Windsor

I haven't really written in a while so I'll make an entry now. The problem wasn't not having things to write about, but rather having too many things. I haven't been able to organize my thoughts at all. It feels like there's a million marbles in my head all vying to go through one slot.

I try to write everyday. Writing is like a siphon for my mind. It helps me organize my thoughts and think on events, beliefs, theories, anything in a different way. Some people call it "looking from a different perspective," others call it a "sociological imagination." I don't care what it is. I do it for my own good.

Well, let's start with traveling. I'm craving a new environment. I need to go somewhere not familiar, some strange, foreign place where I can walk and know that I don't have any cares or worries here. I absolutely love meeting new people. If you talk to a person long enough, they will tell you their greatest memories or worst nightmares. Talking to Strangers will do that to a person.

I was on a train to Windsor sitting across from an elderly couple. For the first twenty minutes, we ignored each other, smiling friendly, laughing at something over heard since there was no point in denying that the comments were not heard. A friend sat next to me, chatting merrily. The gentleman was the first to initiate the conversation.

"May I ask what part of the States you ladies are from?"

He had a strong Irish brogue. If I didn't have a grandfather with a similar accent, I probably would not have understood him. My friend didn't until I answered.

"California. This is our first time overseas. England is beautiful."

"Oh dear! California!" the woman exclaimed. She had a rosy complexion and a twinkle in her eye. Her face showed her years of happiness. If and when I grow old, I want to look like my life was well spent and loved.

"We were in California years ago," she continued. "Robert, here, was in her Majesty's Royal Navy. The ship was getting supplies in San Diego. We stayed there for two weeks."

At the mention of San Diego, my friend and I went into all we knew of the place. Luckily she knew more than I did, however, when Emma said they went to Los Angeles, I cut in. Mind you, the Los Angeles she saw and the Los Angeles I know, are two different places.

Robert talked a little more but Emma gushed happily about their time. Robert had taken off his jacket and that's when I saw the Navy tattoos. His arm was covered in what people today would equate it to "Old School" Tats.

When I went to England, it had only rained two days out of eleven, in the Spring. The sun had shone clearly and the clouds weren't as thick as they usually were (we were told). It was bloody cold for a California girl like myself but the Brits were comfortable in shorts and t-shirts. I got laryngitis in the "good" weather.

The train ride ended too quickly for my taste. Emma and Robert were wonderful people. Robert offered his arm to Emma and they departed the train, down the road that led to Windsor Castle. My friend and I met up with our group after that. To give you a timeline, this all happened a week before Charles and Camilla's wedding. We saw people preparing for it as we walked around.

If I wrote the New Dark Shadows Movie...

If you don't know about what Dark Shadows is, do not worry. You will. A couple months back, Johnny Depp announced that he had boughten the rights of the show and planned to make a movie. He said that he had always wanted to play the character of "Barnabas Collins." It probably is better if you do not know a lot about the show before going into the movie. It'll be your first taste.

So if I wrote it (and hell directed it, too [I'll go the whole nine yards]), this is how I would start it and continue it. Not going to write all that I "plan" to write, but you'll get an idea.

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Pretend you're sitting in the theater. The previews have just ended and everything is black. You start to hear the faintest sound of a flute. It sounds almost like a faint whisper. Then you hear a voice.

"I remember..."

The voice is hoarse like he hadn't used his voice in years...which at the end you'll find out its been 175 years... It has an accent, not quite British, but not modern American.

"I remember when I was young, a man, still truly human."

The screen is still black. However you see that the blackness is lifting and revealing a beach. It's blurred, but still recognizable. A cliff is seen in the distance. The narrator is back.

"I remember my family..."
"My father, Joshua. My mother, Naomi. Little Sarah, my sister."

"And Josette."

"My lovely Josette."

You can hear the narrator sigh and almost feel his anguish through his voice.

"I remember the sight of the ocean when looking out from Collinwood, the smell of the sea and flowers of Martinique."

Another pause. I'll really lay down the suspense.

"Martinique. That island paradise where all of this started. The days lasted lifetimes. The nights were the happiest I've ever known. "

The camera moves to show the audience the sea. An old ship is coming in. The camera zooms out so you see the sea, the ship, the beach, and the back of a woman standing on the beach, watching the ship come in. (Got all that?) The woman is beautiful with porcelain skin and long blond hair, pinned in curls. She turns her face a fraction towards the camera so that you're able to see her grey eye. Narrator returns sounding very bitter.

"Until she sailed here to Collinsport."


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And that's it for now, folks. Yay or Nay?

Tips for Guys who want Girls

Really these should be on every guys "To do List" even before they step out of their house or apartment. Here's what myself and friends and friends of friends look at. I've down my research.

• Look in the mirror before you walk out. Make sure you don't have mustard or ketchup or anything other food product, hair product that stands out, or anything unpleasant. Girls don't like a messy or dirty guy!
  
• Check your breath. That is one of the biggest peeves and turn offs. Who wants to kiss someone whose breath smells like a sewer or rotten food? EW.
  
• Check your body odor. Again a girl does not want to hug someone who smells like they haven't showered. Smelling good will get a girl closer to you quicker without even trying. If you smell good, that is one of the biggest turn ons for a girl.
  
• Make sure your clothes fit. Not too baggy but not tight. Women like to see what their getting, not what they think their getting.
  

So just some simple pointers. I've had guys who have approached me who were very cute or handsome, but smelled horrible! I gagged.

The Man down the Street.

I see this man everyday, sitting on his porch. I've walked past his house a dozen times. I'd stop from time to time and make conversation. In the mornings, he'd sit there with a mug of steaming coffee. I'd see him wave to certain cars as they pasted, probably neighbors or acquaintances. He always wore a flannel shirt with jeans; simple, comfortable clothing that showed his age and gave him an air of having lived in the mountain regions. I later found out he did grow up in a mountain region. In the evenings he sat with a glass of some liquor. He'd drink beer, straight rum or vodka, or mezcal.

I moved away from that place years ago. Recently I went back and walked those familiar streets. The man was on his porch. An old collie was lying by his side. It looked up with rheumy eyes as I approached them.

"Sir."

I always greeted him that way. Though he never served, he had the same posture and manner of a military gent. He chuckled and raised his left hand in greeting. The collie laid his head back down on his front paws. I noticed the house needed to be painted badly. The wood of the porch had some rot spots.

"Lass. What are you doing 'round these parts? Last I heard you were up at that big University studying all kinds of gruesome things."

"We'll learn the gruesome when we get out of the theory aspects. Most of my courses are all in bloody theory. I can't wait to be out."

"A year more will go by quickly."

I nodded. He reached for a cup on the railing. He was drinking mezcal. I could smell it from where I stood. The man was not an alcoholic. At least, I didn't think so. I had only seen him with one glass a day. If he drank more when he went into the house, no one knew about it.

The silence grew a little awkward so I prepared myself to leave. I knew it was the last time I would see him. I had did what I needed to do in this place so there was no reason to come back here.

"Hold on a min."

The man got up unsteadily from his feet. He reached for a cane and walked into the house. The collie got up, also, and followed him. I was curious. He had never given me anything before. He walked back out, something small clasped in his hand.

"Here."

It was a ring. It had a black onyx stone set in pewter. Two red crystals were positioned north and south of the onyx. The ring was heavy for such jewelry. It was beautiful.

"Well, put it on," he said gruffly.

It fit perfectly on my middle finger of my right hand. I tried to give it back to him. Surely he had family who would miss such a ring? He refused to take it back. I thanked him and stepped away from the porch. He waved once and sat heavily back down on his chair.

For all I know, he's still sitting there. I still have the ring. I did some research and found that it was made in England. Whenever I wear it, I think of him.

Truth through Lies

I have started this blog in an exercise to decrease boredom. Believe what you want. I'll write about my adventures, plain and simple or exaggerated; I'll write about nonsense that just floated into my dark head during class, the night, while I'm running, anytime.

Enjoy yourself. Settle down with a cup of tea or something stronger if you prefer. Relax.