I took this little test from off of a MySpace bulletin. Supposedly, the fears listed are the top seventy common fears. I find it hard to believe that people are afraid of numbers. Advanced math, sure but odd and even numbers? That just sounds so bizarre! Anyhow, take a glance at the list and tell me which fears affect you.

I Fear…

[x] The dark
[ ] Staying single forever
[ ] Being a parent
[ ] Giving birth
[ ] Being myself in front of others
[ ] Open spaces
[ ] Closed spaces
[ ] Heights
[ ] Black cats
[ ] Dogs
[ ] Birds
[ ] Fish
[x] Spiders
[ ] Flowers or other plants
[ ] Being touched
[ ] Fire
[x] Deep water
[x] Drowning
[x] Losing Control
[x] Embarrassment
[ ] Failure
[ ] Success
[x] Thunder/lightning
[ ] Frogs/toads
[ ] My significant other’s parent(s)
[ ] Flying in planes
[ ] Mice/Rats
[x] Jumping from high places
[ ] Snow
[ ] Rain
[ ] Wind
[x] Cross hanging bridges
[x]Death
[ ] Hell
[ ] Being robbed
[ ] Falling
[ ] Clowns
[ ] Large crowds of people
[ ] Men
[ ] Women
[ ] Having great responsibilities
[ ] Doctors, including Dentists
[ ] Tornadoes
[ ] Hurricanes
[ ] Incurable diseases
[ ] Snakes
[ ] Sharks
[ ] Friday the 13th
[ ] Ghosts
[ ] Poverty
[ ] Halloween
[ ] School
[ ] Trains
[ ] Odd numbers
[ ] Even numbers
[ ] Being alone
[ ] Becoming blind
[ ] Becoming deaf
[ ] Growing up (aging)
[ ] Monsters under my bed
[x] Creepy noises in the night
[x] Bee stings
[ ] Not accomplishing dreams/goals
[ ] Needles
[ ] Blood
[ ] Being raped
[x] Abandonment
[ ] High speeds
[ ] Throwing up
[ ] Falling in love

Total: 13

If you get more than 30, then counseling is strongly recommended!
If you get more than 20 you’re paranoid.
If you get 11 - 20 then you are normal.
If you get 10 or less you’re fearless.

I normally find prank calls to be just obnoxious and poorly contrived but I thought this was pretty clever and good for a chuckle. I’d be willing to bet cash this was this poor telemarketer’s worst experience on the job, hands down.

I have been writing and rewriting this poem for ages now. I still don’t like it, with the exception of the last line. Does anyone have any suggestions for it? For those who aren’t sure, it’s a poem about realizing the futility of making the same mistakes over and over while praying for a different outcome. All suggestions welcome.

Hope can be a hindrance.
It’s agonizing to realize
my reality has atrophied;
my life is built on lies.

Truth offers no comfort
as it seeps into your brain
but clutching dead dreams
can only drive you insane.

Delusion, my sweet addiction,
makes me crawl back for more
and I relearn the bitter lesson:
hope is a foolish whore.

That time has rolled around once again. The ‘Question of the Week’ has come upon us once again and I’m looking forward to finding out if you are a people person and why. At the chance of sounding like a completely antisocial witch, I can honestly say that I am not. Looking back, I have always kind of been that way. I remember when I was in preschool that I gave my Mom a hard time about going because I didn’t like my classmates.

I also tend to be socially awkward. I am able to get along with many different types of people and blend in quite effectively but I am not comfortable going out of my way to introduce myself to strangers.

The problem is that I just don’t know what to say. I abhor trying to be witty and fun under pressure. Perhaps I am just a wierdo, really but I’d rather get a root canal than endure small talk about politics, sports, or god forbid, the whole fashion/Hollywood scene. (Yuck, just yuck.)

I’ve also found that I don’t have a whole lot in common with most of the women I meet around here. I hate to say it because it does sound so snobby but they tend to annoy or bore the hell out of me. Perhaps I need an attitude adjustment. Maybe I need to bite the bullet and learn to tolerate discussing designer shoes and Britney Spears without wanting to put a gun to my head. Then again, maybe I just need to just relocate to my own planet. I hear Mars is nice this time of year. So, are you a people person? Why or why not?

I’m feeling more like myself now. Thank goodness! I’ve been scrambling to catch up with everything that I’ve let go while I was feeling the brunt of the illness, like laundry but as busy as I was, I still found the time to give my girls a lovely little bubble bath this afternoon. Well, mainly because my youngest decided to try peanut butter and yogurt as a hair tonic but in any case, they went off into the tub and something amazing happened.

My daughter, Victoria, hit the water and she suddenly decided that she was no longer a little girl but a snarling, roaring water beast. She spent most of her bath going back and forth between terrorizing the figures in her Dora the Explorer bathtime playset with her inhuman howls and laughing hysterically at how slick she was at fooling us all into thinking she was a monster.

Fear me, for I am Monsterface! *RAWR*

As you can see, Alia is quite impressed with Victoria’s acting skills.

There is little on this Earth that’s as amusing as watching a child discover the magic of make believe. It gives us a glimmer into a past we’ve often forgotten long ago, filled with infinite possibilities and wonderment. What a precious gift my child has given me today.

Round and round and round she goes… apparently, I’m suffering from a horrible affliction known as Vertigo. I am still but the room is not. It’s quite maddening. The worst part is that it is hard for me to read or write without feeling seasick so, I’m hoping you all will bare with me for a bit. My body is having technical difficulties.

I’ll be back to write replies to comments but I just spent a good portion of the day and night in the Emergency Room and I’m wiped out. Besides, I can’t stand to look at this screen a moment longer. I feel like I’m aboard the SS Minnow!

I don’t normally talk about things like television but sometimes a show hits me as being so mind numbingly bad that I can’t help but ask, “What the hell were they thinking?!” I was unlucky enough to see a reality TV show called The Millionaire Matchmaker on Bravo and it was beyond horrible; It’s like diarrhea for your eyes.

The premise sounded interesting enough: A show about a matchmaker that only services rich clients but it all goes downhill from there. You see, although the emphasis is supposed to be on finding ideal partners, the matchmaking service itself is a joke. The woman running the service picks women who are shallow, status conscious, elitist, pretty little succubuses for these men to choose from. They are the kind of women that these men don’t need a matchmaking service to meet. All they would have to do is go to the nearest trendy club with a bank receipt to pick up these kinds of chicks.

The woman running the service has all the charm of a rabid hyena and even less tact then one. She even had the audacity to show up at a client’s house and reprimand them for staying in an average house, in an average neighborhood (which she refers to as a ‘ghetto’.) Then tells him that no one would dream of dating a man who was such a cheapskate (even though he also had a few five million dollar condos in the states.)

He is a fool if that didn’t make red flags pop up in every direction. Isn’t the point of a millionaire seeking true love to find a partner who loves them for who they are, rather than what they have amassed? If you need to flaunt your wealth and prestige to attract a person, you are attracting the wrong kind of person. There’s my advice for these gents, now where shall I send them my bill?

There was this campfire story competition that I entered back in January. For those who don’t know, a campfire story is one where you take turns telling a story. Each person starts where the previous person left off. They are a lot of fun and I suggest trying one if you enjoy writing. Anyway, I found out yesterday that my addition to the story won!

Of course, I ended up spending the entire amazon gift card on the kids but I bought a movie that was on sale that I think we will all enjoy. I still have to write my story for Claire’s Short Story Contest. Don’t worry Claire, it’s in my head. I just have to type it out.

Ever wonder why very few people read poetry these days who aren’t poets themselves? This is a poem about the horrible epidemic of bad poetry that’s invaded the small press. Literary Mags need to worry a bit less about being trendy and put a little more effort into publishing high quality writing because I’ve seen poetry published that was so bad that I wanted to gouge out my eyes with a spork.

You create a jumbled heap
of depthless jargon
that you pretend
holds some
obscure meaning
by spilling
fractured statements
of fluently regurgitated
random thoughts
onto paper.
Stylized incoherent rambling
is the latest trend
eaten up by mimics
of literary genius.
Poetry’s evolved into
a literary freak show
comprised of
soulless globs
of brain fodder.
You’re a fraud
peddling snake oil
under the guise of art,
making buyers skeptical
of all our wares.
Wrap it in ribbons
of pseudo intellectualism
but shit still stinks
no matter how
you present it.

Nothing lightens the mood like little kids! It’s the baby brigade featuring two of the cutest little girls in the world (If you couldn’t tell, I’m quite biased) and their handsome little nephew. They all enjoyed a play date today and totally wrecked my bed. They dissected it, piece by piece until it was bare and then played in the pile of sheets and pillows on the floor. They were about halfway done rearranging my bed when I snapped these shots.

Aiden, my Sister’s son is on the left and my eldest little prissy pants princess is on the right. Her hair has flourished practically overnight. She has such beautiful curls. I am jealous!

The Three Stooges posed for this one but at the last second, Victoria looked down. I decided it would have to do though, because there isn’t a single other shot that doesn’t have someone facing away from the camera, someone’s finger jammed up the nose, or a blurry motion shot. *sigh* I really need to learn how to work a camera better!