Sunday, 27 November 2011

letters to santa

yesterday, i wrote my first love letter. it was passionate, and obfuscate, and awkward, and puzzling, even to me. when i wanted to mail it, the cashier and post office attendant was being quite the nuisance, though. she insisted that i use some fancy air mail stamp because 'this stamp has the "mail" word on it'. i thought to myself, 'really?' the letters that i had come with, that i normally carry in my wallet were some ruddy old teddybear stamps, though i imagine that can hardly be dismissed as legitimate postage stamps. as for the ones she offered, i have no idea why they would be superior in any way. forgive me, for i do not understand the complexities of sending a letter, something that i used to do every weekend but do no longer because, who really uses snail mail. however, the last time i did, it was fairly straightforward - just use the correct amount of postage paid (and in this case i used $1.80 in stead of the required $1.65).

interestingly enough, counting my shillings as i stood in front of her, only to realise that i had not enough, i offered to pay using card (i actually had some notes in my wallet, but really, i don't like carrying around coins). she quickly said, no, that's fine, just use my stamps anyway. contradiction, much? in any case, if my letter arrives, i curse you for being a pain; and if it doesn't arrive, i curse you for being so dismissive. since when did post-office attendants become little napoleons. oh, i should note the demeanour in which she handled the conversation was... lacklustre.

having gone through that, which i don't really mind, except for the fact that now i worry whether my letter will arrive or not (love letters are serious business), i was now ready to finally pop my letter in the mailbox. it's quite cute that there was a dedicated mailbox outside (madeshift from a red cardboard box) just adjacent to the permanent mailbox upon which is written in capitals, 'LETTERS TO SANTA'. i am not sure where these letters end up, but, i write now another love letter, in hopes that santa is actually a sexy, blonde and blue-eyed woman from scandanavia who lives just north enough of the arctic circle to warrant the name 'santa', but at the extrme-most south to warrant living where it's not dark all winter long (though i now concede that this may be geographically impossible). one never knows, that should (s)he reply, i may want to move in, and the aurora borealis will never look prettier.

lovingly for santa,


Monday, 21 November 2011

my new favourite thing

500g of oven-baked french fries (or freedom fries, for the american anti-terrorist)
one cup sour cream
thickly sliced cheddar cheese
home-made guacamole and salsa-sauce (avocados, tomatoes, salt, water and peppers)
thai chilli sauce
a dash of salt
a dash of pepper

mixed and microwaved for 30s.

voila, hey presto!

either it was epic or i was really hungry. in either case, i am now full and this warrants making again another day!

Tuesday, 8 November 2011

most wicked

i do not care for silly hats, tiaras made of gold,
i do not care for pumpkins, mice, or ball gowns (new and old);
and never cared for handsome princes (god, i hate them most),
what's probably worse are crystal shoes! and wearers oft who boast.

and really who keeps mirrors now? even those that in tongues speak,
for all i want to hear is how i'm prettier than child, so weak;
and even then it would serve best to whisk away, let dwarves apart,
than have a hunter sin behest, then lie instead with foul boar's heart!

woe is me yet, i can't tell lies, like roses red for my safe keep,
for 'ternal beauty one's soul vies, and this is source enough to weep;
take steady aim! release your shot, and pierce this wretched, beastly heart,
you see skin deep a slyly plot, it matters not, death does me part.

i'd be surprised, if you still cared for women's rights in france,
do you still think we live backwards, in dark ages, perchance?
and do not think i care the least for golden flawless hair,
(but, heavens, it's so silky smooth, it would make a fine stair).

i do care, though (you'd be surprised) of 'chanted spinning looms,
they fill my heart with so much dread, of demise and of dooms;
but thwarted (yet again, curses!) by one true love's first kiss,
my plan, it was so perfect so, i wonder what i missed?

and sometimes i do love to frolic with souls of the damned,
so that i may enact out all the nasties i have planned;
i could not care less for green frogs, or toads, or of the sort,
though french-prepared frogs legs are nice (i kill them 'times for sport).

i sometimes care for cooling breeze, though not for colours of the wind,
but who can care for dainty child, especially those who have erst sinned?
but maybe it will be alright, if left to stand there hand in hand,
behind them all i plot to take, their gold, buffalo, wives and land.

i notice sometimes, in the night, when tigers eyes' are shining bright,
a desert rose, or diamond rough, that in the darkness then takes flight;
but give up power, gold and love, i cannot do this for my health,
and envy still a beggar's luck, a sultan's will, a daughter's wealth.

i cared not for the longest while, of sickly sorrow sweet,
voices of an angel though at expense of one's feet;
thus vanity, oh, vanity, so pointless to impress,
for what? for men? for dainty forks? to wear a pretty dress?

a fighting spirit, now that is cause for someone to envy,
i'd say i care, but, no, i don't, i'm just not that savvy;
but stab me through the heart and find gender is no import,
reflections of cherry blossoms in a river for sport!

and lastly curse my aching back, i could not feel a thing,
and yet those supple children feel a pea of a sapling;
how could this be fair, one must ask, in light of all that's right,
i will not care, i cannot care, i shan't with greatest might!

and so my sisters, up in arms! your call has come to fight!
who dares shun and belittle our solemn, slightly plight?
a curse on them, a doom on them, a hex of dark voodoo!
beware young child, your time is nigh, we're out in search of you!

*written on behalf of all the wicked witches, horrible stepmothers, ghouls and ghosts and scheming antagonists. for all the knifing, backstabbing, treacherous knaves, this one is for you*