Life and times of an astrophysist who is actually a former journalism student who is really a NERD nerdy retarded weird girl pretending to be an astrophysisist...mispelling INTENDED!

NERD nerdy retarded weird girl central...well mostly my mussings and random interludes whilst I am working towards getting a car and licence so my random adventures and time spent in Australia was worth while. It should be intersting Enjoy! While in Australia...I was sunburnt,went to Sydney and wrote my first novel. So far back in Canadia I have been couch hoping and meandering from city to city. More adventures to come. Hopefully they are as interesting as my Australia ones.

Saturday, April 25, 2009

Ketchup the Writerer

People make me so angry sometimes. So annoyed that I may never go to a particular restaurant ever again! Why can’t my brother go anywhere with out some douche bag judging him?

Here is the story:

Mom, Tony and I were at Pizza Hut having lunch. Tony loves pizza and he was particularly happy because he won a race against me to get there. The idea was I’d pick up some books I ordered from the book store and see if I would beat him and my mom there, which he did. Mom ordered him the buffet and because he is independent and likes to do things himself, he got his own food. Mom offered to help, but knowing if she interfered he would get irritated and cause a big upset. He has one ear splitting scream and is known to throw, lie down on the floor and not get up, etc, etc…On Tony’s second trip, (we sent him to get more pizza and pasta so he would not eat our own pizzas) he came back to the table with his plate heaping full of pizza, breadsticks, pasta and dripping with salad dressing. (He loves salad dressing) and the store owner no less, got mad at him for dripping on the floor, saying my mom should have been helping him and she would have gotten him a tray and blahbeddy blah. My mom went up to her and tried to explain that he was special needs and wanted to be independent so to avoid a meltdown she let him try on his own, but the lady wouldn’t listen. She made Tony feel like a little kid, less than human and talked about him like he wasn’t even there. I knew Tony understood when he started worrying and compulsively cleaning up the spills on the table, followed by profusely apologising. This however, wasn’t as bad as some incidents.

About six of seven years ago, I was at the movie theatre with my family and my brother excited about seeing Spiderman was being a bit loud, a bit too loud for some cantankerous overweight feral, (I could use much stronger words…) Became upset with my brothers behaviour and demanded that my brother be quiet or leave! A shouting match, mixed with curse words ensued starting with mom and ending with mom, me and the ugly man caused such a ruckus we were all asked to leave. This man said something I will never forget. “Put him into a cage where he belongs!” These words still haunt me to this day. I can hear him say it as clear as a bell. It still makes me angry.

Normality is a confounding subject. Why is it if you are not normal you’re expected to either attempt as much as possible to achieve normality or become invisible so the supposed norm isn’t interrupted by your difference? As far as I’m concerned normal, as well as its synonyms shouldn’t even be available in the English language. The thing I loved most about most of my university classes is that lectures banned the use of it or encouraged students to come up with a different word.

Also why are special needs people treated differently? It’s like they are there, but no one wants to see them at the same time. It’s like the olden days when my mom said children were seen not heard. It’s the same for special needs people. I got hell from a lady with a big family and a car heaping full of stuff because I sent her away when I was closing my till at work on day, not because she was trying to be sneaky and go through because apparently if there is no “lane closed sign she can.” (We have different rules on that matter). She was mad because when a lady with her special needs son came to my till shortly after and not immediately noticing my lane closed sign asked if they could come though I said it was OK. Why? Because I have a soft spot for special needs children. I know how tough it is when you are shopping with someone with disabilities, (the stares you get for starters), but I know that some special needs children like my brother when they are over stimulated or something is bothering them, they tend to have meltdowns. I was trying to help the lady hopefully avoid this, meanwhile thinking hoping that I am not being to presumptuous about her son and his disabilities and what not.

So of course when the lady with the family noticed she said. “Oh you can help her, but not us?” The way she suggested it to me sounded like it was a just on lady not a mother or aid-worker with a special needs child. I felt like I was being ostracised because I wouldn’t help a normal family. So I said “she only had a few items and they have strict rules at work that you must be done on time”, but I left the special needs thing out because the lady with her special child was still there and I didn’t her to think I was just helping the mother because her son was special needs. I wanted to help because I felt it was the right thing to do! After all of this the lady with a big cart of stuff had the nerve to say I was prejudice because she was Native American. First off this had nothing to do with race, the lady and her son were East Indian, not that it matters. It had nothing to do with the amount of stuff she had. If I am prejudice it’s against people who have no tolerance towards the handicapped or play the stupid race card. I digress…I told other cashiers and some other associates and they said I did a nice thing. So there lady with big family cart full of stuff who tries to sneak into my till and then thinks I am racist! Rah! If she did end up complaining I’d tell them the big long spiel I wrote down. LANE CLOSED!

Hopefully I am done ranting on this subject! However, if I were in politics or what ever I’d definitely campaign for special needs people! They need more funding to make things accessible for them enjoy life like anyone else, they need respect. They are human too, but I guess some people are so wrapped up in their normal lives they forget about them, don’t see them or don’t care about them or anything abnormal and in the end it makes me very sad.

I guess this is random putting up a story after my long ranting session, but it kind of has to do with being prejudice. The character Kassy is treated like dirt because she can’t write to either Carly’s or James standards. Kassy is one who thinks she is a writer, but isn’t. Although I don’t think I put that in this fragment. It is because of this she is seen as abnormal and one of the characters James in particular is mean to her because of it. While Carly knows the behaviour is inexcusable she still lets it continue for some reason…almost amused by it, acting like its not even happening. I read too much into my stuff I guess.

Monday, August 15, 2005

Ketchup the Writerer

James sits across from me as surly as ever, Sam sits beside me rolling a ball point pen back and forth across the table. The pen clicks and clacks as it rolls. He was lost in thought, absorbed in his own world as usual. I sit there staring into space.
“Carly!” (a voice behind me) Kassy the Writerer exclaims.
“How are you?” she asks.
“I’m fine,” I reply.
James glares at her, his eyes squinting though his black framed glasses, his chocolate brown eyes dark and mean.
“Hi James!” she waves her hand up in friendly wave.
He stares back at her. “Did any of us say you could sit down with us?”
“I-I haven’t sit down yet,” she replies awkwardly.
“Well are you going to sit down or what?”
She slowly sits on the chair beside me.
“I J-just wrote another chapter in my story,” Kassy says attempting to make conversation.
Sam continues to roll the pen.
“Is this your friend?” She asks pointing at Sam. She smiles awkwardly.
“Oh yeah,” I reply. “He is my fiancĂ©, Sam,” I smile awkwardly.
The pen stops rolling. Sam looks at me.
“Uh Sam, this is Kassy. Kassy this is Sam,” I say.
Whapp! A ketchup packet thuds on her left ear.
James smirks, Sam snorts, I sigh, Kassy cries.
“James are you bored or something?”
“The ketchup hurt me,” Kassy sobbed.
“Are you allergic to tomatoes?” Sam asks.
“No, just ketchup,” she replies.

P.S. I’ve been writing more lately :)


Tuesday, April 21, 2009

Forget Breakfast!

One of the few things that I’ve had a consistent habit or relationship with since I can remember is my alarm clock, to be more specific the snooze button. Even the alarm clock changes, whether it be an old battered one (no thanks to my brother throwing it several hundred times) I had for about 7 years, a cheap $2 analogue from the Warehouse, the one on my mobile phone or the new one I got this past Christmas. The snooze button and I have always made contact, which I think is rather excessive. One may press the snooze button 1 or 2 times. I seem to push it at least 7 or more in the morning. I think the record was 2 hours before I finally got out of bed and I had 30 minutes to get ready for work. It’s such a bad habit; I used to leave myself with 20 minutes till I had to be out the door to work. I just like sleep or maybe I just like to press the snooze button for no apparent reason. I am safe in my bed, the world hasn’t tainted me yet and made me bitterer or annoyed with life that it already has.

For example, I set my alarm for 8:30 a.m. to give some time to get ready for the bus at 10:30a.m.…I kept pushing the snooze button till 9:50 a.m.! I played musical alarm clock for almost an hour and 20 minutes. I went from alarm clock, to bed, to dream land to being woken up by alarm clock, to pressing the snooze button, then back to bed and so the cycle continued. Meanwhile my dog Sydney curled into a ball at my feet shifted behind my legs so I wouldn’t keep disturbing every 9 minutes that I got up to press the snooze button once again. Meanwhile I vaguely remember Sydney looking at me occasionally in my zombie state, saying with those cute little brown eyes, “no really Melissa how long is this going to go on?”

So how do I break this incredibly bad habit? How do I get up shut my alarm off, ignore the snooze button and stay away from my bed? I swear if I could, my mornings would be much less stressed.

Ironically I found a story that mirrors my relationship with the alarm clock…It’s a Carly fragment. :P I also want to make a note that any story I write or post on here is entirely copyrighted!

Thursday, July 28, 2005

Forget Breakfast!

The sun beats down on me as I walk along the dusty road. No one is in sight. The heat attacks me making me sweat, my lips dry.
I come to a cliff I see a shadowy figure.
“Sam,” I ask.
He turns around. His hazel eyes light up. He smiles
“Carly?” he replies.
His tanned skin glistens from sweat. His smell amazing, I am drawn to him.
He gazes into my eyes and leans into me for a passionate kiss.
The alarms clocks go off.
I sit up in a daze. It was only a dream.
“Carly…!” my roommate Noel screams.
I smack the alarm clocks.
“ringgg…” I shove it to the ground.
Complete silence.
I miss him. I love him and now its too late.
I quickly get dressed. I dash out of my bedroom.
Crash! I tripped over something big and squishy. Its my brother Tony what’s he doing here?
Tony continues to sleep, unaware that I almost dilapidated myself. It’s a gift in our family. We sleep like hibernating bears. (or bears in hibernation.) My massive brother rolls over and continues to snore.
I kick him.
“Grawlbhlik,” he answers.
I walk over to the kitchen. The microwave tells me I have five minutes before I need to leave for work.
Forget Breakfast!

P.S. The world’s worst weapon is the tongue. Words said the wrong way are like a thousand poisonous pointy spears. Now I know what all the literary theorist where on about when they mentioned the anxiety of language…

11/100 entries...89 more to go :S

Sunday, April 19, 2009

Honeydew Mellon

Have you ever had a conversation on msn that abruptly ends? I mean your talking and then all of a sudden you run out of things to talk about and then its just silence for what seems like ever and then every 10 – 20 minutes you ask if they are there and they reply yes...then someone says some thing random like “I’m bored.” Or “I’m tired.” Then once again the silence continues. Its like the two people in the conversation couldn’t be bothered to talk to each other anymore and can’t figure out a polite way to say I’m talk to you later or I’m going now….Its just silence, no clicking of the keyboard, no nothing. It makes me feel anxious because I think, they may think that I am ignoring them or that I don’t want to talk to them anymore. The thing is I do, but I have run out of something to say to them. Finally after the conversation has stagnated, I just say I’m going to bed or they don’t even bother to say good bye and you see they have gone offline. I feel kind of bad the conversation peaked, and then dwindled into oblivion with random small talk until it was finally over. Sometimes being merely side track results in the death of the conversation itself.

A prime example of this is conversations with my friend Carol. We both seem to think our lives are so boring that we run out of things to talk about. We have the occasional running of the getting out of frustrations and advice giving but after an hour if its on a particular day where nothing exciting happened the conversation usually ends up stagnating and its not because we don’t like to talk to each other. I think we just run out of stuff to talk about or feel we have nothing to talk about. However I think we are interesting but we fail to see it as we are so wrapped up in the “my life is boring all I do is eat, sleep and work.”

I miss the conversations I had with my friend Chris where we’d talk about anything. We actually would have conversations that started and finished. For starters and in no particular order, we talked about:

  1. You're face!
  2. Boobies
  3. Random garbles of words e.g. adhfdshfsdjlkdsfjdslkjfdslkjdfslkjdslk;
  4. Flat to Myself movie trilogy.
  5. Carol/Philis like stories.
  6. Occasional moments of advice, usually about my obsessions, but hardly ever about his. (I feel bad about that)
  7. ANYTHING Song of the Superheroes related this includes Fizzy Lemonade and its upcoming possible sequels. One time we had an msn conversation in which we role played. I was Sarah Evans and he was Fergus and we having a mock interview. These conversations went on for hours. HOURS!
  8. Other stories we were working on that was not Song of the Superheroes related.
  9. Random hellos and plans for the next day (Whilst in Australia of course, better yet Rockhampton!)
  10. Reminders to update ones blog “DATE UP! DATE UP! DATE UP! DATE UP! NOW! NOW! NOW! NOW!”
  11. Sometimes romantical woes.
  12. Other friends, but not in a bad behind your back way. For example, with one friend being in another city, it was merely an informational thing.
  13. Literary and cultural theories.

Being that I am on about msn and it reminds me of script format. I thought I should post a short script story I wrote. Seeing as the idea of April is to showcase my unfinished stories...

Monday, May 28, 2007
Honeydew Mellon

Sam is picking vegetables in the food produce aisle at a local grocery store. Frank wanders behind Sam.
Frank: You know what? One time I bought a pineapple.
Sam: (Jumps, is a bit startled as he isn’t expecting company.) Oh I see…
Frank: Yes it tasted good.
Sam: (Standoffishly) Oh course…
Frank: It tasted like pineapple.
Sam: What else would it taste like? (Tries to get away from the insane nerd)
Frank and Sam are now in vegetable aisle hovering past the fruits.
Frank: I thought it would taste like pine trees and apples but it tasted much different.
Sam: OK…How about trying this honeydew melon? (Hand the green melon to Frank.)
Frank: A honey flavoured melon that’s ingenious!

My thoughts: I wrote this almost two years ago! I was still in Australia! I like this story fragment! I’ve decided I will not dig up anything past 2005 because before that was kind of (in my opinion) horrendous. Mind you I am my own worst critic.

Oh yeah and this is entirely random but a flatmate briefly had a cute little dog called Honey Dew Mellon, but she was called Honey.

I found out that in high school I was considered a walking dictionary. Just ask one of my old high school classmates.

10/100 entries...

Wednesday, April 15, 2009

read own risk Grammar demons beware

9 out of 100 entries…

Well its late, 12 am late. I’m tired, but not tired. My mind is full of thoughts…

Lately I feel like people think I am stupid, shy reserved. Someone actually referred to me as “timid.” Another said I have a “soft heart”…I think people know I don’t have an adequate backbone so they play on it. At work I am apparently known as the quiet one who reads books. I have a vendetta against assumptions. They irritate me. What irks me more is that I sometimes think I secretly agree with what people think of me and I am annoyed with myself for thinking that I am stupid.

Lately I can’t remember my dreams. They are all garbled. Usually I don’t like dreaming. I have anxiety of what my subconscious will display to me in my slumber and occasionally it causes me insomnia because I don’t want to dream. Occasionally I have a really cool, weird dream that results in a story idea and I hope for them often, but lately if I dream they feel like I am in some mild sort of delirium and I cannot remember a thing. I took my special dreams for granted and now I have seemed to have lost them. Grrrr….Hopefully they will come back!

Anyways the reason why I am on the subject of dreams is because my next story fragment deals with a character dreaming. However, I did not dream it (if that makes any sense) but I did write it? I actually remember writing it too, how I felt awkward trying to write horror, I’ve long since abandoned that genre. I’ve settled more into far fetched fiction. When I found it, the file was called. “Qlever Queen read own risk Grammar demons beware.” I can kind of see why. By the way “Qlever is supposed to be Clever.” I used to think that clever was spelt with a q. I even found a comment I made on it 3 years before. :P

Qlever Queen (unofficial title)
Written: Saturday, October 26, 2002
Poem written: Thursday, October 24, 2002

She grabs me by my neck and holds me to the ground. She blows green smoke at me that smells like fish. It is cold and I realize that I am in the woods.
“Face your fears and the stronger you will become,” said a voice.
“Maria?” I said.
The decaying woman becomes more visible underneath the flesh I see Nelda.
“Nelda?” I said.
“Danny, you know me?” she said.
“Of course,” I replied.
“You don’t know how long I have loved you,” she said, as her nose fell off and an ear too.
“I am sorry I don’t feel the same,” I said.
“Go then,” she said. “I hope you know what you did to me.” More flesh fell off.
“Danny,” said the voice. “Run!”
A path was lit in green. It was narrow and hard to see, but you would run too if you were me.
“Danny, this way,” I heard it again.
“Maria!” I said. I saw her crying and then she grabs me.
“Wake up,” she commands me.
I wake up in a terrible sweat, shaking.
“You’re still dreaming,” said Maria in a creepy voice.
“What!” I said.
“You need to face your fears, so you called the friend that you hold dear,” she replied. “Except I am not Maria I am Qlever Queen.”
“You told me never to forget you,” I said still shaking.
“So that’s why I am here. I am sure wish I remembered.”
“If you told me to wake up, why am I still dreaming?” I asked.
“Well you were supposed to but you didn’t listen so I brought you here so she couldn’t get to you.”
“A shamrock is fearless you have to defeat your fear.”
“What am I supposed to do?”
“You have inner strength take something that is powerful from you and use it.”
“I don’t know what that is.”
“You will know when you have too. I think I am a clue to what it is.”
“I don’t know.”
“I am still your friend right?”
“I have to go I can’t do it for you.”
Qlever Queen disappears, green cape, chocolate brown hair and sad eyes.)
The door glows green and bursts open.
“Did you think you could get away so fast?” she said menacingly.
She grabs me and pushes me out the window. I thought, I don’t want to fall out I wont let her get me. I stop in mid air and come back in the window. I look to see the broken glass rebuilding its self piece by piece, like a puzzle.
“Qlever Queen,” said Nelda “Why won’t he love me?”
“Because he loves someone else,” she replied.
“I wish too know who. I want her to appear so I can tell her that he is mine not hers.”
“Qlever Queen looks at her. Her eyes roll back. And she says, “Go ahead and tell me.”
I feel a shock, something I have never felt before.
“First off he doesn’t belong to anyone,” she said. “He belongs to himself.”
“Qlever Queen I want to kiss him weither he wants to or not.”
My mind goes blank. She grabs me and kisses me. Picture this, moulding decaying lips, green teeth and a slimy black tounge. Worst thing is I swallowed her tounge. I spit it out.
“Curly caught your tounge,” said Qlever Queen laughing.
The tounge squirms all over the floor. My mouth tasted like icy soap.
All of a sudden I am in a bathroom.
“Need toothpaste and brush?” asked Qlever Queen.
I quickly grab it and start brushing my teeth. It didn’t get better it got worse. Instead of minty fresh, I got stinky breath. I looked on the paste label it said “fish paste.”
“I love it when a man’s breath smells like fish,” said Nelda, now falling apart even more. She picks her tounge up off the floor and sticks it back in her mouth.
“That’s better,” she said.
“Don’t you think I am more beautiful now?”
I looked in the mirror and saw what she thought she looked like. Instead of a decaying girl, it was Tabitha.
“Tabitha all a long,” I said stunned.
“Do you want to kiss me now?” she asked.
“Not really,” I said.
“To bad,” she grabs me and kisses me again. It was even worse than before. One of her eyes fell out.
“Oh excuse me a minute,” she said picking it up and putting it back in the socket.
“Looking at you with two eyes is better than one.”
Qlever Queen starts to say a poem.

I look out the window
And see his face.
His golden brown hair
And how he walks with grace.
I don’t think he knows
How much I care
His eyes are full of
Beauty and light.
I try not to think about him with all my might.
His brown eyes are soft
And warm.
My love grows stronger
Like a thunder storm.
To have him embrace
Me in his arms is my will.
But, I know in my heart
His love belongs to someone else
I don’t care if he smells
Like fish.
To have one kiss would
Be my wish
I know he is the one for
He is the only one I see
I look out the window
And I see his face.

“My love belongs to someone still,” I said. Maria I thought.
“No you can’t,” she screamed.
I look at poor Nelda.
“If only you could see what I see,” I said.
She looks in the mirror and screams.
I open the door and start to go.
She collapses to the floor and starts to cry.
“No one loves me,” she cried.
“Nelda, someone loves you,” I said.
“Why don’t you love me?” she asked.
“Because I love someone else,” I said.
“I grab some tissue and wipe her eyes.
“I wish I didn’t feel so bad,” she said.
“Everyone feels bad sometimes,” I said.
“I am sorry,” she said.
“Its OK I am still your friend,” I said.
“You’re my friend?” she said looking at me happily.
“Your nose is running.” I hand her a tissue.
“Thanks I needed that,” she said. “Do you think in a few years you will change your mind?” she asked.
“No I am sorry,” I said. “Do you think you might change your mind?”
“Maybe,” she said.
“You know I think I saw Michael eying you,” I told her.
“Really, the turtle geek?” She started to smile. “Wow Michael.”
“You can go now. I will be OK,” she said.
“OK,” I said. “I will see you at school tomorrow.”
“Yes you most certainly will,” she replied.
“Good,” I said, as I walked out the door.
I woke up for real this time I looked at the clock 5 a.m. Time to get up.

My thoughts: This story needs work. It is crap! I think it should be changed to Clever Queen. Not to mention Qlever Queen disappears than moments later reappears. It makes no sense. This calls for a re-write – Thursday, February 2, 2006

My thoughts: I find this story amusing! What’s with all the body parts falling off of poor Nelda? Hopefully this part would be written after I attempted to explain what a shamrock was. I do agree that a re-write is in order or perhaps consideration to be re-written and place someplace else? Or maybe just read from time to time for mere amusement? It is still nonsensical AND the tenses are mixed up too! – Sunday, April 12, 2009

Maybe tomorrow I will dig up something from 2003....

P.S. I can’t believe I used to think clever was spelt with a q.

Monday, April 13, 2009

Invisiblness Syndrome...Nooooo Invisiblness isn't a word!

8/100 (92 more entries to go...)

Well it appears that I have written before the month is over, which is more than I can say for March. I’ve been so down the last few months even the things I once loved deeply such as writing in my blog just for the sake of spouting out pointless dribble about my life and thoughts seemed to be more of a chore than an escape or a procrastination method that it once was. I hope this will change in the future.

Today I started reading some of my old stories. Some of them as old as 6 – 7 years old, I find them amusing and I wonder what I was thinking at the time. Therefore I think April should be old stories month… I am going to post an old piece of a story that I have long forgotten about and review it …It’s a month of fragments starting with this random one from 2002 the year I realised that I wanted to be a writer.

Invisiblness Syndrome
Written: Sunday, September 1, 2002

“You said you were my friend,” said Alex.
“Exactly,” said Maria friend as in friend,” said Maria, “Not the other kind of friend..”
“What kind of friend is there?” questioned Alex.
“We’re too different,” said Maria.
“If we were meant to be, I would no longer be invisible.”
Alberticus walks in the room.
“Maria where are you?” he said. “I forgot to tell you that I would be late.”
“Bert, this isn’t a good time,” said Alex glaring at Bert looking at him like he was intruding.
“How do you know?” said Alex, “no matter what you will never be invisible to me.”
Maria did not answer she just stared blankly at him.
“Are you sure about us being different?” asked Alex.
“Who’s different?” asked Bert.
“I was talking to Maria,” Alex retorted.
“Yes I am. I am invisible. If you noticed me, you could see me right now.”
“Well you don’t look so invisible to me,” said Bert. “You’re right in front of me.”
Maria did not answer. She just stood for a moment, thinking, wow my invisibilness syndrome has worn off.
“You don’t deserve to be invisible,” said Bert. “No matter how invisible you are, you will always be my friend.”
“What?” said Alex.
“No, I really was invisible. It wasn’t a metaphor for how I feel,” said Maria.
“Oh you had invisiblness syndrome,” replied Alberticus. “My grandpa had that.”
“Invisibliness isn’t at word,” retorted Alex. “Its invisibility and there is no such thing as being invisible. It is feeling invisible.”
“Oh, How would you know?” said Maria “Ghosts are invisible.”
“And see through,” added Bert.
“There is no such thing as ghosts,” said Alex.
“Yes there is. Just because you can’t see them doesn’t mean they don’t exist,” said Maria.
“Yeah, how do you know?” asked Bert. “You’re not a ghost.”
“Neither are you,” said Alex.
“You are an amazing person why can’t you see that?” insisted Alex.
“Well I am sure she can see,” said Bert rolling his eyes.
“See what?” said Maria looking at Alberticus amusingly.
“That you are way more amazing then you think,” said Bert.
“That’s just a rephrase of what I said,” said Alex.
“I was not finished,” said Bert.
“Oh really,” said Alex rudely.
“Yes and I wasn’t repraisng you.”
“Rephrase,” said Alex.
“Whatever Alex,” replied Bert.
“What meant was Maria doesn’t see the Maria I see,” explained Bert. “Besides she can’t be herself the way you want her too.”
“Oh shut up Alberticus,” snapped Alex.
“She was invisible before you noticed she was there,” said Bert. “What would make you decide to like her now?”
“Maybe I couldn’t see what was important before,” said Alex.
“Well I noticed her first. She went invisible because I forgot her. I forgot her name,” said Bert.
“You wouldn’t understand Alex,” said Maria.
“I am sorry Maria,” Bert said sadly.
“I am sorry too,” replied Maria. “I never realized how cool you are. I really like your hair.”
“Ahh,” said Alberticus smiling, as he pats Maria on the head. Maria smiles.
“Oh please, you pat a dog or a cat on the head,” said Alex sounding annoyed. “That stupid Curly patented approach you think you could do something more original.”

My thoughts: What the? I don’t remember writing this at all. Although I do vaguely remember thinking about these characters for this story idea I was obsessed about since I was 15. There seems to be an invisible love triangle going on at an indistinguishable location, with unseen description to add to the banter of constant dialogue. I have no idea where they are and what they are doing. Although I just remembered it might be taking place at a dinning room where they work. Probably should have mentioned that. I have no emotional attachment to this story fragment. If I do it is invisible if you get my drift. Maybe that’s why I don’t remember writing it. I do notice how I am still a fan of characters talking. If you ever notice sometimes in my stories, there is A LOT of dialogue but it’s pretty slim on the description. Oh yeah and Alberticus is a cool name. :P Other than that I hate this story.

Till next time…

P.S. Don’t you think I haven’t forgotten about my New Year’s resolution to post 100 entries by 2010! This is entry 8 out of the hopeful 100, which means I would have to post at least 11- 12 times a month in the next eight months, which means I better get cracking. This will be one resolution I want to keep!