A New Tale to Tell…

I conked my forehead REALLY nicely at the Duff last night, as my feet seemed to decide to trip UP the stairs.

I felt like a complete arse.

It would have been okay, if no one had been around to witness my foray into ineptitude, but unfortunately/fortunately; Melissa was there to help me to my feet. I say unfortunately, because it was VERY embarassing, and the last thing I wanted was someone NOTICING me acting like an idiot. (I couldn’t even blame alcohol.) And fortunately, because it’s nice to know that someone cares about me enough to be concerned. Elizabeth got a front row ticket to my premiere dive-bomb performance, being in the DJ booth. It was a mixture of amusement and concern all around. I’m well known to snarl when I injure myself and people ask me if I’m okay.

However, I managed to merely hold my head and go:

“Ow, ow, ow, ow. No, I’m okay. Yeah, I’m fine… I’m SURE I’m fine!

…

…Fuck that hurt.”

I guess that’s what I get for so eagerly wanting to see hot naked men covered in baby oil. I do believe I’ve posted before that I can usually be graceful, with stunning moments of dazzling clumsiness that overshadow any of that grace. Or something along those lines. It was one of my first posts, about trying to remove my fingertips at work. Damn genetics. It’s either that, or I’m the true Taurus example of “The Bull in a China Shop.” Except it’s “The Bull in the Gay Karaoke Lounge.”

It also serves me right, for bounding up the stairs (There are only two of them, you figure I couldn’t possibly fuck THAT up, but lo and behold, the bumbler, stumbles.) like some sort of demented, mildly retarded superhero. “Handi-Girl” to the rescue. *Rolls her eyes*

You would have to have seen it to understand what I’m talking about. (And thank gad you didn’t.) Just picture “Superman” flying with one fist aimed upwards and forward, and one arm crooked behind me… That sort of explains it. Sort of. *Grumbles* “Up, up and away!” Whilst flopping out of the windowsill. Dammit.

That’s a reference to a VERY politically incorrect, hysterically funny series of skits from “In Living Color” entitled “Handi-Boy” if my memory serves me correctly. (If anyone was wondering.) I hope I have the theme song running through EVERYBODY who used to watch its heads now…

Bwahahahahaaaa! I bet it is too! “You can do what you want to do, In Living Color…”

At least I eventually DID get to see the end of routine that had a naked man who went from cowboy, to being covered in baby oil. Wearing the hat, the chaps, the boots, and then thong, and then, Poof! Nothin’. (With FIRE on stage even! Whoo dawgie! Giddy-up!) I’ll never think the same of “Dead or Alive” by Bon Jovi anymore.

Hey, gimme a break, it’s the second male stripper I’ve ever watched. I go for the Karaoke, not the peckers bouncing about on stage next door.

However it was only after at least 50 people had potentially seen me take a dive, trying to make face with the wall. AFTER a very well received rendition of “Respect” of course. Thusly, goose egg on forehead, headache included, I left early from Karaoke because I had to work today at 8 AM.

Oh well.

The subsequent combination of my dome, colliding with unyielding wood wall paneling, has left me feeling a little overwhelmed with emotions that I either suppress, or just usually ignore.

It’s VERY odd, and not at all pleasant. I probably have a minor concussion from that moment of comedic clumsiness. Well, shit. At least I THINK I might have a minor concussion. I’m probably just over-analyzing it as usual, since I’ve never HAD a concussion. All I know is that there is a VERY tender spot on the top left part of my forehead, that is thanking that wood paneled wall, and my obviously way too big feet, combined with my poor co-ordination, profusely.

I did however, learn one thing this morning that I pretty much guessed, and that is that I can do my job on auto-pilot while thinking entirely of something else. I don’t know if that is a good thing or not, but I guess that depends on what perspective you choose to have. I’m remaining fairly neutral on it.

My mom is okay. Which is quite a relief. I won’t get into details, because that’s highly personal. All I know is that I’m glad that my mom won’t kick the bucket when I’m not able to cope with it. (In all actuality, I don’t think I could ever handle that very well.)

My finances, however, are in horrifyingly bad condition, due to a very large error in judgement on my part for choosing to help a “friend” who turned out to be a manipulative, self-centered Cunt. I’m pretty sure that I’m going to have to call the R.C.M.P. fraud department on Monday, because the money she promised to be paid back hasn’t been given to me, (It’s not chump change either.) And she doesn’t seem to answer her phone when I call anymore… Hopefully, I won’t have to file for bankruptcy soon.

Let’s just say I learned a VERY valuable lesson from all this bullshit about guilt, and people using it to manipulate you, when they claim to be you’re “friend.” If they use it, they are most definitely NOT your friends. I’ve probably learned more than just ONE lesson. Hopefully it doesn’t break me to learn them.

My love life (HAH!) is sporadic and unfulfilling, and it seems that I might just become that old, fat, multi-cat owning hermit lady in a Muumuu that yells at neighborhood kids to “Get off of my damned front lawn! Can’t you read the sign? Damned kids!” While shaking my fist furiously, that I always seem to joke about. M’eh. C’est la vie. I just have to get over that stubborn obsession with picking the WRONG men. Either they are a thousand miles away, (or more…) too old for me, too YOUNG for me, Gay, (*sighs* My illusions about gorgeous Aaron from the Dufferin were shattered ruthlessly last night… Curses, foiled again, Batman.) Or they were just NOT what I was thinking, or looking for. (Either that or I was thinking with the wrong body parts again. Yes, women do it too.)

Fuck it.

I’ve read SIX books in a week and a half, mostly Science Fiction. I guess it’s a kick that I’m on right now. Not being able to chat online and all. I’ve also been sleeping WAY too much lately. Ooh. Party Animal. *Bangs on some drums* (Yes, I even toss in a Muppets reference every now and then too. I’m a fully-fledged dork, I’m allowed.)

Everyone I know has been pretty sick lately, fighting off that nasty flu that is going around, including myself. I think I might have had a touch of it earlier this week. (Just for a reference, my week starts on Sunday, not Monday.) Gotta love the 7 days a week that is retail.

My boss has been NICE to me for the almost a month and a half now. I’m just WAITING for him to return back to normal, and am not taking this respite from his tyrannical tendencies with any degree of seriousness.

My attempt at writing a novel is very slowly happening. It’s much like that stint at scriptwriting in High school, except for the fact that I can include such things as drug-use, swearing, violence and pretty much anything else my 11^th grade drama teacher forbade me from including in my attempts, that was even slightly taboo.

Needless to say, it was a pretty fucking boring, stifled creative effort.

Now it’s a much different story.

However, I am finding difficulties creating characters that have depth. Two-dimensional characters are pretty damned dull. Perhaps that’s why I’ve been focussing on reading Anne McCaffrey and Orson Scott Card lately. Both authors have fabulous characters with depth and amazing intelligence.

Or perhaps it’s that I’m having difficulty writing about anyone other than myself. Which is disappointing.

It’s time to practice walking in other people’s shoes and really observe what is going on in life around THEM.

I have no problems creating realistic conversation, but the observations that they have around them, and that descriptive aspect of the story, during conversations, is what I’m lacking in.

The more I look at it, the more it reminds me of a screenplay, than a novel. Which could work, but in the end, it’s the novel I’m going for, not the screenplay.

Everyone has a tale to tell, and I refuse to think that my tales are regulated and restricted to that of my pithy existence. As interesting as it might be to me, it really isn’t that terribly important in the grand scheme of things.

Perhaps it’s that stubbornness, which will push me past writing in the “Glamazon Shoe Diaries” although I don’t plan on neglecting putting entries in here if I can help it. It’s my creative monstrosity. And turn it into something that will entertain those that DON’T know me, or know me from what I have written in this experiment in my creative writings.

As usual, It’s been a slice.

*Muah*

Linds.

P.S. Save a horse. Ride a cowboy.

…And hey, try not to make face with the wall. It kinda hurts.