Mint Chocolate Chipt

It's like an orgy in the mouth. But you want to be careful how you order that shit. Something just shouldn't be put together. Like marshmallows and root beer. I avoid that one like the plague. Chocolate and soda pop is a bad one for me too.
It feels good on the tongue, this ice cream.
How much more do I think I can eat? You're asking the wrong person.
But what would you do for a Klondike bar?
I've never had a Klondike bar before. I LOVE ice cream.

I was feeling chilled to begin with. Now this ice cream's given me a whole new batch of shivers. But it tastes SO GOOD. Then I've got some Butter Pecan waiting. It's Edy's Butter Pecan, but we'll see. (So far, I'm convinced that Hagen Daas makes the superior Butter Pecan. But I can't officially say this until I've tasted other Butter Pecans.)
I must curl up. Much like Chico. Get toasty warm and get some sleep. Right after I finish off this delicious ice cream.

Don't forget to bring a towel!

Oh Towelie. You are touted as quite possibly the worst South Park character ever. Yet your catch phrases speak volumes. (Especially this pic which has made its way onto t-shirts 'round the world)

I identify with you, Towelie. Because I too, have no idea what's going on. And my eyes may well be just as red. But at the moment I don't have access to a mirror.

Oh, I suppose I could get up off my ass and go check. But why? Regardless of my eye-color I still have no idea what's going on. And I still feel just as lost. Ah-- But wait! I've never been lost, just a might confused, as the blog's title suggests. And then we come full circle when you think about how people often equate feeling confused with feeling lost. It suddenly becomes ironic.

See, now that's what 6 years of studying/analyzing literature will get you. What magnificent things my college education has done for me.

And the night is young yet. Plenty of time get even more confused. Then I'll be back here with a veritable buffet to help treat my munchies and ramble on incoherently. Gotta love blogging.

Want Some Cheese with Your Whine?

Maybe it's not really whining. I don't know. It's not even the mean reds. I'm not sure if it qualifies as the blues either. I don't know what color it is, but right now York patties and International coffees are my best friends.

My cat was put down Friday. I still feel relatively numb, to be honest. Like he isn't really gone. We just put his life on pause and he'll be back when he's healthy again. Although I did almost cry in the vet's office when she stuck the needle into his arm and told us it was okay to talk to him as he went. Anything I could've thought to say, Milo already knew.

I haven't heard anything from Jim today, and I'm worried if he's okay. Things didn't sound promising when I talked to him last. We had enough chamomile to relax a shetland pony and before leaving he instructed me not to worry about him if I don't hear from him this morning. (Just saying that is a loaded omen in itself)

Add to this the start of my Red Nemesis. And all the lovely shit that comes with it.

I'm certainly in need for more chamomile, I think.

Hunter Thompson's ashes

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/entertainment/4168266.stm

6 months after his suicide, Hunter Thompson's ashes were shot from a fist-shaped cannon at his home, Owl Farm. Johnny Depp paid for the cannon. Hunter's wife is noted to have said that he loved explosions. (Any one who's familiar with Hunter's writings knows how true this is)

It was a private event-- BBC was there to cover it. Take the above link to check out the full article.

Dry Roasted

Actually, the baby powder not only smells nice but it also helps against chafing.

My nails have got to stay together. I spent too much time growing them to lose them now. Holy Ghost, I've done this before.
"You're shitting me."
"No, Dude! For real!"
So we followed the sidewalks for a while. Not entirely certain of where we were going. Nor were we certain of what we were saying. It was like some queer, faraway dream. And it had nothing to do with homosexuality. That's okay. People understand this.

My dog squats like a kangaroo.
But then I've never seen a kangaroo squat.
What does this say about my dog's squat.
Now in your mind, you've already got a picture of a dog even though I haven't told you what kind of dog it is. Might be your own dog. Might be Toto.

I need to watch Wild at Heart again. That was a funny movie.
This jack symbolizes my individuality and represents my belief in freedom of choice.
Or something like that.

Jim brought me a lovely little stone from the HighGround memorial. It's got the dove on it. He also brought by stuffed crust pizza leftovers. I'm gonna eat pretty damned good tomorrow!
Plus I've also now got a shit-load of butter rum life savers. Oooh yummy!

In sadder news:
Milo's no longer with us. We put him down Fiday. Such a long day. I feel bad that I didn't make the decision to put him down earlier. He looked like he was in such misery. But the struggle's over now. You've been released, Milo. Buddha bless.
* * * *
At this moment, I want to sleep I think because I want to get up at a decent hour to get ready for work. Actually have breakfast rather than let Mike eat all my Strawberries & Cream Instant oatmeal. It should save on vending machine spending. But wait-- There is a strawberry cheesecake bearclaw in the machine at work. If it's still there, of course I'll have to have it.
"Gotta watch my girlish figure."
Jim told me to get some sleep. It shouldn't be hard to do right now, she thought as she giggled. She didn't realize how dry and sticky her mouth had gotten until after she took something to drink. Did I have a good day at work? I'm to have another good day at work tomorrow.
If I wait to long on this I'll be in worse shape than before. Falling asleep at my cubicle.

Another time, non?
Oui.

Bangtail Cat is Born

I've realized the folly of my sloth and deleted the 6 degrees blog (No one was reading it, I don't think and I realized that I do my best brainstorming on a note pad) So I deleted it
And turned around and created a new blog.
BUT-- This new blog will have PURPOSE!
"Bangtail Cat" is in reference to Kerouac, Ginsberg, and all the other beat writers and the language that they used.
The blog itself is meant to serve as a sort of: 'What I'm currently reading and what I think of it'. Book Reviews? That almost sounds too staunch and confining. But just saying "This is what I'm reading" it allows me the freedom of opinion. I mean, I'm a fair-minded person for the most part.(at least I try to be) But like anyone else, I'll develop favorites and want to gush about them.

Still,
It'll have PURPOSE! and FOCUS!

I'll get the link up on the sidebar soon. Promise.
Until then: http://www.bangtailcat.blogspot.com

The Coveted Mongoose

I've been pricing bicycles in order to find out if I should repair the old Murray, a 15+ year old bike, or if I should just get a new one. I popped in to Wal-Mart the other day to see what they had and the above bike caught my eye. There began the Mongoose Fever.

The bike is priced at $99 and some cents. As far as we know, the repairs on the old Murray could run up to $70. We're not for certain yet. The fellows at the bike shop on Main Street charge $15 for a chain and $10 labor. And then brakes- With labor it's like $30/$40. But that's still cheaper than a new Mongoose. There was a Wal-Mart bike there priced at $54, but if I'm going to get a new bike, I'd like to make it a Mongoose. Y'know-- If I'm going to have to buy a new one, I ought to make it a good one.
Then something crystalized in my head: Put the Mongoose on the X-Mas list. No further decisions can truly be made until the Murray's been pulled down and looked at.


But I still want that Mongoose.

Pot-Heads?

Yes, yes. I'm a little late finding out about it, but there was a Harry Potter convention back on August 2nd. Doesn't do me much good as it's over-seas in Britain. More than 200 fans from 25 countries came to this thing. So I suppose that says something about my degree of obsession with the book. More accurately, however, it says something about my pocket book.

Shamefully, I do not own the latest Potter installment. Nor do I have it's predecessor, Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. Although if I'm patient, I can have these two plus the final installment and be able to read them all in one great, big satisfying marathon.

It so very fitting to have the convention in England. Like how they have the Anne Rice Vampire/Halloween party in New Orleans. But I imagine there'll be some here in the states before long.(If there aren't already and I simply don't know about them)

I've often entertained the idea of being able to go to England. I think it would be too cool to spend a week or 2 out there.

Speaking of British Authors and young adult fiction... I MUST get my hands on Arabat, Clive Barker's new young adult fiction series. I've seen it at the library, but I kept telling myself I'd buy it. But, alas-- I keep hoping and waiting for a day when I'll have money for it, but that day seems to keep getting further and further away.

"When I get a little money, I buy books. And if there's any left over I buy food and clothes."

Well said!

TS Elliot's letters

I wish I were rich.
T.S. Elliot's letters to his godson Tom Faber are being auctioned off. Here's the BBC story:
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/entertainment/4142558.stm

They're expected to sell for 30-40,000 pounds. That's about 54-72,000 in American Dollars. Pshew! That's a lot of green! If I were rich--I'll pause here so the potential of that idea can be laughed at--Suffice to say, I'd love to own them, I truly would. But-- As is so often said: Wish in one hand and shit in the other. Or in the immortal words of Luke Duke(Tom Wopat, not Mr. Jackass): "If wishes were horses, beggars would ride."

I Think My Blog Just got Spammed

Check out the comments on my "Day by Day" post.
I'll confess, I was excited by the comments and the promises that their friends would be coming to read my blog. But as I continued to look them over, I realized something.(Thankfully before I took either of the links)

I've been spammed. I've never received spam in my blog comments and wasn't aware that it was possible. But then again, I was foolish enough to think I couldn't be spammed via ICQ either. (Don't kid yourselves. They do it. Ad nauseum. I had to quit that shit.)

Little bit o' something new every day. Keeps life fresh, really.

The Freshmaker.

Taking it Day by Day

The start of another lovely week. The writing is slower than I'd like it to be, but I assure myself it's merely a temporary block. It's one of those things that's gonna be tough and very slow moving, but once I get the right spark-- BAM! I'll be off and running again. Like the proverbial wind.

I really don't want to call it writer's block. It's not that I can't write at all, it's just taking me longer to come up w/ something. i.e. 5 pgs in an 8 hour day rather than the typical 10) But I think the creativity works that way. Like waves. They come in huge, foaming and abundant. Enough ideas to drown you if you don't get them on paper quick enough. Then to have the ideas receed and you have to keep treading water until the next wave.

My Freemont Mountain Man story is still in the many stages of revision, but I'd venture to say it's in better shape now than the first draft. I tinkered with it over and over and over and over Thursday until I became officially frustrated with it and had to do something else.

Friday we took a bike ride and then rode the Cassville Ferry. Just to enjoy the ride. The ferry was cool.
What was once a mosquito bite on the top of my foot has become a blister of some sort. Jim gave me a heavenly foot massage Sunday night(I've never had a foot massage before) and he noticed the blister. "Want me to pop it?" "Will it stop the itching?" If so, I was all for it. But he couldn't guarantee it. I could not for the life of me remember whether or not popping blisters was a major taboo. Or if it's about the equivalent of picking scabs.(It won't hurt you, but it might leave a little scar)
Enough. That's yucky. The blister part, anyway. The foot massage was wonderful. I have such big feet, though. My sister was blessed with little feet. I wish we could switch feet.

ANYway....
Little Chiclette's giving me the sleepy eyes. I think I averaged about 3 hours of sleep the other night, so turning in early's looking kinda good.
Clive Barker and a glass of Kool Aid. Yup, yup. I'll be out like a light for sure for sure. Not that Clive is boring(Quite the contrary). It's just the act of reading itself is so relaxing and I'm a bit pooped already.

Peace!

Reward Systems and Egg McMuffins

Things are starting to happen in the novel-- I've reached the coveted 'Part II'(Which in and of itself doesn't say much because it's completely arbitrary) But in terms of desired length, I'm about 1/3 of the way there.

I'm afraid to eat peanuts because I just heard a story yesterday about some fellow who gorged himself on peanuts at a party. In the night the peanuts tried to come back up unsuccessfully and ended up choking him and he died. Insert shiver here

It's a curious thing, though. That I can listen to stories about peculiar deaths befalling real people and get the shivers. Rotten.com totally grosses me out. Yet I can write almost a full page description of a mutilated dead cat in this novel of mine. And I find most horror movies genuinely entertaining.(lest they contain spiders) I suppose the key there is fiction vs. reality. It genuinely interests me in fiction. But when it happens in real life I shiver, shudder, and in some cases get nauseous. I suppose Rotten.com is sort of an extreme example. I don't know.
This might be a good thing--A sign that I haven't lost my empathy.

Aside from this self-dissection(But then, isn't that what blogs are for?)
I narrowly escaped a family reunion this weekend.
I've been dotted with insanely annoying mosquito bites from just standing in my driveway Wednesday evening talking with Jim.
Chicklette has an on-going love affair with peas.
I've been away from the Sims for 2 days now. And smoke free for 7 months.
I'm using the Sims as a treat now. I'm a fan of reward systems. And I believe in them.

Do you believe in magic? And if you do, you'll always have a friend wearing big red shoes.

I've Been Hooked

I've been out of the loop for a while as far as celebrity gossip goes, and now, thanks to DListed I'm re-hooked. Oh, sure I get my British Vogue Daylies, but there was a point there where I'd stopped reading them. I'm not sure what the last tasty tid bit was other than their excitement over Madge posing for Vogue. I guess she's no longer a Versace girl and now, for the life of me, I can't remember who the new Versace girl is. I think it's Demi Moore. Could be wrong.

I caught an episode of Hogan Knows Best yesterday. Interesting stuff. They did a fine job of editing as Terry "Hulk" Hogan prepared to 'get in the ring'. They did it in such a way that you can't be sure if it was entirely staged, to what extent it was staged, etc. Just a bit of choice clipping and voice overs of the family talking about how great it is to see the Hulkster 'do his thing'. "He's got the gift for gab," his wife said. Amen brother.


In other news, I'm still hard at work here writing. My little bug eyes dancing with their caffeine jolt, preparing for another six hours in front of a computer screen. (Possibly more) There. I just felt them twitch. Time for a refill.


"There just palpatations for God's Sake!"

They Tell Me You Can Smell Them a Mile Away.

As I'm writing this, I'm also printing out my recently finished short story: "What Would Kelly Do?" For some reason, I'm just now wondering about the appropriate capitalization. (Should 'Would' and 'Do' be capitalized?) HOWEVER--
I'm thinking it doesn't matter since it's a play on the WWJD ancronym and this would help emphasize it.
It's a story of two girls, Kelly and Angie. They're best friends, but Angie harbors this secret jealousy-- The sort of jealousy that blosoms into hate. ie: I hate her for being so perfect. The irony of this is, Kelly is far from perfect. She's a bubble head. And Angie's desire to follow Kelly's template puts her in a less than desirable situation. I'll leave it at that because this thing might--No-- This thing WILL be published, and I don't want to spoil the ending for you when you read it in Alfred Hitchcock's Mystery Magazine where they'll pay me $0.75 a word. It's a 3,453 word story. The math is beyond me at the moment, but I'm certain it won't hurt anything. Plus, I'll be HUGELY famous.

No sir, it doesn't cost a thing to dream.
But pride does go before a fall. So I'll stop there before I can't fit my head through the door to post this outstanding piece of suspense fiction.