Category Archives: Photography
Days before the cut off, I finally get around to salvaging vonsimeon.com! I tell ya, September was way too distracting to pay attention to WordPress’s many reminder emails. I blame the onslaught of pumpkin spice everything.
Still technologically determined, as repairs to my truck superceded buying a new notebook. I checked out a place in Seminole which offers refurbs and parts for building CPUs, prices comparable to newegg.com.
What can be done then, with this artistic downtime? ‘If you can’t give money, give time’ I always say! During Carmada 2015 I volunteered at the information table for the Nomad Art Bus, brainchild of gifted artist and all around amazing person Carrie Boucher. The mobile studio visits disenfranchised communities, at-risk schools, and other places where art funding is nil; I can totally get behind that! Visit the site and keep gas in the tank with a donation.
Have a wonderful week!
I did tell a long distance friend once that if my blog goes more than 3 weeks without a post, it’s a sure sign I’m dead. :D
Haven’t been able to keep my regular writing schedule due to my laptop failing. I have enough motherboard life to collect my master files. Pics I don’t worry about; aren’t they already in WordPress? So to keep up with my proof of life promise, I’m using the tablet today; apologies in advance on formatting. The laptop issue I saw a’comin’, but what comes next, completely thrown off!
Labor Day Cimmi Red took a Hulk Smash! to the roof and the windshield by a large tree branch. My insurance company gave me a Toyota Corolla to drive for five days. As I cruised about, I left the radio low so I could listen to the whoosh! of the wind sliding over its aerodynamic curves. Pretty and fuel-economical as it was, the Corolla’s pick-up was laughable! Meeeeeeeeeee…
Cimmi and her growl is back, new roofed and windshielded, and I’m pleased with the repair, although the deductible could have paid for a new laptop. And then I could migrate my work files. Then I could install Scrivener. Then I could update my website. And then and then and then…
I can’t dwell on what I have no control over. So I’m reading Lisa L. Kirchner’s novel, blazing trails with long walks, and planning my next life-adjusting chapter..
We’ll save that for another blog… ;)
Seeing how August turned out, it’s no surprise I went a tad overboard celebrating life via libations. After all, wasn’t it Benny Franks from Philly who said, “Beer is proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy”? Welp, I was happy to get out of the hospital, and BF was more than happy to school me on craft beers.
Jeepers I’m so bloated! Tried on a pair of jeans at my favorite thrift store yesterday and oh no…no bueno.
I gotta take a break from beer. This is where you can help; be my substitution?
Now I’m not a reviewer nor am I being paid to promote these places, I just find their beer suitable to my palate, so I expect you’ll be impressed too. All these places are within Pinellas County, and they meet my Beer of Rights, which are:
- There’s gotta be food – not on certain days; every day! I’ve visited some craft breweries which only offer suds. No, no my friend, if you want my patronage, you better have some comida!
- There’s gotta be diversity. There’s a place BF wants to visit but I won’t visit because their menu is entirely India Pale Ales. I don’t care for IPAs. Beer should be for the people, not a select population!
- There’s gotta be happiness. I’ve visited some breweries where it’s clearly a ‘see and be seen’ type of crowd. That kind of thing goes against my goal of community building. I wanna see everyone relaxed, laughing it up, having a positive moment in life, ya know? In short, if I have to put makeup on and figure out an outfit in order to hang out there, that ain’t my kind of scene. Beer = happiness = peace on Earth people; let’s make that a thing!
So you have my requirements, here’s where I need you to sub in whilst I work down this bloat (not ranked in any order, all meet my approval):
Dunedin Brewery – made me fall in love with apricots, menu pairs well with all their beers. Also, live music pretty much every night to amp the ambiance.
Sea Dog Brewery – $3 beers! Three dollars! THREE! Plus they have a Hemingway Saison that’s a meal in and of itself. They have a generous menu, but if you want full dining, they’re connected to Cody’s steak house. Or just toast to Il Papa for three doll hairs.
Rapp Brewery – that’s me and the BF’s Cheers. The manager knows his name, can pretty much make out what we plan to order by the time we get to the counter. I highly super recommend Taco Tuesday for Out of The Pot’s amazing selections.
Thanks for accepting this mission. I’ll get back into a proper 8 and you’ll have a good time drinking.
Slante! Prost! Salud!
Today is my Saturday. A grande bowl of Frosted Flakes and a whole banana kicks it off right! My dietary choices, the reward for a completed mile under the blaze of a Florida morning sun. Yes, even on days off the body should be conditioned; I’m a proponent of that! My trusty walking buddy, Roberto, happily dons his turquoise harness as he takes the lead. Smart little guy; our first full week living in the suburbs and he knows which direction we’re going to pad our feet along. In the unfiltered glow I notice the brown tufts of fur which give his black hind quarters a cool, conflicting pattern. Six years old now, so white fluffs are starting to burst back there as well.
Under his feet I note the pressure washed sidewalks and driveways, cumulus clouds drawn specifically from property line to rest of property line, beautiful little curlicues screaming, “Don’t tread here!” It’s easy to tell which houses are up on their atmospheric artwork and those whom allow Nature to make her mark.
The next thing I notice is, no one’s out with me. It’s 8am, where are the other daywalkers? At the Treehouse the place buzzes with dog walkers, bus catchers, gym rats, the whole shebangy bang. Here? I can practically hear the flowers sing about cats and rabbits. Just as I actualize my aloneness, a lovely display of fabric hanging from a beige stucco home unfurls. One is a black flag; another a yellow one, baring the well known “Don’t Tread On Me” icon. Ah. Tread lightly, little dog; we’re amongst score settlers!
We get to a point along the walkway where Bob decides to cross the street. How rude am I, wearing Ray Bans while his big brown eyes squint painfully. The sun must hit him like the very first sip of freshly brewed coffee not quite cooled off for safe consumption. Bob leads us under the trees, into the shade, and I marvel at what I miss: trees.
Yes, my special home was once flanked by two oak trees until the property manager decided to cut them down. They’re gone but I can’t stop calling the place the Treehouse. The suburbs have lots of oak, Bobby reminds, as he swings a right, then a left, then a familiar right towards our new home.
What an accomplishment! Three miles on the treadmill and a half mile in the pool! I bike eight miles to Five Guys for my double cheeseburger reward.
The mass of moo-ey goodness is sweating liquid fat and spices, cheese, dripping off the sides with a come-hither shine, the grilled ‘shrooms and onions resting like Tiffany diamonds upon a New Money bust. “Here we go!” I proclaim as I mash the delectable lady to my face. Why I’ve anthropomorphized my food into a female is inexplicable, yet feels right. I sigh as I swallow then tilt my head back, eyes all aflutter, hearing the calories I just burned off pile back on with every gregarious lip smack.
Screw a napkin. I wipe her essence – spread over my nose, cheeks, mouth and chin – against my sweaty sleeve. As I drag lips towards my shoulder I catch a whiff of healthy odour. Hoooo weeee!
Right then, out the window, I catch a view of a couple sitting in their parked vehicle in the lot across from my table. She’s narrow-eyed and flitty-handed in the passenger seat, while he wears a glum, defeated face. She points with a pink talon towards my hallowed restaurant; in response he opens his door, exits the truck, and strolls into the Guys.
He fascinates me: spine and shoulders so straight despite his bent smile. His eyes are hidden under a ball cap, offering an air of sweet mystery. Sculpted calves and tanned thighs indicate Mr. Fuckable’s an athlete, maybe even, a model. Yes, there’s a shirtlessness to this guy. Perhaps a footballer or volleyballer…something having to do with big balls.
My soppy girl slips out my hands as I hear him order in practiced English with a Portuguese accent. I’m destined to see him naked, I am sure! I glare back to my competition, the expensive hamburger patty in the passenger seat duck-lipping several selfies, adjusting her pneumatic boobs after every angle. As if the gods so declared it, he sits next to me to wait on his meal. At that moment I wince knowing my cumragged arm faces him. My true love has to meet his queen in such form? Fiddlesticks!Ī
He smears an agitated hand from chin to forehead, tipping back his cap, revealing natural blonde hair and soft brown eyes. He. Is. Beautiful. A distinct plume of sandalwood escapes his cap as he fans it over his face before returning it home. Mmm, I smile to myself, letting the smell of our sex pheromones intertwine.
“Is it good?”
Yes, I exhale as we switch positions, now me on top.
“Is it…delicious…is the word?”
Our hips mash rhythmically, “Yasss!” I moan towards the ceiling.
“Is this the wrong word, ‘delicious’?”
Oh shit. So busy fucking pretend cock I ignore Real Cock talking to me!
His caramel body is facing mine, his shiny eyes are facing mine, his blonde wisps spike my way. The best I can manage is a “hermmuhhmyeahhh.”
The Guys call his order, he waves as he rises, grabs his bag then leaves.
I look down at my whore, all asplay against the table, laughing at me.
ĪWe were writing at Parkside Cafe. The booth behind us was full of Midwesterners trying to remember a restaurant’s name by CONSTANTLY repeating it to each other in question form: “Is it Fiddlesticks?” “Fiddlesticks maybe?” “It can’t be Fiddlesticks…is it?” Oh if only I had my mace…
What up homie! Long time no speak. I know, I know, but the Internet works both ways!
Me? Oh, been up to all kinds of things. See that picture? Those glasses are not ironic; I really can’t see! But man, are they clearer than my last pair.
Good timing that my Michael Kors-wrapped Coke bottles came in right before we left to North Carolina. Seen the pics I posted during the trip? All shot with my Galaxy S5 embedded camera. I know, right?? Got more to share, but there’s been a hitch in my giddy-up, hence why you haven’t experienced any of my money one-liners and blatherings as of late.
Now, don’t get upset but…the Scribe is dying. Yup, my faithful Samsung is on its last electronic relays. In order to get ‘work’ done, I have to maximize the 20 minutes he’ll give me before blacking out. Every application started, every web page opened, is like flaking off tiny morsels of the last of the cookies I shouldn’t have been scarfing down in the first place. This moment with you now, I savor like the last chunk of chocolate chip covered in warm dough.
There’s also been a development, mental health wise, to the positive. My intuitiveness has peaked interests in my local spiritual scientist community, so I’m going off-road, treatment-wise, to explore empathic intuition. What does that mean? you ask. Well, I don’t know yet. I’m gonna work on that. Then I’ll come back and tell you all about it, cool?
This Memorial Day weekend, I’m preparing two write-ups: a share on WriteBitch and a picture story of my time in the mountains. No stone tablets yet, but awesome nonetheless.
While Scribe enters hospice and I create his progeny, follow me @VonSimeon on Twitter for my latest mad antics!