ebb and flow

I am completely under the belief that certain people are designed to be connected with one another. Timing is everything. ~ Josie

There will be no flow to this blog.

With each passing day I become more and more dumbfounded with the lack of originality in this world. Why are people so predictable? Does the expected equal safe? Gag me…with a fork.

For me the true sign of a melodically brilliant, well written song is if it sends chills throughout my body and causes the hair on the back of my neck to rise. The feeling is similar to the sense of excitement that overwhelms you while daydreaming about someone you are head-over-heals smitten with.

My pal Ohio informed me today that my blogs are getting risqué. Last month he suggested they were tiresome. This is my public forum, Ohio, you're just living in it. For the record, he later admitted he enjoys my rants and was impatiently waiting for more. A complicated little man, that Ohio is. This was followed by an email that read “introduce me to your upstairs neighbor.” Ohio, (a) I am not Jillian (b) as you are well aware I do not have an upstairs nor do I live in an apartment AND (c) the blog blatantly suggests the neighbor’s gender is male. Let us backtrack several blogs, shall we? I predicted I would find a Barbara Streisand disk in Ohio’s car before long. I was in Ohio’s car just the other day and, while I didn’t spot a single disk that requires one to sing with a lisp, the car smelled awfully pretty and was strikingly clean. Ohio, put that coat down and come on out!

When I am nervous or bored I find myself jotting down ideas or writing short stories via notepad on my blackberry. I found this today and I honestly don’t recall when I wrote it but I trust it was very late after wine night on my sister’s porch.

The first one I felt right with
The first one I knew
A night I didn’t want to be alone
I miss you
I don’t know what to feel
I want to love I want to hate
Please let me let you in
Remove these thoughts I create

Guys, I went from listening to Johann Sebastian Bach to Fugazi. This defines diversity.

FATE - How much does fate play a part in our lives? I believe fate controls every aspect of our lives. I had an endearing conversation with a spectacular individual the other day. For the record it was a very special afternoon. He and I discussed the significance of timing and fate, hence my quote at the start of this blog. The night I met this individual nearly 10 months ago he and I were minutes away from missing one another which, in effect, would change every day within the past 10 months of my life. This raises a question of great intrigue. Is it possible to miss out on our fate? Are we born with blueprints of our lives? Is there a window of opportunity to meet our fate and is it our challenge to find it? It is fascinating yet daunting to think about a moment – any moment - you met someone whether it be a love interest or one of your greatest friends. Think of how many days, moments, even lives that would be altered had you not met that one individual. Do you ever wonder if there is someone out there you were destined to meet but by some consequence missed your opportunity? I have to believe this is not an option. I have, on many occasions, experienced that instinct of knowing or feeling something instantly. Simply put - the gut reaction. The only way I can describe the reaction is it’s like earth's was of providing insight. I realize how ridiculous that sounds but it’s very real. On the same accord, I can generally tell within five minutes of meeting someone if they have a good or bad soul. You can’t hide a phony personality. When I met the individual I spoke of earlier I knew when I glanced at him that I was exactly where I was supposed to be at that moment. It was like getting a glimpse of the potential happiness in store for days to come. When I think back to the feelings I had during that moment it fills me with exhilaration and bewilderment. How is it possible we can feel so strongly about someone or something we are completely oblivious to? It’s impractical. This is why I am a believer in fate. It is truly an enthralling yet complicated sensation. What makes people connect? To me it is a very private thing. Someone finding their way into your soul before you even know it. Maybe they’ve always been there. Waiting for happenstance. Waiting for the window of fate to open.

In closing I would like to report that I recently shared several of my blogs with my prisoner pen pal. He calls me a “handful”. I couldn’t have wished for a more suitable compliment.

Guys and girls, the weather is feeding my mood. Goodnight.

~ Josie

an open letter to my sexually active neighbor

Dear Neighbor:

Please allow me to introduce myself. My name is Jillian and I am the sleep deprived, single girl who lives one floor below you in this apartment complex. I have been a resident of this complex for nearly three months. It has become apparent that you lead an abundant sex life. Cheers!

I am not one to judge and it is not my intent to bestow any disrespect. Heck, under different circumstances I would probably ask you to come down so I could shake your hand and offer you a congratulatory beer.

The first time I played solo audience to your bold 3 a.m. production I smirked in a ‘wow this is uncomfortable but doggone it good for him’ sort of way. I admit your longevity was mighty impressive. My initial thought was “what a lucky girl” but when my pillow could no longer hinder the headboard to wall racket I was ready to hear the fat lady sing [*1]. I considered making a trip upstairs to offer guidance and/or assistance in an attempt to get the show on the road. I can assure you that your partner was ready to catch some zzz’s 30 minutes into the frolic. Despite popular belief, girls do not desire or expect all night sex fests.

3 months and several mid-night sessions between the sheets later I am exhausted. Lady-killer, your weekly rendezvous’ serve as a reminder of what I am not getting. I live by strong morals and, unlike yourself, don't give it out every weekend to the random drunk from the bar. Didn’t your parents teach you “it’s not polite to eat in front of others?” The same principle applies here.

Thank you for your kind consideration and please remember to wrap it up, buddy. Good day.

Your friendly neighbor,

Jillian

p.s. how about this weather?
___________________________________
*[1]
For clarity purposes, this is a figure of speech not to be taken in a literal form. In reality, I had heard enough of your partner’s "singing" at this point and I have no idea of her size in weight.

The Value of of 5 Minutes

I was lying in my warm bed this morning agonizing over stepping foot on the cold hardwoods so I gave myself the typical 5 minute allowance. This led me to ponder on the value of 5 minutes.

A deadline. Your boss is standing over you persistenly pestering you with "how's it coming?" It would come a lot easier if you would get off my ass and give me five more minutes of peace. Right?

I can talk about this because I am a victim of such incidents on occassion due to IBS (aka Irritible Bowel Syndrome). You've just made a mad dash to the bathroom and the second you make the commode your temporary home there is a knock at the door followed by "you almost done in there". In reality you feel like you'll never be done in there. 5 more minutes of serenity, pretty please.

When you are being pressured to make a selection from the menu at a restaurant and you are having a difficult time choosing between two items. You request that the server return in five minutes. He returns in 15.

Ladies can attest to the importance of 5 more minutes during a hot (or possibly bad) session of lovemaking. Heck, sometimes just one more minute. 20 seconds even.

When you are up to no good and within minutes of getting caught. Trespassing. Snooping through a friend's diary. Reading your boyfriend's text messages. Going through your sister's mail [wink]. You think nervously to yourself "give me five more minutes, I just need five more minutes".

A painfully close college football game between two highly combative teams. The clock reads 5 minutes. Your team is playing defense and down by 7.

Clothes shopping with your spouse or significant other and he cries "I am miserable" and you plea "5 more minutes I swear". He sighs and agrees "but then I am walking out to the car" followed with nervous pacing in front of the store while whining about how there are one hundred other things he'd rather be doing.

When someone says "you've got 5 minutes to [tell me, get here, return the money] or else"...

You're in the car and just arrived at your destination when one of your favorite songs comes on the radio and you haven't heard it in a long time. If I only had 5 more minutes.

The best for last: when you are with someone you adore and don't want the moment to ever end. Maybe you are at the airport or in a doorway. 5 more minutes to relish your time together.

Five minutes can feel like an eternity in the following circumstances: when it is 4:55 pm on a Friday afternoon; during a rootcanal; during a Brazilian wax; riding in a car sitting uncomfortably close to a stranger; the complete process of taking a pregnancy test and waiting for the results; dinner on a blind date; watching paint dry; running on a treadmill, waiting on a verdict; watching NASCAR; when you are absolutely faminished and waiting on your frozen pizza to cook in the oven; after administering an enema (you enema virgins - trust me on this); you get a telephone call from a friend who says "are you sitting down because you are not going to believe this...oh shoot I am going to have to call you back in five minutes" at which point you raise your closed fist up to the sky and scream "NOOOOOOOOO"!

Cheers ladies and gents! ~ Josie

i don't get paid enough to do what I just did

One of my greatest friends on earth, we'll call her Jill, had to tend to a very delicate issue this week. Jill is a paralegal and she had clients in her office on Monday for a deposition. One of the clients in the office that day was a female stroke survivor and due to neurological complications suffers from paralysis to one side of her body.

As if attending a deposition isn't torture enough, this client happened to be on her monthly cycle the day of her deposition. I have a suspicion she probably didn't wake up that morning singing Mr. Bluebird.

Jill is a very nurturing and caring spirit. I am not saying that because I adore her, I have friends I would not give similar acclaim, I say it because it is sincerely fact. On Monday Jill was given what I hope will be her worst job assignment in her career. Jill was asked to accompany the impaired client to the restroom to assist the lady with the removal and replacement of her used maxi-pad.

You read that correctly. CHANGE her soiled, blood-soaked, foul smelling pad.

Jill's exact words to me were "I don't get paid enough money to do what I just did". She spent the remainder of the day incessantly scrubbing her upper apendages.

The question here is who is the real victim? You gotta believe the client was equally as mortified. Hasn't the poor woman been through enough? Kick her while she's down why don't ya life. The day someone assists me to the lavatory to switch out pads is going to be a very, very sad one.

Jill will be in town this weekend for tailgating and debauchery. Can't wait. Later guys,

~J

taking care of business

I'm in a rush but wanted to get this story out so that tomorrow I can move on to topics that are better and bigger [inadvertently headed that word with the letter N rather than B - thank god for spell check]. Okay, so I told a friend of mine I would share a recent story of his with my breaktheseal friends. You be the judge: did this happen? My friend is in sales and had his weekly video conference call on Monday to strategize, crunch numbers, and all that loud obnoxious fraternizing salesmen enjoy to partake in. One gentleman, ironically named Mr. Eye, was taking the call from his home on this particular morning. Let me state for the record that I am missing a few facts which would make this story less sketchy so please don't shoot the messenger. Apparently Eye was unaware this call was anything more than verbal. Eye is a Mac user. I don't know if possible but I assume he took the call from his computer - I am having a difficult time with this story too. From what my friend tells me, the Mac detects video conferencing because, well I have no idea other than the things are so damn savy they do it all. In other words, no additional software or equipment is necessary for video conferencing if you are the proud owner of a Mac. Eye is unaware of this fact. Indivdiuals on the call were perplexed with Eye's rather scraggly appearance. Some call participants thought Eye was ill. Truth be told, Eye is an avid runner and had just come in from a morning jog and took the "conference call" sweat and all. Eye proceeds to make his way to the bed while he carries on with his colleagues. Those viewing Eye could tell he was painfully distracted. Unbeknownst to Eye, there were several eyes on him. Eye proceeds to take matters into his own hands, if ya know what I mean. Again, the innocent viewers within the group on the call thought Eye was in pain possibly hurt. "Is he going to be alright". Not long into the indecent show Eye was discovered for his act of self pleasure and handed over a humiliation plaque for life. My friend assured me that Eye is actively seeking new employment.

Wait. Ohio, was this you?

I am a tad skeptical but hey, I've done worse things. [wink]

Peace!

~ Josie McSassy

I’m not living I’m just killing time

I can't take credit for todays blog title but delightedly seek any chance to plug my all time favorite band, Radiohead. Radiohead is coming out with a new album on the 10th of this month titled In Rainbows. One can download the album on said date at the price of thier choosing. Doubtful? http://www.greenplastic.com/. Personally, I could not be more ecstatic. The blog title above is a line taken from a Radiohead tune called "True Love Waits" and, although rather biased, it happens to be one of my favorite songs. I can honestly say I do not have a favorite Radiohead song. I truly love them all. The melancholy, the hardcore, the different, the weird, the rock, the punk, the instrumental. A group that defines music. They do it all.

I'll drown my beliefs
To have you be at peace
I'll dress like your niece
And wash your swollen feet
Just don't leave...don't leave
I'm not living I'm just killing time
Your tiny hands
Your crazy kitten smile
Just don't leave...don't leave
And true love waits
In haunted attics
And true love lives
On lollipops and crisps
Just don't leave...don't leave
Just don't leave...don't leave

Someone of immense charm said to me this morning “That last blog is really random. I don’t know how you come up with that stuff.” Although some might find this statement offensive, I would like to take this moment and thank him for the direct opinion. I take it as a true compliment.

I’ve been keeping many of you in suspense with regard to my new prison pal, Zuber. I have a signficaint amount of detail to share. I received my second letter from my pal Zuber this morning. Our correspondences are like clockwork. I send him a letter on Friday and by Wednesday I have a response waiting in my mailbox. My pal refers to me as a “handful” several times in his latest acknowledgment. I plan to share my pen pal exchanges with you very soon. Hold your horses.

Love, Josie

monkey see monkey don't...

Meet Ralph. Ralph is a distant cousin to my dear friend and favorite primate, Roger. For as long as I can remember Ralph has been a heavy smoker. Ralph might have coined the term chain smoker. We're working on switching him over to filtered mediums while cutting him down to a pack and a half per day. He claims he doesn't even have a taste for the things anymore. I would never say a word to the poor guy but I can see it in his climb - god damn things are killing him.