Rory’s S’mores

Another Guy Called Bloke Production!

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At what point in our lives do you think we think we are good enough?

Speaking only for myself… never! I wake every day knowing there are goals to achieve and improvements to make.

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In life, what do you consider beautiful?

Cats, poetry, art of various forms, nature (flowers, sunsets, birds, butterflies, etc.), and of course my family.

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Do you think that when we dream, we can dream within a dream? But if you don’t dream, why do you think that is?

Yes, definitely. I have dreamt about dreaming.

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How do you manage your stress or do you not suffer from stress?

It varies. I don’t handle stress well at all, so I try to eliminate it at the source ~ this is why I gave up dating, where others persevere through unpleasantness. I can’t tolerate the bad. It literally makes me sick. But some things can’t be helped; stuff appears out of the blue. I will get physically ill and have to deal with that. I’ll get migraines and take medicine. My sleep will suffer. Etc. I severely manage down interactions with people so that my stress is minimized.

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Are there things or maybe just one thing you wish to achieve before you die?

I did want to have success as a writer, but I don’t see that happening. I’m not talented enough, nor do I have the patience to endlessly slog away on a novel anymore when I can get instant feedback via short blog posts.

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Some experience many things during their lifetimes, but do you think there is something that everyone should experience at least once?

No.

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Are you afriad to be different? To stand out from the crowd, to push away your peers if needs be and say “I am ME!”

No. I’m more afraid of being one of them, though generally I blend in wherever I go, at least superficially. I realize that sounds contradictory, but it’s not. I blend in just enough so that no one notices/bothers me, and then I get away as fast as I can to be apart from them.

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Which do you think is easier ‘to hate or to love?’

To hate obviously. Humans are all about forming groups and excluding other humans in order to hate and possibly kill them.

Little Bit of Soul

Soul mates are the stuff of poetry and romance novels, and who doesn’t love a good fairy tale? It’s hard to believe in a soul mate if you don’t believe in souls though; and souls come packaged up with all that other mystical glitter I can’t quite wrap my brain around. Despite my creative forays, my heart is made of math. One of my favorite lines from a romance novel was “she had his number, and it was 666.” I would credit the book and the author if I could remember either, but I can’t. I don’t think I ever dated the devil, just your ordinary liars and narcissists, but that guy wasn’t the devil of course. They never are, in romance novels. No matter what kind of terrible choice the romance novel heroine appears to be making with her wild and crazy attraction, it’s always exactly the right choice. But that’s because we’re writing her story. I have written my own stories, with my own heroes. Perhaps that’s why I’m solo.

Honestly Cosmopolitan FU

So, I’m reading about one of those scandal idiots, as you do, something something the dad is a major Trump supporter according to Tom Arnold… geez let’s dig him up out of the trash heap for a quote 🤮… clicking along mindlessly like a good robot when whoa I see a link to the worst movie from the year I was born.

Now, here’s some news I can use! I flip out of that site and over to Cosmopolitan and guess what? The list starts at 1983.

Nineteen fricken eighty three! 😳😳😳

Granted, that was a pretty shitty year. First, I was fat, not gonna lie. Maybe not fat by current standards or some chart, but by my standards, for me. Second, there was that whole thing with Mark. Gahhh. After that, I thought why not move to California? Who wants to face another Chicago winter, this time with a broken heart? But third, as soon as I moved here my migraines got worse. 😫

Back to Cosmo, a magazine I religiously supported for decades, but now it can’t be bothered with women my age. Nope. We’re stuck with Good Housekeeping and AARP. Anyway, Cosmo says the worst movie of 1983 is Jaws 3-D, which is not hard to believe, since it sounds stupid on its face.

Confession: I only very recently saw the original Jaws, like in the last year, because my friends kept teasing me for having not seen it. Meh.

Okay, so now let’s go waaaaaay back (cue caveman music 🎶) to find the worst movie of my birth year, 1961.

Psych! I haven’t seen most of the movies from that year, so I can’t judge. I do note however that there are some gems: The Hustler, Breakfast at Tiffany’s, West Side Story, 101 Dalmatians, etc.

Game of Thrones returns in less than 30 days! 👑🐉🔥❄️💫

Nose & Sose

Another Guy Called Bloke Production…

Talked to a complete stranger about life.

Never! Well, except for my blog blabbing and how I used to blurt stuff out to weird men on dating sites and…

Gone skydiving.

That is a 100% no way!

Got a tattoo.

Also nopety nope.

Had an allergic reaction.

So way. My parents called emergency in Chicago for me because I went into anaphylactic shock. The doctor said his best guess was a bee sting from handling fruit. But we don’t really know.

Cried while watching a movie.

Sure, all the time.

Gotten gum stuck in my hair.

I don’t think so.

Fallen asleep in the sun and gotten burned.

Yep. But not recently ~ I avoid bright sun because it’s a migraine trigger.

Over-plucked my eyebrows.

So way, as a silly teenager.

Been in a haunted house.

Only pretend ones.

Fallen asleep during sex.

I don’t remember.

Wore a whipped cream bikini.

No way.

Been to an “adult store”.

So way. The first time was funny. I went with a girlfriend who was too scared to go in, but I was fearless back then. I went in alone. This was in Wisconsin, I think, and I was 18. But once I was inside I lost my nerve a bit, so I just grabbed two paperback books and bought them. They were dumb, of course.

Felt the presence of “paranormal activity”.

I thought it could have been, but I don’t believe in that, so it wasn’t. It makes for good stories and poetry though.

Asked someone when they were due when they weren’t pregnant.

No way. Never. I avoid commenting on people’s body sizes and looks generally except to give bland compliments.

Seen a sex therapist.

Not as a patient, but I had a date with a man who thought he was one. Lolololol. Yes, another one of my wonderful dating experiences. 🤮

Burst out laughing at a really inappropriate time.

Often have the urge but can usually stifle it.

Called someone the wrong name.

I’m sure I have, but I am pretty good with names.

Walked in on a stranger who was butt naked.

In gym locker rooms, yep.

Said you were minutes away when you haven’t even left the house yet.

No. And it’s sofa king irritating how many Californians say everything is 20 minutes from wherever they are when LITERALLY NOTHING IS 20 MINUTES FROM ANYWHERE!!!!! Gahhh why do I even live here???

Fun questions. 🙄

Tea & Truffle [fiction 375]

As Vivian poured tea for Alphonse and his mother, her husband said, “Darling, I have a surprise. I’ve invited Jeremy to tea.”

Vivian’s hand faltered, and she splashed a bit of tea on the pristine ivory lace tablecloth. “Why ever would you do such a thing, Alphonse?” she asked. “He’s been such a nui–”

“Ah, here he is now,” Mother said, as the parlor maid brought a guest to the table. “Welcome, Jeremy. Do join us. The pastries are exquisite. Lemon curd, your favorite!”

Vivian was confused. How would her mother-in-law know her former fiancé’s pastry preferences? Manners dictated that she welcome Jeremy however, and so she did.

“Thank you for inviting me to your home, Vivian and Alphonse,” Jeremy began. “And of course it is always a pleasure to see you again, Laura.”

Laura. So strange. Mother and Jeremy smiled at each other over their teacups. Vivian busied herself by giving Truffle a bit of crust–the kitty had been waiting at her feet.

“Ahem,” Alphonse said. “Jeremy, we do want to take action to end this gossip that I stole Vivian from you. It’s become quite ridiculous amongst our friends.”

“I apologize,” Jeremy said. “It was a joke that spiraled out of control. You know how people are.”

“It’s not your fault,” Mother Laura said. “No one has anything better to do than spread rumors. I myself keep busy with my show kittens.”

“Which is so admirable!” Jeremy burst out. “I’m serious about wanting to purchase a pair.”

“You!” Vivian laughed and seized the opening to get a dig in regarding something that had always bothered her. “I don’t think you quite understand the care involved. Kittens will not be compatible with your bohemian bachelor lifestyle.”

“Ah, but that’s all coming to an end.” Jeremy stood up and walked over to Mother, resting his hand on her shoulder. “I’ve asked the lovely Laura to do me the honor of becoming my wife, and to my utter delight, she has accepted!”

“Mother!” Alphonse stood up, looking aghast.

Vivian simply crumpled off her chair into a graceful heap on the floor, dropping her lemon pastry in the process.

Truffle the kitten immediately snatched it up and scampered off behind the liquor cabinet with her treasure.

~*~

Genre Challenge 9: Romance

Kiss

The first time you kissed me,

I dived into a dream;

With you by my side,

I no longer had to breathe–

You were my sun and my air,

My moon, and my trees.

I drowned when you left me

In the ocean of my dream;

Echoes of sadness so endless

Cover me cold, wake or sleep.

~*~

Genre Challenge 6: Poetry

Opposites Attract: Challenges 2 & 3

Once again, I relate these language challenges to my dating misadventures. I can come across as frivolous at first ~ in fact, I prefer a lighthearted approach to initial conversations. I don’t want to talk about politics or religion on the first date. But that generated a new set of issues, namely that men sometimes assumed I didn’t care that they were bigots or that I had no interest in significant issues. Later, if I brought up meaningful topics, they acted surprised. So, I began talking about more substantial matters early on, even though this made me uncomfortable.

There’s a fine line between being arrogant and being confident, and I confess it took me way too long to figure this out. For decades I was attracted to arrogant men, who were outright obnoxious and emotional bullies at times, mostly as a cover for raging insecurities. I didn’t understand that one can be pleasantly humble, modest, and unpretentious, without being weak and spineless. I get it now. Now that I’m done dating! 😂

FPQ 17: Misty Memories

So, I decided to ask a question about human memory, which has been shown to be incredibly unreliable. With that in mind, here is this week’s provocative question:

“How do you know which of your memories are genuine and which have been altered over time or even made up?”

We don’t. We’ve all read a novel or three where it turns out that every memory the protagonist thought was real had been implanted for some nefarious purpose. Or in the case of The Key to Midnight, real memories were erased in order to save a person from being murdered. (Shock! When I looked up this book just now to make sure I remembered it accurately, it turned out that yes I did, but the author was using a ‘nym. It was actually written by the horror writer Dean Koontz!)

But in reality, most of us are not so special that gobblement operatives are screwing with our minds. More than, you know, shoveling subliminal political messages at us on Facebook and stuff obviously. I think we can rest assured that we’ve not been whisked off to a medical lab in the middle of the night by agents in black suits and our heads flooded full of fake thoughts.

Many of our so-called real memories can be at least somewhat verified by photographic evidence and the accounts of other people who were present. We can usually nail down dates and locations of events ~ though not always, as Fandango points out, which gave him the idea for his post. And there’s also the problem of many similar events blurring together over time. Or something that sounds so real it feels like it must have happened, but was only discussed vividly and repeatedly.

My parents are gone, so now I’m the only one to tell my daughters stories about the past. I hope they’re correct, but there really is no one around to check me. There are things I was told and never questioned, but sometimes I wonder about them now. It doesn’t really matter though… soon all this will be swept away like it never was.

Of course, there’s a world of difference in trying to be honest and accurate, but getting a few details wrong or even an entire setting because your memory went blip, and deliberately gaslighting or being deceptive with the goal of hurting a person for your own benefit, whatever that benefit may be, financial or otherwise. Those things have been done to me and I don’t forgive the people who did them.

The Case of the Missing Truffle [fiction 365]

“Darling!” Alphonse shrieked. “I can’t find our precious Truffle! Is she in the boudoir with you?”

Vivian lounged in the doorway and held out a cigarette for him to light. “I haven’t seen the little fluff ball today.”

“You never liked her!” Alphonse accused his wife. “It’s because she was a gift from my mother, isn’t it? Don’t deny it. You hate Mother!”

“It’s so tiresome when you speculate about my feelings,” Vivian said. “I’m perfectly capable of articulating them.”

Alphonse crossed his arms and glared at her. “But do you? That is the question.”

“I’ll tell you what.” Vivian blew a smoke ring. “I shall ring up Jeremy and ask him to come over and begin an investigation.”

“Your ex-fiancé!” Alphonse gasped in horror. “Now I’m beginning to understand your true motivation.”

Vivian rolled her eyes. “You’re becoming monotonous, my dear. Jeremy is a detective. We have a missing kitten. It’s only logical to ask for his help.”

Stomping over to the sideboard, Alphonse muttered, “I need a martini.”

“Good God!” Vivian screamed. “It’s nine o’clock in the morning! If you’re going to become an alcoholic like my father, I’m packing my bags at once!”

“Fine,” Alphonse said. “I’ll make Bloody Marys.”

“That’s better.” Vivian said. “I’ll get the–”

“TRUFFLE!” Alphonse yelled. “Look, Viv, she was hiding in the liquor cabinet!”

Vivian put down her cigarette and rushed over to cuddle the kitten. “Oh, my sweet widdle num nums! Are you all right? Alf, do you think her health was ill-affected by spending the night in the cabinet?”

“She seems perfect! Don’t you, Truffy wuffy lovie dovie?” Alphonse wrinkled his nose. “She made a stinky in there though.”

“A stinky!” Vivian backed away. “What shall we do? The maid doesn’t come until tomorrow!”

Alphonse stood up and pondered. “I know! I’ll ring up Mother! She’ll be happy to help. She’s experienced with kittens, after all.”

“Wonderful idea, darling!” Vivian picked up her cigarette. “I’ll just pop round to the shops and pick up a cake for tea. I shan’t be more than a few hours.”

“A few hours!” After she left, Alphonse wondered if she had gone to meet Jeremy after all.

~*~

Genre Challenge 1: Melodrama

Reckoning

Follow the birds,

The laughing ravens

On velvet wings.

As the clouds let loose

Their final reckoning,

Expect no chivalry;

The trial is over

And love won’t save you–

It’s much too fragile.

You should have chosen

Honor,

As they told you.