Each time I walk by the “K” authors in the library, I’m reminded of how Curt and I listened to Sophie Kinsella’s Undomestic Goddess all the way through while we drove through Britain and Wales on our honeymoon, and the memory makes me smile.
We’ve been married almost a year now, and it’s been the best year of my life.
:)
…Dodger baseball pictures!
First game of 2009, whoo!
Time to dust off my extra-marital lust and get a good seven months of ogling this gorgeous man. /honks horn
Mary Murray walked the halls of the house at night, and her eyes were accustomed to its many shadows. Six hundred and six pools of darkness on the ground, six hundred and six shifting with the moon. Mary walked, and she counted softly as she went.
Three hundred and thirty as her footsteps made no noise across the library floor. Four hundred and ninety at the end of the great gallery.
Mary turned and walked up the great stairs, and there were five hundred and fifty eight. She slowed as she approached the hall where they slept, and walking, counted five hundred and eighty seven.
At the end of the hall, she made her last turn and slowly took in the shadows of the last bedroom. Six hundred was the moonlight on the lamp, and one more was the toy horse by the little bed.
Six hundred and five, and she was nearly done. Six hundred and six, and Mary shut her eyes, breathed a soft sigh of relief, and turned to rest for the night.
Behind her, the little boy’s breath suddenly caught in his throat.
Mary whipped around, and saw another shadow emerge from behind the toy horse. She watched in horror as the shadow grew, and enveloped the little boy in its darkness. Her hands clawed the air searching for a hold in vain as she screamed. And screamed and screamed.
The constable stepped outside the room, visibly shaken. He stepped aside as they took the small, sheet-wrapped body out of the room. Even so covered, he could see the red blood blossoming through, and felt his stomach turn again. He turned to look at his superior officer, and asked, “I don’t believe in ghosts, but what are the odds, chief? Happening again in the same house, and everything just like that Murray girl’s murder eighteen years ago?”
The inspector turned a stern eye on the constable. “Don’t you mention a word of that, or I’ll have you demoted. They’ve already had to call in a doctor for the mother.”
“Yes, chief.”
The two men walked down the hall, solemnly following the body movers. The door to the master bedroom was ajar, and as they passed it, the constable saw the mother sitting in the bed, rocking back and forth with wild eyes, thrashing at her husband, at the doctor, and shrieking at the top of her lungs, “Six hundred and seven! She counted six hundred and SEVEN!”
ULTIMATE Ready Evac Kit – 4 PERSON.
Dude. Ai told me about this website called The Ready Store (www.thereadystore.com), and now I want it. It’s all I want. All I can think about. If Curt doesn’t want it, I’ll have to leave him.
;) Well, not really. I can put a lot of this together myself, but how awesome to have it all ready for you?
Strange doings down on the farm – Issues & Ideas – MiamiHerald.com.
Love Carl Hiaasen. WTH is wrong with people?
Finn bent over and clutched her knees, fighting to catch her breath. On her shoulder, Sergeant Pepper clucked and whirred. The noise that came out of him sounded suspiciously like laughter. She shot him a look.
“If I wasn’t…out of breath…I’d wring…your…neck!” she panted.
He shuffled back and forth on her shoulder and cooed, “Pretty bird!”
Finn scowled at him. He hopped from her shoulder and alighted onto the rail. The sun, which had been so reticent since the day Finn woke to find she was entirely alone in the city (world?), came out now, bathing the snide little bird in light and showcasing the brilliant red and blue sheen of his feathers. The long river of empty gray concrete that had once been a freeway overpass stretched off into the distance, disappearing into the horizon. The beauty of it wasn’t lost on her, but Finn sighed for the lonely look of it.
Still, crying hadn’t done any good. She shrugged, knowing well the loneliness would surge if she let it. Instead, gripping the handles of the bicycle she’d just pulled up the overpass with her, she climbed on the b
bicycle.
She pushed off with her foot.
She didn’t have to pedal at all. The bicycle rolled, slowly at first then swiftly picked up speed until she was nearly flying. Panic, exhilaration, vitality all poured into her, churning, and finally spilled out of her in a tremendous shout of glee.
So KEANE is coming to town in May! :) I’m excited! It’ll be my first non-classical, non-80s band concert! (Not that those symphonies and 80s concerts weren’t awesome!)
Since Curt doesn’t like Keane (he likes weird music), I will most likely be going by myself. I used to go to all sorts of things by myself; it’s been awhile, so I imagine I’ll be gunshy, but once upon a long time ago I wanted to go see Amos Lee play at the Galaxy, and nobody wanted to go with me, so I didn’t go and he hasn’t been back since and it makes me sad. Let that be a lesson to me!
I’m not an un-self-conscious person. Take my bike ride to work every morning. Let’s see if I can find that picture:
(I don’t wear the mask anymore, because it scratched my face.) But the helmet is still around. AND the bright orange safety vest. I hunch over my bike a little bit, and my unsightly belly chub makes itself entirely known to anyone who passes me in the 6.2 miles between our apartment and my work. At least once a week someone points at me and laughs. If I’m honest, this always hurts my feelings a bit. Then I tell myself I only care because it’s hardwired. I am, after all, a descendant of ancient socializing apes, with all the inherent social assholery that entails.
(And if I’m entirely honest, it’s not like, even if I never said so out loud, I have not ever made fun of how other people look. There’s that mean ol’ nasty ape again, bearing his nasty head. It takes a better person than me to rise entirely above that sort of meanness.)
I push myself to do these things that make me uncomfortable, because I know if I let myself be, I would almost always take the path of least resistance. It isn’t a good way to live. Taking a little risk now and then is good for the soul.
Of course, that doesn’t mean I’ll be bungee-jumping any time soon. Those people are fuckin’ nuts.
;)
I was dragged to this by Curt. I mean, it’s three hours on a week night, plus it had only gotten mediocre reviews from the media (haha) and family members.
And then I loved it.
Because you know, that Nite Owl II? WHAT A FREAKIN’ HOT SON OF A BITCH. I was getting all into that little make-out scene on the couch he was having with Silk Spectre II, when Curt hisses behind us to some asshole kids to be quiet, and then I’m like, “DUDE YOU JUST GRANNIED ME OUT OF MY ENJOYMENT OF THIS!”
Grrr.
Anyway, it was good. Go see! ;)
After Dora uproar, Nick and Mattel soothe moms.
Do people freak out over nothing, or what? I mean, I would understand it if Dora was turning into a Bratz doll, but she just looks like a little 10-year old girl! What’s the big deal? HEAVEN FORBID SHE GROW UP EVER!
I have homework to do, which means it’s the perfect time to wile away the hours making useless lists! Yay!
2021 Comfort Movies In No Particular Order