Beary Sad Story

People! I have to tell you something. Thanks to Stacy's friend Farhad who called me yesterday and informed me that Stacy had you virtual friends who would (maybe) be wondering what happened to her. He told me how to get here and i am not a techie, so bear with me. Shit, did I say bear? It was horrible really. No, she didn't die from the flu or the Theraflu. I read her last post. Yes she had a bugger of a flu, yes she took way too much Theraflu. She went to the doctor and the doc said her heart was skipping a beat for every beat it thumped out. She told her to switch to the daytime stuff and then she seemed to bounce back to almost normal as usual self in no time.

And then, like she mentioned. . . the bear, it was back.

This time the bear was bigger than any we had seen. Bigger than the one who carved up Billy Bob last fall, way bigger.
Maybe that's why she got sick in the first place. All night long, night after night the barking of the dogs, me running around trying to get pictures of it (it was beautiful), but in the morning she wasn't very happy. All of the bird feeders had been torn down. . . flowers trampled, tree branches broken.
So , last Sunday, on the full moon she snapped. I tried to stop her but I couldn't, it was too late.

The bear came back. Stacy rolled over in her sleep and said that she thought the bear just needed a little peanut butter and honey sandwich. It was hungry, that's all.
Right, I said as I rolled back into my dreams, sure she was kidding.
I heard the door creak then close and I ran to the kitchen.
A knife, peanut butter and honey stuck to it, sat on the counter top.
A giant jar of peanut butter. A honey-bear dripping honey and a half a loaf of bread sat next to the knife acting all innocent and unprepared for what came next.
She wasn't in the kitchen though.
I opened the front door to run after her
at the very instant
I saw the bear bite off her head.
What was she thinking?
The woman was nutz! I really miss her though.
Just thought you ought to know.

Scooby

Wine, Truffles and Theraflu
480 x 320 - 117k - jpg
www.merakohblog.com

One question:

Where was Scooby Doo when there was work to do? Where?

Maybe he suddenly came down with a sore throat and head cold which fell into his lungs. Fast. Fever, aches, started Saturday night, after the Blessing way for the lady who is set to give birth any day.
no time for Flu, so. . .
A pot of Miso and seaweed with rice and red pepper. Doses of vitamin C.
Homeopathic remedies, echinachea, lobelia drops and Three doses of theraflu.

One dose and venture into a deep dreamless sleep, beyond the next world.
Awaken feeling groggy and a little lighter. Another dose. The heart pounds the snot dries up, the lungs turn to tissue paper sails in a giant tropical squall. Then sleep, a little less deeply.

Awaken, delirious and prepare the third dose of the pharmaceutical witches brew that sends me into stranger's bedrooms and lands between the land where no one walks or dares enter.

Trying not to breathe on Tate, who is resting next to me on our fluffy feather bed, I'm not nice enough to sequester myself to the cold hard beds of the guest rooms.

between awake and dreaming, I notice the vibrations of the words playing in my head and on the television set across the room. They intertwine and separately weave their vibrations through my heavily drugged body. All negative words and sounds affect me, I tense, all over, breathing changes, contracts. A negative thought, does the same. Our brains are taking in over 2 billion bytes of information per second, consciously we are only aware of 2 thousand. Subconsciously we are still affected by the sounds and thoughts we are not concentrating on. This reminder as I am beginning to catch myself in repeated negative banter with myself, WATCH YOUR THOUGHTS.
Would you say the mean things you say to yourself to anyone else? Your sister, best friend, lover, child? Why would you say them to yourself?
Why?

So, I turn to Tate, as my heart beats uncontrollably in my chest, trying to escape "Can Theraflu kill you?"
"If you drink three glasses of it, it could."

I am still here. The bear who came back full swing has moved on, spring is happening, statistics is over-got an A, have another paper due for another class, haven't started, my mom is in Md. visiting-I won't be able to get there, a baby due, shop busy, tate needs papers done and I am thinking about doing my taxes NOW. BUWAHAHAHA
Maybe another drink of Theraflu would do.

Sonic the hedgehog

I really have much to write about, but again, too many things to do at one time.
The memory is a mine field and the bombs have been going off like mad.
I procrastinate writing this simple paper for yet another mind numbing class, and I IM my seriously funny son- the Avi-meister.
I just told him I was considering getting back on antidepressants from these mind weed troubles. He said go ahead, he'll start shooting heroin in return. End of topic. Eavesdrop if you want. read it, it's hilarious.

me: i dont see anythin
Avi: http://www.thesun.co.uk/sol/homepage/news/expats/expats_news/article1009799.ece
Sent at 3:25 PM on Monday
me: funny, poor sonic
hey, could you guest host my blog?
I am too stressed out to blog
Avi: what?
youre trying to outsource your blog?
me: people do it all the time
Avi: im buying my blogsite today
www.avi-tellafriend.com
me: they should be free
Avi: whatever. 10 bucks a year.
me: i am serious, you know how to get in to my blog, just sign in to google as me, then hit my account and blogger
go tell them about the hedgehog and mom too stressed out to do anything or something
Avi: i have to work on my short story. anyways id just steal all your subscribers and redirect them to my page
me: AVI, I need to write this stupid paper
all 3 of my friends! ha
Avi: dont make a difference to me
ill steal em
me: OK, I am going to post before I write this dumb thing.
Avi: no youre not
write it now. because its your fault i procrastinate. its your parenting. lead by example bum
HA
me: you cannot blame that on me, no way not goin there
Ok help me
I have to write about open ended questions, the hypnotists style, not a problem
but
i have to create a survey topic, then create 3 open ended questions for it
give me a topic
i can do the rest
only a 2-3 pager
Avi: bird feeding
me: What can you tell me about bird feeding?
Have you ever created bird feeding places in your surroundings
Avi: i dont know. i dont feed a bitch, pigeons!
me: be serious you said do it so I am
should people feed birds?
OK that'll do, now we must quantify their answers, when respondents say I dont feed no pigeons we throw hedgehogs at them
Avi: yes. negative reinforcement
actively force and rewrite the homeostasis of the planet
me: no, it is positive reinforcement, taking away the hedgehog is negative, they have to have something subtracted
Avi: whatever
me: punishment is the throwing of the hedgehog
dammit now you are keeping me from my paper.
Sent at 3:41 PM on Monday
Avi: nope
im buying my website
youre wasting my time

Don't Cry For me, OK?

I'm sorry to say this will be my last Blog. Things have been a bit tough lately and life is getting shorter and shorter every day, and I want to take time and smell the roses. So, I am going to travel full time with a biker gang to see the country and enjoy life while I still can. Don't worry about me - they all seem like really nice people.



Thanks cuz!

First Love

Stuart Stein aka my first boyfriend and still one of my silent heros


Review Summary http://nytimes.com retrieved March 20, 2008.

Baltimore artist Dan Keplinger is the focus of this documentary short which first appeared on HBO. In 1985, when Keplinger was 12 years old, filmmakers Susan Hadary and Bill Whiteford began recording his life and periodically checked in on him over the next 13 years. Afflicted from birth with cerebral palsy, Keplinger was six years old when his parents divorced; his father wanted his son institutionalized, but his mother, Linda Ritter, insisted on raising him to lead as normal a life as possible. At 12, Keplinger was sent to a school for youngsters with disabilities but two years later, after a close friend died, he and his mother decided that a mainstream education was best for him. He had already begun painting by using a brush attached to a head brace. Laura Moore, a young student, befriended him and helped to tutor him, and his work began to appear in shows. During his senior year in high school, he moved into his own apartment, determined to be as independent as possible. Keplinger was accepted into the art program at Towson State University, outside of Baltimore. There, he met some resistance from several faculty members in the art department,

but Stuart Stein, an artist who was also a teacher at the university, took Keplinger under his wing, and Keplinger graduated, even managing to complete his sculpture requirement with the help of a computer. King Gimp won the Academy Award for Best Documentary Short Subject at the ceremony honoring 1999 releases. ~ Tom Wiener, All Movie Guide


Hi, I do not know exactly, what possessed me to check in on you on Google today, but I did. I learned of the "Gimp" movie and story just now. I don't know why there are so many things about you I fail to keep up with but I do know this- You are simply amazing. Way back then when we were so young, the arguments we had when I said I wanted to grow up and touch everyone I met. You would tell me how impossible and naive I was. Now, so many years later I learn, you are the one, who touches everyone with your divine and deep, deep heart. I am beyond words but not tears, love- S

What is The Point?

I miss this place, but yes the Statistics and the rest of life is keeping me busy doing things I'd rather not, but the material flows nonetheless

OlD decrepit man, well past 85 hobbles in through my shop door. The quiet afternoon sun pours through the store front window. A familiar, uncomfortable sound, high pitched and whining reaches me at the other end of the room. A sound that makes me want to cover my own ears, to escape its hideousness, the sound of hearing aids being run under water. The microphone feedback when the speaker is too close or filled with some sort of static electricity maybe.
Saying nothing, I watch as he limps through the motions, readjusting his cane in order to hang his hat and coat on the peg on the wall.
I nod to indicate hello, and point to the chair where he may sit.
I cape him and grab a clean comb.
I ask,"doesn't that ringing hurt your ears" incredulously.
Old man looks and me and replies, "ARE THEY RINGING?"
A smile spreads across my face.
Thankful for the muse in my daily routine.

Dog Tales

Worse than the cat lady is the sad little woman who tells you stories about her pesky little dog; good thing I don't do that, right.
A few months back, Kramer the infamous R.A.T. terrier, began feelin mighty oatey. We were in the office supply store.
Kramer eyes every customer who passes us in the aisles to make sure I am safe; his job 'To protect and to eat'. He spies uniformed, raging hormone man; 'To serve and protect'. Kramer puffs up as he stares the manly man down, then lifts his leg, to let him know who's boss.
I caught him in the nick of time and snatched him into reality, then put him in my car to wait obediently while I finished shopping.
Unbelievable the adolescent hormone thing of the 18 month old un-neutered male dog.
I was shocked by this new indoor behavior, he began lifting his leg in the most inappropriate of places, like my shop.
Yes, he goes to work with me nearly every day. I've taught him a few manners, to stop licking people incessantly and jumping into their laps when they sit in the styling chair.
But now, he seemed to have forgotten a few ground rules- HE LIFTED HIS LITTLE LEG ON ONE OF MY WAITING CUSTOMERS!
Sealed his un-neutered fate that day, I kid you not.
I scheduled him to be fixed. funny term, fixed, altered, neutered, and I told him too.
Tomorrow, you are getting your nuts cut off buddy, this testes thing is over for you.
The surgery went well, two days later he thanked me, really. He said he felt much better now and he didn't feel driven by his raging hormones anymore.
He hasn't lifted his leg inappropriately since.
But this was kind of funny.
Yesterday I took him for his two week follow up at the Vet. . .
We walked through the door.
He looked up at me and asked, "Are they going to sew them back on now"?