Tag: stories

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A Weird Experience You’re Not Meant to Care About

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I felt I would explain a strange occurrence from earlier this evening on a drive with the betrothed.  For once, the sunset was actually decent, so we went on a drive and I took the camera to document.  At one point we ended up on a beach (featured here) which, as it is March, was, albeit beautiful, ice-cold on the fingers to take pictures of.  When we returned to the car, my fingers eventually got their circulation back, but the cold decided to re-locate to … Continue reading

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Death & All His Friends

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We all do it eventually, but there’s something about dying that seems totally unfair to me.  Something besides the never seeing anyone you love again or their ever again seeing you.  It’s that, as a storyteller, I will never be able to sum up my death in a few (or a bunch of) words, or make a joke about its irony if applicable.  I don’t by any means want people to joke about my death (you jerks), but as someone like me would tend to … Continue reading

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Excerpts

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We don’t talk to Scoobi about Santa Claus. Not since the heart attack. Something about having sat on Santa’s lap moments before his vital organs began to expand and contract in violent spasms causing him to collapse in a sweaty heap on the cottony fake snow surrounding his chair that makes the whole Christmas season eternally unsettling to a child. Share the post “Excerpts” FacebookXShare… Continue reading

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Funkalicious!

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I have this tendency to laugh like hell when I’m in high-drama situations. And not a nervous giggly laugh. More like a haughty and amused laugh of adrenaline, accompanied by a large and overbearing smile which is probably scary and/or confusing to those around me. Honestly, I’m sure I prefer it to the other options people face — panic attacks, fainting, rage leading to violence, utopian bliss, nausea, heartburn, indigestion — I’m just not quite sure where I came to develop this sort of reaction. … Continue reading

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It’s all presentation.

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I’d like to write a story about my life, but then I think to myself: what’s the point, if I’d never get to write the epilogue? I think the book, if I did decide to write it without the proper conclusion, would have to be a collection of short stories. My life is never continually interesting, as I’m sure many people’s aren’t. I’d break it into 20 or so defining moments (or just some clumsy memories that are somewhat idyllic), and streeeeetch those stories out … Continue reading

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Happy Birthday, George

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Ah, the stories we have from growing up. A lanky, flat-chested, pimple-faced girl of 12, I would sit on my front porch (the back patio at that point was yet to be built) reading magazines, books, whathaveyou. Always reading. And George, an older boy who I’d known seemingly forever in this neighbourhood, would happen by sometimes and ask what I was reading. Often I was reading things I planned for him to ask me about. He was good looking. Tall, skinny-ish, dark hair… the rare, … Continue reading

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