Wednesday, April 22, 2015


Beautiful, adjective: pleasing the senses or mind aesthetically; of a very high standard; excellent.

Desperate, adjective: feeling, showing, or involving a hopeless sense that a situation is so bad as to be impossible to deal with; (of an act or attempt) tried in despair or when everything else has failed; having little hope of success; (of a situation) extremely bad, serious, or dangerous; (of a person) having a great need or desire for something; (of a person or fight) violent or dangerous.

Hush, verb: make (someone) be quiet or stop talking; be quiet; suppress public mention of something; noun: a silence. 

(this is the start of a story...) 

:  for lack of something better or more desirable

 There is a really big change in my life and I needed a spiritual intervention.  Mystic as I am I verbally throw my immediate needs out to God, the stars and the whole universe.  It is much like fishing in a very large pond in which there have been tales that all the fish have died, but with sheer optimism, I cast my bait out and wait.

I don’t know if it is my age or my faith that is failing faster, but today I felt a desperate urge.  I felt like I could not wait for the whole universe to give me the answers so I consulted a gypsy or fortune teller, or that kid that I went to high school’s mom, she is all these things.  I didn’t really know the kid, he had a different tone of darkness to his flesh that was akin to a gray with deep hollow set eyes.  He never seemed approachable.  I see him out in the yard and I know 20 years later he still lives with his mother.

His mother has a huge billboard in front of her tiny house and the living room has a neon sign that flashes “OPEN” nearly 24 hours a day.  The house is three blocks from my own, and I come and go at all hours and this is how I know that she may get little sleep or it isn’t needed since from experience of being hypnotized, that from small sessions of being in an altered state, one can awaken and be fully rested.  I wanted to ask her these things but I had to stay on task.  She asked what I was there for and I stated three things: 1. A House, 2. A man, 3. A profitable store. 

“Come with me to this very adventurous place,” she said.  Almost immediately I felt I was definitely somewhere else than her living room.  The room shifted and changed. 

“You once lived a very different life.”

 I nodded. 

“You want to have that life now.”

I shook my head, “No.  I desire my own life, the one I deserve.” 

I looked into her beautiful green eyes and I saw a twinkle in the woman’s eye.  She saw my future life and I think she knew it agreed with me.    

Hush, no further explanation. You must follow my instructions, follow them… you promise?”

Again I nodded sincerely, I couldn’t speak, maybe it was her voice or her energy when she hushed me.  I felt a little woozy.

Burn sage inside your current home, wave it around to make sure all the smoke gets into every crevice.  Play three violin songs. Plant soybeans in the mountains.  Buy Indian money drawing soap and bathe with it daily for a week and white roses. Your wishes will all come.

Your wishes will all come.

I found the sage and burned it. The smoke trickled in a thin line and I knew that it would take forever to fill the house.  I decided I would have to get more sage.   

… To be continued.

Thursday, April 16, 2015

Catching up

Just as a side note - 
this was written as an e-mail to a pen-pal of mine - you know who you are 
(and yes, I changed a bit of it  because as we all learned from presidental canidate HC, private emails are just that... private) 
I do call him a pen-pal because this is how we communicate.  We are writers.

If you want to pen me a note- just post below in the comment section. The above certificate does read "others" and not just one person. Technicalities, schmechcanallities.Tomato / Mater... Perhaps just by you reading this and you are a poet, you could comment and that would merrit "outstanding."    

Catching up- A letter.  

Hello. Things are good here.  I nothing much to report.  No breaking news.  I am pondering - "What are verizon reward points and what do I do with them?"  but other than that....   Share your knowledge if you have a clue as to what they are.  

I'm reading a lot.  I hate to sound un - read... is that a thing? In my spare - est of time, my new pastime is not candy crush.  My ADD meds kept me playing and I realized I had a real problem when I was playing openly and not in secret like all addicts do when addicted to crack.  

My new hobby is the magazinge periodical known as, Oxford American. I have always been an avid reader but I've taken it to a whole other level!  If you haven't read it or subscribe -  you are missing out on some delicious reading.  

At the library, where they hold my copy, I am ridiculed a lot for looking studious when reading it.  (you would not think that librarians would ostrasize someone  READING in a library, but this is the deep south- and they know I only have a 3.75 GPA from twenty years ago- It's tough to get that 4.0 when reading is so discourged) From my experience, just by being seen reading Oxford American in public will make you appear much more intelligent.  

In the beginning of each issue there are snippets of information about the contributors.  I bide my spare-est of time making a list of these people to internet stalk, then bookmark their .com's for further reading.  (essays and what knots where they have articles in other well known publications like The New Yorker ,Readers Digest, Food, or GQ which you may be familiar with) Next ,I make a list of books in my memo pad on my phone and harass the librarians since their high tech web card catalog is ALWAYS on the blitz  and make them order said books, if not in circulation and not yet read by all of us not so bright red-necks.  Then I check out (3) three - no more than that because in order to keep the lights on at the two new libraries we have just built in our metropolis, they have shortened the check out time to two weeks instead of the usual four.  I have to pay a late fine if I get more than three books.  Reading does interfere with my stalking, so I have to do it in a timely manner.  

Back to my original topic of being "un- read", in said magazine they sort the contributing authors.  Alphabetical, which is standard but to my surprise they have no less than (4) four contributors that are poets.  POETS.  POETS who have published BOOKS.  This would be your tribe.  I struggle with poetry.  It would be my literary killer if that existed.  

Killed by poetry. - future obit of the Daily Panic.   

When web stalking the authors I came across these poets because they are on the list and my curious mind read some pieces.  I wondered if some of these poets were chosen to fill some status qou in publication or what the level of good is determined in poetry, but It wasnt all sparkly to me, at least not enough to override my ADD meds and I looked away and found something else interesting. But you, my friend________,  ( If you are poetic, you may insert your own name here)  Poets are your tribe.  You might find them a tasteful read or kitty litter enough to know you write better than they (no offense to contributors) and get to serious work and get published or find your niche with that publisher who has been looking for you since there is an opening in the literary world for one more poet.  

I hope you know my tone is encouraging not wise - *ss  because I know it takes more than a writing workshop to make someone a writer and not all of us can write erotica.  Follow your star!   Keep rhyming or whatever iambic pentamiter or octagon it is that poets write by! 

I hope to find my words again too.  I have some novels to write, especially when I finish doing all this reading or no longer need the ADD meds.  They are helping me shed a few pounds so it's a win win WIN.  

Have a great weekend and tell ________ ( insert the name of any signigicant other or your sister) hello from me!  Let her know the book I am currently reading is "The Dinner" by Herman Koch.  It is sumarrized on the back cover as, "chilling, nasty, smart, shocking, and unputdownable" by the author that wrote "Gone Girl," Gillian Flynn.   Maybe one day some one will say that about our publications.I have to read it so I know what I'm up against, if I am to have any chance in writing something "unputdownable." 

Your pen-pal 
(we might have to change it to keypad pal? or  Southern correspondent pal? I only write with a pen when I have to sign the back of my big ol' paycheck) 

- Daily Panic

Wednesday, April 15, 2015


If any of you are familiar with that cinema classic,  “Deliverance,” well I have a somewhat similar story, but it did not take place in the backwoods and no one got molested, …just almost molested. 

My story takes place in a local watering hole.  It would be considered a bit out of the way since it is not in town, but it is easily located on a state highway.  I am going to name the place “Junior’s.” I changed the name because  I don’t want to make "Junior’s" a tourist attraction. It really is for local’s only and when you hear my story, you will know why.  I would have called it," Bubba’s" (since the place is owned by someone’s brother) but that too relates to another well-known cinema classic, “Forest Gump.” 

Now Junior’s has a history.  This double-wide trailer- Yes, I said double-wide trailer, which most people live in, or have car lot offices out of, or have as a luxury home on the lake, well in this instance this large sardine can lined with paneling started off as a eat’n place.  I don't remember the name, it was Someth'n Someth'n Grill or what not. They had the biggest and the best grilled hamburgers and were the first eat’n place once you crossed the state line, unless you count the new Race Track gas station on the other highway, which I don’t believe made hamburgers, but if you were hungry you could get a pizza or fried chicken or those hot dogs that got a nice tan spinning around under heat lamps. 

Most people know not to grill indoors, and this may not be the case of what happened there, maybe they grilled outdoors and a spark flew over and  lit that mobile home ablaze, or perhaps the grease from frying French fries to eat with those delicious burgers caught fire.  I don’t know the details because at the time of the incident I was unfamiliar with the place.  To make this story shorter, the original place caught fire, someone restored it to its glory- minus the kitchen and turned the place into a bar.  Several pool tables were added and a stage.  

If you are hungry when you go there, even though there isn’t a kitchen,  they offer free beer dogs.  For those of you not southern, a beer dog is a hot dog that is cooked in a crock pot with beer. The crock pot is positioned on a tiny table by the door and I don’t know if it is a gimmick to bring in the crowd when the beer dogs are just right, perhaps those who find them mouth-watering, know the smell as well as one might know a turkey is just right by the way the smell of  it fills the house; the aroma must bring patrons in.  I have never had a beer dog, so I can’t say one way or the other.  I have witnessed people eating them and they were not taken to the hospital.  A hospital visit is my gauge if food is dangerous or not.  Hospital = danger / no hospital = fine to eat. 

Please do not confuse this place with the barn further down the highway, this is a double-wide trailer.  I have been to the barn establishment.  On the particular night I was there, there was to be a bikini contest and apparently grandma’s and grandpa’s came out to watch.  One nice woman in a moo –moo (today it’s called a caftan, a moo-moo is not as stylish) pointed out her granddaughter to me, after she threw back a shot of whiskey, and told me that her tiny string bikini clad, oiled up, granddaughter was just precious, while the grandpa in the overalls  without a shirt on, was sleeping on the bar on the other side of her, because the hour was well past 8 pm.  No, now Junior’s is not the barn. If you need to know more distinction Junior’s is on the right and the barn is on the left of the highway, if you are going South.  

I don’t like to brag or feel superior to anyone, but I do kinda fall under the, looks like a librarian description not the lady standing on the side of the street when it comes to looks.  I have tried that standing on the side of the street look, and I just can’t pull it off.  Perhaps it’s because I get road rash when I trip wearing high heel shoes, and prefer to land on my face instead of breaking the high priced fake nails I got to pull off the look; skin will grow back… I paid good money for those nails and I didn't want to mess them up. When properly painted, a good set of fake nails makes you look expensive.  You can take that however you want. 

At Junior’s watering hole, I guess the ladies dress code was crop tops, tore up blue jean shorts and cowboy boots or less.  And the men’s attire was, "just came in off the field," or what we call casual in the south, our “this ain’t Sunday” clothes.  I wasn’t dressed right, but close enough,  I had a button down top and shorts and wedge shoes.  I stand out in a crowd of Southern folks because I have dark hair and skin, and perhaps to the locals I look a little exotic. With that being said, Likes attract Likes, it’s just science.  One time I was out, I attracted the largest guy in the crowd, who might have played defense for the NFL, that's how big he was and I'm all of five - foot  - nothing in height. The crazy linebacker wanted to cover me in hot sauce, and take me to his okra farm but that’s another story. I just wanted you to know I attract the most visible person where ever I am. 

Friday night at Junior’s, I attracted the person who had been drinking there all week and never went home.  Perhaps that was his RV outside that had a friendly dog that greeted patron’s in the parking lot in hopes for a pat on the head or a gentle caress.  Junior’s did not adhere to the leash law or was oblivious to it, because friendly dog was so friendly he wanted to get in my car and go home with me. Friendly dog knew he probably didn’t fit in with the crowd there at Junior’s either and wanted to be saved.  I already have two dogs that like me at home and I do not need another, so I left him behind.   Sorry friendly dog. 

Mr. Magnetic personality, AKA known as very, very, very drunk guy who must have been between the age of 75 or 80 yrs. old, said only a few sentences to me, “Hey! I like you!” followed by a wink and a bearded grin from underneath an Alabama football cap. “Is that your feller?” “You here with anybody?” Normally these are generally questions anyone who wants to get to know someone would ask, but the kicker question was, “you got any friends in here?” Which made me glance around the room and to my dismay; I didn’t have any friends in there. He was drunk enough to keep asking the same questions with the same wink and grin, over and over again, between swallows of his beer, sometimes he would blow me a pouty kiss, to which I winced.  I got the feeling he was interrogating me so he could roofie me and drag me off to some undisclosed location where the police would find me not in the same condition as I was at the moment.   

I rudely ignored him and kept trying to watch the karaoke singer on the stage, who was a special needs kid. He had the voice of an angel, but his arms flailed about and he spun around. His free arm, not holding the microphone,  punched sideways and his head spun around in a jerking motion that wasn't in a head banging fashion.  It was such a mismatch, my ears heard this amazing voice and my eyes watched the boy wildly twist and turn in his own form of dancing that took up the whole stage. I found out later the boy's name is Peanut, and he has a music CD that a lot of people around these parts give as gifts.  And Peanut is blind, but wow, he can sing karaoke!  

My boyfriend was sitting right at the table across from the talkative lush as this was happening.  I tried to discourage the guy and tell him that his Alabama cap did not make him attractive, an I wasn't interested because I’m an Auburn fan.  Usually in the South this division is as obvious, as the battle of the North and South in the Civil War.  But to no avail.  The boyfriend had enough and said we were leaving, and we did.  On the way out he said the most loving words a Southern girl could hope for, “I almost had to kick his *ss!”

Ahhh, thank you for deliverance!

Happy South ya'll!

- Daily Panic

Wednesday, April 8, 2015

Not looking. Just stalking.

A little down time draws me to the single female pastime that we hate to admit… looking for “The” guy. The search is always very disappointing.  As a believer of magic I used expect when “the” guy is within my sight, all the stars will align and the clouds will part and a singular sunbeam will illuminate “the” guy and there will not be any question that he is “the” guy. 

"The" guy will not be able to see me because aparrently he does not believe in magic, and the universe will not part the clouds and put a brilliant sunbeam on me to show him where to find me on the planet.  No one since Jesus Christ has been fortunate enough to have a star lead other people to where they are on Earth, so maybe I am expecting too much.  

There are several obvious things about me that make me not very attractive to “the” guy so I doubt he will even see me without magic.  Number one, I have two marriages flushed down the toilet; Number two, I am over 40; Number three, I’m a horrible cook. 

These are facts.  How I know I'm not good at cooking - I've been doing it a long time and regard a cookbook as literature, not instructions.  For Easter the family asked me to bring a. jar. of. olives.  
A jar of olives.  That speaks volumes to how much they want to eat my cooking. Years past, they asked me to cook things like potato salad, deviled eggs, and green bean casserole.  A toddler with a little instruction can make these simple dishes.  I have not been asked to cook anything ever again.  I repeat, for Easter dinner I brought a jar of olives.  

If you or someone you know is looking for someone with these three of the top ten things about me, well here I am.  Numbers four through ten are reveiled if you know the magic words. Outside of my family, I've only known one guy who said them and we have a lot of knowledge to blackmail eachother. 

In the 1950’s there were seven things a woman needed to follow to keep a man.  Mental Floss Link

 Don’t talk. (Might as well stop reading here.  I talk.)

Bad cooking will drive your man to seedy saloons.  (I am a bad cook and these seedy saloons are where I am to meet “the” guy & he and I will be drinking buddies on a regular basis. AA will be the next place for me to meet “the” guy)

Be the hot steak, not the cheap pork. (Women are just pieces of meat- I’m aged beef. – that’s one for me!)

 Don’t be a sexual vampire or a frigid Franny. (I will have to stop introducing myself as Juicy Lucy (wait, is that a good name to attract vampires?)    

Pink panties are a must. (Is this an everyday thing?  Or once a week, three times?? When do I get to wear other colors? I should be glad this doesn’t read no panties.) 

 Let him have a little fun now and then. (Unlock the ball and chain?  No way! I learned that lesson not just with husband #1 but #2 also proved this should Never happen)

Your husband is the boss of you.  (Ha ha ha ha haaaaaaaaaaa!!  I’m the bossy one.)

Two days ago (2015)  The came out with a list of how to keep a man. 

It’s a flimsy list:
1.      Wear high heels.  The higher the better. And a push up bra.  The higher the boobs the better.
2.      Wear only enough make-up that he thinks you are not wearing any, because he “says” he likes the natural look.  But please notice that the girls he notices- that are not you – ARE WEARING THE MOST MAKEUP. 
3.      Stand up to him, then give him whatever he wants. (This is 2015 parenting 101) 

Had a list of 5 ways: 
(or what I would like to have every guy on Earth do for a woman- Insert HER where it says him/ he and I'm fed up with guys who do not communicate and only resort to avoidance- saying nothing says a lot about you.- FYI)

1.      Give him space when he needs it.
2.      Do nice things for him.
3.      Respect him.
4.      Communicate your issues.
5.      Get it on more often.

I looked up how a guy should get a girlfriend and it made me nauseous.  
According to a guy, here are his ten things to get a girlfriend: (there is NO list of how to keep one)
1.      Decide your purpose.
2.      Go out and meet women.
3.      Be positive.
4.      Be her friend first.
5.      Be cocky, be funny.
6.      Get her number.
7.      Call her for a coffee date.
8.      Find the right place and time.
9.      Propose.
10.   Share how you got her with everyone.  Even if they don’t ask. 

Why this list would not work with me…  I don’t like jerks, I have plenty of friends, I don’t drink coffee, I will say no to no less than a thousand proposals and if you keep telling everyone our story, I will eventually see through the smoke and mirrors and realize I am too good for you and walk away. I've experienced this whole list.

These list make me tense. Many, many times I have discussed “the” guy with my friends. I hate these lists and as I said before, I’m over 40.  These lists are for amateurs.  I’ve been in the game a long time.  Perhaps I am at the age where I think of guys as old children that still need mothers, or men my age have three strikes against them too. 

People always like to ask me when I am getting married.  (Hello. Nice to meet you. My name is: I've been married- TWICE.) When I tell them the truth, that I’m not doing it again, they are disappointed, as if marriage will be the crown that makes me queen.  Believe me a look of disappointment is nothing compaired to the 15 years of disappointment that marriage gave me. I don’t need the guy that is a reflection on me, or defines my worth.   I will just be me, and I already hold the title of Queen.

I’m feeling a little hungry so I’m going to lunch.  “The” guy is probably out there in the world.  Good for him.  I wish him the best.  I’m not looking for him anymore. 


Friday, April 3, 2015

Ahhhh, you smell nice.

Ablaze, adjective: burning fiercely; very brightly colored or lighted; filled with anger or another strong emotion.

Deep, adjective: extending far down from the top or surface; taking in or giving out a lot of air; very intense or extreme; (of sound) low in pitch and full in tone; not shrill; (of color) dark and intense; noun: the sea; adverb: far down or in; deeply.

Rabid, adjective: having or proceeding from an extreme or fanatical support of or belief in something; (of an animal) affected with rabies; of or connected with rabies.

Ahhhh, you Smell nice.  

One of the places I feel the most comfortable is in the presence of strangers.  For many this is an uncomfortable situation.  I absolutely love talking with strangers.  I am one of those annoying people who will casually talk to others in the store, in the restaurant and at the bar.  I’m naturally drawn to people and find everyone interesting. In the deep South I am the norm, not the exception. 

There are days that I am quiet and spend my time listening to conversations. But, every now and then I arrive in a room full of strangers that do not want to be strangers either.  These nights are magical.   The universe was ablaze with magic like that last night.  I was out with the boyfriend and we were stopping in at our favorite watering hole, and I was in a hurry to make it to the restroom, on the way in there was a sandwich board outside with the schedule of the bar for the week posted. I read aloud as I approached.  There was a guy on his phone telling the person on the other end that the bar was dead and no one was there.  He saw me coming and happened to end his conversation as I got to the door, I said,  “It’s ladies night,” still reading.  He opened the door for me and said, “you are the only lady here.” 
Cheesy I know.  
But true.  He happened to be the husband of one of my friends. She jumped me when I exited the restroom.  By jumping me, I mean she screamed my name like I was a rock star and hugged me like I was rabid and need to be captured.    

Another thing that happened just before I entered the restroom….  As I said before, I needed to use the ladies, and I could not wait, so I asked if the men’s was available, and a guy playing billiards stopped playing and said he would check for me.  He entered the men’s room and was gone long enough for me to think something had happened to him, but he came out and said he let the toilet seat down.  I don’t use the toilet seat in public restrooms, I hover.  TMI-  but I did say thank you and announced chivalry was not dead.  I thanked his wife when I left the restroom.  She was darling. She told me they are a husband/ wife driving team.  They haul freight on tractor trailers.  They were from Tennessee.  Later the husband came up to me and the bf and talked to us a bit about TN whiskey and his favorites.  He also offered to buy us drinks. 

I could go on about the evening, but I’ll save those stories for later.  I will say that I spoke to nearly all the 30 people in the bar before we left. There was a great exchange of conversation and hugs (which is not uncommon in the south) I saw pictures of new born babies, teens going to prom, stories of people we mutually knew, sang songs, asked trivia, and was surprised by some of the answers and more surprise of the person answering the questions. 

One of the best things about my bf is that he enjoys that I do not shy away from strangers.  He had told me before that he never approached people before he met me, and he looks forward to the comradery that can happen on our evenings out. 

On the way home, I had a feeling of contentment as you might have when you leave a family gathering.  The evening was truly magical. 

I think you are only lonely if you want to be.  In all honesty, I am an introvert.