Monday, August 30, 2010

THE END.

6:30 PM  An hour and a half separating me from my weekend.  Friday nights are usually pretty slow after 6:00.  I was hoping tonight was no exception.  Maybe Harold would close up shop early like he does some times when it's slow...I think he's just as anxious as I am to get the weekend going.  Not much time had lapsed when I heard the familiar "RING" of the bells above the glass entry doors.  I heard some boyish banter and laughing.  When I rounded the corner I was relieved to see it was only my younger brother and some of his friends coming for what was undoubtedly, their usual Friday night fair, frozen pizzas and soda.  But what happened next was not what I expected.  When my boyfriend walked through the doors and our eyes met, I know mine sparkled with excitement as my breath caught in my lungs and I smiled as brightly as I could.  But he didn't return the sentiment...no...indeed he did not.  Instead his smile quickly turned to a look of anger and his eyes were transfixed on my now confused face.  I suddenly had this pang of fear and doubt run through my body...as he approached, my heart rate picked up; not like it normally does; when my body is all "aflutter" with my tragic love for him.  This time, it was strictly out of FEAR.  When we were finally face to face, and the other boys were out of ear shot, he said to me in a hushed tone, "you look very pretty tonight...is that a new shirt?"  Unclear of his intentions, I meekly whispered, "yes."  He took a deep breath, looked around once more and then with all the restraint he had in his body he whispered angrily, "DON'T. EVER. WEAR. IT. AGAIN."  I, of course, didn't know how to respond to this.  I could feel my whole body go weak, and I swallowed hard.  Just then, the other boys and my brother came wheeling around the corner laughing and joking around as usual.  I shook off what had just transpired to the best of my ability, and plastered a fake smile on my face, while holding back the inevitable flood of tears that otherwise would have occurred.  I took in the natural "ribbing" from the guys, and 'he' acted as though nothing was out of the ordinary.  As the boys left, he threw a frightening glance over his shoulder, just as he disappeared through the doors...  That, was the beginning of the end.

Monday, August 16, 2010

WHAT LITTTLE GIRLS ARE MADE OF...

When I was a little girl,  I never wore dresses or painted my nails or did anything normal girls that age wanted to do...  "Be a princess!" OH HELL NO!  Thinking back, I don't think I ever possessed an ounce of "typical little girl" status. I always hung out with the boys.  Mostly because the majority of my family consists of  "boys" and therefore, I didn't have a whole lot of choice in the matter.  Getting the boys to conform to the idea of me tagging along with them was the issue.  I had plenty of girl friends who I spent time with on a regular basis, but quite frankly, they were fucking boring compared to the time spent with my brothers, my cousins and their friends. I was the redneck girl thrashing through the mud on a quad with her cousins laughing like a maniac!  To this day, I'm still the little girl, wanting to tag along with the boys on their dangerous adventures rather than go to the mall or try on absurd amounts of clothing "just for the hell of it."  90% of my closet is dedicated to Fox Racing apparel, and the other 10% is split between Harley Davidson, camo and custom clothing made for the hunt club I co-created, "THE GOOSE MAFIA" (TM).  No Gap or American Eagle or Banana Republic for this chick...NOPE.  Don't get me wrong, I DO retain a fair amount of feminine status--this girl likes to look good...in and out of the field.  My hair has its very own reputation to uphold.  It's my favorite feature.  See? I really AM a chick *Wink*
I'm the girl all the boys love--and the one all the girls love to hate.  I'm a huge fan of any and all forms of weaponry (guns, bows, etc.) and hunting, fishing and explosives.  Yes, this girl loves her a little T-N-T!  Therefore, I can closely relate to most guys and that is awesome for me and awesome for them and COMPLETE hell for their girlfriends.  *Laughs*  I think it's funny. 
*Smiles bigger* I've also got sort of a brilliant, genius, maniac, lunatic "cousin" as we call him.  He's in the military and has served 2 deployments in Iraq...not SHORT ones either--18 months a crack.  He's home now.  Safe and sound....well....I use that term loosely.  He's as safe as a licensed pyro can possibly be.  *Laughs*  I remember him coming up to my grandparents almost every weekend for YEARS while I was a teenager and he was always causing some kind of chaos--wait--that's a lie--it was complete and pure pandemonium! ...and funnily enough, I always wanted in on the action.  I idolized this maniac.  We did some heinous things, but all in good fun, no one was ever hurt (that I'm aware of) and they are some of the funniest  memories and most missed times of my life that I can recall.  I'll give you a "milk and marshmallows" sampling of what we did--we paint balled the neighbors cows in 3 or four different fluorescent colors.  *shakes head laughing*  We were so fucking juvenile!!  And the worst part is, if you put a loaded paint ball gun in my hand right now, I'd do the same damn thing without thinking twice.  I do believe there were some M80's and a particular river/culvert incident too...that made me giggle. *shakes head*  Ever since then, spending time with that crazy cousin of mine, and being in such close proximity to weaponry and explosives,  and his constant fucking encouragement of my usage of such mechanics,  I now consider myself to be a fairly warped individual.  And I'm pretty sure some of my girf friends question my sanity on a regular basis.  I saw a pro pyro show a couple days ago put on by the PGI (Pyrotechnics Guild International) and my cousin was head of security at this particular shindig.  I had temporary VIP status and got to go behind the scenes...I saw and felt things NO ONE else ever could or will.  It only fueled the flames!  *Laughs* No pun intended, really.  I love playing with fire.  LOVE IT.  It's a complete rush.  Everyone plays with fire in their own way, mine just happens to be in the literal sense of the word.... There's something about that trademark "THUUUUNK!!" when a 12" shell ignites and the way the concussion resonates through your chest while watching sparks fly choreographed and synced perfectly to the beat of music.  It's like being thrown into an alternate universe... if you just let yourself "go" it's like falling through a magical tunnel of stars that sparkle infinitely.  It's how I imagine HEAVEN.  Instead of traveling through this metaphorical heaven, I want to CREATE it!