Everybody cut, everybody cut....

So last night at my job at the hoity toity music venue here in town, some of the ushers got in trouble for dancing. Apparently it is unprofessional for ushers to actually enjoy one of the shows they have to sit through. I will point out that the entire audience was also dancing at the time and that not one of them turned around and upon seeing the ushers enjoying themselves with such abandon gasped in shocked indignation at the unprofessional behaviour.

They were too busy enjoying themselves.

God, I can't wait 'til Folk Fest.

(yeah, if ya didn't get it - the title's a reference to Footloose where they had to go across the tracks to do any dancing)

Sappy vs. romantic ... and other tirades

I am sappy. I write wistful and sad posts about people (and places) far away. I also write happy, affectionate and often thankful posts about people I love. Jess (currently) writes romantic posts about a relationship she is in and the person sharing that with her. She, of late, is romantic.

I do not write romantic posts. Most of you who read this are very aware that I have not had romance in my life for A VERY LONG TIME!

I could very easily descend into a tirade about the fact that men should wear signs (i.e. "It may not be obvious but I have a girlfriend", "In spite of my lack of style, I am gay" or "I have too much going on in my life to date right now"); and why oh why do they act so charming and flirtatious when they don't mean it; and is it a date or isn't it.... I could descend into said tirade on a pretty much daily basis (hourly?) but I figure that my sad state of alone-ness (I am not lonely, I have too many wonderful people and too much going on in my life to be lonely) is not worth a daily update.

That said, every once in awhile I may write about a person of the male persuasion in a way that may make it seem like I think of them in a romantic way. If I do, from now on, when it becomes apparent which of the above signs he should be wearing - I'll let you know.

Who said romance was dead?

NOTE: this post started out as the result of a series of posts and comments that have been on this blog and the Milkcrate and the Wishful guy's blog. (I am lamely not directly linking any of them here - go to the links over there ---->). It stopped being about that in the second paragraph. That's when the sappy turned to bitter, through no fault of outside parties.

outside influence

I blog. (nothing like stating the obvious)

Often, as I write something I wonder about who will be reading it. I try really hard not to let that affect what I write but inevitably, of course, it does. And so certain thoughts are shadowed with ambiguity, names are eliminated, certain topics not discussed.

But my dear Nickolas has pointed out in my comments a certain lack of "piss and vinnegar" - as he put it. And once, a while ago, someone else commented that for me, the blog was strangely lacking in sexy content.

So I've been thinking that I seem to have filtered out a part (or a couple parts) of my personality - at least lately. So I will endeavor to be a bit more complete, I'll try to get in some lighter notes and some sex appeal ;-). I'll try to let the feisty redhead come through. I may even be a bit naughty on occasion.

I'll try. But I am a bit sappy at the best of times, so bear with me. Sometimes (now) the happiness I am feeling of late and the wistfulness I feel for the presence of certain people who are MIA will show up here... cause that's part of it all too.

illusions in the mist

Were you really there? Sitting upon that rock while the fog swirled around us? I know what spilled from your lips held wisdom. But I forget what you uttered in the wind, the words floated away on the mist. I remember comfort each time I glimpsed your face, contentment when you held my hand. I don't know what we were doing there, and I don't know where you went.

But your absence chilled my heart and I shiver still.

too much

I care too easily. I become attached in something resembling an instant. I trust far too readily. I take things at face value, I believe what you tell me. I love too deeply. I miss you when you're gone. I am confused by sudden disappearances ( always have been - it takes me much longer to let go, to say goodbye - even just at the end of the evening ). I am too affectionate, too easily, too often. I talk too much, too loudly, too freely, too honestly. I have very few secrets if any.

These are my ways of being too much.
There may be more.
There may be too many to say.

number crunching

4 emails(not including my replies).
2 weeks.
28 months since we last saw each other (or has it been 100 years?)
2 months until we meet again.

Sum: unknown.

I think too much.

I hadn't thought of that. I hadn't accounted for how it would stir old longings and make me ponder for hours (days?) the secret meaning behind his choices. Why that one? Oh now that's interesting. Hadn't realized that I missed the giddy feeling I had begun to associate with seeing him.

After all, I didn't really have an answer when she asked about him.... after all this time and those weeks of busy-ness that had smudged and blurred the lines of thought.

I just hadn't considered how easily I fall (or fall again) when there's music.