly, knitting his eyebrows.

I crossed my arms. "And why should I?"

"Because," he reasoned, "It's never had sex with anyone before. It will just be with you. It doesn't have a past and won't ever have anyone else."

A moment of silence came over me. Frank cleaning up his errors with an object that represented him, was now a token to me. This was obviously something I never had from Frank, that a man who did not have a past full of baggage and drama. This replica of Frank was brand-new, virginal, and all for me. A way to still have him, yet not deal with the things that hurt me. The doll's penis was fresh and untouched. It would be my own. It was a riduclous idea, but it was just the thought of it all that made me smile. It was certainly hard to be mad at a man who was so desperately trying to win me back. He must have really loved me to concoct such an idea, and then go through with such an expense.

"Okay, and what about her?" I asked, now pointing to the rubber version of me.

Frank looked at her face. His voice dropped.

"Oh, her. Well, I've already fucked her a few times."

I broke in to hysterical laughter, and couldn't stop. Frank realized the absurdity of his own remark, and coupled with my laughter, he couldn't help but also buckle in to a fit of laughter himself. Together we laughed for what seemed like several minutes, choking back some breath, only to start up and laugh again.

Yes. He did love me that much.

Coach Won't Make Love to Me

2011-12-13T13:41:00.001-08:00

Benjamin Wade (aka "Coach") on Survivor offers to let me stay with him. He lives beside an amusement park, and his home is actually a circus tent. Inside, it's quite nice. He has a proper living area, kitchen, and everything one needs to survive.

I'm not sure why I'm in need of a place to stay, but he offers his home to me without hesitation. I accept, but I have a motive. I'm attracted to him, and want to have sex with him.

I have a bag with my belongings and begin to put them away in drawers and the closet. Coach doesn't say anything to make me believe this isn't okay with him. In fact, his not saying anything makes me think he's actually more than fine with it, because it seems more now like we're living as a couple.

We go for a walk around the amusement park, and I can tell Coach is just as annoyed with the craziness as I am. We both don't want to be around kids, clowns, or any kind of juvenile mayhem. At one point, I lose him in a crowd, but hear him bellowing at someone for being an ass. I go to him, happy to know that the man I'm with truly does stick up for himself.

When we go back to his tent, we get ready for bed. I undress, and change in to a nightgown, and go to Coach's bed. Lying there, I make hints that I'm ready for love. He denies me. In fact, even though it was a gentle rejection, I'm morbidly embarrassed. There's just something about having false expectations on someone and then learning they don't want you at all. It makes me feel like I'm less of a woman, or maybe questioning if I'm desirable to any man, not just Coach.

I slink out of the bed, and now I'm not sure where to sleep. I suppose the couch, even though Coach didn't exactly order me to leave the bed. I think he was hospitable enough to allow me to sleep next to him, but he just wasn't interested in touching me. That was enough to disturb my sleep, knowing the man I wanted lying next to me, didn't want me in return. I had no choice but to leave the bed.

The next morning, I pack my things and decide to go live with my parents. At least there I won't have to feel weird. I go to their house and find out my parents are no longer retired, but they are working full time, running a deli. Dad is very cranky, ordering staff around, and mom is frustrated with Dad's crankiness. They are both very stressed out. Dad employs me at the deli, but it didn't take long before he barked at me with his bad mood.

I yanked my apron off and told him, "I'm not putting up with this shit," and left. No where to go, but I didn't care.

Anything for Frank.. Well, almost

2011-12-05T09:15:00.000-08:00

We're having a house party and there is some loud music playing and people I don't even know are milling around the house. I suppose these are friends of friends but as far as I'm concerned, as long as they don't ruin anything in the house, I'm ok with it.

For the most part, it's pretty tame. Not usual for a crowd like this.

I find Frank sitting on the couch with a friend of his and they both look unimpressed. I go to the kitchen, and pull out a bottle of wine. I pour myself a glass and make sure Frank sees it when I walk back in to the living room. He's Italian, and his love for red wine is a given. He notices, and shoots me a flirty look, knowing I'll go pour him a glass.

"Frankie want some wine?" I tease. He nods.

I go back to the kitchen to get two glasses, because I know his friend will want a glass too. Both guys are Italian. I put the glasses down, pour the pinot noir and everyone seems a little happier. Frank talks to me and focuses on me instead of his friend and that makes me happy.

A little dog comes poking out from one room and runs towards me. I pick it up and shelter it a bit from the noise and drama going on. Frank sees the dog and says, "Oh.. I'd love to have a dog like this." He continues to tell me how he'd like to hold it, and keep it for himself, so I said, "Do you want to hold him?" He says yes, and I pass the dog to him.

I'm starting to feel like what ever Frankie wants, Frankie gets. I was happy to hold the dog, but Frank wanted to hold him instead. Knowing full well I'd do anything for him, he just seems to take advantage of it.

I walk away and talk to someone else, who is being nice to me. Not flirting with me, just normal chatting, which is nice. This goes on for a few minutes, and finally someone at the party yells out that the party is moving some place else. People are hollering, "Let's go!" I was consumed with talking with this other guy that I forgot about Frank.

But Frank didn't forget about me. He shot me a look while I was talking to him, and it made me feel bad for a moment. A girl came by and asked Frank if he would carry something for her, and he smiled that hot-ass smile he usually does and I get pissed off. It's not jealousy. It's the fact he's trying to make me jealous, and to me, that's game-playing. He knows I'll do what he wants, and the second I try and just let him go for a minute to talk to someone else and have a normal conversation, he starts this kind of behaviour. I'm not sure what to make of him.

The girl goes away and everyone is standing up and milling around to get their things to leave. I'm standing before Frank again, who smirks down at me and says, "I guess I'm going. Are you coming?" I said no, and he looked a little surprised.

I guess I was supposed to be his little follower? Did he just think I would go someplace with him and let him take advantage of me there too? I adore Frank so much, but I had enough. I just told him to have a good time and I'd talk to him another time.

He begins to leave, dismissing me, and talking to friends, but looks back at me. Then he comes over to me and whispers in my ear, "I need you with me."

I shoot him a look and in short, tell him I'm not traipsing around so I can pay attention to him and not feel like anyone will give me anything back. He looks hurt, and takes a few steps away to go gather with some people to leave.

The guy I was talking to earlier came up and said quietly to me, "He doesn't know any women exist around him when you're with him. He loves you." I asked how he knows this, and he said, "Because he told me."

But had to add, "But he loves to make you crazy."

Damn him, I thought. I caught up with him and wrapped my arms around his waist and we left together.

I Get to go to Sandals Resort

2011-10-27T20:40:00.000-07:00

Frank sneaks me off to Sandals and I assume he'll just ignore me when we get there. Frank is so funny this way. He'll want to do something nice for me, spend time with me, but he's so social and will end up only spending little time with me.

To my surprise, he doesn't leave my side. We went from one gift shop to another, then one restaurant, then back to our room, and the entire time we're there, he stays close to me. I reach out to touch him and he allows me to put my arm around him. He puts his arms around me back. We don't kiss, but he gives me that pre-kiss look on his face, which I could stare at all day.

At one point we are in a restaurant that is closed. There is no staff, no patrons, nothing. We lifted the gate and went in and helped ourselves, shocked that the restaurant was not secure. We feed each other cheese and fruits and have wine. We sit on the floor and talk and laugh and all the while falling in love. He takes my leg and rests it on his lap and massages my calf.

Just then a woman comes in and gets angry with us. It's her restaurant and she demands to know what we are doing there. Frank immediately comes back with a brilliant come-back.

"We came by and noticed your restaurant was unlocked! We decided we would come in and sit down and guard it for you until someone came back because we don't have the ability to lock these gates. This way nothing would be stolen, and people wouldn't come in. We just thought we'd eat some fruit and cheese and have wine because as a token of your appreciation for guarding the unlocked gate, you would have offered us something as thanks."

The woman really was grateful. She said something about we could come in and dine there any time while we were staying there, and she fell for Frank's charm. But to me, Frank probably saw this as reason, and he felt entitled to it. When we left, I slipped my arm around his waist while we walked, and I could feel his arm draped around my shoulder, hugging me close. It wasn't usually like Frank to be so attentive to me!

"Why so affectionate tonight?" I ask him.

He laughs, squeezing my body in to his. "Just shut up and don't ask questions."

I feel that he really does love me.

Me & Siu-Keung Gambling

2011-10-11T21:58:00.000-07:00

Siu-Keung tells me that he wants to go gambling - but not to a casino. He wants to gamble in an illegal set up at a restaurant. It won't open until quite late, but I tell him I'll meet him there. It turns out I get there early, and see people coming and going.

It's a Chinese restaurant, and the people working there recognize that I'm Siu-Keung's wife. No one will exactly talk to me, but they treat me well and bring me tea while I wait.

After some time, I go out on to the open terrace of the restaurant and see Siu-Keung down below, trying to figure out how to get inside. They had changed the doors, so now there wasn't an obvious entrance.

I call down to him, and he looks up, but we can't get to each other. I didn't even realize how careless I had been, but I had straddled the railing and Siu-Keung looked visibly worried. He fluttered around from door to door to try and get in. I came back to the safe side of the terrace and my mom was near the main door. Siu-Keung likes my mother, and when he sees her he smiles and talks to her. I come up to him, and put my arms around him. He holds me, and I can feel that he was a bit worried. My dad might have been there, but he didn't talk to us. Then my parents leave. I don't even know why they were there.

Siu-Keung isn't very talkative to me, but talks to some of his friends there, and then whispers to me that he wants to take me to a different place.

I get so annoyed. After all of this.. he wants to leave?!

But unexpectedly, he kisses me. I can't help but reach up and run my fingers through his hair at the temples, and we kiss right in front of everyone.

We go back down to the road, walking to a different place, and Siu-Keung is holding my hand and telling me he wants me to go wait again at this different restaurant. I firmly tell him no, and that we aren't going to separate again and have me wait all night for him. He laughs and continues to walk with me. After walking for several minutes I want to make love to him, and he obliges. We take each other in at the side of a building and quickly have sex. Again, touching his hair - which he loves, and I know his hair is so important to him, I do my best not to mess it up. He smiles with his dimples deeply sucked in to his cheeks and arranges himself - and me - so we can continue walking to a new restaurant.

But I'm exhausted, and all I want to do is go home and go to sleep. He takes me home and puts me to bed, and with his arm laced around me, I feel him drifting off as well. We didn't need to make love again, we both knew that we'd have plenty of time for more the next day. Tonight we just wanted to forget we were going to do something stupid, which was gamble in some illegal place at a late hour.

No.. it made much more sense to have sex at the side of the road and then go home.

Sam Takes Me to Beirut

2011-09-02T08:16:00.000-07:00

I must really have Sammy on the brain. That, and discussing Islam with some friends.

Sam suggests we go to Beirut. I am apprehensive at first because I just finished watching "Not Without My Daughter", and get nervous about how Islamic-strong nations treat women. I ask him a lot of questions, and he tells me that Beirut is really not a whole lot different than Vancouver. I agree to go.

It turns out that Beirut is a lot more westernized than I thought. The Christian population is huge, and women aren't all covered up.

Our hotel is like a palace, and Sam, able to afford it all, gets us a very luxurious room. The carpet is very deep red, and unlike other hotel rooms, there are knick-knacks displayed and a huge grandfather clock in a little sitting area. Our bed is massive, and the sheets and blankets are all the finest quality.

I want to make love to Sam, and though he seems interested, he is busy on the phone chatting away in Arabic to someone. I wrap my arms around his torso and nestle in to him. Out the window I notice Beirut is astonishingly beautiful. The city buzz, the sea, the landscape -- it's all very exciting.

After he hangs up the phone, he tells me he wants to take me out for an authentic Lebanese dinner. We quickly make love, and I decide that I'm very happy that I'm here.

Sam Makes me Earrings

2011-09-01T11:40:00.000-07:00

The cookies I ordered were awful. Hardly any of them had chocolate chips in them. When I complained to the staff that I want to reorder and have them done right, they were frantic when they saw the near-chipless cookies.

The bakery had only a few employees, and my former friend Shannon was causing some shit by hitting on one of the guys who worked there. She was making an ass out of herself, and it was a reflection on me. I asked to speak to the manager.

A moment later, a man came around to the front from the back and instantly has me at ease. He is very handsome, and debonair in his crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled up, and smells delicious. His Arabic accent sounds so romantic and his voice calm and sexy. It's poker pro Sam Farha.

He says, "Sweetheart, let me fix this for you right now."

I wonder if right there and then he'll make me some cookies. Instead, he spends time piecing together something without being able to see what it is. He is concentrating, and every now and then glances at me and winks.

After many hours, he comes over to me, and presents me with these earrings made out of beads to look like grapes.

Grapes.

I don't know what to say. I'm so miserably disappointed, but thrilled that Sam Farha just made me a pair of earrings. I look over at Shannon, who's lying on the floor of the bakery not wearing pants, and I gently tell Sam I really am not with her. He smiles and says in my ear, "I just hope you like your earrings."

I put them on and walked by a big mirror to catch a glimpse of myself. They actually were pretty nice.

Ace Frehley Being a Dick, and Travis Tritt is a Crabby Midget

2011-08-25T05:38:00.000-07:00

Ace Frehley has been bugging me to attend the American Music Awards for weeks, and I am not so sure I want to go. Ace thought it would impress me to come over and run me a bath, and forget to turn the water off. I had to scramble to get to it but there still was a mini-flood in my bathroom. Ace laughed. I thought he was being a dick.

I agree to go with him to the AMA, and his co-presenter is Travis Tritt. When they hit the stage together, Ace, who is quite tall, paired with Travis Tritt, who was two feet tall, was quite a sight. Ace made some crack about Travis being short, but complimented him on his hair. Travis got very angry, and looked up at him threatening violence if he insulted him again.

Ace moved the microphone down almost to the ground for Travis, and kneeled down so that they could both almost be the same height. Ace was still taller, and Travis was still pissed off.

After the ceremony, Ace drops me off at home and gives me a crossword to do. He explains that he can't finish it. I'm thinking he must be really stupid, so I take the crossword, and say goodnight to him. When I go inside I look at the crossword and realize that it's actually an extremely difficult level, and Ace really didn't do that badly! I couldn't finish it myself, but did get a few words.

Ace might have been a real jerk, but he was pretty smart.

Mr. Mustaine's Class

2011-08-23T13:40:00.000-07:00

I had heard there was going to be a big concert held at my old highschool. It's been twenty years since I had set foot there, and I wasn't sure how it would feel to be back. I hated it, after all. All of school - elementary, junior, and senior high was all bullshit to me. I hated the teachers, I hated most of the kids, and hated the school work. I truly am one of these people that felt like I got a big fat goose-egg after thirteen years of what other people branded as being 'the best years of my life'.

When I arrive at the school, I really didn't pay much attention to how I'd look, so I took notice that I am in a long plaid trench coat, and underneath is a taupe-coloured blouse and matching dress pants. My shoes are slip-on, black something-or-others.

Something has happened to my school. It's still physically there, and it's still a school. But after walking inside, it looks something similar to a museum in New York City. There are people milling about from all walks of life, from all different countries, of all different ages. I couldn't see any students! I check a roster for the concert, can't make sense of it.

I go to the office, and ask someone there about this concert and all they do is give me a schedule to take with me, but don't explain. (Gee, nothing's changed about the friendliness of the school staff.)

I scan the schedule and one name pops out from the rest: Dave Mustaine. It looks like he's doing a one-time guest teacher class for science or something. Inside, I'm freaking out. Dave Fucking Mustaine is teaching in a highschool for a day? I need a piece of this! I head over to the room where he is supposed to teach, and it looks like only six people (fans) signed up. I add my name.

Before the class starts, I have time to find what else is going on. The school library is buzzing with activity. So much for a quiet place to go to. But it looks like they are selling books and records. I check--there's nothing I'd like.

When I leave, I notice my trench coat is gone! But I have no clue at what point I took it off or where I would have done so. I scramble to remember, and back-step my moves to find it. I eventually see it near the school office. I clutch it to me, but then notice my shoes are gone. Why I would have taken them off, I have no idea. But I hated them anyway. I pull out a pair of emergency slippers from my purse and they feel much better on my feet.

At the spot where I lost my trench coat, there is an open lecture and this young man, maybe 18 or 19 sees me and makes sly gestures at me to take the seat beside him, and makes comments about how I might like this lecture. I assess for a moment that there won't be many opportunities in my life when a cute guy this young will be hitting on me. I take the seat, but not to take this guy up on anything, but more to enjoy the moment. He does hit on me, which is cute (imagine a younger version of Anthony Kiedis) -- but I'm not playing. I finally whisper, "Do you know that I am old enough to be your mom?" He laughs, "How old are you? 25?" I say, no--older. He says if I keep harping about age that it will eventually be a turn-off. I said that was the point. He points to his crotch and says, "No, this is."

I tell him he's cute, but I really don't want to play, and he should just focus on this lecture. He leaves. Since he leaves, I leave too. No point in sticking around, and wish I had this freedom back when I was 18 if I didn't like what I was being taught.

On my way to Dave Mustaine's class, I see out the front door my friend Ryan sitting in a Pacer in a parallel parking spot. I go outside in my slippers and ask him why he's just sitting there, and he says he can't get out of this parking spot (he doesn't know how). The Pacer is old, but in perfect condition with a cranberry coloured paint job. I suggested he get someone else to get out of the spot for him, and he agrees. He chooses this young, 18 year old bimbo who gets in, starts the car, and without maneuvering back and forth and turning to properly get out of a parallel parking spot, she simply puts the car in drive, cranks the wheel to the left, and drives, taking out the back left corner of the car in front, and with a crunch, smashes the Pacer's entire front right corner.

I look at Ryan and say, "She just smashed your car." He says, "I know."

"Don't you care?"

"No."

"Alright, well, had I known I would have just said do it yourself, but ok."

The girl is crying, and Ryan is holding her, comforting her. Now I get it.

**Anyone who thinks it's okay for a woman to be twenty years older than her boy toy when he's 18, compared to an older man with a girl toy has something wrong with them. I firmly believe that no matter which gender the age difference swings, it's not okay until the younger party is at least 21--and even that might be questionable, depending on the maturity of the younger person. I don't believe that any man or woman over 30 should be dating or having sex with 18 year olds--period. The only people that should be, are people who are at tops within a ten year age difference, and only if they don't lie about it and they can personally handle the different places they are in life.**
I go to Dave Mustaine's class. The other six people sitting there are the six people who were my old friends from school who loved heavy metal! My good friend Dave Bell, and other friends Paul, Ray, Brian, and the two Kims.

When Dave Mustaine walks in, it takes everything inside of me not to freak out. I think I like Dave Mustaine more for who he is, and how he thinks more than the music he plays. Sure enough, when he walks in and says hello, all of us feel a sense of connection. It's not a proper class, but it's time with Dave Mustaine in a classroom like setting. It feels like, compared to everyone else, Mustaine likes me the best, and talks to me more. He's smart, and there are a lot of things to talk about that I can keep up with, and he appreciates this.

The class goes really well, and at the end of it, I say to him, "Is it ok if I touch your hair?" He laughs, and says, "No autograph? Just just want to touch my hair?" I say yes, and he obliges. I gently handle the bulk of the length like a pony-tail and rake my fingers through. After about five seconds, I'm happy, and let go. It was a nice encounter, and Dave didn't seem to mind, laughing and teasing with me about this being an unusual request that he'll never forget.

I leave school happy, probably for the first time in my entire life.

My Stupid Lovable Ex

2011-08-22T09:30:00.000-07:00

When Mark and I dated he was the cat's ass. He was hot and full of trouble, and I was the young girl who tried to tame him. But he broke my heart and I didn't see him again for years. Even though I have the inability to forgive, for some reason I felt neutral towards Mark.

So when Glen comes over at an early hour of the morning, I wake up to the sound of him and two others sitting on my deck outside my bedroom window, not realizing who his new friends are.

I sleepily struggle to push the window open just above my head, and Glen is laughing and teasing me for being so lazy. "Guess who's out here with me!" he says excitedly. I said, "Well, I'm not sure. Can you at least give me a hint?"

Glen thinks about it, while the company he is with laughs. He says, "Okay.. it's someone you used to date."

I begin to wonder who Glen might know that I used to date. He certainly wasn't friends with any of the guys I dated, so this was certainly puzzling. I dared not guess the wrong name, as that would be insulting. So I kept my guesses to myself and waiting for Glen to just cave in and tell me.

Finally, the mystery man reveals himself from around my window. It's Mark -- many years later. I begin to cry. I am so overwhelmed and excited to see him. But I guess what's more, is that he's happy to see me. Though still quite attractive, Mark has aged, and not too well, as he looks much older than his 48 years. When he sees how emotional I am to see him, he comes right in to my apartment and gives me a long hug and kiss to greet me.

The thing about Mark is he is aloof. There was no taming him several years ago, at my twenty-three years to his thirty-four. Our age difference upset so many people at first, but we were in love, and we had so many good times. Eventually our families and friends got used to us together. The problem was, Mark was an alchoholic, and his good-timing never sat well with me as I was always put last. Eventually this took a toll on me, and at age twenty-five, I suppose my irritation and nagging to stop drinking drove Mark away. I was desperately heartbroken, never experiencing such pain before in my life. We were so in love. I hadn't lost anyone before, and certainly didn't get rejected like this.

But now here he was holding me, and all of that didn't matter now. I didn't want him back, he was just a symbol of my life from my early twenties when my good times and bad times were bi-polar. I had no in-between, neutral times with Mark, it was one or the other. But since he wasn't my problem anymore, I almost felt relief.

Still, it felt good to reconnect with him to see what he was like, and to some degree, being the same Mark only older made me feel like it was probably the best it did, in fact, end.

Mark couldn't take anything seriously - ever. And now right in front of me, he displayed the same signs of being a flippant drunk, who believed that he would just live forever being drunk. This thought saddened me, and I couldn't help but feel a swell of emotionas. I didn't love him anymore, but for what it's worth, he is an important person in my life who had a key-role in my sexual and romantic development as a young woman, and for that I feel a sense of obligation to give him my attention.

The other half of the company outside was his sister Dessi, who is my age. Dessi and I were very good friends in college, and through her, I met her brother while he was temporarily staying at their house. Like Mark, Dessi was there for good times, but she is slightly more responsible than Mark.

But my focus is on him, and wanting badly to ask him questions about what he's been doing lately, and how he is. Mark will only admit that he is fine, and never to worry.

It turns out Glen works with Mark, and actually employed him, at that. Glen is all too happy to have him work there, and know him outside of work. Strange. They never knew each other before.

They ask me to show them around my building, which I do. We go down to the atrium, where without knowing it -- there is an area decked out with tropical plants and an indoor pool and hot tub.

Mark jumps in. When he gets out, of course he's miserably drenched, and didn't think beforehand about bringing a towel. Lucky for him, I had one, and let him take it. Me, always his saviour, just like it always was. I'm surprised at how beautiful the atrium looks right now. Glen and Dessi compliment me on it, and then the three are heading out to the parking lot to topple in to Glen's truck to leave.

"I'm so glad to see you," I say to Mark, feeling tears again.

"Me too," Mark says, but he's smiling like it's a joke.

To my surprise, he snakes his arm around me and kisses me. I used to love how Mark kissed, but I couldn't remember it. Now I could.

Yes, Mark was a pain in the ass. Yes, he was drunk. Yes, he was arrogant. Yes, he was insensitive. But sweet evil Jesus, he could kiss.

The Freak Effect

2011-08-21T09:05:00.000-07:00

Dan and I go on a date after nearly ten years. I'm quite self-conscious because Dan is still incredibly gorgeous, and I feel so inadequate around him. But he says I look great, and not to think about stuff like that because we're to be out enjoying each other's company, not to just sit and stare at each other.

I agree, but I still want to look good for him. While I'm out clothes shopping, I pass this eye-care place where I can quickly look at new frames. I don't normally wear glasses - but I do have a prescription. My eyes are slightly near-sighted, and whenever possible I don't wear glasses unless I get a headache, or I am driving at night.

The optician does a sight test for me, and determines my prescription has changed. She tells me it's getting to be important that I wear glasses more frequently now. I shop around for frames, and decided on a neat pair of glasses, and she has them ready quite quickly. They were quite interesting. I love looking unique when it comes to glasses, so I usually choose something bold or different - yet something flattering to my face. These were it!

When I put them on, I felt this weird sensation in my right eye. I took the glasses off, and the eye felt fine. I did this a few more times. Each time, I felt my right eye moving. I looked in the mirror to see what was going on, and it turned out that putting the glasses on actually created amblyopia: lazy eye.

I was horrified! In fact, I was so mad, I began to yell at the optician right in the store. She wanted to see what the glasses did, but I was too humiliated to show her. I was so angry, because now I looked like one of those people that I hate looking at. The optician said glasses weren't becoming an option for me, and I told her that looking freakish was not either.

I decide against wearing the glasses. But I do stick them in my purse anyway. Maybe later on, the lazy eye won't happen.

When I get together with Dan, as guessed he was very handsome and we had such a fantastic time out together. Our date was filled with enough things to do, while giving us time to talk. At night, Dan wants to see me off I realize I need to wear my glasses. I pull them out of my purse, and Dan says, "Oh! You wear glasses? Put them on! Let me see you!" It's as if this is such a novelty for him. I try and dodge it, but he insists.

I hope that putting them on won't create The Freak Effect, but after I slid them on, my eye once again began to wander, while the other stayed in place.

Dan didn't say anything -- but I could tell he noticed. His smile disappeared, and he looked away after my eye went in to full Freak Effect. Dan then says he has to go back to work. I said, "It's nighttime. You have to go to work now?" He stammers trying to sound convincing but I know that while I look at him with my left eye, and the roof of my car with my right, that it's best just to end our date before something awful is said.

He leaves, and I yank my glasses off, giving me normal eyes again, and drive home. Sure, maybe I had to squint every now and then to minimize the blur, but at least I had both eyes on the road.

Glasses in South Africa

2011-08-19T12:36:00.000-07:00

I was in Cape Town, and needed new glasses.

He was about sixty years old, and youthfully handsome for his age. I asked him where I could get new lenses put in my frames for my glasses. We were staying at the same hotel, but I was there as a guest, and he was there because he worked for the hotel chain and was always traveling within South Africa on business.

I didn't mean to flirt, but I guess I did, and in turn, he responded with light flirting also. Suddenly I realize that I'm talking about my glasses for no reason just to keep talking to him. I loved hearing the accent.

After some time, he suggests to meet up with me in Pretoria. This makes me a bit nervous, because I know he's suggesting a date, but the age difference can't be ignored, and the fact we hardly know each other to travel to a city where I'd be at his mercy is unsettling -- yet exciting.

I find myself agreeing to see him.

When I get to Pretoria, he hasn't arrived yet. At the hotel, the people who work in administration treat me like I'm the belle of the ball, fussing over me, and gossipping with me. They tell me how incredibly successful he is, and how they envied that he's asked me to see him.

I didn't get too much information on him, then again -- I didn't ask for any information. They only seemed to think highly of him, and their approval made me feel nervous, as if what I was getting in to was to be treasured.

I go shopping while I wait for him, and while I'm at the grocery store, I am not well-received when trying to pay in Canadian monetary. I mutter something about having to go back to meet him, and the grocery store clerk says, "Oh my god, you know him?" Surprised, I say yes, and then I'm instantly treated like royalty. I'm told not to worry about the bill, and it will be taken care of.

I'm puzzled, but I like it.

I go back to the hotel and wait for him. Now I feel like a nervous high-school girl, excited to finally see him again.

Terrible Delivery Truck Driver

2011-08-05T14:00:00.000-07:00

I'm at the mall, and see Frank. He pretends to avoid me, but he's smiling, and then starts to kid with me. Sometimes I just want to punch him in the teeth! He tells me he wants to learn how to drive a delivery truck, and I tell him that ex-convicts take jobs like that.

"So what makes you think I'm not an ex-convict either?" he asks.

To my surprise, I'm then sitting at home and wearing a long nightgown and decide that I'm bored enough to go see my next door neighbour -- an old woman who is always baking something. She's wearing a nightgown also, and then we start to laugh that we have the same taste in clothes.

Suddenly I hear a Bang! and look outside to see Frank driving a delivery truck, but he drove too fast over the speedbumps. I dash out to him, and he stops. I ask what the hell he's doing. He gets out but there are a train of people running after him, quite angry.

I assume Frank drove over flowerbeds, lawns, and maybe did damage to some things on the road. He was such a miserable driver.

I tell him to get back in the truck, and I'll handle this. Somehow, someway, I calm the angry mob down. Frank sits in the truck listening. I explain that Frank is a new driver and didn't mean any harm. After some nice words, the mob clears away.

"You just saved my life," Frank breathes. He gives me a teasing, quick kiss, and as I'm standing beside the truck, he swerves away and drives off.

Frank drives me crazy.

Later on, we meet up in the night to go for a drive -- this time in a normal car. We make out, and Frank tells me he needs to leave and he'll come back tomorrow to visit me.

I wait.

Murder?

2011-07-22T08:21:00.000-07:00

The train had an eerie feel to it. Dark, listless, no sign of others, and just the clackity sound of the train rolling over the tracks. When it stopped at the station in a town that had no meaning to me, he got on and kept to himself for a short time.

Something about him roused my interest. He was older, and his brown hair was long, tied in a pony tail and had strands of grey. His sideburns were thin, he was clean-shaven, his jaw was strong and I could tell if he smiled his teeth were straight and perfect. He was in outdoor wear, including an outback hat, as if he was ready to spend time in the bush. He was so masculine, and due to this simple sexiness, I couldn't take my eyes off of him.

We didn't speak for a very long time, until he mentioned to me that the train would eventually stop at a place where "someone like me" shouldn't be. I didn't have a destination, I realized. I asked if I could go with him. A ballsy question, but one where I was fine with what ever the answer may be. He didn't exactly answer - but didn't exactly tell me he didn't want my company either.

In a moment we were off the train and in a house that was flooding. It was just as dreary as the train being dark and miserable, but this was worse. The flooding and cooler-than-room temperature was edging on intolerable.

I kissed him.

I thought if I didn't make it happen I would always wonder what may have been. He was working back and forth between rooms trying to get the flooding under control, moving furniture, arranging furniture, all the while his movements hurried in order to get things done before it was too late. Our kiss stopped him instantly. His arm was snaked around my back, and though I didn't expect much romance, his mouth was warm and lingered lovingly over my lips and neck. We broke from each other and he had a look in his eyes that seemed to suggest he wanted more intimacy - but perhaps now wasn't the right time.

I tried to help with the house, but realized I couldn't work the way he did. I wasn't as strong, and wasn't familiar with my surroundings, and above all else - never had to clean up a flood before!

Outside I took a look for items that might help, and there was the train within view from the yard. It was sitting still, and seemed abandoned. I came in and told him we could sleep on the train. He was feverishly still working, and said that he couldn't relax on trains.

His mindset was back on the clean up, but I couldn't forget our kiss. I stood before him inviting another, and he obliged. In fact, each time I passed him, we took an opportunity to become close.

I'd been attracted to some men before, fantasizing a future, or something that made me feel I could shout from the rooftops that I was in love, but this was different. He was older, and made me feel secure, and once this house was fixed up - I could have stayed there with him in seclusion and been content.

I went to the train to look for items to take back to the house, and in one of the cars found blankets and a few other items we could both use for the night. But when rustling a blanket from a trunk, there was a body. I felt sickened, and came back to the house to tell him what I found. He said it was good I didn't bring the blankets back.

"Aren't you concerned that there is a body on the train we were on?" I asked.

He didn't seem to care, but didn't say no. He was so preoccupied with the flood.

Could nothing get to this man? Oh wait, yes, one thing could. I stepped toward him for yet another mini-makeout session. While in his arms, while he grazed my neck and face with his lips, I whispered to him, "I don't like the idea of a dead man on that train."

He took a breath, still holding me, looked me square in the eyes and said, "I had to get rid of him. He was going to hurt a lot of people." I wanted to know why, but he only answered my question with a few moments of kissing, and said, "I had to get rid of him. He would have hurt you too."

Now I was starting to feel warmth in this cool house, realizing that man I was with was a vigilante. I continued to help him clean up after the flood, and we remained in the house together, all the while, his protection was romance enough.

Naked in a Bar

2011-06-27T09:22:00.000-07:00

My niece won a bit part in a film shot locally in town. She invited me to come down to watch the filming, and it was just brutal. She was fine, but the part she played was of this young woman who gets beaten up by a ring of other young women. I'm watching this, absolutely horrified. After a few takes, she's laughing. Obviously this meant that she wasn't really getting hurt, it was all just the magic of movies, enabling the visual that blood squirting from her nose and mouth was just fake. I still found nothing funny about it.

The shoot takes hours. By the time all was said and done for the night, and filming was over for her one part, I ask my niece, cleaning up her bloody face if she wants to go for ice cream. Of course she says yes, and already plans on a big waffle cone full of chocolate chip mint. (Where does she get this from?)

We pass a few shops that have ice cream, but nothing has what we both want. As we keep moving, she's distracted by her cell phone alerting her of text messages every minute or so.

"I have to go, I'm meeting some friends," she announces.

I'm perfectly fine with that, because I'm exhausted by this point, and my desire for ice cream is gone anyway.

It's dark out, and I feel uneasy because now the weirdos are out. What's worse is somehow, I lost my clothes. I believe what happened was during my drive to get out of town, I became hot in the car and took them off. I felt okay being in the privacy of my own car driving naked, but without thinking, I had to get out and ask for directions because I started to get lost.

Hungry, I stopped at a bar for some pub food, and wrapped myself in a blanket I had in the trunk. Why not my own clothes, I don't know. Maybe I thought I'd be quick?

I ordered an appetizer, and when I went to pay for it, this handsome waiter at the till started to smile at me, obviously reacting to me wrapped in this ridiculous blanket.

He says, "You know.. this is a unique situation. If I don't give you your total, that means you don't know what to pay.. which means you'll have to keep standing here. I could just stand here and not give you your bill just yet, could I?"

If this was flirting, it was working. I felt completely embarrassed, but damn, he was cute.

Love on a Mountaintop

2011-06-23T05:52:00.000-07:00

Just like I thought, Frank never went anywhere. We were standing on a mountain and I beg him to make love to me. Yes, there were people nearby, but they were preoccupied with other company and what ever the outdoor activities they were engaged in.

Frank laughs, and stands behind me, with his arms wrapped around my waist, his face nuzzled in the back of my neck. I ask what's so funny, and that I really do want sex.

"You know you can have me whenever you want me," he reassures me.
"But I want you now," I say.

Again, Frank is laughing. It's a tease, and he is kissing my neck, and his hands are feeling me around the front of my torso, his fingers brush up against the lower part of my breasts, just to let me know as silly as I'm being, he does desire me.

For a while, he joins the crowd in the park, and I am walking alone, just watching everyone else have fun. I start to feel lonely, and I said aloud, "Frankie, I need you." Frank sees me, and comes right over to me. "You know I'm here," he laughs and gives me a quick kiss.

This happens a few times, Frank leaves to visit friends and I either quietly say, "Frankie, I need you," or else call out to him, and he comes to my side each time, telling me not to worry, and he is always here. I tell him that I know he's here, but I also don't want him to leave.

He says, "Then I won't leave," and he smiles this cheeky, handsome smile and stayed beside me. I ask to come with me, off to a private area so I can have sex with him, and he says we will, but just not right now. Making me wait, is making me crazy, and I start feeling irritated with him. But he takes me in his arms and gives me a full, lingering kiss on the mouth and down my neck and tells me we will.

Just not now.

Untouchable Frank

2011-06-21T08:27:00.000-07:00

I don't know how else to title this entry. It's just Frank, and everything I feel is Frank.

Frank and I hadn't been intimate for a very long time, and he decided to come over to talk to me about "us". Frank is aware of his social surroundings paying attention to so many people at once, but alone he is focused on me and what's been best for "us". He is attractive, with dark hair, a tall, medium build and is at his sexiest in jeans. He seems street savvy when you look at him, but he is very smart, knows his numbers, and has a creative mind. The entire package is handsome. Sometimes Frank doesn't even know how attractive he really is.

When he comes over, he starts to discuss our 'relationship'. Just being near him makes me feel weak, and after a few minutes, Frank succumbs to the same feeling towards me. When he kisses me, I feel like it's from a man who really loves me. It all seems to be going so fast, but Frank is eventually making love to me. We are on the couch, but we move from the couch to the bed, to the couch again, and it seems we explore my entire apartment in different positions. This is just how Frank is. He is wildly passionate, and for each session I can feel every part of him loving me. Funny how Frank is such a talker when we are with friends, but while making love, he actually says so little. He is a wonderful lover, though. Every fibre within his being is focused on me and my pleasure - but not withholding his own.

At times it feels like he's forcing himself upon me, but it's welcoming, therefore it's pleasurable. Then he becomes gentle, teasing me to no end to want more. His body smothers mine as he unwittingly tries so hard to reach a climax for what seems like for the both of us. But then he stops, only to start all over again, leaving me breathless.

He is merciless. We fuck for hours.

When we finish, he tells me I'm the love of his life, kisses me, and gets dressed and starts to leave.

"Are we going to finally have a relationship?" I ask.

"Yes, we are." It sounds so definitive, and both of us kiss again. I know he wants to make love again, but I also know he has to be somewhere. He leaves. He doesn't call me. But this felt too real and good to be something I should be worrying about now. I know he'll be back.

Andrew & The End of the World

2011-06-06T10:09:00.000-07:00

Andrew and I are supposed to go on a blind date. Which is weird, because I already know Andrew. But nonetheless, we are set up by friends to go out. I call him and tell him where I think would be a good place to go (place unknown), and he agrees. We meet there, and it turns out to be a double date. He shows up with a friend and another female.

But this isn't a normal date, the kind where you expect romance, feeling the throes of juvenile nervousness, and wonder or worry if there will be a goodnight kiss at the end of the evening. Instead, we are all four there to chat.

We all engage in conversation at first, but then Andrew and I continued to talk between ourselves, and unexpectedly, something was said wrong, and we end up arguing. As we argue, it's clear that we both have valid points, but we refuse to agree. The topic is about what men want, and what women want in relationships. We end up in bouts of silence after being so irrate. Then we begin to talk about the movie Weird Science and who was truly the better actor between Anthony Michael Hall and Ilan Mitchell-Smith. We argue about that as well because we disagree. We also discuss the romance in the film and what exactly the problem is with the relationships in the movie. Andrew has his ideas of what works and what doesn't, and I have my own opinions, which he doesn't like.

After a while, we begin to discuss the problem with the world population. This is a topic we both have similar opinions on.

Then Andrew gives me this startling revelation.

"You know...the world population right now is over seven billion."

I'm stunned. I'm silent. I'm looking at him in disbelief that he thinks I didn't already know this.

I reply, "Yeah. And?"

He says, "I just think that's pretty bad."

I said, "Yes, it is bad."

"People should just stop fucking." He muses.

"No, people can still have sex, they just need to stop having kids, and at best use contraception."

He says, "Did you know that Stats Canada came up with a report that in 27 years, there will only be 25 people left on earth?"

I told him I hadn't heard of that.

"It's true," he continues, "Apparently we are so badly populated right now, that it will become so bad in 27 years that the entire world is going to die off because there will be no more resources left to live, and those 25 people who will be alive will just die out on their own after a while anyway."

"That's very scary," I say. I become very worried. I know Andrew is telling the truth, and I am very afraid about where I might be in 27 years.

Andrew scuffs his heel on the floor, and defiantly tells me he's going to be one of the 27 people left in the world. I tell him that I see no reason why I wouldn't be either. He agrees, and notes that there really is no use in life if we only know we have 27 years left to really live, anyway.

I panic, telling him that I will be 64 years old in 27 years and that I won't even get to enjoy my retirement!

"Yep," Andrew says, "Me? I'm going to quit my job and just relax for 27 years. What's the point?"

"Good point," I say, "but I still need to live, and still need to make money."

"That's fine," Andrew reminds me, "you know that it's not going to make a difference between now and then though right? People are going to choke themselves to death from the population problem, and there will be nothing to lose, so why bother?"

I think about this. Since I'm going to be one of the 25 people left alive, it's true: why should I even bother?

"You're sure you're going to be one of the survivors?" I ask.

"Positive."

"I am too."

"Great."

Date over.

Stealing Bread with Dee Dee Ramone

2011-06-04T09:51:00.000-07:00

Younger Dee Dee and I go to Safeway late at night to get bread for our breakfast the next day. When I say "younger Dee Dee" I mean mid-80s, when he was still adorable.

I tell Dee Dee that all the bread is so old, and that we probably won't have good bread for tomorrow. He insists that the bread is good, and goes to the back of the racks to find the bread that would normally be a bit more fresh. We select a few loaves, and two cakes that looked like Pac Man and a pellet that the Pac Man would be chasing. It was cute.

There are no cashiers, so we wait for a bit, and Dee Dee says, "Let's just get out of here." So we leave, basically stealing the bread and cake. Dee Dee takes them, and says he'll meet me at my apartment later. I go home, only to find that home isn't home anymore.

Someone has moved my entire apartment down one floor and I can't stand my neighbour. It's a violent female who asks if she can plug her cable in to my outlet so we can share it. I am furious, and tell her only if she intends to pay half the bill. She gets very angry and stays away from me.

I organize my entire apartment and clean it up and hope when Dee Dee comes over he won't be confused where to go. That's if he still comes over.

Sure enough at about 3am, Dee Dee shows up with the bread and cake. I am not feeling well by this time and I am in bed and not up for company.

Dee Dee puts the bread away in the kitchen, and comes in to my bedroom and sits down on the edge of the bed looking at me. He sounds so cute with that Queens accent asking me if I'm okay.

I said yes. I must not have seemed convincing because he kept looking at me, and at one point sighed and I wondered if he would leave.

I take my hand and caress his bicep. As skinny as he was, he had these slight muscles and his skin felt so good. "I'm just glad you're here."

Suddenly he smiled and said, "Really?" I said, "Yeah, really." Then he chirped about how he wasn't sure if he should stay or had even come, but now he was happy that I wanted him there. I drop my hand back to my side and he said, "No... don't stop."

I'm laughing now, and I return my hand to his arm to brush my nails against his skin.

Dee Dee stayed with me the whole night, and at one point lay down beside me. I was in my pajamas, and Dee Dee was still in his clothes, and we slept as a couple, snuggled in to each other. It may have been early afternoon before waking up. All I knew is that I didn't want the moment to end.

Kissing David Lee Roth and Bugging Christians

2011-05-31T09:11:00.000-07:00

The mall was undergoing some kind of weird apocalypse, and Van Halen were there to take in the excitement. Being a non-believer, this isn't a real apocalypse, but rather, something of a demolition in the mall that is unexpected having people scatter about in terror.

From Van Halen, David Lee Roth is urging the girls to kiss him 'one last time' joking that this will be it for him, and the girls are lining up like zombies to oblige. Alex Van Halen is my big-time crush, but just to humour Roth, I line up to kiss him, and yes--I'm at the back of this huge line.

When I got to him, the mall was becoming less recognizable, and people were being hustled out before they were hurt. Roth was also wanting to get his little joke overwith. But when I leaned up to kiss him, I decided that I didn't line up for nothing, and gave him a very sensual, loving kiss and felt him lingering back and in a moment we were touching and kissing as if we had privacy. I broke away first, and Roth was just in awe, speechless, looking at me as if he wanted to continue. I said, "I have more... later."

It seemed the "apocalypse" was getting worse in the mall, and Van Halen and their harem were ushered out. I didn't want to follow them, so instead I leave through a different exit and head down the street on foot. I know there is a bakery I want to go to, but first I decide to stop at a convenience store to get something to drink. It's Alex Van Halen who is there by himself, and recognizes me from the mall.

"Hey, aren't you the girl who just gave Roth that kiss at the mall?" he says, and I can tell he's trying not to appear as though he cared.

I stand next to Alex, ready to pay for a Diet Dr. Pepper, looking at him waiting to pay for some kind of sugar-jelly snack. I said, "Well, yeah, but you know..." I can't help but flirt. I mean -- this is Alex Van Halen. The man who has been responsible for many girlish fantasizes of mine. "It was actually you I wanted to be with, but you didn't seem too interested."

"But I was interested!" he stammered. "There was a lot going on, and so many people, and we had to get out of there, and Roth was wasting time, and everyone was all over the place, and we had to hurry--" I'm thinking, wow, does this guy ever talk fast. He had this cool demeanor, but he wouldn't shut up. It was really cute.

I said, "Well, do you want to come with me to the Atheist Bakery?" Alex laughs and eagerly agrees to come along.

I sort of want Alex to touch me in some way. Either holding my hand, or putting his arm around me, I didn't care, and didn't expect something sexual. I just wanted something to feel connected to him. Alex was a gentleman, yet he was very attentive toward me. When we get to the Atheist Bakery, there is a crowd of angry Christians waiting to be served.

The Atheist Bakery actually attracted Christians on a daily basis, who liked to come by, get some bread, and shake their fist in anger at the blasphemy the bakery was responsible for. In fact, their best business was making money from Christians--all of them angry.

I offer to buy Alex a pizza pretzel, knowing they are really very good. He laughs and says no, but he'll try a bite of whatever I choose to get. I'm melting with romantic thoughts of sharing food with Alex Van Halen.

I stand in line and I look at their selection. Not very much in the glass cases! "Yeah.. a bunch of Christians from the mall thought the world was ending and came here to get some food." It figures. Well, that means I just missed David Lee Roth and Friends. I look over at Alex, who shrugs and laughs. I order a few things that are left. A pizza pretzel, a brownie, a breadstick. The Christians are staring at me in anger. I hear them whispering. I finally had enough.

"Do you Christians want to know what's going to happen to you when you die?!" I announce. At the moment, I am not caring if Alex approves of what I'm about to say or not, because I'm just fuming.

"You're going to have to repent!" I hear someone retort.

"No, you brainless, gutless twits, when you die - you become fucking worm food. If you don't like that idea, then just know that you're going to go to hell anyway, because what you have done in this life has been riddled with so much hate and ignorance, no god will ever have time to hear all of your repents to be bothered with you, so he'll be sending your ass to hell just to save time, or you can all just grow the fuck up and realize that when you die, you're going to just going to be asleep forever with no more guilt or elation to look forward to, and you're basically going to rot in to the ground where you'll help the grass grow where birds will shit and insects will lay eggs, and god will be laughing his ass off knowing that throughout your entire lifetime you bought in to this gag that you believe your soul will rest in some kind of euphoric place that out of fear you chose to believe it without thinking for your weak selves to know that you were part of a cult the entire time you spent breathing on earth."

I snatch the paperbag of my treats from the counter, and brush past the hating Christians, with Alex quietly following behind me. I wonder if he will still wants me to kiss him now.

Grandpa Lives

2011-05-29T13:27:00.000-07:00

**This dream made me cry. My grandfather, on my dad's side died of colon cancer. Dreams are funny things, and at this point in time it would put my grandfather at age 95, which was nearly an impossible feat for the men in my family to reach this age, much less be this aged with an illness. My grandfather did in fact die at the age of 77 in February, 1993.

I was staying in a resort doing some work, when my parents came to visit to see how life was. While my mom was busy with me, my dad would excuse himself periodically to mysteriously do something and he wouldn't reveal what it was.

Finally when he came back after these absences, my mom went to do something mundane (get a drink of water, go to the bathroom - I don't know), and I asked my dad to tell me where it was he was going. He seemed like he was getting emotional, but could barely admit that what he was doing was visiting his dad - my grandfather who I presumed was dead, and had been for many years.

I was immediately intrigued, and told Dad that I wanted to see him too. He refused. He said that Mom didn't even know about this, and he had been keeping it quiet for years because Grandpa didn't want anyone to see him so sick. So his death was faked while he lived in solitude to suffer, with Dad occasionally visiting him to make sure he had what he needed.

I begged him to let me go with him, and it seemed that Dad finally was willing to let me - but only if I kept it a secret from my mother, and basically everyone else for that matter because no one was to know he was alive. I agreed.

It turns out Dad made frequent visits to him when they stayed with me because he was in the same geographical area in a facility that was like a hospice, but it was so unknown and out of the way that no one really knew about it. It made sense now why each time they stayed with me, Dad disappeared so much.

Together we drove to the hospice, which was a cold, listless place that housed approximately eight patients. During the drive, Dad had to disclaim so much of what I was about to see. Grandpa was doing very poorly, and was unrecognizable now, and the entire hospice was eerie with threats of death, and would upset me very much. "Just be prepared," he warned.

He was right. The hospice had no personality to the rooms, and the patients were basically kept in rooms that had no colour on the walls, no memories of pictures sitting next to them, no books, no music. Only a bed for them to rest in.

What I saw was a combination of absolute heartbreak and elation. My grandfather was alive. I saw him myself. But his physical state and the environment was depressing.

Lying in a bed, with white sheets and a white blanket, he himself was white - with sparse, white hair, white skin, and white bandages covering unsightly marks on his face and body.

I began to cry.

Dad was used to this scene, so he appeared fine, and leaned in to him and said, "Dad do you know who this is?" Grandpa looked at me with these eyes that likely hadn't seen anything to stir his interest, and for a moment, there was a twinkle of life.

"I do know you," he croaked. "You're my granddaughter." His eyes were fixed on me and never left.

I couldn't help myself. I hugged him, and felt a little arm around my back. What strength it must have taken for him to do this! Dad had to tell me to let him be because he was weak.

I said, "How come you never let us know you were here!"

He said, "I didn't want anyone to see me like this." How true his pride must have been as he lay on this bed as a dying old man than the strapping touch farm man-turned engineer he once was.

I knew my parents wouldn't be here as much, and with me living so close by, I just had to do something.

"Do you want me to read to you?" I asked.

Dad answered for him, "I think he would like that very much."

I told my grandpa I had so many books to read with him, and I could come by and we can finish a book together for how ever long he wanted me to do so.

"I still have my mind," he said, "I still want to learn things, and hear stories." With a gulp, he said, "...And I want to hear them from you."

My dad said to him, "It's time to sleep," and nestled him back down to his pillow and pulled the blanket up to his chin. Within a minute, I could hear my grandpa making the familiar sounds of someone sleeping, and we slipped out of his room.

We were there for maybe only five minutes, and I presumed that is about as long as anyone really could visit him for at a time. On the quick drive back, I told Dad that I wanted to really make his time there special. I would bring pictures, put a new blanket on the bed, a CD player with some of his favourite old music, and I would go there everyday with a book and read.

Dad started to cry. "I think he would like that so much." Then fought back his emotion and said, "But no one can know about this. Not Mom, or anyone. He is not to have anyone know."

It seemed that pride was certainly a funny thing. How comforting it was to know that your own family shouldn't see you suffer for the sake of all things you loved. That is the ultimate love one has for his family, to spare them such dispair, isn't it? I realized how much he really did love us to feel this way, and yet to trust me so much to come back and do all I could in such a small time frame to keep him comfortable without seeing that dying man in bed, the person he wanted to keep private. It wasn't much time to do this, but the plans were flying through my mind already. I had books in mind, and knew which blankets to take to him.

I could feel my heart ripping up inside me, and was distracted by his voice echoing in my brain, "I still have my mind, I still want to learn things, and hear stories... and I want to hear them from you."

Mugged! How funny!

2011-05-29T12:56:00.000-07:00

I'm walking along a dark alley, and I'm confronted by three punks who are dressed as street thugs and obviously up to no good. They're in their 20s, black, and talking that street-talk ebonics that can be hard to understand since I'm not around it - ever.

Basically the message is that they want to hassle me, and take my wallet. But their talk is so ridiculous, and incomprehensible that I begin to laugh. I mean, I'm laughing hard. I'm laughing so hard that my shoulders are stifling the sounds by shaking up and down, and I can't stop.

The three guys are questioning me, wondering what's so funny, and even when they do this, they sound ridiculous, and it makes me laugh all the more.

Finally one starts to laugh with me, but I am thinking it's because my own laughter is contagious. He finally says, "Girl, you're cracking my ass up!"

I can't help but now actually howl in loud laughter, and say back to him, "You said crack and ass together!"

We all are laughing now. How did they not catch their own joke? Ass crack?

I was in tears it was so funny.

Four Brides

2011-05-28T11:41:00.000-07:00

I could ultimately take my pick of one of the four grooms-to-be, but we did spend some time to figure out who would be the best amongst the four of us. The four brides were two unknown female friends of mine, and a girl I went to elementary school with, who never seemed to change - Sabine, and myself.

Sabine was timelessly pretty and naïve. She was a half-Austrian, half-Maltese girl with long, stringy brown hair and a porcelain doll innocent face. The other two women were plain, but had unique personalities, so that each groom had something very different to choose from also.

All of the brides and grooms had to spend one year completely away from our families and friends, and spent time together in a town where our only social activity relied on each other. We could take with us a few personal items from home to survive the year in comfort. Mine was coffee. But not any coffee. Everyone loved my rich-flavoured dark roast from Austria and it truly was a point in my favour.

The grooms were all very different in look and personality. None of us had met them before, so they were virtually strangers.

I kept finding myself drawn to one in particular, but he did not seem to notice. He was unusually handsome with light hair and brown eyes. I suppose he was the rebel in the mix, and each time I saw him he was a complete disaster, unkempt, and always made a mess whenever he did practically anything. But he was fun.

Sabine was so unlucky to have gone in to the experiment as a virgin, and was frustrated because she confided that her virginity should have been taken just one night before we left with her boyfriend. Here she was, not able to determine much based on sexuality, where we had the advantage. This meant Sabine was fine with any of the four suitors.

At the end of the year, the brides would list their order of choice, and the grooms did the same. I could hardly believe my name would appear at the top of any list because I didn't feel like I made an effort, nor a connection with any of them.

The handsome blond chose me as first. I did the same with him. Oddly enough, all the men and women put their lists in the exact order to which they were matched. It was too bad about Sabine. Her wedding dress was an awful black dress that had no attractiveness to it. It did nothing for her figure or her personality. My dress was the most fluid of the four. It looked as if I had something Stevie Nicks might wear on stage at a concert, and was incredibly sexy.

The nameless blond man met me in his quarters (a complete mess) and said, "Well I guess we've chosen, haven't we!" and then laughed as if the whole thing was a joke. Wasn't it?

I asked if we could please do something about this problem he has with keeping things tidy. He laughed, mocking the question. I suppose I had to just accept my fate.

"What made you choose me?" I said, and at this time I believed it was safe to flirt, so I ran my eyes all over him, and he did the same in return.

He replied, "The coffee, of course."

Of course.

Driving off Mount Robson

2011-05-27T23:48:00.003-07:00

Mom was so careful in the car. Dad was not up for driving so he was in the passenger seat, and I was in the backseat with my dog. The weather was so cruel with snowflakes the size of angry pollen attacking the car windshield. The windshield wipers brushing them away with no avail.

This was the worst part of the pass, and looking down an eerie chasm with no guard rail could conjure one's guts into snakes in the stomach with fear.

Mom drove so slowly, in a procession of other vehicles taking care as we all just tried to make it past the worst part of the highway. My dad, on edge, trying to tell my mom how to steer, how fast to go, and where to look.

Looking upward was slightly friendly, the peaks of the mountains were solid with untouched snow, and barely enough light to give it a sense of realism. Below--different altogether. The chasm downward was grey-black with a pit of trees several miles down. The fog looked like a deceiving blanket, tricking the eyes to think the distance down was lower than it seemed. The road itself was threatening, slick with ice and cars trembling over it. The only colour to be clear of was the tail-lights of each car inching to safety.

Mom couldn't take it anymore and pulled over. Dad was in hero-mode and took the wheel to continue the drive, and I was silent only hoping that one of them would be able to be brave enough to get us out of the pass.

Once dad started the car back on to the highway, he shoulder checked to get back in to the line of vehicles. Safely, safely turning the car on the pavement checking out every window to make sure it was clear. And then I felt a slip...

The kind of feeling when you lose a piece of spaghetti off your fork. No--more helpless. Imagine your five-year old self losing a balloon through your fingers and helplessly watching it fly on forever. But more terrifying. It's the car you're in that slips off the road slowly, but fast enough for the wheels to cleanly leave the pavement, and you're falling...

The screams started. My dog cried. My dad said, "Oh no," and those were the last real words I heard, before he started to cry out as well.

We were falling.

In seconds, that awful cloud of fog would rob us of our vision. Maybe in 30 seconds I will be dead. I could throw myself out the back door and fall on my own, letting my parents die in the car after me, but I knew my death would be slower and far worse. Our bodies thrown to the roof of the car in the fall. I still had time to decide because our deaths would not be for several seconds now. If I do this, how would I be found? I had each second threatening my logic.

We were falling in to the nothingness of the thick forest below that only people ever saw in postcards.

I opened the back door to let myself out to prolong my life by perhaps five to ten seconds longer, and watched the car drop like a stone below my feet as I followed suit, not able to see what tree might be the one to pierce through my body like a blade.

Too scared to scream, I continued to fall without a sound until I only saw black.

Be Still

2011-05-27T23:48:00.001-07:00

I got a notice in the mail that his mother died. I remember him from years ago, and I don't remember him ever mentioning his family, so it was hard to connect that I should feel grief for anyone. Nonetheless, he came by to touch base if I received it, and I said yes.

"Can you come to the funeral?" he asks.

I told him I doubted that I would, and as we speak, I see the hurt in his gorgeous brown eyes. He explains to me that this would mean a lot to his daughter... 'whoa--wait!' I'm thinking. A daughter? He never mentioned children, never said he was ever in a relationship, and I'm supposed to react like I know these people? I didn't even know him anymore. He doesn't say much, but when he does speak, it's slow and thoughtful, in a sexy voice that I remember all too well.

I agree to go to the funeral--but not attend. I told him I would wait at the cemetery grounds for him when it was over.

It rained that day, and as promised I was there. I watched the procession of only a few cars, and the coffin being lowered in to the ground. He came over to me as a conclusion to the day.

"You did a good job with this," I told him. I meant it, but I didn't feel anything towards anyone.

"Thanks," he answered, lighting a cigarette, politely exhaling the smoke away from me.

We talked a little, but I saw no sign of anyone noticing he was talking to me. "Let's go for a walk," he suggested. As we walk, I notice his moves are that of a man who belonged to no woman. He was cool and collected. He didn't walk with an annoying swagger, but rather, a slow, sexy confidence that leaves me feeling flushed. He notices me, but says nothing--likely knowing I'd feel idiotic.

We end up in an abandoned area of a park nearby, and take up seats on a tree log that had been toppled over.

"Maybe if I let you beat me in a game of chess, you'll love me?" I joke.

"No," he answered quite seriously. I feel faint.

"Maybe if I do your laundry, you'll love me?" I try again.

"No," he said again, blowing out the words with his cigarette smoke.

I make a few more attempts to see what would win his love, and each time, he flatly tells me, "No."

His daughter runs up from behind us. She's about eight years old, and looks very much like him. He reacts to her like pretty much any female. Gives her a tad of attention, tousles her hair, and flippantly introduces me. I suppose he felt nothing of it, but the little girl came over and wrapped her arms around my hips looking up at me. She said, "I like you, are you a mom?" I said no. She began to think, and turned to her father, "Dad, can she be a mom?" Not can she be my mom, but just a mom? It was funny. He even chuckled looking at me, and said, "I'm sure she's capable of being a mom some day." She laughs and asks me something very daughter-like, but I'm blocking it out. Perhaps it was something about helping with homework, or baking cookies, I don't know--I was too captured by his laugh and the sparkle in his eye.

She runs off.

"If I love your daughter, will you love me?" I ask.

"No." This was incredibly embarrassing. I didn't know what kind of jackhammer could get through this man's feelings, until he removed all suspicion with his final answer, his sensual face and eyes absorbing me, leaving me breathless, wanting more of him and restless until I had him. He answers:

"...because I already love you."

Chasing My Demon

2011-05-27T23:47:00.001-07:00

The true part of this dream is that in 2001 I briefly dated a man, who later sexually assaulted me. Anything in italics represents real feelings or events that had happened. He was 22 years my senior. He resembled the younger version of Robbie Robertson, and my attraction to him at first was primarily his look and his old school ways. His name is Joe.

My granny lived in a new condo that was very close to one of her younger brothers. While visiting her, she was unaware that her deafness was not allowing her to hear intruders come in to her apartment. However, I did. There were kids coming in and out of her suite, and I was enraged! Despite my size, I hauled which ever youth was in my way, and ran off the rest.

My great-uncle, now her new neighbour, was drunk one evening, and we could see and hear him in a terrible, senseless fight. I was so angry with him, and coming down from my anger about the hooligans, that I felt compelled to protect her again from this scene. My great-uncle was at one time my favourite uncle, but I was so embarrassed by him on this evening! I went over to his suite and yelled at him and berated him for what seemed like several minutes. I told him how badly he's hurt my granny, and how he was a disgrace to her. I continued to tell him how fighting was useless, and only hurt people further than how hurt they were from the onset of the fight. He was humbled, and felt very sorry.

To calm me down, my parents picked me up from my granny's house to take me to the mall. I agreed. I usually like shopping for nonsense at the mall.

While we were there, we saw a new cellphone store abuzz with people attracted to the promotions and the deals. It was there I saw Joe, working there as a salesperson. He had a customer monopolizing his attention, and didn't notice me. Joe used to work as a bodyman in a garage, so seeing him selling cellphones was unusual. However, he seemed to be engaged in his work, knowledgeable, chatty, and doing well.

I urged my parents to move along so that he didn't notice me. This was, afterall, the man who made my life miserable for a time, and was a secret I kept from my parents.

When Joe and I met, we were instantly attracted to each other. He looked like Robbie Robertson, he was 22 years my senior, and had a charming old school way about him that I never experienced with men my age. I didn't foresee that my involvement with him would lead to such trouble. His drinking was a closeted problem, and his game playing and obsessive behaviour toward me was nothing short of abusive. I was already ashamed to have been dating a man so much older, and chose not to tell my parents, but I had hoped he would turn out to be wonderful, overseeing all the problems so that we could date openly. But this never happened. As it were, ending the relationship was horrible. It resulted in Joe sexually assaulting me, after I determined it was over. This was a frightening experience because it was non-consentual and violent, regardless of the previous times before we were intimate. He threatened that I could not prove the assault because we had been a couple, however in court, he was finally defeated.

Now here he was, a salesman in a cellphone shop, and I immediately couldn't take my mind away from my curiosity. I wondered after ten years, what got him here, how he was doing, and most importantly, if he had changed--for the better. As much hurt as I had been through, a part of me still remembered the man I was first attracted to, and hoped the ordeal taught him a lesson.

My parents and I circled the mall, and I deliberately had guided them back to the front of the cellphone shop, so I could see if Joe was there.

I felt a burning in my stomach from anticipation. I just knew this had to be the day to finally talk to him. I told my parents that I wanted to mill about the shopping mall on my own, and would see them later. They said they would meet me at my granny's house--believing the drama there was over.

I sat outside the shop and watched for Joe. Odd. It was exactly ten years ago that Joe used to sit in front of my workplace spying on me, only for ill feelings believing I was up to something. Now here I was, sitting on a bench outside waiting for him, but only to see how he was doing. Weird. Wasn't it me who was assaulted? On occasion, I would notice Joe looking in my direction, and I was certain he knew I was there.

Truth be told, I could not fight what I felt before the trouble started. I saw a man who was handsome, sexy, and seemingly had things figured out for himself. At least, that was my first impression. Now, he just intrigued me. Now almost 60 years old, he still looked the same as he did before, still had that same sex appeal I once saw, but it was impossible to tell much more without talking to him.

The work day came to a close, and the employees were filing out. I waited, but moved to position myself away from the store to the side. Joe came out and I could see him turn immediately to the bench where I was sitting to find me. When he figured out where I was standing, he saw me and walked over. A woman was walking very close to him, almost on his arm, and was suddenly unhappy to see his attention divert to me.

"Well, well, well," he said. His voice was as sexy as I remembered it.

Instinctively as a woman, I sized up his companion. She was not that pretty, her body larger than mine, she had flaws and I could sense her insecurities. He told her to go on ahead, and he would meet her in a minute. He was alone with me--yet in a public place where no one could feel totally uncomfortable. I was fine with seeing him now.

Joe's sleepy eyes peered in to mine, and I could sense a feeling of long-awaited feelings to be aired at this moment. But I was stronger than ever. Those same sleepy, sexy eyes used to ignite a flame from within me even when he did something simple such as playing a game of pool at the local pub. He was Robbie circa 1977, Last Waltz, brown hair, brown eyes, belonging to no one, a life traveler, and didn't have a care in the world. Now he was ten years older, and I had a pang of uncontrollable attraction once again from a man who carried himself in the exact same manner.

He began with short comments about me ruining his life, after all, who was I to report him to the police, with a rape case, proven, and the system finding him guilty? Yes, we had consentual sex before this--mind blowing sex, at that. Perverted yet not weird. His desire could never be ignored, and my wants and needs were always deliciously met. But not the breaking-up-send-off he thought was his right. This was hardly fault of mine. As soon as he started, I rebutted, and it was very quick, pointed, and poised. My manner was clearly the dominant between us.

Yet, I could not help but stare at him, searching for something decent.

He said: "You know, I've always wanted to talk to you about what happened with us. I could never find you. There's so many things I wanted to say, and let you know what it did to me..." Fine, I was thinking, but it would have been nice to hear him ask how I was doing. Then he added: "And I was wondering how you were doing."

Well, wasn't this a change? The Joe I remembered had believed it was everything in life affecting him, and no one else. Everyone else had to recognize the stimuli in the world was troubling him, and.. perhaps others, but probably not. When Joe hurt me in the past, he would say it was a direct response to the angst he felt about something whether it was from me or something else, and I should have accommodated and sympathized, rather than stand up to his irrational behaviour. I didn't see that Joe this time.

His demeanor turned slightly flirtatious. "Can I call you? Please..."

I looked in the direction of his female companion. I knew, and he knew his request would bother her. Truthfully there was nothing more I wanted than for Joe to call me. I somehow knew I was more important to him than she was. On the phone, we would have our distance, I could hang up whenever I wanted, or we could talk for as long as we wanted. I was nervous giving him my phone number. Doing so in the past stirred up the harassment. I was shamefully attracted all over again. I knew the trouble this caused me before, but I didn't see the pattern of control issues he once had. I sunk in to a sick feeling of what I felt before when it went awry, but I was battling it with hopeful feelings. Did I want romance again from Joe? I wasn't sure. I needed some fulfillment, that was for sure. What's more, I was certainly seeing the attraction again between us. It was clear. I was attracted to the man that caused me so much hurt, and who eventually sexually assaulted. I could only make sense that the feelings I had manifested from the Joe I knew when we met, who wanted to love me instead of hating me.

But I could not even get out of my mind the wild ride we spent as lovers, not questioning his perversion which many nights was always replaced by straight eroticism when our lovemaking came to an end. But he was a monster when he wasn't making love to me. Jealous, corrupt, obsessive, angry, abusive, and loved to humiliate me privately and sometimes publicly. Sex was simply beyond words. He was an attentive and erotic lover and all of his abuse ceased during this time. It was the only time I felt I could lose myself in him because it was the one time I felt cherished by him. But our hours of lovemaking did not compensate for the times we spent out of the bedroom, where his suspicious mind took over to hurt me. I would sob after being insulted and manipulated, and Joe would make love to me, doing things no other man dared to do all at my request, and with all of the pleasure returned. Our sex life was even hotter because of the secrecy we kept about ourselves from the world. Truthfully, no other man has pleased me like this since, or dared to. When it was over, and I was succumbed to him in a heap of post-coital submission, the abuse I endured would start again. I don't know how or why he would do this, but all Joe needed to do was treat life with me the way he did sex, and I wouldn't have considered ending it. I hated the fact he couldn't see the end of our relationship as a means to move on to the next chapter of our lives. I would have prefered him to recognize his behaviour so we could continue. But since he could not, it had to be over. After weeks of pressuring and abusing, nights we went without sex, it ended with a terrible battle of wills when he told me it was not fair that I get my way, and angrily forced himself upon me. Had this been months earlier, it would have been treated as a strange love game. But this had been different. His violence and loss of feeling toward what he was doing left me too scared to think of anything reasonable.

...And now he was standing before me, lighting my flame.

I said: "I want to give you my number, but you know this is how the trouble started."

He answered: "I don't want trouble, not from you or anyone. I think you know it's time for us to talk. I always just wanted to show you what you needed to see in me. I tried too hard last time..." Everything he was saying was perfect. And his voice, so sensual. "If I call you, you call the shots, okay? I'll call when you say, and we'll hang up when you say. If at anytime I say something you don't like, just tell me, and let me know how you're feeling about it..." More tinges of attraction. "I know it's not right. I know your parents wouldn't like this. And she won't like this.." He motioned towards the woman. "But we need this."

I decided to give him my MagicJack number. He opened a small pocket calendar, and wrote a man's name as a decoy for the number to go beside it. I suspected she went through his things. My, how the tables had turned!

He wrote my number carefully and clearly so as not to make a mistake. When he took it down, he seemed like a young man, nervous and feeling a sense of accomplishment as if asking a girl to be his prom date, and getting the satisfaction of her agreement to go. I was flattered, and anxious to finally talk to him.

He stood before me, lingering at the phone number, and though we had nothing left to say in each other's company at this time, I felt like he was searching for something--anything to remain standing in front of me.

"So is that it?" I ask.

He said, "Yes.. I'll call you tonight, okay?" I agreed, and he turned to walk away, glancing quickly a few times at me before leaving.

I fantasized about our phone call. I heard his voice telling me beautiful things, apologetic about the past, hopeful about the future, and intertwining the conversation with sensual remarks, flirting with me, suggesting to me that absolutely had me enchanted with him unlike I had ever been before. I couldn't believe this was the man who hurt and abused me so viciously with terrible words, mentally and emotionally crushing me at any chance he had, and had done so very quickly after courting me when he was just as charming to reel me in. But this felt different. His charm was not so superficial. He was humbled toward me, which was endearing. I felt like for the first time Joe was being real to himself and to me, and not kidding others behind a phony persona that he felt trapped behind and was kicking through it all the while when he abused me.

I did not want to be abused by Joe. I wanted him to be loving and secure. Had this happened ten years ago, I would have very easily fallen in love. Alas, he was only charming for a short time to fool me in to believing he was worthy of that attention, but he had it all wrong. The Joe I met back then was like a spider catching a moth in his enticing web. He was so absorbed with being nearly 50 years old, and having caught the attention of a 27 year old woman, he delved in to a terrible world of obsession. It was such a turn off at this time, but I longed for the Joe I first met. I was aware that he was only this way to charm me, then hoping to keep me, he had to threaten and bully his way in to my life, not knowing that this was the first thing that I became disgusted with, and the attraction disappeared.

I started to leave from where I was standing feeling somewhat uneasy about our new reconnected relationship, and where it would take us. I couldn't predict if it was friendship or more, or if it would just be a one-time connection to touch base with our lives. Part of me wanted to fall in love with the man who once attacked me, and who had put me through a lot of grief. I couldn't and still can't explain it.

He was attractive, sensuous, calm and cool. He had a hold on me just like the first time ten years ago that I just couldn't ignore. Maybe that was his intent even ten years ago, to capture me and never let me go. If that was his plan, it was working, despite the fact that I fought him and beat him in the end.

I wanted nothing more at that moment for the phone to ring.

It did. Immediately. It was him. My heart fluttered with excitement.

**On May 13, 2002, Joe was found guilty of sexual assault. There were recorded answering machine messages where he admitted to the crime, hand written notes mailed to me admitting what he had done, witnesses who could attest to his compulsive, stalking behaviour toward me while I was at work, and the police officer who was witness to his behaviour after the assault. I had confessed we were lovers prior to the assault, but his own confessions recorded to me were enough to convict. My parents soon learned of everything against my wish to keep the experience a secret. I do think of him often. At times with intense disgust at what he put me through. At times with strange sexual curiosity, wondering if I made a mistake, still thinking of the sex we had together, that was never replaced by any other man. When I exited the courthouse, I remember the look about him was that of a man so sorry for what he had done. He looked at me with those bedroom eyes, this time as a man who didn't realize the hurt he had inflicted, fixed on me with a demure look of loss. Over the years I have searched for him online, if for nothing else but to see if he's out there, and could never find him. I should add that my searches have been thorough, using every possible avenue to find his name out there. There has been nothing. I have had several dreams about him since I last saw him, all of which ignite my curiosity of what could have been.

Seducing the Man Who Honked at me in Traffic

2011-05-27T23:46:00.001-07:00

This was such a crazy dream last night, I just had to share. It's combined with something real that happened yesterday, so, I'll break it in to two parts...

(Real)

Yesterday I was driving home from running errands in downtown Vancouver, and when I got to my apartment, as usual, I had to turn left in to my dinky little apartment driveway to get in. This means stopping in two-lane traffic, waiting for the on-coming traffic to cease so I can turn. If cars are parked on the right, this means I'm holding up traffic. I hate doing it, but hey, I live there, and have no choice. What's worse is, twenty yards away is a traffic light, and of course people are anxious to get there before it turns red.

So I signal and stop, waiting for the on-coming traffic to go by, and cars are behind me. Most people understand I'm turning in to a lane rather than the light if they have eyes. But the guy behind me decides to blare on his horn, I can only expect it's to drive up to the light, where he thinks I'm supposed to turn. (Are you with me?)

When he gets the chance to veer around me, he slows down beside me, and I blare my horn back. A nice little "Fuck-you-I-live-here, assclown" kind of honk. When he stops to look at me and mouth very angry words in my direction, he obviously doesn't realize this tiny little hard-to-see lane is where I want to go, and he peels out and down the road. I was so mad all I could think about for the next hour was this asshole and how ignorant he was to honk at me for waiting for traffic to go by until I could turn. Duh.

He was maybe in his late 30s, not bad looking. He was decent, that was for sure.

(Dream)

I continued to drive to catch up to this moron to really give him a piece of my mind. I was so angry.

When he finally parked in a parking lot down the road, he got out, and I got out and marched straight up to him. He absolutely realized who I was, and was getting ready for a confrontation.

I moved right up to the front of his body, eyeing him completely up and down.

"You know, when you honked at me, I was turning in to my building, not the light. You realize that, don't you?" I said in a normal speaking voice.

"Well I didn't see the lane you were turning in to--" he tried to answer more, but I moved right up to him, our torsos touching.

I said, "You know, when you honked at me," I said seductively, "You really, really... and I mean really hurt me."

"I'm... sorry?" he said, looking at my mouth.

"You made me feel like I was being a bad, bad girl," I said, also looking at his mouth.

I reached up and tugged at the front of his buttoned-up shirt and undid them to expose his bare, hairless, muscled chest. He did the honours of the final move which was to remove the shirt completely.

"I mean what you did was so... uncalled for," I whispered. "It was like you didn't trust that I knew how to drive my car, and just assumed I was holding you up for no reason." My fingertips traced his chest down to his belly.

He grabbed my face with both of his hands and passionately kissed me with full mouth and tongue. In between kisses saying, "I'm.. sorry.. I... didn't.. know..."

I kissed him back, and for a moment our anger turned in to wild passion as we kissed this beautiful hard kiss for what seemed like several minutes.

"Do you want to come up to my place so we can talk about this?" I asked.

"M-hmmmm," he said, sucking on my neck.

"Good...I just decorated my deck..."

Friends with a Killer

2011-05-27T23:45:00.001-07:00

The house was high up in the thick of the forested mountain, and I got word that he was living there alone. He had a mother and brother who lived closer to the tiny town that supplied him with necessities, but otherwise, he lived a life in solitude.

And did I forget?--on the lam.

He was responsible for taking two lives in cold blood nearly twenty years ago, and fled from the police, a trial, or any other way of owning up to the crime or defending himself from it by choosing a life in the mountains where no one could find him.

That was until I had a casual conversation with Tanya that I learned he was still on the loose, and she knew where he was. She seemed proud to have the phone number of his mother, and just to show me, she put her phone on speakerphone and dialed her number. It went to a voicemail that had a man's voice.

Almost tauntingly said, "If I really wanted to, I could give this number to the police!" Then she grinned. She kept calling the number over and over. I said to her, "I think it's great that you are really this stupid." Then went on to remind her of call display, call tracing, and anyone with a mind for investigating further could find out it's Tanya's phone repeatedly calling the mother of a killer. I was so annoyed by Tanya, that I copied the number down, and took matters in my own hands.

I called the number once, left a message saying who I was and the number to reach me at. Not long after, a woman who I presumed was the mother, called me back and invited me over to her house to talk to me. Maybe she thought I was a reporter? I don't know. But she did mention the intent was to talk about her son.

I wanted to seem as approachable and trustworthy as I could, so I dressed modestly and didn't take anything with me except for my purse. The woman's home was at the foot of the mountain, and when I went in to her tiny house, she was cleaning up the mess left in her kitchen after preparing lunch. She had one other son with her, and the two of them were suspicious of me. I did mention that I wanted to see her other son, the one that was living alone, and she did not agree until she called him herself to ask permission. Over the phone, the call was short, and he agreed to see me.

They blindfolded me for the trip, and after a long drive up the mountain, I was escorted in to the house, and the blindfold was then removed.

He was maybe six feet tall, blond buzzed cut hair, fair skinned, and small blue eyes. He had dimples, but rarely smiled to show them off. He was not exactly drop dead handsome, but I couldn't take my eyes off of him.

His mother and brother left us alone.

He began to talk. He explained how he lived alone for all these years without being found, and how his mother often trekked up the mountain with supplies to keep him secure. He didn't need money or communication with the world. He didn't own a TV set or radio, just books to keep him entertained. He had one chair, one table, small woodburning stove, a small bed, small dresser, and of course products to keep him and his shack clean and safe. He talked about life alone, and how it is actually easier to live life this way without worrying about the news, or other people's problems. All this, and he was able to kill two men that had pissed him off in a bar fight, and get away with it, almost being rewarded for living a life of seclusion.

I started to wonder if I could live this life also.

"Aren't you going to ask me about the murders?" he said to me.

"No," I said quickly, predicting I'd have to answer the question, and having the answer prepared. I desperately did want to know about the killings, but I couldn't ask. "I don't want to bring anything up that would anger you or make you think of something unpleasant."

"Good girl," he smiled. Dimples!

I was relieved I made the right choice. So I only allowed him to talk about the murders if he wanted to, but he never did mention anything more about it. He was happy to have company, for the first time in twenty years it was someone other than his mother or brother. I was happy that someone enjoyed my company so much.

I asked only light questions about the house and his way of life, and when I was prepared to leave, he had to call his mother on his radio phone to get her to come back for me. When we heard her outside, he said almost sheepishly, "You know, I have to put the blindfold back on you." I understood.

"Of course you do, I know that, that's fine, go ahead," I said, stringing all the words together.

He gently put the blindfold on me himself, and said, "Come back and see me again?" I felt touched. He really wanted to be my friend. "I enjoyed you being here so much."

His mother led me away to her vehicle and promptly took me back down the mountain. She seemed unimpressed with me. She was curt when she spoke, and I was suddenly feeling more fear from being with her than her murdering son.

"He wants you to come back," she said, nearly spitting the words out in disgust.

I guess this was momma's boy I was befriending, and momma didn't like it. She was his only salvation for twenty years, maybe more, and now someone new was in the picture, and she felt like she was being edged out.

"Only when I can come back to visit you first!" I said, hoping she could see I only wished a relationship with both of them, perhaps even the other brother.

She let out a half-laugh, but it left her as I could sense a new thought forming inside her mind.

"We'll see," she said.

It seemed like I had a chance to be the one person in the world to get through to this family--if nothing else, the man who was at large for a gruesome killing of two men twenty years earlier. But the bottom line was, trying to reform him or learn about his past was actually the last thing on my mind. It was the future I was truly excited about.

Falling in love with Robbie Robertson in Prison

2011-05-27T23:43:00.000-07:00

The guard lets me in for a conjugal visit, and waives the dress code for me. So for him I am wearing blue jeans and a plain, fitted shirt. My hair is done, and makeup on, and all I wanted to do was be as appealing as possible.

Robbie comes in to the meeting room, his prison garb is entirely black. He looks so good to me. He doesn't smile or speak right away, and once we are left with one guard, he comes around the table where I sit and violently/passionately grabs my head with both hands. He kisses me with every part of his mouth and tongue, for what seems like minutes.

He stops, looks down in to my eyes and with his hushed raspy voice says, "I love you, don't you understand this?" I almost feel like I'm being scolded.

In minimum security, we are escorted to an area where we can have privacy, but we are also within close distance of other prisoners and guards. I want so badly to talk to Robbie about everything. When he will get out, what we will do on the outside, what kind of life we will have. But he's reserved, and occasionally gives me that borderline irritated look of being restricted, cups my face in his hands and kisses me again, over and over.

"I'm too old for you," he says, sounding defeated. "I'm older than your fucking parents."

"Forget about that, none of that matters," I answer.

A voice in my head warns me that he's dangerous. On the outside of our annex, I see other men, trying to peer in the window, and not realizing the door is unlocked, one walks in to talk to me.

Robbie is visibly angry, and seems to direct it towards me. The voice comes back to me and says, "Don't be afraid, he's a good man, and all others are dangerous but show a different face to you."

The stranger who walks in tells me it's bullshit that I'm here, and that it's bullshit that I'm with Robbie. I can't defend, I'm too speechless and afraid of what will happen.

Robbie gets up, throws the man out of the annex quite physically and returns to me, and again, grabs me and gives me a kiss that leaves me wondering if this is actually love, or passion to the extremes.

Later on, we can visit others in a secure room, and the man who tried to warn me before catches my attention. He is an unknown, attractive man, but I don't feel the urge to cheat. We talk in a friendly manner for a while, but Robbie is seething as he watches. I know I'm in for it later.

Later on, alone again, Robbie scratches his head, and finds a strange nest of leeches on his scalp. His voice is worrisome and I lean over to inspect and help him. He waves he off, and doesn't want help.

"Let me help you! You can't do it ALL by yourself!" I tell him firmly. He looks up at me with vulnerable eyes and allows me to help. Once I remove the leeches, I go to wash my hands.

"They're back!" he says loudly.

I go to him again, and see that yes, they keep coming back. While helping him, some of his hair is torn out. He gets upset and tells me that losing his hair at the top of his scalp just makes him look very old.

I tell him he needs an ambulance, and he agrees. This time I take him by the face, gently though with both hands, and kiss him and tell him I'm here and he'll be okay.

He looks like he might cry and says, "You are good to me, and I don't think we should be doing this." I tell him I'm not leaving him, and we will figure this out when we can talk later. He finally smiles for a moment, and we kiss briefly before the ambulance takes him away.

I find out later the friendly man who spoke with me was not so friendly. He was only in minimum security because there was no room for him anywhere else, and he was actually quite violent. Robbie, on the other hand, had a bark worse than his bite, and could be trusted, but didn't show it.

It was as if I made the right choice after all, to be with Robbie and stick it through than allow my vulnerable feelings to get in the way of anything else.

I Know the difference between Jade and Leather

2011-05-27T23:40:00.003-07:00

I want to buy a quality piece of jade--preferably a pendant, so I go to Chinatown and shop around. I get to a store where there is a lot of jade, but the shop owner shows me a piece that looks and feels like green leather. He wants to sell it at a top of the line jadeite price.. but it's leather as far as I'm concerned.

It's a bracelet, and he puts it on me so I can see what it looks like. I keep insisting that this is not jade, but he said it was, and it's a new form of jade that is very soft, and leather-like. It almost seems like someone else convinced him of this. But I stick to my guns and look for the jade stone pendants. When I decide that, the shop owner ignores me and I can't get any assistance with looking at stones.

I leave and go play baseball with people I work with now, and some people I've worked with in the past. One girl I used to work with, a fat girl named Diana, falls to the ground while playing baseball and starts to cry. I go over to her and find out what's wrong. She's lying there, crying, and says, "I just... can't... stand... the song... that's playing now." Oh my god, I think. I'm annoyed and walk away from her. Other people say, "Why are you being so cruel?!" I say, she's faking it.

Mario doesn't believe me, like usual--until he goes over to her and discovers for himself that she's faking everything. Every time I tell Mario something he doubts me, and each time he learns I was right after he finds out. For once, I wish he'd just take my damn word for things now.

I'm so mad that when I pitch the ball to the batter, I toss the ball slow enough that he can hit it hard. Like a gunshot, the ball was hit and soared fast straight to someone's car windshield and broke it. I snickered. It wasn't my car, and I'm so sick of people that whoever the car belonged to was likely someone that pissed me off at some point anyway.

Seeing Jon

2011-05-27T23:40:00.001-07:00

I have $10,000 in my bank account, so I decide that since I have some money at my disposal, I will fly to Edmonton and try and find Jon. I book a flight, but no hotel. I decide I'll just wing it.

When I get there, I want to be as frugal as possible because if this all goes to waste I don't want to spend money on stupid things. But you know.. it wouldn't hurt to get a job...

So I get a job at a fancy hotel and find out the Queen is going to be here, and I have to learn exactly how to curtsy and shake someone's hand. In fact, it's almost like a lecture, sitting with a bunch of people and learning to do it just right. Do it wrong--and it's an insult.

When the Queen arrives, I'm in my uniform, and I curtsy and shake hands with all of her lackies. But no Queen. I don't even see her. Now I really want to meet the damn Queen. I wait and wait, but people start getting the flu and leaving. I am one of the last to leave, and still don't see the Queen.

On the radio I hear the Canucks lost, and are acting very crabby back home.

I go to where Jon used to live, at the YMCA downtown, and wait outside. I want to phone the Y first but I can't remember the number exactly, so I'm dialing all these wrong numbers. After hours of fooling around trying to call instead of coming in, I see Jon walk out the door. He sees me immediately and smiles!

As he walks over, I noticed the change in him. First of all, he's gorgeous. His hair is kind of to his shoulders now, cut a little bit like a shag, but very masculine. He's hardly aged at all. And he's wearing this enormous gold pendant on a thick necklace. I wonder if he's got money to flaunt that around, why is he at the Y?

We briefly catch up. He seems very happy to see me. But not at all like he's interested, more like a friend you haven't seen in a long time. It's like our years together never were. Including forgetting the bad times.

I ask why he moved back to Edmonton, and he says, "Don't you know about the opportunities here?!" Then he describes the new casino that opened. I hardly felt like that was an accomplishment, but he did, and I was happy for him.

He apologized for being in a rush, but he was on his way to work. He did say he wanted to continue our reunion and talk about what we've done since we broke up, as if he wanted to designated a whole afternoon. I smile and say, "Well, get going to work then." Suddenly I feel fat and inadequate. As if, Jon wasn't worthy to talk to me or be seen with me. I'm the loser with no hotel room standing in the middle of a city I once lived in. I'm realizing that my ex-boyfriend who was once a paranoid, unkind, damaged nerd, is now confident and very handsome.

I wait for about an hour, but decide to go to the casino where Jon was. Just to see.

When I poke in, I see Jon looking and sounding amazing as he worked. The girls were flirting with him, and he smiled broadly as he worked. Instead of feeling inadequate, I started to feel proud. Afterall, it was me that used to coach Jon on how to be stronger in life instead of letting his past eat him up. I was just irritated that he couldn't have become this man while he was with me.

Now he was amazing, and I felt like something good came out of our relationship. He was strong now.

Avery Attacks me with a Sword

2011-05-27T23:38:00.003-07:00

I'm at a party with some people I'm currently in Mandarin class with, and Avery is there with a sword. She starts to chase me around the house, threatening to attack me, but promises not to kill me. I don't like how any of it sounds at all, so I run away from her. Magically, my Mandarin is pretty good, and I ask my friends at the party in Mandarin to stop her.

Avery is about to corner me with the sword but stops and puts it down because I start crying and begging for her not to kill me. She says, "I wasn't even going to touch you with it, I just wanted to see if you thought I would."

Well, she had me fooled.

Steve Sings an African Song to Me

2011-05-27T23:38:00.001-07:00

Steve invites me over to his house, where I meet his girlfriend and five kids. His girlfriend is entirely tattooed, and she's pretending to be French, but I know she's not. She's jealous of me, and struts around the house thinking I'm going to steal Steve away from her.

I have dinner with the family, and his girlfriend demands that I dance with Steve. So I do. So he strips down to his boxers, and smiles this fantastic smile at me and dances with me to an African song. He is white, but he's acting like an African. He starts to sing these weird words, "Oolo Boolo Munga Junga Dibba Wibba..." He's actually really good, and I don't know how I'm doing it, but I sing along with him, and we both sound like we're in a tribe.

His girlfriend gets extremely angry, and tells me it's time for me to leave. I leave, and hear her yelling at him behind the closed door.

Poor Steve.

Andrew looks like Carmine.. no--wait! Adeeb!

2011-05-27T23:37:00.001-07:00

I'm working in a big stretched out room and I see Adeeb walk in, which is weird because I haven't seen him for a couple of years. He's a Pakistani guy I used to work with. I wave to him. He doesn't respond. I wave frantically now. Nothing. I stand up and practically do jumping jacks. Still nothing. I walk over to where he's sitting, and it's not Adeeb afterall, it's Carmine--my former manager who is Italian. I feel so silly, and tell him I thought he was Adeeb.

I go back to my seat, and next to me there is an available work station. I wave back again to Carmine because I think he would like to sit next to more people, and it would be fun to have company. I wave, but here we go again--nothing.

Finally Carmine gets up and comes over and when I see him, it's actually Andrew. He sits down next to me, and I said, "Was that you over there all along?" He said yes, and gives me a funny look. Andrew is Chinese.

Later on, I leave work and go to a seniors extended care hospital with Mario, and we are on rollerblades zipping through the hallways. I tell him I have to go to the washroom, but every single toilet is plugged with poo.

I go out to Mario and tell him this, but he says, "I don't know.. the men's room is fine." He doesn't believe anything I ever say. I said, "Look!! I'm telling you! Go and see for yourself!" But he won't. He would rather just not believe me to give me the satisfaction of maybe being right.

Finally one of the old people come out and say, "Listen to that girl!! Our washrooms are BAD." So he skates in to the ladies room and sure enough he sees all the toilets blocked up with poo.

He comes out and says, "Okay, I believe you." I said, "Fine.. just to make it up to me, you can go and plunge them out."

I hand him a plunger.

Ariel and her Friend Ruin my Pictures

2011-05-27T23:36:00.003-07:00

Everyone has a digital camera except me. I'm still taking pictures with a roll of film in my camera, and I have to be careful not to waste my film. I go to Don's old house and in his backyard are really amazing trees. I take a full picture of a tree on my camera from the base of the tree to the top. It's a very green, beautiful picture. I take other pictures, but none are this captivating.

I go to London Drugs to have the film developed, and I see Ariel and her friend Michelle. They make jokes to me about my "old" camera, and Ariel asks me to take her around London Drugs to go shopping. Michelle tells her to open my camera, and Ariel does - in the process, ruins my film. This means my beautiful tree picture is gone.

I am somewhat okay with it, since I can just go take another picture, but everything was perfect at the time I took it, and it's gone. We are walking around London Drugs and I see Garnet. I say to Ariel, "Do you want to see someone I used to date?" She says yes, so I grab her arm and rush to where I saw Garnet. I tell her he was an asshole who used to tell me to keep our relationship quiet - just your classic asshole guy who wants his cake and eat it too. She says, "You dated him? He's gross."

Garnet walks out of London Drugs, and I realize that yes, he is actually pretty gross.

Brandon Eats Pizza While Drew Barrymore is Lying

2011-05-27T23:36:00.001-07:00

Brandon is having a house party, and his idea of fun is to jump down a cliff and see if you can find tigers. Then we go back to his house and order pizza. The pizza Brandon orders is really amazing. He doesn't have meat on his pizza, so he orders a pizza that is entirely made up of sauce, mozzerella, and parmesan cheese. It's almost like a biggest bread stick you'd ever seen.

Brandon says to me that he just read Drew Barrymore's autobiography, and thinks I should read it. I don't really have that much interest in Drew Barrymore, but I give it a shot.

Drew goes on to explain that her brother gets shot at when she was a young girl and she watches him die in their backyard at a barbecue. Then this catapults her fame to become something great. I keep reading, but so much of this stuff is so far-fetched, I can't help but think she's just a liar. I go back and re-read the part about her brother, and believe that I've seen him before at Brandon's. I think I even talked to him and put my arm around him.

Siu-Keung then jumps over the fence of the party and announces he needs to get away from everyone. I ask him to stick around and enjoy the party, but he says that all of this nonsense about Drew Barrymore just proves how dumb people are in the world. I completely agree, and don't even finish the book.

Siu-Keung wants to know why the pizza is so awful because it doesn't have any toppings on it that he likes, but we love it. Siu-Keung takes another bite, and decides it's not bad after all, so he stays. Brandon orders a mean pizza!

Long Hair in Space

2011-05-27T23:35:00.001-07:00

Siu-Keung normally has his hair past his shoulders, and he is standing in Utgarde Pinnacle with his hair down and in a mess.

I tell him that I should brush it, but he starts to get mad at me. It's not that he's annoyed with me personally, but something is bothering him, and he doesn't want to be thinking about anything trivial. I didn't do anything wrong. But he won't apologize, at least not right now, because when something gets under his skin it takes him quite a while to come down from it. Then he's romantic later on, and will "sort of" apologize. I can't stand this, because when I spot a problem, I deal with it and apologize if I'm at fault. Not Siu-Keung. He lets it fester, and they we all have to pay for it with his mood.

But he knows I love him despite this silly characteristic he has, and not long after, he says, "Okay you can brush my hair." So I take my brush and try and untangle some knots. I'm very careful with him, because for some reason he can also be a big baby. I tidy up his hair and when I see him, he looks much better, and the look on my face approves. So he smiles at me. Dimple overdose. All is good.

But then we're on a planet other than earth. Actually - it's more like the moon, and Siu-Keung is crabby once again. I can't make him happy with his hair anymore, so I let him rant about something and then clam up. I leave him alone and go some place where I can just watch the view of the stars. I don't see Siu-Keung anywhere, and that's fine because I wanted to be alone anyway.

Siu-Keung comes back with my brush and says, "Your hair is a mess, let me brush it." I let him, and it feels nice. Then he complains that he's bored being on the moon and gets crabby.

I can't win.

The Lady from the Philippines has such a Tiny House

2011-05-27T23:34:00.001-07:00

One of the cleaning ladies that is contracted out to clean our office tells me she gets paid $10,000 a month. I am so jealous, so I tell her that I want a cleaning job too. She gets upset because she thinks I am trying to steal her job. That wasn't my intention at all! I wanted to work some place else to clean.

I go to my old elementary school, James Park, and talk to some people there about cleaning around the school. Sure enough, to do one flower bed will pay me $600, and I can choose how much I want to work. I was so happy, so I took the job.

I tell the Filipino cleaning lady at work about it, and she says, "Ohh.. that is so good!" Then I find out that after I apply for the job, she applies too! I was not happy that she was actually trying to now steal my job. I couldn't understand, she made a fuss about me stealing hers, and then she does it to me!

She reassures me that this is not what it seems, and asks me to come over to her house to talk about it. So I do, but her house is so small, her doorway is half my height. Everything is weird being so small. I feel like I am stuffed in a big dollhouse.

To get out, she says we should go bowling, and when I get there, people think I'm a prostitute, so we leave.

We go back to the house, where my parents are waiting for me, and my dad is yelling at the top of his lungs that I don't know what I want to do with my life. I look at mom, and tell her that dad's an ass.

Jim Carrey Gets Beaten up by a Girl

2011-05-27T23:33:00.003-07:00

It's Christmas. My sisters, Ann and Nancy Wilson of Heart want to take me to the Bay to go shopping before going somewhere for dinner. We also go to Safeway to pick up some groceries, but there's a woman that works there that used to work with my mom, and they hated each other.

Safeway's slogan outside was: Safeway - where Marlene and Karen hated each other but loved to shop.

We're driving back in the snow, and I tell Ann and Nancy about the feud between my mom and Karen. They pull in to my driveway, and there is a 4x4 with the engine on, and driver's side door open, but no driver. I get out and look at the ground and find Jim Carrey lying in the snow, bleeding. I feel really bad for him, and I go to help him. Jim is conscious but pretty banged up. He said a girl dragged him out of the vehicle and beat him up. I asked if he knew who it was, and he said it was Karen.

That made me so mad.

I drive Jim to Karen's house and I am burning up, ready to give her a piece of my mind. When we get there, Karen answers her door, all happy and friendly and greets us saying, "It's okay.. we're all friends now! Your mom is here too!" I look in the house, and sure enough, there's my mom, waving.

I felt like Jim wasted my time, but really - with all of the merriment going on, who could be upset about it?

How do you say "Pepsi" in Mandarin?

2011-05-27T23:33:00.001-07:00

I actually don't care about Pepsi, but the thought stuck in my mind for this one.

Why is it I'm graduating from highschool again? I'm a grade 12 know-nothing and I'm watching all of my friends who have already graduated go on to do great things. The strange part is, all of the former grads are people I currently work with today. No one thinks I will amount to anything after I graduate. Well, here is what I do...

It's a beautiful night and the casino has an amazing view of some big city that I'm in (I don't know where I am?) and I am a dealer working after a long hiatus from the casinos. It's dark and the casino has lower lighting than usual. The dealers see me and start making fun of me about how I don't know anything anymore.

Well, Peter comes to my rescue. He becomes a little angry and says, "I remember working with her and she was amazing, and if you have any questions about it, come to me!" Then he storms off. Peter is very respected, so when he says this, part of me has a little crush on him. Every time I see Peter he says, "If you need anything, you let me know, you shouldn't have to put up with that."

I start thinking I'm in China because everything has Chinese writing on it. And yes.. I know the difference between the Asian scriptures so it's clear that the writing is Chinese to me. No one is in the room where I am and Siu-Keung suddenly comes in to tell me that I'll be great tonight. He has a can of Pepsi in his hand and gives it to me. I say, "I want to give you a nickname," His accent is adorable, "No nickname, you just say Siu-Keung," and he pronounces it slow and quiet for me right to my face: "Swee-Kung". I said, "Oh like, 'sweet'," and he smiles and says, "Yes, because I'm very sweet!" Before he leaves he says, "There's something you should know.. when you bend over when you're dealing dice, everyone can see your bum." I said, "Yes, bending over will do that." He says, "No.. I mean they can actually see your anus. You're not wearing underwear and you can see your butt hole." Then he leaves. How sweet. And who taught him the word 'anus' anyway?

But I was fascinated. I went to a mirror to see if this was true. I turned around and bent over, and sure enough, I can see it. But tonight, I'm also 135lbs, and I figure this new-found information might help with tips.

I go to the craps table to work and Peter is there and is one of my partners. We are dealing an amazing game together, but I can hear Doris pitching to Peter that she's been here longer and is better than me and should be on instead. Peter says that I'll never get my chance to be good too if I don't practice, and basically in a nice way sends her off, giving me a huge smile to boost my confidence.

It's not just that someone was there to stick up for me, but someone was also right there trying to make me great at what I was doing.

And when my ass was showing, I absolutely didn't care.

I Never Knew Bono was so Immature

2011-05-27T23:32:00.001-07:00

U2 was coming to town, and I had tickets to go. Better than that, Bono personally asked me to help out with the concert to make sure everything would go over okay. I accepted, hoping for some good experience and some good money.

He had about twenty people all close in age assigned different jobs. He got to choose where exactly he wanted everyone to work. He wore floral, flannel pajamas, and those hideous "fly" sun-glasses. He sat in a chair the whole time and gave everyone orders.

A lot of the jobs included floor management, security, and hotel arrangements. My job was "personal maintenance". Bono pulled me aside and explained that I had to make sure the band had clean hair and deodorant on. I had to make sure that their teeth were brushed and that they were in the correct outfits.

I accepted the job at first, only thinking about how much money I would make. But, Bono was grinning the whole time he explained what the job entailed. That made me think he was full of crap.

Why would someone like Bono act like such a child?

After accepting the job, I refused it. Bono was very upset about that and begged me to take the job. I still said no. Then he acted really immature!

Sure, I would have taken one of those other jobs like floor management, but not this stupid job. I never did work for him.

(August 26, 1997)

Piercing my Forehead and Trying to act Cool

2011-05-27T23:31:00.003-07:00

Joe expressed an interest in the punk rock look. Though he, himself had a usual ruggedly masculine look, it was strange that he would all of a sudden find that look appealing. But not on himself--on women.

Well, there's me--trying to impress the man I love, so I went ahead and did something ridiculous to my hair. Joe sees it, and makes a face as if to say, "Sorry...not punk enough."

So I changed the way I dressed. Still not enough. Finally, I took a piece of jewellery--a lone cross with a sharp-tipped end (it may have been a brooch originally), and pierced it through a small wrinkle of skin in my forehead.

It didn't hurt as much as I thought. I sported my new look to Joe. He was pleasantly surprised with the new me. He reached out and grabbed the cross and accidentally ripped it out of my head. I was bleeding, and it started to really hurt now. I could see it left a little bit of a gash. I knew for sure I'd have a scar.

Joe was very apologetic. I took the cross and pierced it through my head again, a little more to the side of my head. I really went wild and enjoyed my new look.

One thing I refused to do was colour my hair black. Thank goodness Joe never asked me to do it.

(August 26, 1997)

Bruce Springsteen is Boring

2011-05-27T23:31:00.001-07:00

Bruce Springsteen was entertaining at a Hawaiian Tropical Triathalon in Vernon. Surely, I would meet him! There wasn't supposed to be as many people compared to Vancouver, and since I worked with the media, I would probably meet him easier than most people. Maybe I'd even get a picture taken with him!

Everyone dressed up in their Hawaiian attire and either watched or participated in the triathalon. Springsteen was playing music the whole time at the race track below the bleachers.

I was there with Christie, and old highschool friend. We hadn't seen each other in ages. She sat with me and criticized how my grass skirt looked. I ignored it. There were other things more important than grass skirts.

Bruce looked very young. Young, as in, in his twenties--just like his old concert videos from the 70s. He was thin, youthful, and full of smiles to all the pretty girls.

After a set of songs, I walked over to the crowdless stage and with my hand extended, I introduced myself to Bruce Springsteen. He just smiled. I talked a little, but he just smiled. I couldn't believe he didn't have anything really smart to say! I asked him questions, but he just stood there...smiling. It wasn't like he was ignoring me, or trying to avoid me. He stood and listened to me talk and shyly smiled whenever he was expected to answer a question or include himself in the conversation.

He was boring, really.

Disappointed, I left him and went back to my seat. I watched the rest of the concert and listened to the cheering for both Bruce and the triathalon. There were barely any people watching the concert.

To be honest, my attention was drifting too.

(August 25, 1997)

The Skinny Hotel

2011-05-27T23:30:00.001-07:00

Siu-Keung and I were on vacation. The hotel we stayed in was a very small hotel with hallways that were very skinny, so I only remember walking straight down the corridors rather than having room to move. If you wanted to go to the lobby, you had to move down a very long hallway and walk for a long time to get there. But for some reason, people got lost in this hotel.

I went to the lobby and when I got there, I noticed that the hotel restaurant was right outside. The hotel manager started to patronize me that I had no shoes on. He was right. I had no shoes on and I was very embarrassed. Luckily our room was not far, so I put my shoes on and went back.

The restaurant was also very, very skinny. When you sat at a table, you could only sit against the wall, and the stairway went downward only one way. The bathroom was next to me which pissed me off. I had to go to the bathroom, but when I did, the stall was exposed, so if someone was walking by, they would see me. No one really cared. People walked by as I went to the bathroom and didn't even notice. I was still uncomfortable.

I wanted to go be with Siu-Keung who was out on the golf course. When I got there, he was having so much fun. He was laughing and talking with some other men, and he was about to tee off, but he kept waiting.

Siu-Keung is a devastatingly handsome Chinese man. He has such an attractive face with deep dimples, and every time he smiles, my heart melts. His brown eyes are either downright adorable or simply sexy. His hair is kept long, and he has greying temples to add some distinction. Physically, he's tall for an Asian man, and when he walks around in his underwear I can't help but notice years of martial arts training has done him some good. We're opposites in some way where I like my solitude and am happy to be alone a lot, and Siu-Keung needs a good time and be around friends. We also both have a crazy-loud laugh. And before I forget... as far as I'm concerned, the world stops when he wears a pair of fitted jeans. There, I said it.

Now, back to the golf course...

Siu-Keung pulls out a pack of cigarettes and lights one. This is weird because he doesn't smoke, so when I watch him he looks awkward. He doesn't know how to hold it, or inhale the smoke, and it seems silly. His hair blows a bit in the wind, adding to his sexiness... except for the cigarette which is making things weird.

I give him this look that tells him to put the cigarette out, and he does. It's much better now. Siu-Keung approaches the tee and adjusts his stance to take a swing. He maneuvers the driver back and forth to get a feel for the grip, and then winds up and smacks the ball as hard as he can.

But he tops the ball very badly, and the ball only moved about ten feet with a hard "clunk" sound. It's pretty embarrassing, and between that, and the phony smoking, I don't understand why Siu-Keung is making such a fool of himself.

But my god, he smiles, and then I don't care anymore.

John Belushi Covered in Bees

2011-05-27T23:28:00.001-07:00

I was working at a pizza place that I hadn't worked at since I was eighteen years old. I was a little unfamiliar with how things had progressed in the pizza industry, yet when I set foot back in the old kitchen, a lot of it came back. After all, flour was flour, dough was dough. A lot depended upon my ability to work with new people, a lot of them now younger than me, and how I was working with new kitchen equipment.

When I arrived for my first shift at work after eighteen years, I buzzed through the renovated mall that I hardly recognized, half my lifetime ago. Corridors had changed, lighting was different, and my familiar steps on how to get back were senseless now.

A stranger stopped me en route, a man maybe about fifty years old who seemed to have too much time on his hands. He hassled me about bathmats and demanded that since I worked in the mall I should know where places are to find them. He wasted a lot of my time, but I managed to dodge him and hurry down to work.

When I got there, I was forty-five minutes late. Some young girl who I worked with was also late. I had no key, so when I was scheduled to work earlier, there was no way for me to get in the kitchen. This was understood, so my tardiness would be noted for a good reason. I also saw Jeff in the kitchen, but he wasn't there to work. He was there to observe.

When I put on my apron and began to work, there was a knock at the back door of the kitchen. I opened the door, only to see John Belushi standing before me in his Jake Blues attire, covered in bees. He was very upset, and yelled at me to pour flour on him. Just before grabbing some flour, Jeff told me that he wanted his hair cut right there and then, and he was considering going blond. He had a big smile on his face very excited to change his look. I said I had more pressing matters to deal with.

I poured flour on John Belushi and he began screaming at me, "What are you trying to do?--kill me?!" He crawled up on one of the countertops, groaning about what an ass I was. I was so mad that I took my apron off and threw it on the counter and told him to take care of his own problems.