Saturday, August 29, 2009


It's happening!!!!! she thought excitedly, hunkering down a little more securely into her paper cup as the rumbling underneath her confirmed her cause for elation. She looked up at the violet sky and the twinkling stars, admiring their beauty and brightness as she felt the pressure building beneath her. Her paper cup rocked on waters that were steadily and swiftly becoming less gentle.

Without warning, jets of water shot up beneath her cup, hurling her vessel toward the sky. Higher and higher she surged, her giddiness threatening with every passing second to overcome and consume her. She turned her eyes back to the violet firmament, which seemed closer and more inviting.

Her giddiness peaked into ecstasy as the heavens opened its arms and gathered her to its breast, spilling her cup and sending it back to the sea empty. She sailed ever higher, head thrown back, eyes wide open, and heart beating against her ribs. She had no thoughts for her discarded vessel or the water that propelled it.

The violet deepened into black as she ascended, the moment when she, too, would twinkle down at the earth rushing to meet her. As she and her moment collided, her heart, no longer able to contain this bliss, ruptured. She smiled beatifically and threw hear arms open to surrender her body to the supernova. Her soul blazed brightly among the stars, joining them forever.

I've made it

Wednesday, August 26, 2009


I let my head roll back, and around, stretching out the kinks. Relaxing. Preparing. The fire burnt small and bright before me, waiting. Relaxing. Preparing.

I felt the emotion draining out of me in rivulets; tiny, slick drops like beads speeding their way like quicksilver to the fire. Feeding it. I directed my attention to the small aperture they'd found, widening it, slowly turning the rivulet into a raging torrent. I felt surprised for a fleeting moment that i could be such a vast reservoir of conflict. Surprise dropped into the rapids, running out of me with all the others, and rushed toward the fire.

The fire took me in greedily. It became more vivid, more itself without changing at all. It gained in presence until the few meager flames felt like they were taking up the whole world, and pushing against its confines. It was wrong to immure a fire this way.

My empty vessel sat before this tiny everything. I opened myself up to it, and took it in, catching an evanescent glimpse of the fire's trueself and scale. I recognized myself in the fire, and wondered at my immensity as it rushed into me, first in rivulets, then a raging torrent. It entered and filled me easily, but didn't burn. It was only me, and i was imprisoning myself.

Monday, August 17, 2009

Madame Bovary, Book 1 of Angie and Christie's Literature and Blogging Project

The story is about Emma Bovary, married to a dull-witted, doting doctor whom she despises. Emma becomes heavily depressed and disillusioned by the banality of married life, due to her ideals of love and passion that were heavily influenced by romance novels she read during her upbringing in a convent.

As if daily life weren't already depressing enough for her, she is given a brief glimpse into aristocratic life when she and Charles are invited to a ball at the Marquis' chateau. Life only becomes more dismal and boring after the ball, and Charles relocates them to Yonville, which he believes will cure his wife of her malaise. He does not realize that she blames him for her boredom and depression. A few months after moving to Yawnville, Emma gives birth to a daughter, Berthe, whom she mostly ignores after birth.

She then embarks on several flirtations, and eventually two affairs in order to fill the loveless void in her life. As she grows bolder in her adultery, she begins incurring massive amounts of debt, which she struggles to hide from the poor, unsuspecting Charles. When the debts are called in and judgments are made against her, she opts to commit suicide by ingesting arsenic, rather than face her husband and suffer his forgiveness.

I found Emma difficult to sympathize with at times. No matter what she's given, and whom she is taking it from, she always wants more. Her appetites for love, spirituality, and material possessions are insatiable, and eventually bring about her ruin. I watched her make her inexorable march to her destruction, and it was painful to watch her sink into that kind of inevitability.

Charles was the one i had the most sympathy for. He always supported and loved Emma, no matter how badly she was treating him at the time. He did his best to ensconce her in the sort of lifestyle she expected to live in, though she was never quite happy with what he provided her with; and she never loved him nor appreciated his devotion toward her.

I love classic literature, but this one was a challenge. It took me over a month to finish it, and it was the only book i was reading at the time. In the beginning, i found it difficult to become interested in. But after sitting down with it, i found i could read it for brief periods of time, and that it was enjoyable if read in this fashion. In spite of this, i would definitely recommend reading it.

Tuesday, August 4, 2009

I Think My New Puppy Is Half Cat

She crouches and lies patiently in wait, knowing Bean will be coming around the corner at any moment; the clicking of his too-long toenails gives his position away. The poor, unsuspecting Bean walks right past her, oblivious to his impending danger- a mistake he is about to regret. Her patience rewarded, she springs up from her crouched position and pounces onto his back! Bean thrashes around, dislodging her easily, and she lands on her feet, strafing a little to the left. She wheels around on him and rears up on back legs, batting at his face with her front paws. Now that the element of surprise has been lost, he beats her back easily with short jabs of his rapier-like nose to her exposed belly, growling and baring his teeth at her. She arches her back, looking as though she's going to redouble her efforts at subduing him, but darts off instead.

With the infinite patience of the habitually bullied, Bean turns toward the couch, which she is both too small and too uncoordinated to jump up on yet, and makes good his escape. She watches him, unable to contain her frustration, and throws herself repeatedly at the couch, her protesting whines sounding remarkably like, "No fair!!" to my ears.

Regaining her composure, she stalks off to lie in wait again. The battle may be lost, but the war is far from over.

Monday, August 3, 2009

When Men USED To Be Men

When someone says "rodeo" to me, the scene that pops into my mind is clowns dashing around a dirt ring, trying to distract a living Mack truck from making ground beef of a fallen guy in a pair of chaps, a hat, and a shield-sized belt buckle. Rugged, Skoal-chewing, filterless cigarette-smoking, dust covered, five-o-clock-shadow-sporting manly men daring the wrath of the beasts they ride. Stetsons and lassos, testosterone and dung, accents and animal noises. And, of course, country music. This is what i remember the rodeo being like.

Sometimes ESPN plays the rodeo, and i watch it. You know, just to satisfy that East Texas itch i sometimes get since i left. My husband found it today when he was flipping through the channels, and we watched it for a few minutes. . . and i have to ask-

What in the blue FUCK has happened to the rodeo?!

When did the manly men get replaced by umpire-mask, padded flack-jacket wearing Nancies?! Elbow pads?? Seriously?? Now, i'm not saying i enjoy seeing guys get hurt. This is why i don't watch the rodeo regularly (well, one of several reasons). But it seems to me if they didn't want to risk suffering injury they should be sitting behind desks or giving PowerPoint presentations or something. I mean, when it comes down to it, is an elbow pad really going to save you? No. You just look like your mom said, "Not without your elbow pads, Bobby, you know how nervous i get," and you meekly submitted to her demands (and by this, i mean handed her your balls to keep in her purse).

But that wasn't the worst of it. The final insult: in place of the country music we all associate with cowboy-oriented sports, they were playing "Tricky" by Run DMC. Now, under normal circumstances, i'd pick Run DMC over Waylon Jennings any day of the week. But it doesn't make a suitable sound track for a manly sport like the rodeo! Even for this watered down Rodeo Lite, i would expect to hear some sugary-pop Carrie Underwood type country music. Run DMC is just. . . well, inappropriate! It'd be like showing up to the X-games and enjoying some nice Phil Collins in the background. It just isn't right!

And that about sums up the whole few minutes i was able to stomach before outrage set in: It just isn't right.

Sunday, August 2, 2009

My Zombie Apocalypse Survival Plan

1) Get myself to a Walmart and fortify it. (Why Walmart? Because Walmart has everything, including food, camping materials, guns, ammo, any other survival tool i'll need, plus entertainment for those inevitable lulls in action.) Preferably one with an attached gas station, like the one in Merrillville.

2) Bring a few friends and people i dislike who are slow. The slow jerks will distract the zombie masses while my friends and i make our getaway. Friends are key to avoiding LMoE Syndrome.

3) Practise, practise, practise before the attack! Ammo doesn't last forever, and each head shot scored is bullet saved!

4) Do not plan for rescue. If I can't count on my government to rescue its citizens from fuck tons of toxic water in one relatively small city after a storm, I can't trust them to bail me out out from under mountains of the living dead.

5) Do not plan for escape. Escape to WHERE, for fuck's sake?! Sure that van in the parking lot's big enough for all five of us, but where would we go that's safer than a Walmart? Nope, this will be Christie World for the forseeable future.

6) For the love of God, man, don't grant access to stragglers who've come upon my safe haven! Chances are, they've been bitten and they're hiding it from me! Besides, they're probably douchebags who'll think that once they're inside, they should have a say on how shit's run. This is MY house, fool.

7) If a member of my party is dumb enough to try to leave the safety of my Walmart, i will not grant them re-entry, as they will likely get bitten, and try to hide it from me. I won't consign the rest of my party to a future of zombie buffethood, after working so hard to avoid it in the first place.

8) Start stockpiling now. Notify those you plan to bring with you now. Get organized now.