Get the lead out...

I miss writing with pencils.

I know that sounds strange coming from someone who spends most of her time on the computer typing. But I do. I don't know why.

I miss the smell of the pencil shavings. I miss the smoothness between my fingers (I always used the round pencils, not the hexagonical ones - and is that even a word?). I miss erasing my mistakes with a white eraser - not a red one, a white one because it left no trace.

I was always one of those kids that as SOON as the point on my pencil rounded out, I would rush to the pencil sharpener to bring it back to its former glory. I HAD to have a sharp pencil, or I wouldn't use it. I would use the mechanical pencils, if I had to. But they always seemed cold to me. And of course, as you get older, you use pens, because, let's face it, ink is permanent.

Can you imagine signing important documents in pencil? The risk of it fading, or being erased? Of course not. But I prefer lead to ink. I find, even with my "good" pens, the ink pools in the tip and leaves blotches. Or it runs out and the refills are either expensive, or a pain in the ass to find.

And of course, there are all types of pencils - they come in colours and patterns and decorated with sparkles or kittens. The variety is what makes it half the fun. These days they even have Smencils, pencils that smell of grape, or bubble gum. (I have a grape one).

I still buy pencils. I try to use them whenever possible. I have about six of them in my desk at the office, and they're all sharpened, in a "pencil" case. LOL. No, it's not one of the ones like you used to get in school. This is actually the case that the "designer" pencils came in.

I've been using pencils lately, and while there are a few things that I probably will have to go over in ink, it's a small, but important link to my childhood. One that I won't give up.

(Thought it was gonna be a profound entry huh? :P )

Stay sane inside insanity ~ and never forget your towel.

Pimpin' a Blog Post

So, I haven't had much time to post lately, and I have SO much that I want to say. But for today, I shall keep it short and sweet.

There are days I manage to make it to every person's blog on my list, and then there are days when I just can't do it. Today was one of those days. Work was crazy (read: no time to slack), so I just started surfing when I got home, although it IS my anniversary and I should be spending time with the hubby.

So, while he is out indulging his nic fit, I shall toss this out to you, my wonderful friends.

You might have heard me speak before about A.D - the Ambulance Driver. He's not only very informative with regards to (um, hello?) medical issues and the lot, but he's also incredibly witty. And, in addition to this, he is also the BEST Blog Pimp that I know. It seems like every third or fouth entry involves a reader, a friend, someone who needs help or attention to their cause.

And he's done it again.

With the many friends we all have with connections to the military, I'm sure that one of us would eventually post about this. (My bet would be on Dixie or Sarge).

Pop on over to YIKES! and read about Operation: Love from Home 2007. If we start now, imagine how many kids won't feel so lonely this holiday season.

Peace and love (promise a longer post soon!)



Stay sane inside insanity ~ and never forget your towel.

phantom kisses

in my heart
i kiss those lips
gently, passionately
yet in reality
they've never met mine

in my heart
i kiss those lips
and whisper a broken
Goodbye

he doesn't need me
he never did
no more playful notes
no more deep toned calls

i can read between the lines

was it all in my head
were the feelings real
was i just a toy
was i just a game

i knew the score
when his soul touched mine
he never could be anything to me
except what i made him

phantom kisses
will haunt my heart
for what should have been
that can never be

for what i dreamed
that will remain in dreams
for what my heart wished for
that will remain silent yet true
and ungranted

in my heart
i kiss those lips
and whisper a broken
goodbye

©Angell September 2007

One Fallen Dove

A work of fiction - done when I was YOUNGER. (so much more so than I am now)



The sound of the rocking chair on the creaky floorboards echoes eerily through the deserted corridors of James Hall. The approaching dawn bathes the floor in a soft pink light. All the doors are closed, as no doubt the co-eds are sleeping off the night before. A soft chuckle emits from the rocking chair as the occupant gazes at the hallway of closed room doors and remembers....

It wasn't long ago that he was part of the group who were locked behind those doors. They were young, they were friends, but most of all, they were alive. From all different sorts of backgrounds: upper class, lower class, Catholic, Atheist, Italian, Arabic. Social barriers had separated them at first, but they quickly discovered that they were all alike, no matter how different they may have seemed. "These are the best years of your life.” he had been told, and he had believed them. So, off to university he went, apprehensive, yet excited at the prospect of freedom. It was a concept his life at home did not allow him to fully explore, or experience. He did, however, have extreme regrets about leaving HER behind.

She was the one girl he wanted, and the one girl he couldn't have. His best friend, and fantasy, she was already taken. He had only been at university a few months, and although he kept himself busy by working hard and trying to see other girls, he missed her like crazy. But he HAD to keep in mind (for his own sanity) that they were just friends. Yet it was not possible. She had come to visit on her exam break, bringing with her (much to his dismay), her boyfriend and two others. Still, he was ecstatic to see her, regardless of who she was with. "We'll go anywhere you want to go." he had told her. When she asked for ideas, his first mistake was to mention Kelly's, a local bar, that was holding a their weekly promo night. Twelve dollars for all you could drink, and OH BOY! Did she ever. Assisting her back to the dorm room, it was ironic that her boyfriend should be there, when he had her where he always wanted her - in his arms. He wanted her to stay a few days longer - just her, no one else. But of course this did not happen and the following day, he kissed her cheek and wished them all a safe drive back.

As their car faded into the distance, he turned from the window, and forced her out of his mind. He sat down to do his art homework, and life went on as usual. The pub parties, the classes, the endless all-nighters, and of course, the homework. But he still found time to think of her.

It was a cold Thursday in February when his roommates, Keith and Ron, opened the door to his room. The three of them were so close, that they had been officially nicknamed The Three Musketeers, and they tried whenever possible to live up to their name.

"Comrade Aramis! Get thy nose out of that book and let us journey to the local tavern and get thee wasted!" Ron hammed it up with broad gestures and a deep theatrical voice. It was once again everybody's favourite night - twelve dollars for all you could drink. He threw a pillow at the door, laughingly stating "Journey to get thee wasted and raise a glass for me, for alas! I regret I cannot join you in your merriment. I've got this major paper due for English, and I have no time for frivolity."

If the truth were to be known, the paper was already done. He just couldn't take the memories of the last time he was there with her. The pain was too fresh; he missed her more than ever. She was constantly in his thoughts. As much as he tried, he couldn't get her out of his mind. Her image was permanently embedded in his brain, and he couldn't figure out a way to erase it. Keith and Ron were perplexed.

"Very well friend. But thy presence shall be missed by the lovely maidens and thy comrades." They waved as they went into their separate rooms to change. And just as he was going back to his book, he heard her voice.

"Hello Aramis. How art thou?" His eyes shot up and drank in the sight of her figure lounging in the doorway. He closed his eyes tightly, as if she were a mirage, and figured that when he opened them, she would be gone. When he opened his eyes and she was still there, his jaw dropped open in surprise.

"HELLOOOOO NURSE! What are you doing here? Who else is with you?" he asked, mystified. She giggled, and he blushed.

"You call THAT a greeting?" she teased. "Well, I'm here to see you of course, and I'm all by my lonesome. Nobody else could afford the time off." She flew into his arms and held onto him tightly. He felt uncertain as his strong arms circled her trembling body, and she began to cry.

"Ssh. What's wrong sugar? Don't cry." he soothed. She pulled away and swiped at her eyes. "I might as well tell you. He and I, well, the reason I'm here alone is that we broke up." She took a deep breath. "Last week." He felt guilty as a jolt of surprise (and pleasure) ran throughout his body.

"Why?" That one simple syllable set her off crying again."I guess he couldn't take being tied down." she sobbed incoherently. "He wants to be `just friends'." She spat the words out in disgust. "I came because I really needed to be with you, my best friend." She gazed up at him, her big brown eyes overflowing with tears. She seemed to be so vulnerable, so yielding, yet so inviting. He had to do SOMETHING.

"Porthos! Athos! Get thy butts in here!" They came racing in, took one look at the helpless girl in their roommate's arms, and looks of concern crossed their faces. "What's up boss?" They chorused in unison. "Call Whitney, Trevor, John and Phil. We are all taking my baby for a night on the town. And if I have anything to say about it," he gazed down at her lovingly, "this little lady here is going to have the time of her life!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"I had a great time tonight.” she whispered as he helped her into bed. "Good." He pulled the blanket under her chin and kissed her forehead. As he turned out the light, he didn't hear her light footsteps as he felt her arms steal around him.

"Please stay." she whispered. She was drunk, depressed, vulnerable, and oh so tempting. She was begging for his company and he saw the plea in her eyes. As much as he wanted to make her forget all about what’s-his-name, and hold her all night, he had to do what was right. While his mind and heart were violently arguing, he lifter her in his arms and carried her to the bed. Once again, he laid her down and kissed her; only this time it was different.

“I love you.” He said. “I always have. And when you wake up in the morning, I’ll be here, taking care of you. For now, and always. Have sweet dreams my princess.”

That was the last time he saw her.

She was still asleep the next morning when he awoke for his first class. He dressed silently, as so not to disturb her slumber. He scribbled her a quick note to let her know he’d be back soon. A quick knock on Keith’s door let Keith know that she was still asleep, and to keep the noise down.

He grabbed his books, put on his Walkman, and walked out the door. Led Zeppelin tunes filled his head as he began the cross campus trek towards the arts building. He never saw the car, never heard the high-pitch squeal of the brakes or the loud blare of the horn, and never felt any pain…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As the alarm clocks begin to sound behind the closed doors, the occupant remains in his seat.Creak, creak.

“Another day of hell, eh Keith?” Ron’s voice carries to the silent occupant as the door to room 306 opens.

“Yeah, I guess.” Keith’s voice is despondent. Ron doesn’t have to ask the reason for his misery. He clasps Keith on the shoulder.I know pal. I miss him too.” He gazes directly at the painting above the rocking chair, of doves released from their cage and soaring to freedom. He always said that it symbolized their release from university and being set free to explore the world. Painted by their missing friend, the absent Musketeer. They stand in silence for a moment. The occupant rises, reaching out to embrace his friends, but to no avail. He grasps air instead. For more than social barriers separate them now.

More than a world separates them now.

The occupant sinks back into his chair, knowing that he is forever destined to rock alone but for his memories.

As Keith continues on his way to the common room, Ron hears a noise from the rocking chair.It sounds distinctly like someone sobbing. He once again gazes at the painting.


And remembers…………© Angell 1994

Now I've Seen It All

I came across this article on the MSN homepage this morning.

French adulterers have a new ally in web-based alibi service

That takes the cake of anything I've ever seen.

For those of you who can't click the link

PARIS (AP) - Looking to get away for a weekend fling without getting caught? A new French company provides would-be adulterers with custom-made excuses that help take the danger of discovery out of cheating.


JENNY BARCHFIELD


Founded six months ago by former private eye Regine Mourizard, web-based Ibila can cook up invites to phoney weekend seminars, fake emergency phone calls from work, invitations to nonexistent weddings - anything to justify a cheating spouse's absence.

Mourizard said her service is aimed at protecting couples and families by allowing adulterers to live their flings undetected.

"If the alibi is well done and the spouse doesn't suspect anything, this can sometimes save marriages," Mourizard said in a telephone interview.

Here's how it works: In an e-mail message or call to Ibila, the prospective client requests an alibi for a specific date and time. Mourizard concocts just the right excuse, taking into account the client's profession and personal circumstances.

She and her co-worker, a computer specialist, draw up fake restaurant and hotel bills, receipts and other documents to help shore up what Mourizard calls her "little white lies."

If the adulterer was supposed to have been away for a seminar, the company can even provide the kinds of freebies - pens, hats and T-shirts - sometimes given at such events.

Mourizard said that because of privacy issues, she could only give details about one of her past clients, whom she called "Geraldine."

Married to a "strict man," Geraldine was desperate to get out of the house for an hour-long meeting with an ex-boyfriend who lived abroad and was briefly passing through town.

"This man was practically the love of her life and she had to see him," Mourizard said. Together, they hatched a plan.

Geraldine owned a driving school, so on the appointed day, Mourizard called her home pretending to be a student who needed a last-minute lesson before her driving test the following day.

"The husband totally bought it. He even offered to get the car out of the garage for her," Mourizard said.

The simplest excuses - like Geraldine's - cost US$27, while more elaborate and time-consuming alibis can run upward of $200.

Mourizard insisted her business is completely above board because she concocts fake bills from invented companies, hotels and restaurants and does not doctor or forge real documents. She also requires clients to sign a document pledging not to use her materials to swindle their employers or the French government.

Upon request, the company can handle the logistics for clients' secret rendezvous, from making hotel reservations to booking train and plane tickets. Ibila also offers to buy gifts, so that suspicious purchases at flower, perfume or chocolate shops don't appear on clients' bank statements.

Most of her clients - about 60 per cent - are men, Mourizard said. They range in age from 25-60, but most are in their mid-40s.

Mourizard, a 50-year-old mother of two, said it was her experience as a private detective that led her to open Ibila - Europe's second such service, she said.

"For 20 years, I worked to keep people from doing what they wanted to do. And I then thought, 'What if I help them do it, in a safe way?' "

Following a "very amicable" divorce from her first husband, Mourizard remarried two years ago. Asked what her spouse thinks of her new business, she said: "He thinks I have some pretty bizarre ideas."

Is he suspicious when she gets strange phone calls or receives unexpected invitations in the mail?

"No, he trusts me completely. And I trust him. I mean, if he were cheating, I'd find him out in a second," she said.


I guess that's the one main issue with cheating - someone always gets hurt. But then Europeans tend to have a more lax view of cheating than North Americans - at least that's the way I've always understood it.

In the Italian culture, the men have ALWAYS had mistreses, or girlfriends, commonly known as goomare (am I right Vinny? You're more Italian than I am). Sometimes they have more than one. The point to the extraneous relationships is to satisfy their base, dark, kinky desires. To some old school Italian men, to have their wives perform oral sex on them is unheard of - that's the mouth that kisses their children. It's too dirty for them to do (although if they asked the women, I'm sure they'd find some more than willing to do so).

Now, I haven't done extensive research on this, simply cuz I'm too lazy to do it. But I believe that North America is one of the only nations where monogomy (*sp?*) is the norm. Can you see this spilling over into our way of life - paying someone to concoct alibis so that you can go off for a weekend with your lover?

Definately better than the frantic phone calls to alibis "DUDE - I was with you all weekend fishing ok?"

SIGH - I think I'll stop here.

Comments? Thoughts?

Stay sane inside insanity ~ and never forget your towel.

Doin' it up NW style - HAWTand SEXAY

WOOO - let me tell you, NWP (Northwest Protection - my security crew) staff knows how to do it up hawt! Don't matter the venue, don't matter the time - we know how to make it all count baby!

On Saturday, three of our guards had a birthday (yes it was all their actual bdays), and so after an eventful Brad Paisley show (such a thing does exist), we decided to head out and celebrate and blow off some steam. Thirty of us decended on a bar on the Lakeshore and basically took it over. Once we all got there, we didn't let one song pass without most of us on the dance floor.

Rod met me at the bar, and told me he had a pretty damn good time. WOOO. BONUS. :D Personally, I think he got a kick out of seeing me on the dance floor - it's been awhile since I've had an abundance of willing partners - both male and female. Here's a shot of me with two of my faves - two brothers who are the most amazing guys - and it was a BLAST.

Mostly when I go out with friends, the girls are the ones dancing, the guys stand back and watch and drink. But the guys I work with don't give a shit how much alcohol is in them - they don't care if they have white man sydrome (and most of them do). They just get out there and GO. As we say they "get it done, son".

At one point, I had all three birthday boys, and one brother surrounding me (here's the pic - you can't see the shit eating grin on my face, but kiddies trust me, it was there).

I had the best time in a LOOOOOOOOOOONG time. We're doing it all over again the weekend of the 21st. Actually, we're doing it TWICE that weekend. The West Enders (those of us that live out in "booniesville") are getting something together for the 21st and then we're all getting together after the last show on the 22nd. Maybe we'll do Sloppy's again. Who knows?

The only thing I DO know is that if this keeps up, I'm gonna have one HELL of a hockey season.


Stay sane inside insanity ~ and never forget your towel.