Friday, April 30, 2010

OMG Make it stop!

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I am having a bad day!
First off, the morning challenged me with a tough mathematical equation; ‘Yesterday, a girl woke up at 3pm and had lunch at 9pm…if the same girl wakes up at noon today what time will she eat lunch at?'

Multiple choice BONUS QUESTION;
2 eggs plus 4 ice cubes plus 1 large slab of freezer frost =
A) Breakfast
B) Lunch
C) Dinner
D) You actually have to leave the house today and go grocery shopping

‘Boooo! I don’t wanna go outside!’ I have successfully hid myself away from everyone and everything for like 10 days now! (with the exception of yesterday's Monkey incident; but I didn’t have to leave my house, so that doesn’t count).  It’s a catch 22 thing with me; I don’t want to leave my house (cause of a teeny tiny Agoraphobia issue, that, and the fact that I generally just can’t stand most people) and yet I am bored as hell of sitting around the house trying to write a book that doesn’t want to write itself! I thought being a writer would be like being on a permanent vacation! SIGH!

So, I said to hell with the rules and chose unlisted option E)  Boil the eggs, ration them out for breakfast and lunch and skip dinner so I will be a slimmer me tomorrow. Sounded like a good plan right? Arrrrr (that’s a buzzer sound that indicates how wrong you are for thinking this was a good plan not to be confused with Argh! Which is Pirate slang for ‘fuck’…totally different you guys!).

Sure, I boiled the eggs.  For the third time this week I have tried to unsuccessfully boil fucking eggs! Seriously, no joke, I just don’t get it! I went to various websites that told me all sorts of things that were unsuccessful and I even tried the ol’  poke a hole in the bottom of the egg, which according to some egg Guru is supposed to stop it from exploding (clears throat) ‘LIAR'! ‘You, lady Guru of the egg, are no Guru at all! Maybe your spawn of Satan eggs allow for such culinary success that you claim to have but REAL eggs explode in boiling water!’

This time, however, it wasn’t the Guru’s  fault.  I put the eggs on and forgot about them cause my Bluetooth Wifi crashed and wouldn’t locate my phone which is my modem and my only link to the outside world and the Internet.
OH NO! I panic and think was I safe? Did I use protection? Did some horrendously horrible disease penetrate my computer condom? Is it the Computer Clap? I accuse the computer of being a filthy unprotected Whore who likely turns herself on when I sleep, to floozy around behind MacAfee's back! AH the agony, I am tortured!  


So, I don’t know how long them poor eggs were boiling but let me tell you, it was like they were trying to hatch out of themselves! Remember when you were a kid and there were those toys that grew if you put them in water? You know, it was like a tiny jelly bean looking thing that promised to be a dinosaur or sea horse or whatever and grow 200X its size?

Well, that’s what happened to the eggs! They joined together like some sort of Transformer egg 3 sizes too big and turned into some monstrous gooey disaster that I was afraid to get too close to! I went to go and take a picture so I could show you guys but NO! The battery was dead on my camera and it wouldn’t fucking charge! What the hell kind of Devil day is this turning out to be anyhow?


I toss the eggs into the jungle and think about fasting for the day, instead of going out, but my mouth is watering just looking at that slab of freezer frost.  So, with the most ridiculous amount of effort I have ever had to make, I get dressed, brush my teeth and put on my helmet.

Let the fuckery continue! My Motorbike starts up without a problem and then dies.  It does this again and again and again until finally, it just won’t turn over anymore at all. Hmmm,  full tank of gas …check…serviced recently …check…helmet on…check ’what the hell is the matter with you then?’.

Yes, I call it a Motorbike and not a ‘Scooter’ cause Scooters are those things that old people and the handicapped drive down the side walk on! Plus, I like to think that my 125cc Motorbike is a really awesome Ducati and I am the coolest bad ass for knowing how to drive this dangerous piece of machinery! I even pimped my bike with some crazy dirt bike tires so I look cooler and can fool people from a distance that it’s not a Scooter.



While I was trying to force my bike into submission, huge jungle Mosquitoes smelled my sweet Canadian Bacon-less Blood and sucked me dry leaving huge red itchy welts all over and probably infected me with Dengue Fever!

At this point, I felt like such a huge loser. See, I can be overly sensitive especially when I don’t sleep.  I take things way too personally and have rejection issues, even with the things I own.  First, my brain rejected me, then my Bluetooth connection rejected me, then what little food I had left in the fridge rejected me , and now my motorbike rejected me??? What the hell?  The only thing that hasn’t rejected me today are those damn Dengue having Mosquitoes.


So I sat on that bike feeling embarrassed knowing that my broke assed, nosy neighbours were surely watching me and laughing at my expense (cause they don’t have hydro and I am their only source of entertainment).  I really was expecting one of them to come out from behind a tree, laughing and pointing saying something in Thai that I couldn’t understand but would believe it to be ‘ha ha you a reject and can’t start you bike…such losery!’

So, in a dramatic effort to not look like such a loser I swore all kinds of profanities at the bike as loud as I could so the neighbours would know just how very angry I was and therefore not a loser (cause losers don’t get angry right?) and I stomped up all the stairs back into my house, slammed down my helmet and fumed over the fact that I even made an attempt to leave the house today at all!  GRRRR!


I thought about walking the 10 km’s to and from the store but my feet protested. Well,  I could fill up on toothpaste and ice cubes that could be refreshing. Just then, my fan, the only thing keeping me cool in this sauna of a bungalow, decided to take it’s last breath.  It sputtered and coughed in a real Oscar worthy performance and then….it flat lined! ---------------------

‘FOR REAL????’ I sat there sweating profusely from my eyes…nope those were tears of frustration! Just then, I got a text from a girlfriend I was looking forward to hanging with saying she was bouncing from the country, sorry she didn’t have time for me blah blah blah …’until we meet again’ .

Wah!


The world came crashing down upon my humble abode at that moment!  I reminded myself that I have haven’t slept more than 3 hours a night for 12 days now,  no one cares, everyone back home is so busy with their lives that they don’t send me emails back or call me, no one loves me, I am all alone in a shack in the jungles of Thailand trying to write a book and for what? Can I really handle doing this for another year?

For the first time in a long time, I felt completely lost and cut off from my life as I know it.  I felt like conscious vapour ; highly aware of how invisible I was to the rest of the world.  The sun was shining everywhere except over my head, out of no where, demonic black clouds rained down only on my house, I shit you not! How appropriate I thought! Is there someone with superpowers hacking into my life right now making everything miserable for me? Who did I piss off?

It seemed as though everything I owned and everyone I knew, in some form or another was giving me the ‘thumbs up’ (click here if you don’t get it).

I am now going back to bed to pretend to sleep and maybe that will wipe the slate clean?

BTW: Obviously, I got my Internet back so there’s the silver lining of the day!

~I surrender to The Writing Womb~
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Wednesday, April 28, 2010

The Full Monty

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I was awoken from my beauty sleep this morning by the Coconut throwing monkey.  (Note; Upon further review, I didn’t receive any benefits from said ‘beauty’ sleep as I looked like the Elephant Man’s offspring. So far, by my calculations, you need more than 2 hours in a night to be beautiful and less than 12 but we’ll talk about that on another rant.)

This domesticated Monkey’s job is to crawl up the huge trees and throw the Coconuts down so they can be put in a truck and sold to the stores. The added benefit is the reduced risk of me being killed by falling Coconuts so I won’t have to wear a helmet as often.

THAI 099 labeled monkey in tree close up

I head out to my veranda and the owner greets me with a good morning Coconut, which is thoughtful and appreciated. He hardly speaks English so we just smile and pretend to understand what the other is saying…it’s a fun way to communicate and I love that I can purposely butcher the English language and get away with it.

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Our grins got a lot wider when the Monkey greets me good morning with some angry looking red wood. My eyes bulged out of their sockets, eyebrows shot up through my hairline…my face said it all…I tried to change the subject;

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“‘Ummm, how cute! So… how old is he?" I stammered, mimed and spoke slowly, so as to be understood…”Three? Wow!” (long awkward really really uncomfortable silence.) We were both smiling and pretending not to notice. (I must apologize! You see,  I am not a professional penis photographer so the pictures don’t really give you the Full Monty I experienced. Seriously, you are better off for my lack of technical skill. If you are a stickler for detail, then click on the pictures for enlarged view.)

You know how people use the term ‘it was like a train wreck, I just couldn’t look away’? Well they should be saying, ‘it was like a Monkey’s dick, I just couldn’t look away’ because there’s nothing more disturbing than that!

I couldn’t escape the monkey meat! It had me in it’s orbit and I couldn’t look away!   I had already committed to taking the pictures and the owner was looking rather impatient…. so there was nothing left to do but shoot them.

AWKWARD!!

And I thought last night’s rotten food photo shoot was weird!

pills, redneck van and rotten veggies 133

I very rarely get embarrassed but my cheeks were as red as that Monkey’s penis!  When your day starts off like this, it’s better to go back to bed and see if you can start again in a few hours!

If I learned anything from this experience, it was the desire, as a writer, to be more like that Monkey…vulnerable, exposed, and unashamed!

~I surrender to The Writing Womb~
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Tuesday, April 27, 2010

Vegetarian or Killer of Vegetables?

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Hi, my name is Patricia and I am a Vegetable Hating Vegetarian.

I just get so happy when I torture and eventually kill vegetables by refusing to eat them. I mean, look at the picture below don’t I look happy?

pills, redneck van and rotten veggies 103

Every single time I go grocery shopping, I have a compulsion to buy vegetables I hate, because I think that I should be putting this "healthy stuff" in my diet. Instead, it turns into a sadistic ritual of hunting, gathering and then enslaving these veggies in my refrigerator crisper until they eventually melt into some sort of thick vegetable soup at the bottom of the drawer.

Now, I am a very miserly person so, in theory, that should make me want to eat the veggies before they go bad. I finally acknowledged I had a problem about 2 weeks ago, when I somehow convinced myself, yet again, to buy another bag of lettuce that I knew I wouldn’t eat.

pills, redneck van and rotten veggies 116

In the first couple of days, I heard  some enthusiastic sales pitches, coming from the crisper.  ‘Hey, look at how crisp and green I am! Don’t you want to eat me before I start to wilt?’ ‘Hey there! Look at how sexy my leaves are, don’t you want to put them in your mouth?’

Now, I like to give my fresh veggies hope, so in the beginning, my reply would always be ‘maybe tomorrow, right now, it’s too much trouble’ and I would slam the drawer shut,  feeling guilty for being wasteful when there are starving people somewhere in the world, covered in horrific clothing from The Gap.

About a week later, the lettuce was starting to get panicked. When I opened the door,  I heard him cry from the crisper “Don’t waste me, please master, let me fulfill my destiny of being eaten so I can evolve in the next life”.

The carrot finally spilled the beans when he said in his deep husky carrot voice “your wasting your breath lettuce! Don’t you know she takes pleasure in letting you rot? I mean look at me, I have been here for a month, I have some sort of blue fuzzy herpes thing growing on my body and strange white twigs growing off of my entire being and she still doesn’t get rid of me! “

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“ But if you think I have it bad, look at that poor bastard on the other side of the crisper, rocking back and forth,  now he’s been through some tough shit! You know how he got that bruised head? “

pills, redneck van and rotten veggies 124

“She beat him! “

“That’s right, he pleaded with her to let him out and she jammed his head in the crisper door and left him there over night. He just hasn’t been the same ever since. It’s like that beating broke his brain and now all he does is just lay there drooling.

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“And unless you want to suffer the same fate, I suggest you shut your leafy mouth up!”

I didn’t hear a peep out of the crisper drawer for at least a week. Then this evening, I took a peek to see what was going on in there and they all started to yell at me, they couldn’t take it anymore. I gave some of the vegetables (and one fruit) some hope when I took them out of their clear coffin.

 pills, redneck van and rotten veggies 089 

Only to sadistically destroy all their hopes when they realized I was just teasing them and using their rotting corpses for a sick little photoshoot, for your viewing pleasure.

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After the impromptu photoshoot, I wondered, “Hmmm, whatever shall I do with you guys?”

pills, redneck van and rotten veggies 102

I took pity on the Dragon fruit and threw him off my balcony to be one with the jungles in Thailand where I currently live. His destiny will be fulfilled tomorrow when the chickens eat him.

“As for the rest of you, if i throw you out now, I will have to take off your packaging to throw you into the jungle and that would require me to touch your gross parts. Sure, I could throw you in the garbage bin but it’s hot and you will rot and stink up my kitchen until the garbage man comes. So, back you go, into your crisper of death, until I remember to check on you again.

Nighty night, just remember, mama loves you!

~ I surrender to The Writing Womb ~.
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Sunday, April 25, 2010

My Online Dating Ad

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So, I have been single now for a long, long time!
I have finally decided to put an end to this madness by putting up an online dating ad.
I thought short and sweet would be the best way to go. I submitted these drawings instead of a head shot...do you think anyone will respond?

Dear Potential Mate:
I am sick of having black hearts pooping on me all of the time! I know some people think it denotes good luck when doo doo lands on them from above, however, I do not share in their sentimental superstitions.



So, with this in mind, I have only one characteristic that I will be looking for in a mate.
I am looking for a man who will love me with his whole heart.


Not just the Penis part of his heart!


Thank you for your consideration, my contact info is below.

~ I surrender to The Writing Womb ~.
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Saturday, April 24, 2010

Batman VS The Armpit Sniffer

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A while back, I noticed that my left armpit smelled grosser different than my right armpit. It worried me cause I heard that if one pupil was bigger than the other, that could mean a brain tumor. So, naturally, I applied that logic to my situation.
One smelly fragrant armpit must be a tumor right? I was wondering what a doctor might say if I should show up at his office demanding him to smell my pitts.  Well, lucky for him, my right nostril was just blocked and in a few days, everything was back to normal with two smelly  aromatic armpits.


In June 2008, a man from Singapore was put in jail for 14 years for 'molesting' women by forcefully sniffing their armpits.  As further punishment, he got 18 whacks on the ass with a cane (as if 14 years in jail wasn't enough punishment).

I can see it now:
The perfect Villain, a little Asian man lurking in a dark alley ready to pounce at the first hint of armpit.  I am walking by, happily swinging my purse when, wham! said man jumps out and grabs me.  Oh no, is he going to steal my purse? Rape me? Nope, he lifts my arm and gets his freak on by taking a big whiff, then runs away laughing.

Relief that I was OK, would take a back seat to this all consuming question that would dance around in my head...

What the fuck???

How could you even take that seriously? Sure I would be dumbfounded for a while trying to process what had happened. And undoubtedly, I would wait around for a bit fully expecting to see Ashton Kutcher or Ed McMahon  poke their head out laughing. After a while, I guess I would just be on my way thinking where's Batman when you need him? Seriously this is a crime that only super hero's can handle appropriately.

I would probably laugh and shake my head at the weirdness of it all and also, be excited to go to work the next day, as this would be the greatest water cooler anecdote ever!

I am sure it would be a scary situation but only because I would of imagined the worst thing that could of happened. Would I go to the police? Sure, I would report it...not a 911 call for sure more of a relaxed hey, by the way, some dude grabbed me and smelled my armpit kind of call.
Does forcefully smelling pitts really warrant 14 years in prison though? That just seems excessive!

Apparently, Marvel bought the rights to this story and  I am anxiously awaiting the release of Batman vs The Armpit Sniffer.
~I surrender to The Writing Womb~
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Friday, April 23, 2010

The Crow Dance

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I have always thought it to be curious that chickens are so darn popular.
Big restaurant chains boasting the 'best chicken in town', secret recipes from the colonel, a veritable smorgasbord of 101 flavours to drown those tiny wings in and of course, the infamous 'chicken dance'; the highly coveted drunken rite of passage pantomimed at most weddings.
It seems that most other birds just aren't as tasty, friendly or fun as chickens.
To have a 'crow dance', would be a disastrous affair.
An ominous and menacing masquerade to steal the soul
choreographed in a heavy fog entangling all within it's thick fingers
a puppetry of people possessed by dark clouds
penetrating stares that send lightning daggers
goading the recipient with belligerent confidence
sights set on prey; attack;
not claws that gouge open wounds in the face
but stealthy maneuvers of belladonna punch
as they fall one by one
sharpened talons pilfer the prize
the succulent marble of the soul.
~I surrender to The Writing Womb~

 
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Wednesday, April 21, 2010

Boiled eggs

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How can I be bored with life if I can't even boil an egg? My mission today, should I choose to accept it...hard boil an egg without it cracking, being rubbery or grey in the yolk. Actually, considering this is my only challenge today, I am feeling a little 'grey in the yolk' myself!
~I surrender to The Writing Womb~


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Tuesday, April 20, 2010

Thumbs up says it all

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Smoking requires you to do something 20 + times a day and I just don't have that kind of attention span, so I had to quit.
The next time you see someone smoking, instead of lecturing them, give them the thumbs up and recognize the persistence and dedication it takes to be a smoker. That is of course, unless you are in Bangladesh, Iran, Iraq or Thailand; where thumbs up is an obscene gesture, equivalent to giving someone the middle finger.

And of course, always be mindful when giving a Gladiator from ancient Rome the thumbs up as this was the signal for death (you can thank me later for that tidbit of information should you ever meet up with Russell Crowe).
So when you give that smoker the thumbs up, just remember it's an all inclusive way of saying;  'good for you, fuck you and your gonna die'.
I for one, will be adding this gem of a gesture into my daily repertoire from now on.
I have always wondered why people say 'thumbs up' (plural) even if the person was only giving you one thumb up.
The ancient Romans, who appear to have invented the term, probably thought it too difficult to say 'thumb up' plus, it sounds weird. The only time it sounds right, is when using the term 'thumb up the ass' cause saying 'thumbs up the ass' can be quite confusing for those who are mathematically inclined...one hole one thumb right?
Well I finally solved this mystery that has been splinter in my brain. After tedious investigating, I found this top secret photo that just so happened to leak onto the internet. Apparently, the other thumb is invisible to the naked eye but with new technology, we can clearly see both thumbs up on only ONE hand!  
It appears that ancient Romans had it right after all...they were light years ahead of their time. 
~I surrender to The Writing Womb~


Top secret site
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Monday, April 19, 2010

The slowest kid on the shortest bus

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At first when I came across these people verification tools on the web, you know the ones that reduce all the spam,  I thought it was funny that in order to verify that I exist, all I have to do is copy a few numbers and or letters into a box. Pefect, at least I have some way to verify my lowly existence.
Those joy joy feelings dissipated rather quickly after many mishaps of misread numbers. These fucking word verifications taunt me with their misleading letters that are fuzzed over so badly it would be like trying to find your teeth after not brushing them for a month. The fact that you need the assistance of a little blue wheelchair button so you can try again isn't very comforting either. Nor is the included speech button to let you hear what you are supposed to be seeing.
I think these facts alone are a  pretty good indication that the person who designed this 'existential button' is laughing himself out of his panties while plotting his next bit of fuckery.
It's like a game that I just never seem to win...making me feel like the slowest kid on the shortest bus. But then, maybe I was and everyone forgot to tell me.
~I surrender to The Writing Womb~
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Tonight, a little self love is in order!

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I seemed to have started a blog at a strange time in my life. For the last 6 weeks, I have undergone the process of abstaining from 'self love'. Tonight however, after wrestling with Ritalin Fairies that glued my eyelids open, I finally caved in and 'rubbed one off'. My eyelids are still glued open but a peaceful tranquility has settled into every cell of my body.....ahhhhh how do you spell relief? O R G A S M (sung like the Ricola cough drop commercial you know, yodeling from the mountain tops).
Lately, I seem to measure my success in life by how long I can abstain from saying/doing the things I enjoy and love. It's a pretty masochistic relationship I have with myself; all or nothing, go big or go home...I will probably lock myself in my house for a week now to make up for all the 'self lovin' I've missed out on! Te he he ;o)
Wow, I certainly didn't think this would be the content of my first blog post ever! I was dreaming of something more flowery and artsy. This morning when I created this blog, the first rule I tried to impose on myself was to stay away from really graphic subjects. I used scare tactics on myself like; "people I know will read this, people I work with or work for will judge me and it might hurt my future. I have an image to uphold, I must save face at all costs."
So, just keep it clean was to be my motto and I nodded my head in full agreement. Yes, I will be smart about this, I will be safe, I won't rock the boat....that is, until the little man in the boat needed some attention then the rocking of the boat was just incidental...I think he lost his oars and needed some help.:o) (is it tacky to put smiley faces in a blog post? I must admit, I am a smiley face whore! ummm wait, that isn't phrased so well...I mean I like to use smiley faces A LOT!)
Oops, I digress. So, in my orgasmic after glow, it occurred to me;
If I have to censor myself one more time, I am gonna have an aneurysm in my left eye and that could be hazardous to my computer! I have a sneaking suspicion that my warranty doesn't cover that...I cheaped out and didn't get the extended coverage plan you see. There probably is an untapped market for hot chicks with exploded left eyes but I don't want to be the first to start that trend ~call me lazy!
So, to save my eyeball the trouble, I say, fuck it! What am I hiding from? What image do I HAVE to uphold? If people think less of me for saying what I think, doing what I feel and speaking my truth then that seems to be a personal issue on their part.
I am a human being, with needs, wants, desires and I don't care who knows! So, I am throwing away the rule books and breaking out of these self imposed prisons that I seem to subscribe to for the benefit of others.
This will be the blog of my escape from said prisons.
I hereby grant me the permission to write my truth and I hereby grant you the permission to read all about it.
~I surrender to The Writing Womb~
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