The Origin of Miss Jean Louis

At an indeterminate hour on the auspicious day of July 28, 1887, a particular Miss Jean Louis breached our current reality with a war cry to rival the stoutest of princess warriors. Attended only by an elderly midwife, Miss Louis was picked up, dusted off and taken from her humble birthing hut to be presented to the townsfolk of Khor ‘Angar, who looked on with awe at the source of the alarming cries that roused them from their activities. This small coastal town located in Djibouti’s northern region and presently known for its airstrip and Old Fort, welcomed the precious newborn with strained smiles and pleas to the midwife to quiet the babe as she would frighten all of fish to the other side of the sea. So goes the tale as it is recounted by the midwife’s descendants. However, if this were true, that would mean Miss Jean Louis is 129 years old.

Miss Jean Louis aged 2.75

This leaves us to wonder – how does she stay so spry? Scientitions suggest Miss Louis is employing a state of the art spaceship which travels at relative speeds, allowing her to suspend the aging process while taking a tour through the galaxy between seasons of Gishwhes. Others claim she stumbled upon the Fountain of Youth sometime in the early 1900’s. Most outlandish of all are the implications that her reported age is merely a typo. Experts are quick to dismiss this idea as it would demonstrate compliance with normalcy – a notion known to be abhorrent to the monarch.

 

While utterly unable to prove this theory, the author believes Miss Louis’ long reign can be attributed to her mysterious origins. It is entirely possible she is the progeny of master yogis who are known to be quite limber and reach impressive ages. Or possibly it was aliens. Regardless, she does not appear to have aged beyond the current date.  

Miss Louis is  displeased.

 

The indelible fact remains: Miss Jean Louis remains an enigma swaddled delectably within an indescribable art form within a force of nature – let us say a sharknado to be exact. Despite her snowy leopard-like temperament, she has managed to wrangle Mr. Misha Collins, who claims to only play an angel on television, although some sources doubt this, into organizing yet another year of Gishwhes, and for that many yodel her praise. Rule on, Oh Queen of the Gish.

Tea and Cats

Tea and cats do not mix. Here is why: two and a half hours ago I drank a very large mug of tea, one and a half hour ago Cat made herself comfortable and refuses to move, fifteen minutes ago Mother Nature has finished transforming the tea. Would you have the heart to disturb a sleeping cat snoring and dreaming peacefully away? 

Untitled, Unfinished

I can tell this story now. It has been five years since the incident occurred and I am emboldened by a glass of wine. It is a witches’ brew that loosens my tongue now, and fittingly so. Although this story happened five years ago, I should tell you that it really began long before that. You see, I’ve always been interested in the occult, the weird or strange. It started when I was seven and on a family trip to the Mammoth Caves in Kentucky where my father purchased various stones and semi-precious gems for me. That was when I began collecting crystals.

Uncle Joke

What does a snail say on a turtle’s back?

 Weeeeeeee!!!!

 This turtle is sporting a jaunty bowler hat (although my sister said it looked more like a Jamaican hat due to the colors). I found the pattern for the turtle and hat on Ravelry. Look for “Turtle Toy” and “bowler hat”. They were free patterns and delightful to make.

 

Long Time No Blog

Maybe it was just a bid to be a positive person. Perhaps I was just trying to put off writing an article. Or maybe I’m just crazy..

At any rate. I had to buy these for my current online course. And I don’t really care for them..

So I made these:

 

And now I have Princess Leia buns for headphones:

Quiet Thoughts

I recently heard on a podcast that scientists have discovered that some bird relationships don’t last a lifetime – that they get divorced. There’s a pair of cardinals that eat from my bird feeder, and numerous times I have watched the male genteelly offer his mate a seed, which she daintily takes from his beak. It’s so adorably sweet I could explode. I have a good feeling about this couple. I think their love will last.

On a side note – I tried white asparagus for the first time tonight. I might not have prepared it properly. I was expecting it to taste like green asparagus, but with a lighter flavor. Asparagus-light.This was not the case. I also expected to not have asparagus piss. Asparagus pee happened.

Personal Wookie

Everyone needs a personal Wookie. Someone to be your co-pilot, comrade in arms and a furry friend to keep you warm. A buddy who can tear the limbs from your enemies and will follow you into the most dangerous places on blind faith. And although your crew members include a droid fluent in over six million forms of communication, at the end of the day, you don’t need a translator to understand each other.

Photogenic Wreck

            She flipped through the pages of “Cosmo”, her eyes drifting over the glossy pictures with a blasé stare. They were tawdry and airbrushed, those posed images of brightly smiling women and men. And even though they were only pictures for the copious ads shoved between articles, they were all better than anything she had ever taken.

            Kelly Duggan pushed the magazine across the small table where she sat, and reached for her camera sheathed in its matte black case.  This was what earned her bread money, yet she could not say with any honesty that she truly knew how to work it. Of course she knew the basic techniques, like focusing. She was good at getting a picture in focus, but lacked that special touch which transformed an interesting moment into a memorable masterpiece. None of her images would ever appear matted and framed on somebody’s wall. Which was O.K. considering she only took pictures for her hometown newspaper, pompously named “The Shallow Lake Gazette” after the town’s small pond located near the only high school. There wasn’t much worth taking pictures of at home. Any exciting events were few and far between.

            Though, recently there had been a string of burglaries worrying the good folk of Shallow Lake. Kelly would have gotten an incriminating photo of the unmasked crook as he crashed into the town’s chapel shouting for sanctuary, and disrupting the marriage of the mayor’s daughter in the process, if only she’d remembered to uncap the lens. He escaped and no one had seen his face because they had been blinded by the camera’s flash. And somehow she’d even managed to get her thumb in every picture of the wedding ceremony. Those weren’t the only mishaps she’d had with the camera. They were just the most recent. The joke of the town was how Kelly kept her job, or even how she had gotten it in the first place. Her own father would tease her, speaking with his softly lilting Irish accent, which made everything he said sound like a question. He would state how proud he was she inherited his blue eyes, but her bad luck definitely came from her mother’s side.

The Park Bench

Story time! Wrote this years ago…

I miss the nights on our park bench, beneath the sickly orange halo of the street lamp.  It was calm on those nights. Austerely calm in the park, just us two. Gravely calm, except for the turmoil in my chest. I didn’t think my heart could ever beat so quickly. It did though, for you and those nights in the park.

Why People Gotta Be That Way?

This goes out to the stupid bitch at work who, rather than check with the person who does the invoicing, would have me look at 200+ invoices and manually add up the number of accounts on each one… Because apparently my time is not that valuable, even though I’m already doing 4 different jobs as it is…And, she’s not even my supervisor.

Hey c to the unt, lazy dense hag

Who said I was your bitch,

Doing your work my bag?

I’ve got enough on my hands

Without these lame demands

While you plod about,

Piggy feet stuffed in slut pumps

I’m supposed to do menial jobs,

And thanklessly bust my hump?

I don’t think so.

I’m the data analyst,

I hold a degree

And all you offer is jiggling,

Menopausal, dumb sleaze.