The 'Gift' of music

Merry Kwanukkamas!

Thought in the spirit of sharing, I'd share some lyrics I wrote a few years ago. It's called Blasphemy and I'm pretty sure it's in 6/8 time for those of you who might want to try to read it 'in rhythm.'

I wrote it a while back, but it still remains one of my favorites! Hope you're all enjoying your holidays!

Peace, love and peppermints!

Hillary J.


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Blasphemy

You say you’re not sure what you believe
And things aren’t the same as they were before
And you don’t understand why I had to leave
And you don’t know who you can trust anymore

You’re in the darkness searching for light
I’m holding a candle that’s burning so bright
Will you listen this time? Will you hear what I say?
Or will you do like before and just walk away?

Come tonight – And worship at the shrine of my body
Believe that I – Can be the goddess of your soul
Kneel and pray – At the alter for your salvation
And in my embrace
Let me bless you with grace
‘till you’re whole

You say that you’ve lost your faith in love
And you’re not sure if the unseen exists
Cause you’ve never looked upon God above
And you’ve closed your eyes each time that we kissed

But I’m here in complete visibility
And I’m tangible, so please reach out and touch me
Come smell my skin – my breath you can feel
What more can I do to prove that I’m real?

Come tonight – And worship at the shrine of my body
Believe that I – Can be the goddess of your soul
Kneel and pray – At the alter for your salvation
And in my embrace
Let me bless you with grace
‘till you’re whole

It’s foolish – to think you’ll find the way on your own
Completion can never be reached by one all alone
It’s a process, it’s a journey and a whole has two parts
There is triumph, there is failure and there’s light and there’s dark
It’s not simple, it’s not easy, it can hurt, it’s not free
But it’s worth all the pain if you want it to be…

Come tonight…
Just believe…

Try as I might I cannot force your hand
It’s up to you to make your own choice
Even God won’t make you obey commands
Though you can’t deny the pow’r in his voice
You’re contemplating, weighing it out
I could cry, I could beg, I could scream, I could shout
I shiver in silence, your gaze cold as ice
Let me light you on fire with my sacrifice…

Come tonight – And worship at the shrine of my body
Believe that I – Can be the goddess of your soul
Kneel and pray – At the alter for your salvation
And in my embrace
Let me bless you with grace
And in my embrace
Let me bless you with grace
Oh in my
Embrace let
Me bless you
With grace
‘Till
You’re whole

I can heal you
(Come tonight – Just believe)
I can heal you
(Come tonight – Just believe)

I’ll make you whole

Eating an Elephant or Home is Where the Cat is...

How do you eat an elephant?

When I arrived at my new condo, key in hand, it was empty, a little dirty and it smelled like ‘dog.’

I got the carpets cleaned and wondered how I would ever get all my stuff into this new space. It still smelled like dog.

I bought two folding chairs, paper towels, toilet paper and brought over a folding table. I called the Molly Maids. They came. They cleaned. I had no Internet. It still smelled a little like dog.

One of my friends helped me bring over a little futon-esqe sleeper sofa, some boxes and some more folding chairs. Some friends helped me unload them. I bought some Airwick air fresheners. Now it smelled like a dog wearing too much men's cologne. I spent a night there. An owl hooted outside. Every step I took inside echoed in the emptiness and I wondered, would this place ever feel like home?

My brother arrived in town early. We couldn’t get my bed into my friend’s van. So instead we took more boxes and some shelves. Now my house no longer felt like home, but neither did the condo. I was sleeping on a sofa at my house. I spent another night or two on the couch-bed at the condo.

Another friend with a bigger truck let me use it to get my bed over to the condo. I forgot to pack the frame. My brother unpacked some of the kitchen stuff so we could reuse the boxes and papers.

Another trip. More boxes, and now clothes and the bed frame. A couple friends came over and helped me put my bed together and put bedding on it. We filled the upstairs with laughter as we cracked jokes and struggled with screws and bolts.

More boxes and ‘stuff.’ My mom and grandma came to town. We went to Ikea. We found a sofa and a ‘buffet’ for the dining room. Grandma found a bed she liked.

Furniture delivered – some assembly required, my mother helped my father’s oldest son put together our brown micro-fiber couch on the area rug she bought me as a gift. I fought on the phone with the cable people who wanted to install a new DVR instead of hooking up my old one like they promised. Don’t delete my Ancient Aliens!

INTERNET! A new cage for my pudgy Mali Uromastyx that fits in the new space. My car was so small that it took two trips to get the cage and stand home from the pet store with the orange cat and the smiling associate.

I brought my cat over. She recognized the couch-bed as her own and spent half the day on it. Then she decided she liked the new sofa too and spent the rest of the day breaking it in. I met a friend at the grocery store. She came over. Grandma made us all dinner.

More shopping. Little stuff, cleaning supplies, a wreath – MORE toilet paper. I brought my lizard to his new home. He tested the fresh sand with his tongue. My cat slept in my grandma’s room.

My mother extended her stay a couple days through Christmas. She is shopping for a Kindle for my Grandma on her iPad. She stops occasionally to ask me what certain options mean. My cat sleeps against my legs, smiling. My brother is downstairs watching TV.

And I’m starting to feel like I’m at home. Home is where the cat is. Home is where the lizard is. Home is where my mom shops on Amazon and where Grandma searches for deals and funny ads on Craigslist. Home is where my brother watches Doctor Who and eats crackers on the couch. Home is where I sit in bed writing a blog.

The carcass is in the fridge now. Mostly picked over. Just a few more meals left. Some boxes yet to unpack. A couple small pieces yet to move over. Some pictures to hang. But the elephant is almost devoured – the only way anything is ever devoured – one bite at a time…

Just for the Sake of Blogging...

Hello Dahhhhlings -

I really, truly, honestly, sincerely can’t believe this year is almost over.

However, if the Mayans were right and it’s all ‘sh*tsville’ for us in 14 days, well, then at least I’ll be able to say I went down in a blaze of glory!

I’ve spent this last year back in school working towards an actual Bachelor’s degree, but that’s not all. I've been down to Miami a couple times, met some AMAZING new friends, and worked on some really cool projects. And just yesterday, I found out I’m in consideration for an internship at the Cannes Film Festival 2013 (suck Mayans – I deserve this!!!)

I also found out last week that I earned a coveted Course Director’s Award for my class last term! Sorry to brag so much, but it’s just been a cool month.

Don’t worry – there are still plenty of little life circumstances handing my a$$ to me on a daily basis to keep me humble - like my friend accidentally tracking dogSh*t into my house while helping me move! For the moment, however, I just really want to bask in these few recent rays of sunshine.

Also – I just wanted to share my latest fun project. It’s called IndieMinute. It’s pretty much all there in the name. It consists of 60 seconds of me doing a silly synopsis for an independent film.

You’ve already spent longer reading about it than you’ll spend watching the actual clip – so why not check it out?

Have I told you all lately that I <3 you? (I used to think that symbol was a mouse and it always confused me why someone would ‘mouse’ anyone…)

Peace peeps! Wish me luck on my phone interview next week (for the internship!)

Lurve ya –

Hillary J.

My First Ever Published Poem

This is the mushy, gushy, uber-romantic poem that was published in an anthology a few years back. I wrote it when I was in 11th grade, so if it seems a little 'Emo,' there actually IS a logical explanation:)

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Silent Confession

Deep inside I feel an anger
with myself begin to rise
Each time my careless glance is cast
upon your dark evasive eyes

Those eyes wherein I know once dwelt
Passions for me no longer felt

I curse my stubborn aching heart
I curse my pride so cruel and cold
I curse my lips for speaking not
Of love for you which still I hold

My proud facade claimed not to care
But, oh, the pain when you weren't there

My gaze now fixed I let my eyes
deliver forth their silent plea -
"Oh free my tortured heart
And feel affection once again for me!"

But lips keep still for I have fears
My cries would fall on deafened ears

In a FLASH II - Some 'Super' old Fiction

In my very first Core Curriculum class nearly a year ago - Creative Skills Development - we were instructed to choose a photo of a fictional character online and write about that character doing his or her laundry.

This is literally the first piece I wrote for my degree program! Enjoy:)


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He had a love-hate relationship with Sundays.

Even superheroes can use a day off, after all. And just like her densely populated counterparts Los Angeles, New York and even Chicago, Metropolis was relatively peaceful on any given Sunday.

Still, he woke as he did every morning, ready for action, peering out the blinds of his 28th floor apartment, listening for even the faintest cry of help. The morning sun cast thin line of light through the slat, cutting across his statuesque jaw slightly dusted with morning stubble. His thick ebony hair was a wild tousled mess where combating cowlicks battled for control in the absence of gel. In nothing but rumpled cotton boxers, the sun slanted down his uber-chiseled chest. And yet, he continued to strain with all his might to hear the slightest sound that could possibly justify him abandoning his housebound solitude.

Nothing.

His ears were greeted only by a heartily chirping robin, a jingling of a dog’s collar as it dragged a sleepy owner to the next fire hydrant, and an occasional yellow cab slowing in hopes that the person stepping out onto the street might have a destination in mind other than newspaper box outside the front door.

He sighed heavily.

With no kidnapper to foil, to bank heist to halt, Superman had no excuse not to tend to the mountain of blue and red capes and tights heaped up in the corner of his bedroom.

When it came to his Daily Planet crisp white Oxfords and neatly pressed pants, ‘Clark Kent’ could easily drop those at the cleaners like any sensible bachelor and pick them up on Monday with the rest of the bustling throng. However, the burden of keeping a secret identity meant that at least once a week, he had to tend to the mundane domestic duties of ‘doing the wash.’

Laundry day wasn’t without some advantages.

‘Clark Kent’ rarely got even half way through a cup of coffee Monday thru Saturday. But on Sundays, Superman brewed himself a whole pot.

As the water began spitting and sputtering through the filter basket, he stretched his well-muscled back mightily and meandered over his polished maple floor to the bedroom to survey the mass with an elevation that even Muhammad would find daunting.

Sorting was a MUST. He had ruined several suits back in the early days by washing the blues and the reds together. Somehow, flying around in a streaked and mottled purple suit and cape seemed somewhat less intimidating to villains.

The biggest pain, of course, was pulling the red ‘over pants’ off of the blue bodysuit. For no apparent reason the legs would get all tangled up like live serpents mating, or dueling, or whatever live serpents do, and if he wasn’t mindful of his super strength, he wound up ripping his suit to shreds in an effort to free the stretchy red bottoms from the rest of the outfit.

As he continued to sort, he noticed to great dismay that an ink-pack had exploded on his best cape. This would not come out easily, if at all.

Since his alias was a journalist, he kept some denatured alcohol handy to get newsprint off his hands and clothes, but would it work on the cape without making the crimson bleed and fade? He had just ordered this cape custom-made from a costume maker with an Etsy Store. He told her it was for the LA Comic*Con, which confused her when he paid for a ‘rush’ order and delivery since the convention wasn’t until July.

He received it in mid-February and now, only a week into March, some bumbling bank thief had to go and…

This would probably need to soak.

He laid it gently in his bath tub and doused it thoroughly with the methylated spirits, and to raise his own, he trudged back to the kitchen to pour a cup of coffee now that his super-hearing had detected it was finished brewing.

He drank his bold roast black, with plenty of sugar. The warm cup in his hands felt peaceful, like the city on this particular morning. He sipped at the sweet robust liquid gingerly. Maybe he had super taste buds too, but there was no sense in burning them over a simple pleasure.

The man of steel now returned to the inanimate mounds of cerulean and ruby synthetic Lycra blends.

The blues had more mass and would need longer in the dryer, so he began with them.

He laid them in alternating half-moons in the bottom of the washer. No need in throwing the machine off balance and having the super come in wondering why his wet and broken washer was filled with spandex bodysuits and leaking into the pantry of his neighbors on the 27th floor. Again, experience had taught him some of these simple lessons.

He used the detergent of NASCAR champions with the ‘mountain fresh’ scent. It was oddly the exact same shade as his uniform. He poured the syrupy thick liquid over the spandex in tandem with the rushing water from the edge of the washer and then for good measure rinsed the cup out under the miniature raging waterfall gushing behind the agitator. The icy cold water was a stark contrast to the warm ceramic cup of java he’d held moments earlier.

He felt things.

That was a popular misconception.

Just because bullets bounced off of his chest didn’t mean he didn’t feel the sharp sting of the impact. Just because he could walk through fire unscathed didn’t mean he was immune to the sweltering discomfort of the heat. And just because the city was quiet today, didn’t mean that he didn’t feel just a little bit lonely and useless staring at his brand new red cape helplessly suspended in liquid in his bathtub waiting for the stain to fade away…

In a FLASH...

The tricky thing about going to school for writing, is that I have to do a lot of, well, writing - which somehow cuts into the time I have to just write...

But in my coursework, I have been introduced to what we 'writer types' call Flash Fiction.

So now I'm writing all these fun short stories, but I have pretty much nothing to do with them after I'm done. Sure - I COULD shop some of them out to journals, magazines anthologies seeking to get the work 'published.'

But honestly, at this particular moment in time, it's just more a time issue than anything else. So, I figure, why not nurse my own 'market' for my writing - right here?

Ladies and Gentlemen, I present the first in what I'm pretty sure will become fairly routine installments of "In a Flash!" entries, where I will share with you some of my Flash Fiction.

These are short pieces, just for fun! Please enjoy them as such! I welcome thoughts, feedback etc. Mainly, I just feel I've been cranking out way too much work not to share some of it!

This first piece is a glimpse at how the future might view us as a part of their past. I offer you nightly news piece about life in the 21st Century "Frozen in Time..."

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Today, in the ruins of what archeologists agree used to be the city of Orlando on what remains of the northern reaching peninsula, a new mystery has come to light regarding how pre-polar shift peoples lived their lives here in Mexerida. Researches are working to unearth a newly discovered fully intact complex they are calling a ‘Gold’s Gym.’

Lead archeologist Dr. Jacques Smithsuela believes the complex was an augmented form of punishment for early criminals in the late 20th and early 21st centuries.

He explained his findings to news crews on site earlier today.

“What we know about pre-polar shift people, especially in the center of the continent, was that they were obsessed with crime and punishment. They had many, large internment facilities. Evidence even suggests they regularly broadcast stories revolving around particularly violent crimes and the methodology by which these criminals were hunted down and then punished. This may have either been for entertainment or education or even as a cautionary measure to deter further crime.

So this society was engulfed in crime, and, as a byproduct, various punishments. What we see here in this ‘gym’ facility – and this is the first one we’ve discovered with intact bodies actually positioned on the machines – are some very brutal torture devices. You can see people are actually strapped in to some of the machines. You can see the straining of their muscles and looks of pain on their faces. So in spite of some of the documentation that suggests 21st century society did not favor torture, complexes like the Gold’s Gyms were obviously places where maybe the very worst of the worst were sent to endure excruciating physical punishment. “

Dr. Roberto Saint-Brown offered an alternate explanation that perhaps the people frozen in the gym during the sudden emergence and eruption of the Mexican Gulf Super Volcano were there voluntarily for augmented physical conditioning. Dr. Smithsuela however dismissed this competing theory.

“Included in the complex are rooms full of lockers where the personal belongings of these people have been removed from them, kept under lock and key, and they are wearing clothing that was obviously intended to embarrass them on another level of psychological torture. Besides, a people this advanced would have understood human physiology well enough to know that regular calisthenics would be safer and yield better results than these bulky machines. I find no evidence to support the idea that these people were here voluntarily.”

Since its initial discovery in 4007, the Orlando site has provided an unprecedented look at what life was like on this continent during the Fossil Fuel Age. It has enabled scientists to begin sifting through the mythology surrounding that time-period, and offers us a glimpse at our own past. For Mexerida South District 1 News, I’m Antoinette Walkeros. Good night.

Alaska Diary Day One(ish) - Karma's A Bitch

Many people I know claim to be experts at procrastination; some even claim to be procrastination royalty.

Screw that noise – I am procrastination DIVINTY…

From paying an electric bill a couple hours before disconnection, to submitting assignments seconds before it’s due, no matter how high the stakes, I have waiting until the very last possible moment down to an art form. I blame mid-eighties television and You’re a Good Man Charlie Brown’s song Peter Rabbit for making it look so sexy to me as a child.

But for whatever reason, much like Charlie Brown, I DO work best under pressure. Which is why I put off all the final trip preparations until Monday and rose at 4am Tuesday after only a two-hour nap to feverishly finish my tasks before getting myself to the airport to check in for my 11:35 flight at 10:38am.

Fearing that I wouldn’t be there to run my card through the scanner right AT 10:35 I actually called American Airlines to make sure I’d be able to still check in for my flight with a little less than an hour to spare. They told me I had until 11:05. Luckily I didn’t have this knowledge until I was already just 30 minutes away!

My first flight from Orlando to Chicago, O’Hare showed me that the principles of Karma were still alive and well in the universe.

Stuck on an aisle seat (at least the price was GREAT!) I quickly found myself in the very epicenter of a plane-shaking swarm of jubilant teenage German exchange students. I use the term ‘students’ very loosely since they were on a trip through their school, but really it was a vacation with stops in multiple cities around the US.

As I struggled to sleep in the midst of their happy chatter, I couldn’t help but be reminded of a trip I’d been on many years earlier with some of my high school friends. It was a red-eye to Germany via Somewhere in France. We were embarking on a three-week student exchange to Freiburg, Germany. We were sharing our flight with a group of thoroughly exhausted French exchange students who were flying home from their foray into US culture. One of their excessively Drowsy Chaperones had the misfortune of having the seat directly behind mine.

She was trying to sleep, as I’ve since come to learn is customary on a red-eye flight, but HELLO – they shouldn’t have been showing comedic movies like Kirstie Alley’s Sibling Rivalry if they expected us to all just simmer down and go to sleep.

My laugh has gone through more developmental stages than my breasts (which I STILL haven’t forgiven my breasts for) and in the 10th through 12th grades it was probably at it’s most annoying. When I was in a laughing fit, I would start gasping for air but continue to ‘laugh’ on the inhale which catapulted my voice into registers that would have impressed the Metropolitan Opera company, if it weren’t for the fact that these high ‘notes’ coupled with my laughter resulted in the sound similar to that guinea pig running from a hyena that suddenly gets stuck in a tar pit where said guinea pig turns around and laughs at said hyena.

My friends used to laugh at my laughter. The red-eye was no different. I couldn’t tell you what Sibling Rivalry was about, only that my friends and I were so giddy about our pending adventure, the only volume we knew that night was LOUD.

And here I was in that poor French chaperone’s shoes so many years later. At least I didn’t kick the seats of the kids, glare angrily and huff at them. No, I merely shook my head, tried to sleep for an hour or so, and then eventually helped the flight attendant talk to them. She was doing that trick we all learn where she was just talking slowly and loudly but not using words or sentence structure that the kids would recognize, in spite of their impeccable English.

I dusted off some of my archaic German skills and played ‘translator’ for a while and hoped that this would be the last Karmic check I’d have to cash for a while…

Flight number two began in a somewhat promising fashion, but the deck was really stacked against me because I was in a middle seat. I nodded off for the first portion of the flight anyway, but suddenly found myself jolted into wakefulness when beverage service arrived.

I never recovered. I eventually surrendered to the inflight movie The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel, which almost put me back to sleep, but then actually became surprisingly engaging late in the second act. Damn British writing…

I thought I’d get some shuteye after it was over, but that was when Window Seat Guy woke up from his blessed slumber and asked what I thought of the film. Without ample rest to override my impulses, my jaded little inner screenwriter surfaced with my honest opinion. Something in my ‘lingo’ must have given away my pending education because his follow-up was, “Are you in the industry?”

Turns out, he sells Cannons to rental houses and does product demos for DPs and directors. Needless to say, there was absolutely no more sleep to acquired on that flight…

Two down one to go.

I was IN Seattle waiting for my final connection. The choices were a bagel and some of Seattle’s Best and blackest liquid energy in cup or some comfort clam chowder in a sourdough bread bowl and local micro brew to lull me further into lethargy.

Door Number Two, please!
If you have not had Ivan’s Clam Chowder, I suggest you drop everything of so-called importance in your life and book a flight to Seattle IMMEDIATELY to consume this amazing local delicacy. For true sour dough connoisseurs, your mind will be plagued with the quandary of how to get this creamy nectar of the gods into a proper San Fransisco Pier 39 sour dough round. But delivery methods aside, Ivan’s is a more perfect food than a sweet potato in spite of what nutritionists might want you to believe. I mean, come on, there must be SOME reason so many people live in Seattle, especially now that they have planes and cars…

After leisurely consuming my reward for a day of hectic sleepless travel, I claimed my window seat and surrendered to a nearly two-hour long coma that lasted from before taxi and takeoff until the cabin was being prepared for our final descent.

Honestly, I wanted my first glimpse of Alaska…

The sun was still pretty bright at our cruising altitude but as the plane hurtled toward my final destination for the day we dipped below a blanket of clouds that was so thick, I began to wonder if I’d see any of this rugged state at all.

And finally there it was – shrouded in gray, but perfectly visible. The mountains, the trees, the wonton dipping and cutting of land into peaks, valleys and lakes where glaciers are still shaping the land like an unsatisfied artist who continues adding pigment to a canvas long after it’s been declared by critics to be a masterpiece.

I’ll admit, I’m really hoping for at least one sunny day while I’m here, but even in my barely sentient state, I had to concur, I was diving headfirst into a place of resplendent beauty.

Nearly 14 hours after checking in at MCO, I had finally reached my destination. Waiting for me near the baggage check was ‘the advance party,’ consisting of my brother Donovan, my sister Charlene and four members of her ‘posse’ including her newest masterpiece, my three-week old niece.

We stood there for some time chatting away until finally my brother asked where my luggage was. I motioned to my two carry-ons and told him that was all.

“I love military people,” he said with a big smile that made his face look even more like our father’s than I thought possible.

Charlene and her kids went to run a few errands and Donovan took me to his house to get my luggage offloaded. Then we drove downtown to join the party that makes Alaska the first state in the nation annually to celebrate July 4th – which coincidentally happens to be Donovan’s birthday. The first explosion lit up the night sky at exactly midnight.

I leaned over and said, “Happy Birthday!” and my brother, who I’ve only seen in person on one other occasion when he was just 11 years old, gave me a great big hug that cut through the chill of the damp evening.

We were sitting on the hood of his SUV in a packed parking lot overlooking the water, surrounded by mountains that made each eruption reverberate with an intensity comparable to colonial cannon fire. The thick misty night air caught the smoky black residue and held it in a solid clouded column. Subsequent flares ignited the plume as showers of sparks fell to the earth in no apparent pattern. The result looked like something from a science program about the formation of nebulae. It was beautiful in it’s own way and led our conversation to encompass space exploration.

Eventually we made it home through what might be some of the thickest traffic Juneau experiences during the course of a given year. Donovan opened the birthday present his roommate had waiting for him, an expertly crafted GO game possibly shipped all the way from Japan. I started to fall asleep on the couch to a comedy ventriloquist who wasn’t Jeff Dunham and finally excused myself to go get some sweet, sweet zees.

I’m not sure how late Donovan stayed up, doing some last minute cleaning so that his bachelor pad’s bathroom would be chic-ready for me in the morning. He’s still asleep.

I guess it’s safe to say, in my family, procrastination is truly hereditary;)

Bl-ack to Bl-asics

I miss MySpace. There - I said it. Ridicule me all you like, but it was a simpler time when random strangers would read your blog and post comments and make you feel validated as a writer. You could write about ANYTHING and change topics from day to day - week to week - whenever you got the urge to write about something different. You didn't have to Tweet a Blog Link, FaceBook a Blog Link, or Linkedin a Blog Link (I don't even have Linkedin yet so I'm not even sure that's possible or advisable...) People just found your profile and read your blog - the way they used to read horoscopes out of tattered magazines lying around the Dr.'s office before Kindle and SmartPhones. You didn't need to 'specialize' in a certain topic to get people to read. And you didn't need to create an entirely different blog for writing about Yellow Bell Peppers if you were already writing about Red Bell Peppers because you were afraid you'd lose Google Rank and diminish your SEO. In fact, very few of us even knew what SEO was. We were young voyeurs in training back then - innocently peaking into each other's lives though translucent cyber windows - naively believing that That Hot Guy Who's New In Town 1)actually looked like his profile pic, 2)had never done anything like this before, and 3)wasn't looking for a hook-up cause he just wanted to make friends even though he didn't want to meet you in a public place and thought it would be better to just come over to his house at like 1am to watch movies... We didn't have list meta tags to convince people to read it because it was comedy, parody, funny, KITTENS!!!!! And we didn't have to insert hashtags to let people know #JustHowFrikinCleverWeWere. No. MySpace was a sort of Camelot for writers. Blogging was simple, fun, therapeutic. And now, just as the Romans usurped the Greeks, so too has Facebook, Twitter and other sites that people link to their Facebook and Twitter (cause let's face it, no one spends as much time anywhere else - except maybe Pinterest...)usurped the Blogga Paradise that was MySpace. That Cyber-lization has crumbled, and with it, the freedom to blog about whatever we damn well felt like writing about. Well screw it! I used to love blogging because of it's simplicity. So I'm bringing simple back. Here, Gentle Reader, you will find a potpourri of my thoughts, my Andy Rooney-esque ramblings, and maybe even a poem or two if you're lucky! I vow to write with reckless abandon and passion. I vow to write without reason - even if I occasionally choose to rhyme. I vow to share both heartbreak (ya know, if I actually have any of THAT) as well as triumph! And if nothing else - I vow to 'keep it real,' because that's what initially drew me to blogging in the first place. It was a chance to sort my real life into cohesive words and thoughts, in hopes that in condensing my life into simple written truth, I might somehow be able to find actual meaning in some of the random day to day shite that can feel so meaningless. So I invite you to join me in this humble quest. Your Average Goddess has returned (My old MySpace 'handle') - at least until the zombie apocalypse...