Setting: My mother and I were sitting on the couch with Lil-Bit lounging on my mother's arm.
Me: She's so cute!
My Mother: Indeed she is, the insolent piece of fluff!
Saturday, December 10, 2011
The Complete Story Hansel and Gretel, Retold and Revised
Once upon a time there were two children. The older was a young boy named Hansel and the younger was his sister, Gretel. They had a stepmother that loved them, but because she was a stepmother the children were inclined to hate her. One day Hansel decided to wake up early and walk in the woods, as usual he dragged his little sister behind him. She was not quite right in the head and he believed anything she told him. This was, indeed, a recipe for disaster.
As the two children skipped along the path the smell of freshly baked bread reached their little noses. The greedy little boogers turned from the path and ran towards the source of the sent. Eventually, a small cottage came into view. It was a charming little abode, with flower boxes beneath the windows and trim around the edge of the roof. The occupant of this cottage was a little old lady that sold herbs at the county fair. Gretel took one look at the house and squealed.
"Oh, Hans! Look Hans! Look! It's a ginormous gingerbread house!" The little girl could barely contain herself and rushed to the door, where she proceeded to gnaw upon the doorknob. Hansel, never to be left out on something, started licking the window sill.
"Are you hungry?" A little old lady had walked around the house with dirt on her blouse and a basket of vegetables in her arms.
"Yes, Ma'am. Very," Hansel pulled his little sister away from the door as he spoke. The old crone didn't need to know that they had been eating her house if she was going to feed them.
"Well, my name is Lillian Rain," the old lady crooned as she opened her door, showing no signs of noticing the drool on the doorknob, "What would your names be?"
"Hansel and Gretal Anderson."
"Well aren't those lovely names! Do come inside."
Once inside Ms. Rain fed the children till they were bursting and taught Gretal how to cook a few dishes. Consequentially Hansel ate more food than he should have, and gained nearly twenty pounds. Sadly Gretel was terrified of the large oven in the kitchen and told Hansel that Ms. Rain was a witch that planned to eat them. Ever willing to be a hero, Hansel shoved poor Ms. Rain into her own oven, closed the oven's door, and padlocked it. The screams were heard over a mile away.
It was those screams that brought Mr. Anderson to Ms. Rain's abode. When he arrived he found Gretel gnawing on the doorknob and Hansel crying (he had eaten so much he couldn't walk). In order to keep his children form being thrown down a volcano, he told the public that his wife had taken the children into the woods in order to be rid of them, where the children met a witch that attempted to eat them. Thanks to Hansel the world was now free of one more witch. He threw in the part about his wife (the children's stepmother), because she was starting to cost too much. She couldn't not buy shoes.
THE END
As the two children skipped along the path the smell of freshly baked bread reached their little noses. The greedy little boogers turned from the path and ran towards the source of the sent. Eventually, a small cottage came into view. It was a charming little abode, with flower boxes beneath the windows and trim around the edge of the roof. The occupant of this cottage was a little old lady that sold herbs at the county fair. Gretel took one look at the house and squealed.
"Oh, Hans! Look Hans! Look! It's a ginormous gingerbread house!" The little girl could barely contain herself and rushed to the door, where she proceeded to gnaw upon the doorknob. Hansel, never to be left out on something, started licking the window sill.
"Are you hungry?" A little old lady had walked around the house with dirt on her blouse and a basket of vegetables in her arms.
"Yes, Ma'am. Very," Hansel pulled his little sister away from the door as he spoke. The old crone didn't need to know that they had been eating her house if she was going to feed them.
"Well, my name is Lillian Rain," the old lady crooned as she opened her door, showing no signs of noticing the drool on the doorknob, "What would your names be?"
"Hansel and Gretal Anderson."
"Well aren't those lovely names! Do come inside."
Once inside Ms. Rain fed the children till they were bursting and taught Gretal how to cook a few dishes. Consequentially Hansel ate more food than he should have, and gained nearly twenty pounds. Sadly Gretel was terrified of the large oven in the kitchen and told Hansel that Ms. Rain was a witch that planned to eat them. Ever willing to be a hero, Hansel shoved poor Ms. Rain into her own oven, closed the oven's door, and padlocked it. The screams were heard over a mile away.
It was those screams that brought Mr. Anderson to Ms. Rain's abode. When he arrived he found Gretel gnawing on the doorknob and Hansel crying (he had eaten so much he couldn't walk). In order to keep his children form being thrown down a volcano, he told the public that his wife had taken the children into the woods in order to be rid of them, where the children met a witch that attempted to eat them. Thanks to Hansel the world was now free of one more witch. He threw in the part about his wife (the children's stepmother), because she was starting to cost too much. She couldn't not buy shoes.
THE END
Saturday, December 3, 2011
A Late Update On Goings On
Technically this post is not late. We are currently in a time referred to as the Holidays. Holidays. Plural. Thanksgiving is a part of that. I made deviled eggs with my mother, before visiting my grandparents, that were very tasty. The Sunday after Thanksgiving I made deviled eggs entirely on my own. They did not turn out as planned. There was too much vinegar. My father didn't mind. Black Friday was spent at home with my brother, avoiding the Black (Friday) Plague.
We have two new additions in our household collection of felines. A black male kitten named Insta-Purr and a calico female kitten called Lil-Bit. The Lady of Shed-Lots is not pleased with the kittens and hisses anytime an encounter occurs.
We have two new additions in our household collection of felines. A black male kitten named Insta-Purr and a calico female kitten called Lil-Bit. The Lady of Shed-Lots is not pleased with the kittens and hisses anytime an encounter occurs.
Sunday, November 6, 2011
And This is Good for Me?
We had vaccinations at work. A needle slid into my upper left arm and out fairly quickly, I didn't panic like many coworkers said they would have either (I'm not really afraid of needles), but I don't think it went very well. I am in pain. It feels like someone gave me a good whack with a hammer. A simple touch is more than similar to being slapped on a big bad bruise. I don't have a bruise, but my nerves must think I do. Pain really makes you think about things and come up with some good questions, including:
How can something be good for me if it hurts? That makes as much sense as a lobotomy.
Why the upper left arm?
I never knew how much my upper left arm comes into contact with objects.
Shouldn't I be able to feel less pain each year with these shots? Muscles build throughout time and repair themselves. Logically I shouldn't be able to feel shots anymore.
Will things ever STOP touching my arm?!?!
I really notice pain when it's things like shots, but I don't feel much after the numbing stuff, that is injected into me before the dermatologist removes some of my flesh, wears off. Weird.
How can something be good for me if it hurts? That makes as much sense as a lobotomy.
Why the upper left arm?
I never knew how much my upper left arm comes into contact with objects.
Shouldn't I be able to feel less pain each year with these shots? Muscles build throughout time and repair themselves. Logically I shouldn't be able to feel shots anymore.
Will things ever STOP touching my arm?!?!
I really notice pain when it's things like shots, but I don't feel much after the numbing stuff, that is injected into me before the dermatologist removes some of my flesh, wears off. Weird.
Sunday, October 30, 2011
A Blog Post About Bloging That Includes A Short Story About A Werewolf
This is me, being a terrible person. I feel really really guilty that I haven't posted since September 12th, and I have had people view this blog fairly regularly. Well, unless of course the "stats" that Blogger is providing me with aren't mine... if that is the case, I feel really sorry for whoever would end up with my "stats". Seriously though, for those of you that do read my writing, I appreciate it. To look at the "stats" and see that almost everyday one or two people have looked at my blog makes me incredibly happy. It's really easy to get depressed when I see that people haven't commented, but at least I know you're there even if you are invisible. I am not someone who comments on other blogs either, but just this once, even if you decide to never again read my blog, comment. Writers NEED to be told how we are doing. If I have terrible grammar or use the wrong "there" (or "their" or "they're") tell me. It helps out a lot. If I'm doing well tell me. Sometimes I need a little encouragement.
Now, to today's true purpose. Tomorrow is Halloween. Almost everyone has dressed up, or told a scary story around this time of year. Today's goal for me is to tell you a possibly scary story. What should it be about? Radio active kittens? Street prowling grannies that beat innocent trick-or-treating children up in allies with big purses? Spiders that can control people's minds? Narcoleptic zombies? None of those. At least not this time. Maybe next year. This year is the year of the pyromaniac 18 year old werewolf named Steve, that happens to be germaphobic when in his wolf state. He lives in 21st century London, England. It may not turn out to be scary, but we'll see where it takes us.
Steve glanced out his window. The moon would soon rise over the tall buildings, living in a tall city helped keep the wolf a bay a little longer. He flipped his lighter open, closed, open, closed, open, closed. A pointed pain began to eat at his side. It was as if a small sharp toothed animal were trying to eat its way out. He shook his head, tossing dark curls a little to the side. Groaning, Steve stood up and walked into the cellar and locked the door. The only way out now was the slightly large doggy door that lead outside. He had learned from experience that letting the wolf into his house was not a good idea. It only resulted in torn up furniture and missing house shoes. The wolf preferred to be outside where the streets were (some of them) unexplored and the meat was fresh. Speaking of the wolf, the change finished rather quickly once Steve let himself go limp on the floor. I will not describe it, as the change churns the stomach of even the most experienced individual. The wolf scrambled to its feet and shook its glossy black fur.
The wolf was a dignified member of The Committee of the Werewolves of London (C.W.L.). He liked to be called Unferth. The only thing that he had in common with Steve was black fur, in Steve's case hair, and a love of fire (the human part of any wolf was completely unaware of the C.W.L.). He also liked long walks in the park and quiet midnights with a fresh bone to gnaw upon.
Unferth padded over to the bowl of Germ-Ex that Steve had thoughtfully placed near the doggy door and dipped his paws in. Not only is fire beautiful, but it also cleanses of germs even if only temporarily, Unferth thought to himself. What he wanted was to stay inside, away from germs, but Steve had become very careful to lock the door, so indoors was not an option. Bravely he pushed through the doggy door into the germ filled place that is London.
Approximately eight hours later half of London was on fire, multiple people had been ripped to shreds, all the cats that had been outside were up trees, and it was to be blamed on the C.W.L., well most of it was. The fire was completely Unferth's fault.
THE END
Now, to today's true purpose. Tomorrow is Halloween. Almost everyone has dressed up, or told a scary story around this time of year. Today's goal for me is to tell you a possibly scary story. What should it be about? Radio active kittens? Street prowling grannies that beat innocent trick-or-treating children up in allies with big purses? Spiders that can control people's minds? Narcoleptic zombies? None of those. At least not this time. Maybe next year. This year is the year of the pyromaniac 18 year old werewolf named Steve, that happens to be germaphobic when in his wolf state. He lives in 21st century London, England. It may not turn out to be scary, but we'll see where it takes us.
Steve glanced out his window. The moon would soon rise over the tall buildings, living in a tall city helped keep the wolf a bay a little longer. He flipped his lighter open, closed, open, closed, open, closed. A pointed pain began to eat at his side. It was as if a small sharp toothed animal were trying to eat its way out. He shook his head, tossing dark curls a little to the side. Groaning, Steve stood up and walked into the cellar and locked the door. The only way out now was the slightly large doggy door that lead outside. He had learned from experience that letting the wolf into his house was not a good idea. It only resulted in torn up furniture and missing house shoes. The wolf preferred to be outside where the streets were (some of them) unexplored and the meat was fresh. Speaking of the wolf, the change finished rather quickly once Steve let himself go limp on the floor. I will not describe it, as the change churns the stomach of even the most experienced individual. The wolf scrambled to its feet and shook its glossy black fur.
The wolf was a dignified member of The Committee of the Werewolves of London (C.W.L.). He liked to be called Unferth. The only thing that he had in common with Steve was black fur, in Steve's case hair, and a love of fire (the human part of any wolf was completely unaware of the C.W.L.). He also liked long walks in the park and quiet midnights with a fresh bone to gnaw upon.
Unferth padded over to the bowl of Germ-Ex that Steve had thoughtfully placed near the doggy door and dipped his paws in. Not only is fire beautiful, but it also cleanses of germs even if only temporarily, Unferth thought to himself. What he wanted was to stay inside, away from germs, but Steve had become very careful to lock the door, so indoors was not an option. Bravely he pushed through the doggy door into the germ filled place that is London.
Approximately eight hours later half of London was on fire, multiple people had been ripped to shreds, all the cats that had been outside were up trees, and it was to be blamed on the C.W.L., well most of it was. The fire was completely Unferth's fault.
THE END
Monday, September 12, 2011
The Importance of September
Friday was the ninth of September. If you have read this post then you should know what that means. TWO YEARS!!!! The boyfriend is something special. Two years ago we barely knew each other. I still feel like I know know him well enough, but I know more than I did then.
Ten years ago (from Sunday) was 9-11. People died. There were children that waited at home for mommys and daddys that never came returned, parents that tried to contact their children, and people who rushed into the chaos to save strangers.
Dear Americans,
We have survived so much. We are young compared to other places, but we are still strong. When we lost all those lives ten years ago, we ran in to help, cried for people we didn't know, and prayed that there were survivors. People still trudge to work, children still go to school, and life seems normal. We were never the same after 9-11. Security was raised and people still cry over or are at least saddened by a picture of the twin towers, whole and complete. We'll never think like we did before. As Americans we still stand.
Sincerely,
Kara Smith
This September, this special month, remember those we lost and celebrate the lives we have.
Ten years ago (from Sunday) was 9-11. People died. There were children that waited at home for mommys and daddys that never came returned, parents that tried to contact their children, and people who rushed into the chaos to save strangers.
Dear Americans,
We have survived so much. We are young compared to other places, but we are still strong. When we lost all those lives ten years ago, we ran in to help, cried for people we didn't know, and prayed that there were survivors. People still trudge to work, children still go to school, and life seems normal. We were never the same after 9-11. Security was raised and people still cry over or are at least saddened by a picture of the twin towers, whole and complete. We'll never think like we did before. As Americans we still stand.
Sincerely,
Kara Smith
This September, this special month, remember those we lost and celebrate the lives we have.
All Things End
A tear,
glistening,
flowing,
down the porcelain slope
of her soft cheek.
For hours and hours
tears stain their way
down her face.
The sight
of the body,
torn,
distorted,
in a way unnatural,
is too much
for her little heart.
The matted
bloody fur
is stroked,
over and over.
As if to caress
life back
into the cold form
This is how she learns,
that all things end.
The loss of a friend
that still hurts,
no matter the time
that passes.
glistening,
flowing,
down the porcelain slope
of her soft cheek.
For hours and hours
tears stain their way
down her face.
The sight
of the body,
torn,
distorted,
in a way unnatural,
is too much
for her little heart.
The matted
bloody fur
is stroked,
over and over.
As if to caress
life back
into the cold form
This is how she learns,
that all things end.
The loss of a friend
that still hurts,
no matter the time
that passes.
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