Category Archives: Humor

The 2nd Time Around

What a beautiful Tampa Bay weekend, and such perfect weather for the annual Gasparilla Parade! If you’re not familiar, this week-long event honors Tampa Bay’s well-documented invasion of pirates. You have your typical big event fare – personal coolers stocked with beer, girls in skimpy booty shorts, guys dressed in their best Buccaneer paraphernalia. All around good times during Florida’s winter.

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This was my 1st performance as a member of the Second Time Arounders Marching Band, and it was amazing! To dance, to smile while dancing, to dance as the crowd cheered me on…it was cathartic.

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If you happen to have pics, please share in my Comments field, tweet @VonSimeon, or post to my artist page on Facebook. Below is the band segment of the parade.

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Two Plates Two Bowls Two Glasses

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This is where/I don't live anymore/because LOVE lives somewhere else./So I go./This is 'goodbye'.

Today the lake water has taken on a pumice hue. Ripples close in like busy worker ants towards the inlet, dumping froth along the coastline. Bitter, the air, the overnight drop in temperature simultaneously welcome and abhored. This morning instead of sipping a cup of coffee I puff on my glass bowl. There’s much work to do, but a cold front means stiff joints and I simply cannot lift couches and move TV stands without healing smoke to start.

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Bobby's favorite activity was to sit here and watch the water fowl.

A commotion across the room distracts me from the lake. The grey flannel blanket undulates madly, then melts into the mattress. I return to nature-gazing with a smile on my face, thinking of the fiery Ace of Wands Spirit played the other day. Lust; Fire; Passion. Through the Two of Swords Spirit told me, ‘turn that big brain of yours off and let love happen!’ Oh that it is, for sure. I did pull the Princess of Swords. Unfinished struggles. Uncertain proceedings. It was a message about my health. Yes, I nod as I inhale, we’re gonna be experts in self-care this year.

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Kitchen, done!

There’s furniture to get rid of, boxes to pack. Walls to paint back to standard white. There wasn’t much hung for decoration until just this past year. Four years at this address, but I only felt like nesting once I had a relationship…oh I get it now. The Ace of Wands had always been in play. Good one, Spirit!
Down to two plates, two bowls, two glasses. Two houses will condense to one, and hearts will grow three-fold. Goodbye Southside, hello Suburbia!
Time to wake the sleeping beast…

Operation: Falcon Crest

Three yellow butterflies fluttered before me, playfully twisting in the warm morning gust accentuating this morning’s walk. Sweat curtained my face way before hitting the mile marker; what is this?? This time last year, a decent chill to temper the swamp, but in 2015, I still have boob sweat!

Walk is over and it’s time to get into General Schwarzkopf mode: we have a two-month campaign to complete. The objective – merge two houses into one!
This is monumental on both fronts. For BF, he’s taken on a commitment which will dynamically shift his lifestyle, all aspects for the better. This will be his first domestic relationship.

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Credit: comicvine

For me, it’s a tier short of a miracle. It’s been five years since my divorce. In that grief state, I started to believe I’d end up like my mother – alone, resentful, unfulfilled – so I slowly slipped into that persona. What I couldn’t emote I expressed in written word, and there was much power in releasing that…wrong persona…through art, allowing room for love. Which is why I am so thankful, ever grateful, that BF agreed to living together! And it wasn’t a negotiation, really, it was just a known. Kinda like the night I returned from Oklahoma last summer, sitting on his lap while we smoked on the balcony, he casually mentioning, “I told my friends you’re my girlfriend,” and me responding, “Yeah, I told my friends you’re my boyfriend.” This is simply the most logical, cogent trajectory. And frankly, my heart needs this.

So between my place and his, I’ll be a busy ass bee until the end of January. No time for composing or sharing art, there’s opportunity for that later. For now, I am working on a very delicate, very personal masterpiece: a home.

FOMO on NaNo

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Feeling a little split on participation this year..

The distinct smell of National Novel Writing Month is in the air, wafting curls of pumpkin spice-flavored coffee, donuts, and fear dancing in the four winds. All of November, local coffee shops morph into coliseums, where literary warriors compete against the clock and indirectly with each other.  It is a feat of near mythical challenge: find a way, everyday, to pour out the novel of your dreams from head to hard drive. Only the best of the best compete, but very few complete the challenge. Myself, a three-time winner of this global event, I gotta tell ya…

…I think I’m sitting this one out.

Normally I excel in short deadline situations, but after this last hospital stay, I’ve finally learned to not take life too seriously. And I think the essence of it is, the right mix of passion and mystery is just not in me right now.

But I will miss the gatherings (“I hate people, but I love gatherings!”)♤. I’ll miss the interactivity on social media during NaNo; I’ve made several friends all over the globe these past times.

Perhaps I’ll visit the write-ins, be a cheerleader or something. Yeah! My contribution this year will be words of encouragement. I shall motivate by slamming my hand loudly on the table top you rested your head on, then scream, Kinison-style, “GET BACK TO WORK!!!” into your earlobe.

Yes. I will be a NaNo cheero. No, I will not novel. And that is okay.

♤: Name that movie!

Von And The Fixer-Uppers

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.😀

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…

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Have truck, will travel!

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..

Co-habitation.

We’ll save that for another blog…😉

All Beered Out

Rapp Brewery Flights, Pinellas County, Florida rappbrewing.com

Rapp Brewery Flights, Pinellas County, Florida rappbrewing.com

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:

  1. 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!
  2. 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!
  3. 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!

Wordless Wednesday

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Hot Biker Chicks of Pinellas County

She approached with heavy Megan Fox-style panting, not a single wiggle to her lean profile, pushing a three-wheeled exercise stroller with two well-behaved younguns strapped in for the ride. Her smile fanned the driveway, holding my gaze, interrupting the fill of my bike tires prior to an inaugural ride. Her skin, a scintillating coat of sweat which made me consider, if I was to bite her right now, she’d taste like crispy salted caramel. She’s still smiling and I’m still checking her out. The left brain asks, “What does she want??” The right brain predicts, “My money says she’s a nanny!”

Caramel approached with the pram. She sexily exhaled as she pointed out the deflated front tire, and could I help her air it up? I scowl inside: she’s pulling the Hot Damsel In Distress on meeeeee? That’s my move! At least she’s close enough for me to admire her toned thighs and sculpted calves. Shoving kids on a run does wonders for the human form! Alas, no ass. That’s Jenga. Right brain concedes to left.

The way the tire pump latches is too bulky for the small tire space, plus the receiver is funnily angled. Not gonna ruin my equipment for a hot chick, so had to send Salted Caramel on her way. Graciously she thanked me, waving as she bounced off.

I can get used to the suburbs.


Credit: supertran.net

Credit: supertran.net

We’re two weeks out, and muscle memory has kicked the door down. I’m able to walk a mile with the Bobster and push two miles on the bike before my legs tire. At peak performance I was burning up cardio machines and playing in bike lanes for ten miles on average. We’re getting there people! Santiago’s Manolin springing forward.

That takes care of the physical development, but how about this big brain? The apathy I shared in my fisherman’s post has tempered a bit. Every day I sit at my laptop and excrete the garbage getting in the way of genuine reflection. In reflection lies the idea, strong enough to stir tangible thoughts and visceral reactions into typed or written form. Just like thigh muscles, brain muscle memory is quite possible; the gift isn’t lost it’s just not exercised enough. Finally, a pay off. I really like the idea presented in my documentary post! Needs rewriting, yes, needs more carrots or potatoes, maybe even some Texas Pete’s. I’ll keep adapting it; you’re welcome to offer suggestions as I clean up. So there’s good news; the creative cauldron is ready to cook in!

Spiritually I’m indulging on companionship and doing it healthily. It’s…nice…different in a good way…this pseudo-domestication that is cohabitation. Something about sharing a nap or a homecooked meal keeps the crazy kitties at bay, or at least, bothering someone else for now. Major Lazer was onto something when he produced “Lean On” wasn’t he?

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The Puppy Is A Poet

My book options are either a rich girl with predictable life problems or a rumpled copy of a vampire story. Like Suzanne on Orange Is The New Black, I feel, “Vampires are derivative,” so I stick with the somehow New York Times Bestseller paperback. There’s literally nothing to do between med checks, so I designed a routine of ten laps after every chapter to while away the time. 

My second to the last day in the hospital, and I got a puppy. He’s probably 24, my height, a scraggly little mutt of a man. He spent breakfast hour giving away his food, then going table to table to see if someone needed anything. At my table, he took the time to thank me, in front of my fellow patientmates, for letting him play UNO with us the past evening. Then he took to asking about my milk and if there’s something he could take away. I coldly told him, “You’re being overaccommodating; why don’t you finish your breakfast?” Like a puppy he lingered for my approval but once I’d left the dining room he got the hint.

Puppy followed me as I entered into my after-breakfast ten loop walk of the ward. Hands clasped behind my back, taking quarter steps since there’s no rush, I ask him to share what’s on the sheets of paper he carries, quietly hoping it isn’t some Barbarella nonsense. We loop past the water fountain as he enters into his setting: he is a great bird, at flight, surveying the majesty of his lands. As he reads, his tone shifts to something…metaphysical. Gosh darn it I’m intrigued!

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The lady who chose the vampire book parked a chair at her room door. As we approach, she proceeds to chastise him for reading poetry to me; I find this odd considering she’s wearing a wedding band. He stops to make his acquiesing apologies whilst I saunter on, clasp resting above my uterus, wondering what would it be like if my period started while in the ward. Of all things to worry about – the wanderer who preferred to pee in my bathroom, the catatonic woman who’d wake a few minutes just to tell everyone to go to hell only to fade back down, the constant threat of stealing my journal – my mind was on menstruation.

Puppy returned on the fifth loop. “Continue your reading,” I said, sagelike, interested in his bird’s flight. This time, he finds himself on a mountain and he’s climbing it, moved by the sounds of his lost love beckoning him forward. Goodness, I think to myself, do all great poets have to achieve psychosis to harness the power of words? Have I done myself a favor then?

Puppy is dressed in his hospital gown but with a hunter’s camouflage sweater over it; I’m dressed in all black street clothes. As we make a turn by the nurse’s station we encounter a regatta of wheelchairs, the ladies ranging from early dementia to raging psychosis. We pass by The Screamer, quite the pair of lungs on her, and once the puppy clears her she howls to him, “You’re the soldier, you need to be careful!” Towards me she tells him, “See that one dressed in all black, you watch her…SHE’S GOT A KNIFE!”

I smirk for several reasons.

My last loop is done, so I go find the least loudest place to delve into a book which spends its better energy dumping a wet mulch of a predictable whodunit subplot.

At least I have a puppy.

Auf Wiedersehen, Adios, Aloha, Sayonara, 안녕히 가세요!

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Oroku Saki applied deft skills as FIVE YEARS of built up paperwork were destroyed! Three bags full (two shown) and oh my, what a beautiful future awaits…

😀

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