After a lengthy absence, I finally have something to share. I basically wrote this under the influence of Irish beer. I was interrupted by my sisters, so it may not be cohesive. Enjoy!

There are forty-five minutes until midnight, and the beginning of a new year. It’s a new year for the two of them, ushering in the anniversary of their first year of marriage, as well as the milestones of turning 30. He’s more relaxed about their birthdays than she is.

She is across the room, talking with a few friends, a glass of water in her hand. He watches her from across the way, feeling the effects of the second glass of beer he had, and finds her even more beautiful than she was when they left the house that evening for the party. She looks over at him, and smiles. He’s pretty sure she’s smiling because he’s on his third glass of beer, but he’s pretending she smiled because she is happy. He takes one last gulp, and walks over to her.

“Hello, darlin’,” he smiles, kissing her on the cheek and wrapping his arm protectively around her waist. She looks at him and smiles warmly.

All of her friends look at him, and are jealous of her. He doesn’t know why, he thinks he’s nothing special, despite what she tells him. She smiles again when she notices they’re staring at him, and not paying attention to the fact she’s talking about Santa Claus being her uncle.

“Will you ladies excuse us? I want to steal her away for a few minutes.”

“Go ahead, Colin. Having a good time?”

“I am having a great time. How can you not with such lovelies to admire?” He’s goading them, and he knows it. They flush, and he smiles triumphantly, whisking her off.

“You know they’re freely staring at your butt right now, right?”

“Are they, my love?”

“Well…after that invitation you gave them, yes.” She looks up at him, and laughs.

He leads her outside, to the deck outlined with clear Christmas lights, where he promptly presses a deep kiss to her lips. She kisses him back, giggling.

“You couldn’t do that in there?”

“Not really, no.”

“Are you suddenly against PDA? Because, in the past, it never would have stopped you.”

“Actually, I have a proposition,” he smiles devilishly.

“Well, you can propose it inside,” she replies. “It is cold as hell out here.” She walks away and back into the house. He is not too far behind, grabbing at her back as she playfully speeds away from him.

He catches her as she sinks onto a sofa in the corner, beneath the low light of an overhead light. He nuzzles his nose into her neck, and presses soft kisses up to her ear.

“What is this proposition, then?” She murmurs, smiling at the kisses.

“I propose we get out of here, and have our own little New Year’s party in our own house,” he breathes, kissing her ear.

“No, Colin. This is my first New Year’s party, and I want to stay here until midnight. What’s spurred this, I wonder? You were more excited about this party than I was earlier today. What’s changed?”

“It was this beautiful bird I saw from across the room,” he whispers, trailing his finger across her collarbone, leaving goose bumps in its wake. “She smiled at me, and I felt the need to bed her immediately.”

“’Bed her immediately?’ Have you been reading nineteenth century novels again? You don’t speak like that, even when you’re seducing me. You’re acting strange.”

“I haven’t touched those books recently,” he replied, pulling back from her. “I’ve cracked open a few of yours, though,” he retorted. “Is the whole ‘heaving bosoms’ thing your idea of an excellent novel?”

“Compared to your Game of Thrones­-themed books, they’re amazing. But to answer your question, no they aren’t my idea of a good book. I read them for a bit of a change from what I normally read, which has no sexual situations. Those books are the touch of HBO that everyone except religious leaders yearns for when they watch television. You’re well aware that I read books with far more substance than romance novels.”

“I could break out the Camelot cape I have in the wardrobe. I know what that does to you,” he smiles mischievously.

“Really?” She asks, getting distracted by the idea of him dressing up as a Knight of Camelot. “No, I won’t be distracted, even in the face of such a suggestion. I want to stay here through the end, and kiss you at the stroke of midnight,” she returns firmly.

“Don’t say ‘stroke,’ Olivia,” he groans, straightening up on the sofa.

“Okay, I’ll just leave you here then. I am going to go and talk with Alicia,” she laughs, kissing the top of his head.

Colin sits on the sofa, calming down, all while watching Olivia interacts with their friends. It seems strange to him that at this time the year before, he was totally single and wishing he wasn’t at this party. He met Olivia on his birthday, two months later. Five months later, they were married, shocking their friends and family members. Once he was ‘settled’, he went to grab two glasses of champagne. He spun to walk toward Olivia, when he met up with Gerard.

“Olivia seems happy,” Gerard voices, gesturing at Olivia.

“She’s over the moon,” Colin smiles. “I tried convincing her to get out of here, but she insists on staying.”

Just then, a ruckus stirs at the front door. Into the living room walks Declan, all boisterous and already drunker than someone should be before midnight. He makes an instant beeline for Olivia, which causes Colin to smirk.

“What is that?” Gerard asks, noticing Colin’s reaction.

“It’s Declan,” he returns, “Olivia cannot stand him. She thinks he’s loud, overbearing, and doesn’t like the fact he fancies her. The question is: how will she react?”

Colin stands there in amused silence. Declan approaches Olivia, and she turns just as he speaks her name. Her face contorts in fright and annoyance, as he pulls her into an uncomfortable embrace. Colin waits for the moment of truth: how will Olivia react? Colin is stunned when she puts on a fake smile and looks like she’s interested in what he has to say. She glances up at Colin, giving him the signal for rescue. He lets her fester a few more seconds, before walking over to them.

“Hey there, Declan. Happy New Year,” he smiles. Olivia looks at him in appreciation. “Here’s your champagne, baby-bear,” he voices, handing her the glass. Colin knows Declan cannot stand the fact that Olivia is married to him.

“Happy New Year to you as well, Colin,” Declan returns, putting on a fake smile. “I was just saying to Olivia it’s such a beautiful night.”

“Indeed it is, Declan. I have never seen such a clear sky on New Year’s Eve,” Colin smiles at Declan’s discomfort. Olivia shoots him a look. “Uh…there’s ten minutes until the New Year, and I wanted to introduce Olivia to some people. If you’ll excuse us, Declan.”

Olivia smiles brightly, zipping by Declan with a short ‘nice seeing you.’ Colin wraps his arm around her shoulder, and laughs. Colin and Olivia separate for a few minutes, and Colin finds a short moment to look at Olivia having a discussion with someone, occasionally sipping at her champagne and smiling.

At a minute until midnight, Colin pulls Olivia away from her conversation and they go to a part of the party where there aren’t too many people standing around, so they have some air. They exchange knowing glances, and smile as they sip their champagne. As the last thirty seconds tick by, Colin takes Olivia’s glass and places it on a nearby table. The last five seconds consist of Colin pulling Olivia to him, and kissing her deeply as everyone begin shouting “Happy New Year!” around them. Olivia squeals as he kisses her. Everyone around them has done the traditional kiss, and is now singing ‘Auld Lang Syne.’ Colin pulls away from their inaugural New Year’s kiss as a married couple, and he takes her hand and leads her out to the road, flagging down the only unoccupied taxi to take them home.

The ride home is filled with her giggling, since she normally doesn’t have a lot to drink, so she feels really loose. Colin takes advantage of her change in mood, and whispers everything he wants to do with her, which sends her into even more fits of giggles. After paying the driver, they walk down the lane to their tiny apartment.

“You are going to wear the cape and sword, right?” Colin looks at her in disbelief. “Because if not, you have left me severely disappointed. You promised.”

“I promised nothing of the sort,” he answered. Olivia pouted, snickering into giggles. “But if you wish me to suit up into armour, then you shall get your wish,” he smiles widely.

Olivia claps and jumps up and down in excitement.

They fall through the door, and the New Year’s festivities continue long after.

Lack of Postage

Can be attributed to many things. Lack of inspiration? Nope, that's not it. I have written a great many things, but my sisters occasionally frequent this site, and I would have to do A LOT of editing for them to look at my stories and not judge them.

I also have decided in my infinite wisdom to return to school.

I haven't been in school since June 2001, when I was almost eighteen. So after eleven years of no educational background, I have returned to school. To say that it's been adventure is an understatement. It's going to be a long 4-year journey, that will end when I am 33 years old.

Yes, you read that correctly. I am a 29-year old college student, enrolled in an online branch of the very college I wanted to attend when I was nineteen. It's taken me ten years, but I finally got there. I am studying to receive my Bachelor's in English with an emphasis on Creative Writing, which essentially means my degree will get me no jobs when I am done. But I am pursuing my passion, so that makes me happy. Besides, Eoin Macken has a degree in Psychology and he's an actor, so I am not too worried.

Something I Wrote a Few Years Back

I wrote this a while back, while living in Oregon. It was raining, and I was looking at my tweed coat hanging in the closet, and I just got this spark of inspiration. It's not finished, and I highly doubt I will ever finish it, or add on to it.

It had been raining all night.  I was awakened a few times by sudden downpours on my roof.  Besides the frequent rain, it was also unbearably cold.  And wouldn’t you know, I’d run out of coffee.  So I went to my favorite café for a muffin and café latte.  I was quietly seated in my corner; reading a book of Keats’ poetry, when she came in.

I’d seen her pass the window, dressed in her gray tweed coat, the hood pulled over her head to protect her from the cold rain.  I drew my eyes back to the book.  I heard the familiar tinkle of the door opening, and my eyes went curiously to the door, fully intending to go back to the book once I’d seen who walked in.  A shrouded figure entered, looking like some medieval character from a film.  The hood slowly pulled backwards; revealing an attractive woman with black hair.  Her quiet eyes slowly darted around the café.  She gently walked to the counter, her face reading the menu board.  She ordered a cookie and vanilla chai latte.

Once her order was ready, she sat at the table adjacent to mine.  She unbuttoned her tweed coat, and placed it on the empty chair to dry.  She walked to a cart with coffee tools to grab a napkin and coffee stir straw.  She looked my way, while I pretended to be engrossed in Keats.

  

“I love that book,” she smiled brightly.  “One of my favorite poems is in there.  Have you gotten to ‘Bright Star’?”

I casually glanced up. 

“No, I haven’t.  I think it’s towards the back, and I have made it my mission to read each and every word.”  I fidgeted with the cover while talking to her.

She shook her head, as if she understood.  “Well, good luck,” she whispered, going back to her table.  I decided to skip to ‘Bright Star’, to see what she was talking about.  And she was right; it was a beautiful poem.

Awhile later, she was finishing her chai, and putting on her coat.  As she walked to the trash can, I called out to her.

“I decided to skip ahead to read ‘Bright Star’.  You’re right, it is a nice poem.”

She smiled.  “That it is,” she replied.  “I’ll see you around.”

 ********

For the next week, I went to the café, hoping to see the woman in the gray tweed coat.  And never once did I see her.  Dejected, I went back to my normal home coffee brewing routine.

I was at the grocery store one afternoon (although it looked like evening) to do some impromptu shopping, when I saw a tweed coat.  My heart skipped a beat, and when I got closer, I realized it wasn’t her.  Depressed, I kept going.  In the produce department, I was thumping a cantaloupe, when I saw a tweed coat.  I wasn’t about to depress myself yet again, so I walked toward the broccoli.

“It’s the guy who was reading Keats at that little café,” I heard a voice cry behind me.  At this point, I believed my brain was playing tricks on me, so I kept walking.  “Hi!”  Deciding to play along, I spun around.  It was her, in all her gray tweed coat glory.

“Hello,” I spoke, hiding the enthusiasm that was raging within me.  “What are you doing here?”

She grabbed a pomegranate.

“Choosing fruit,” she smiled.  “Amongst other stuff.  I came home from work last night, and noticed I had no freaking food.  Besides, I heard there’s a blizzard on the way, and I want to make sure I’ve got enough food in case I’m snowed in.”

“Of course.  Same here, except for the blizzard thing,” I smiled.

“How is the Keats reading going?”

“Quite nicely, thank you.  I keep going back to ‘Bright Star’,” I spoke.

“Yeah, it has that power,” she chuckled.  “Well, good luck.  I should get back to shopping,” she smiled.  I nodded, and said goodbye.

Untitled Titanic Poem

I originally wrote this on April 15.  I posted it on another blog of mine, where I have been selecting a poem (or two) a day for National Poetry Month.

I wrote three, but only two are worth reading.  This second one is a bit longer, and is based more on the 1997 film.  It’s told from the point of view of a first or second class female passenger.

The night she sank
I was in my stateroom,
Writing in my journal.

When she struck the iceberg,
It slightly resembled an earthquake.
I felt like I was in San Francisco again.

The atmosphere was calm,
As if nothing untoward had happened.
And then, it was chaos.

People screaming,
Climbing into lifeboats,
And first-class ladies
Requesting their best coats from their maids.

The ship begins sinking at an angle
As my lifeboat is lowered.
People are crying out
To whatever God they believe in,
For help and mercy on their lives.
Women and children are forcibly ripped,
From husbands and fathers.

My lifeboat floats far from the fray.
And with frightened eyes, I watch
As the majestic Titanic
Sinks beneath the Atlantic.

The cries of those unfortunate souls
Bobbing and struggling in the icy water
Chills my body more than the cold air outside.
A few of us urge the crewman to save them,
But he refuses.

Eventually, the screams stop.
Hundreds of people dot the water,
Lifeless and cold.

Absolution comes in the form of the Carpathia.
No Titanic, but she is warm;
And I am grateful to be heading home.

I'll Come Up With a Title Later

I came up with the concept of this story last night, as I was trying to fall asleep (usually when my ideas for stories happen). As a disclaimer, I want to say that I have never been in this situation, and that this story is a work of fiction. If anyone in the real world has been in this situation, you have my heartfelt condolences.

The California Perception

There's a stigma on Californians.  Don't try and deny it, because if you're not from California, you are literally judging me right now.

Growing up in the suburbs of San Diego, I was sheltered. I didn't think states like Maine and New Hampshire actually existed, even though I'd read and learned about them in school in history classes.  The furthest I'd ever gone in the country was Arkansas, and to me that was a wilderness that I deeply disliked.

And so it is no huge shock to anyone when I say that when I moved 3,000 miles across the United States to rural Northern New Hampshire, that my sheltered existence was thus shattered. I had been to rural places before, visiting my aunt and grandparents who lived in the Bible Belt, but Littleton completely and unequivocally changed my viewpoint.

There I was, this teenage Suburbanite in a town of 6,000 people.  Where I grew up, people smoked outside of buildings.  Smoking was all but banned in restaurants in San Diego County for the most part, but my first day in exploring the town with my younger sister, we found out this was not the case in Littleton.  Being teenaged girls, we went into this pizza joint (basically because it was the only eatery on Main Street that looked teenager-friendly).  Instantly, I am assaulted with the scent of every cigarette brand imaginable co-mingling in a small space.  It was like stepping into a seedy bar in the middle of nowhere that is the size of a mall jewelry store.  Having grown up around a grandfather who smoked like a chimney, the scent wasn't offensive.  The environment was, however.  I like being admired like any other female, but it's different when you're being gawked at by 40-year old men who are missing a few teeth (this is not an exaggeration, it's the honest truth).

Fast-forward two months, and school starts.  Because you're in a small town, everyone knows you're the new kid.  And because of this, you're so much more intriguing to everyone.  My first day alone I was asked a million questions about my schooling, how things were different, the weather, and everything else.  Despite the fact I was from California, and the new girl, I wasn't getting the typical stereotype perceptions.

That is, until this Senior guy decided to take Childcare a month into the school year.  This guy decides to challenge my mindset, insulting my home state, and stereotyping me as some stoner that surfs in their free time.  That guy learned pretty quickly that you don't insult my home state or the inhabitants of my home state without my saying something.

And so, I just want to point out a few things and smooth any misconceptions you might be having about Californians, of any gender.

• First and foremost, not everyone in California smokes pot.  While it's true that a lot of Californians smoke pot, and advocate the legalization of pot, not everyone smokes or likes pot.
• Unless you're from Southern California, surfing is not a statewide activity.  I have yet to dip my toes in the water in NorCal, but from what I have heard, the water is frigid. And even if you reside in SoCal, it does not mean you surf.
• Not all Californians bleach their hair.  
• Or spend copious amounts of time in the sun, baking like turkeys.

And as for the female perception:

1. I am not, nor do I ever plan on being, Barbie.  Growing up in the age of Baywatch on TV, I never  aspired to resemble Yasmine Bleeth or Pam Anderson.  I didn't want the fake plastic "bimbo" boobs as a little girl.
2. I can speak with an affected "Valley Girl" accent.  You watch enough TV with stereotypical California teens (California Dreams and Saved By the Bell), you learn something.  But I used this accent as a joke, even as a teenager.  I don't talk like that on a daily basis.
3. At one point, I did use the word "like" after every other word.  At the age of nineteen, I taught myself not to.  It was a process, but I am happy to say I have eradicated the superfluous use of it from my vocabulary.
4. I love the sun.  But I don't worship it.
5. Shopping is not my life.
6. I don't purposely flaunt myself all over God's creation in the hopes of landing a hot guy.
7. Money will not buy my happiness.
8. I am not fake. I don't pretend to be something I am not.  This is a charge leveled by an Irish actor I admire.  
9. I am not a fame-seeker.  I have seen exactly one famous person my entire life, and that was Shirley Jones.  And even then, she was on a podium at the local mall when I was 17 and I couldn't see her clearly.  I don't seek out famous men and try to get them to buy me things.  I'd love to meet one, but not with an ulterior motive in mind.
10. I am not stupid.  I paid attention in school, and read in my free time. There's this perception that California girls, especially women from Los Angeles on downward, are entirely stupid. Sadly, this is a myth.  People only see the dumb bottle-blondes that litter the L.A. area. I won't mention names, but one was married to a former boyband member for a few years. The more intelligent California females are out there, in public view.  You just have to know where to find them.
11. I don't hang out in clubs.  

Basically the last half was more about me than California women as a whole, but you get the point.

Besides New Hampshire, California is the only home I know.  I was born in Arizona, but came to this awesome state when I was six months old.

Oh and another thing.  Just because I have lived in California since I was six months old, does not mean I sleep through earthquakes.  I have never slept through one, unless it's less than a 2.0.  And they scare the living crap out of me.

Any other concerns or perceptions you'd like me to answer to the best of my ability, leave a comment.