I’m becoming a leopard.

I caught a rash from work back in the winter time. It started on my arms, where i have the most contact with the counter and shelves. And because I’m an idiot, i scratched the shit out of it and it spread.  It was on both my arms and spread to my shins ( i don’t know how i wear dress pants at work, my guess is when I’m home I sit hugging my legs alot. )

All of it is mostly gone by now except a patch on one of my shins. It gets better and is almost gone but then I shave my fur off and it gets irritated and comes back.

But then I noticed on my arm, right by the veins where a doctor would draw blood, I was having color spots. I didn’t think much of it. It’s summer in NYC and I thought maybe it was just my skin’s reaction to unwanted sun blare while waiting for the bus. But then the spots started becoming really distinct. So I showed the hubby and asked him if I should be worried.

He then informed me I have the same spots on my back.

I was like a dog trying to chase it tails. I was turning around trying to see my back before common sense kicked and ran to the mirror.

Sure enough, I had spots all over my back.

Oddly, that calmed my skin worries down a bit. I figured it was a heat related rash of some sort. The spots on back were mostly where the bra strap covers.

Since it’s hot as hell at work, the AC doesn’t work on my floor, i get pretty hot when working.

And I wear 3 quarter length shirts to work a lot. I would wear long sleeves if I could. Working retail has made me a bit of a germophobe. But, it’s too hot for long sleeves. But, alot of the shirts I wear for work the sleeves end right about where the spots are. So , i figured it was maybe irritation from the heat and friction from the clothes.

But, this week at work  I strictly wore  short sleeves and I was hoping to see the spot clear up a bit.

It got worse.

I asked the hubby in that baby voice if he would still love me if   was covered from head to toe in these spots. I always had flawless skin and these spots have been making me feel a little iffy about my appearance.

He responded (and this is why I love him)

“Of course baby, your turning into a leopard and I will love you as a leopard. “

My world instantly exploded. I can’t help it, I love animal print, leopard being my favorite.

Now, i look at my spots on my arm and say in a smooth silky voice “I’m a leapordddddd”

Sometimes, perspective is everything.

I haven’t a clue of what to post. So, fair warning, this is a random post.

So, work has been heating up. My department, is technically no longer a department. However, 3 of the original team remains and we run and maintain it like a department. This means, there is one person at a time in Levi’s.  It sounds like it’s efficient right? Well, hardly. Two of us are doing the work a 8 person team could barely maintain. ( One person works closing so there is no real work getting done, just orderliness which is a big thing, not to be degraded)  Any day, at any given time, you can find me trying to redo a section, fill in, restock, size, re fold, fix the floor plan, manage the back stock/stock room. Alongside maintaining the fitting room, emptying it out, putting away the clothing customers leave tossed all over the floor. But, customers first. I greet and assist every customer.  It doesn’t end there. I help the neighboring section and have to help line bust/cashier and I have to help cover their lunches and breaks. Yet, when I go on lunch or break or cover for them my area is unattended and it makes for a bigger mess and more hassle when I return. Most days I dread to even take a lunch  break.  Majority of the store also has their own replenishment team. That team takes the stock out of the stock room, off the trucks, and puts it out on the floor. They don’t do that for Levi’s. I do it of course.

customer service, retail, stock


So just combine all of that together and that is my work day. It’s alot of work and I”m always running around like a chicken with its head cut off while the rest of the store are walking around all la de fucking da folding the same shirt for ten minutes.

Plus, the store is getting pretty busy with the holidays ( mothers day and fathers day and summer shopping). Kids are almost done with school and going on summer break. So that’s an added stress. Some school kids tagged up my fitting room. In big bright red spray paint.

Most days, I don’t mind. I love my department that isn’t really a department anymore. I love that Levi’s jean is MY area. When things are good, I can tell you where that one jean, the last size left, is and retrieve it for you in under 30 seconds. When i get new markdowns, i often don’t even need the invoice i can just lap the floor and grab the items on the list and price them. I love being in charge of everything and I love people come to me for everything. I love the independence and I love the compliments. I even love my regular customers, even the wacky ones.

I get a customer that comes in ever two months or so. He likes to buy 501 , any color, any size.  The catch? They cannot be made in Egypt or any middle eastern country. Why? Because he’s from there and he sells them for double, triple the price.

How do you tell where they are made? The little white tag inside the jeans. Yeah, I was not sitting there emptying my shelves reading little tags for this guy in the middle of a work day. Sometimes when I get a new shipment, tags are often sticking out when fresh off the truck so i skim through them and if i notice the country of origin is different I may place it aside and keep a special pile in the back stock of the shelves. But, that doesn’t last long, piles get messed up daily

I get a lady that wants black 501 jeans size 38 waist and 36 length. But she wants it with a black Levi’s logo leather patch ( opposed to the regular tan color).  Levi’s typically only have the black patch when its a special edition or if there are two similar models for the same style. I cannot custom make the jeans.

I got a new visual display. Some random model in a decked out in Levis gear, a demin jacket and distressed jeans. I noticed the picture display right away and immediately complained. We do not sell those items in the picture and I knew customers would ask me for those  items.  Not much we can do about it though so I was left with customers whining for those items all day.

Overall, work is very fulfilling for me. Everyday is an adventure. I like being relied upon and looked to for assistance and help.

Because of the whole Levi’s not being a department debacle I work almost exclusively morning/opening shifts. I work one day, not quite  a closing shift, a late mid shift where I get out at 8 or 830 or so.

They just need to have me there to get the work done. I did get an increase in hours, bout 30 hours a week. My supervisor is trying to push for me to be full time.


Alot of working retail is simply politics and poor management. My store, specifically, has people that work there for years and years. However, the word work is used liberally. So many people put in limited availability and the store honors it.  The store needs to clean house. If you are not pulling your weight , it’s not fair to others. I would say a good 70% of the store bullshit most of of their shift and the rest of the 30% work twice, three times as hard. You have so many people that work there and no one when you need them most. Some mornings I open, its literally one person per quad. That’s three people. Then at closing you have 6 or 7 people for each quad? It makes no damn sense.  For fucks sake, on fathers day? I had to ask to work. Why in the world would i, an associate in the men’s department, have to ASK to work for fathers day?  That is a day where every associate you have should be scheduled to work and to work extra. They didn’t even schedule a MEN’S supervisor for the closing shift. If that’s not whacked, I don’t know what is.

Anywho, that’s my ramble. Oh and some stroke of luck. My mother haggled her insurance and they said they can keep me on until the end of the billing cycle which is January! So, I have health insurance for now. I’m free to be sick. Yay!

Well, the day has arrived. Today, I have been dropped from my insurance. My birthday is in a few days ( Thursday). I am turning 26. Can you believe that. I feel like i stopped aging at 22 when life took a turn. That is when my father first fell ill. My fiance shortly after. I feel like life hasn’t progressed much after that. Yet, numbers never lie. There it is. 26. Time , with or without me, has surely kept moving forward.

Lately, I have been so stressed out. Usually, I would just tackle one thing at a time. However, I feel I’m lost in the fog. I don’t want to do anything. I haven’t been doing anything. What it comes down to, i feel defeated.

Karma, good, right, decisions


I have not had one peaceful week in a long time. I can’t even remember the last time there was ONE week without drama, an incident or an illness. Is one blissful week too much to ask for?

I just feel like the people around me are achieving and granted various things. I don’t wish unwell on people but I’m bitter at the lack of effort and the ease in which others are gaining their desires. I gladly work hard, sacrifice and crawl on nails for what I want, for the people I love. In fact, I wouldn’t have it any other way. I”m old fashioned in believing in the struggle, in believing in working hard for your needs and wants. I wouldn’t feel deserving or satisfied any other way. However, it’s the WHY that bothers me. Why do good people have to go through so, so much? How come the assholes have life handed to them on a silver platter?

It makes me wonder about Karma. I do believe in Karma. It makes me wonder what kind of atrocities I did in a past live to be SO close to peace and happiness and never obtain it. It makes me wonder if my happy go luckily attitude and positively and optimism is misplaced. Maybe, I’m just naive. Maybe, I’m not cut throat enough.

In the end I feel defeated because that’s WHO i am. I’m good. I care. I’m loyal. I don’t see myself getting ahead in life with the way things are now. I just want my hubby to be healthy and happy and have a little place of our own away from drama with our dog. Our little family. I don’t care if I have to work two or three jobs. I just want our little slice of bliss. But because of who I fundamentally am, i feel obligated to stay in my household. They cannot manage without me. I feel obligated to stay at my job. All of upper management comes to me with anything related to Levi’s jeans, inventory, stock, sales, visual, security concerns. I’m the go to person. But working there is holding me back. I do not earn enough working part time to do much of anything,let alone pay bills and be independent.

This is just my emotional venting posting, to get all this negativity and doubt out of my system. I’m been absent from blogging because of life and stress. I have been binge watching TV shows. I’m all caught up on Game of Thrones. I’m up to season three of Once Upon a Time.

Changes need to happen. Today, i will continue to mope. I have some ice cream in the freezer and Hulu on standby.

I hope to get this out of my system. Maybe I can start the new week, my birthday week, with some new-found resolution. I don’t know. All I know is life is making it hard to believe Good always wins.

Doctor, costly, broke
Just a friendly update to let my readers know, I am alive. I haven’t kicked the bucket.  Sorry, I have not been actively commenting on your posts. But, I have been creeping. I silently have been skimming through my reader and keeping up with ya’ll blogs.

So, my birthday is coming up. With my birthday also means the end of freeloading off my mother’s insurance. I’m busying myself , and draining my bank account with co-pays and deductibles,  trying to get myself taken care of within the next three weeks

I have a foot problem. I have a special toe nail. It grows curved and thick. Doctor said it’s an infection causing the weird growth. Just let me tell you, that toe nail is painful.

I went and had it clipped a few months ago, and was supposed to go back to start a round of medication to stop the weird curvy growth. But, because it was clipped and pain-free  and a 50 dollar co-pay every time i go, it was easy to ignore and put off.

Until it wasn’t.

I waited too long.  Every step was painful. And since it’s been so long i needed a new referral and that took going to my primary doctor( with his own expensive funny, bridesmaids, poor, broke co-payment). But, my primary doctor is hard to get too. He used to have an office literally around the block from my house. He relocated to a facility across town which i would have to take three trains ( one train for only two stops to transfer to the train by his office) and  walk about 15 mins to get too. Plus, he works in his practice weird hours, that are limited. He works around his hospital shift schedules and he works out of two hospitals. Between my work schedule and the doctor’s schedule, it’s only one day that I can really go see him. So, unless I’m nearly dying I don’t go.

But, like I said, that toe nail was pretty damn painful. With the imminent end to my insurance too, there was extra pressure to get relief before I wouldn’t have a choice.

So after I finally went to my primary doctor and got a boat load of tests done, i left the office  hours later clutching a precious piece of paper….the referral to the foot doctor.

The foot doctor is closed on Sundays. Monday they open at 9am-6pm. I was ready to call to schedule an appointment at 9am but i figured I would let them stroll in and take care of the patients waiting at their door and settle in first. So at 930 is when i made the first phone call. I got a busy signal. I can’t even remember the last time i heard that annoying beep. Seriously, a doctor’s office? A busy signal? I called every 20 minutes and it wasn’t until 12 in the afternoon did i get through. I was put on hold before I could even get a word out of my mouth. I stood on hold for 20 minutes without even the decency of having elevator music to entertain me., just random beep beep beep. Finally i hear static and i was hopeful the torture was finally over. Then i heard a big loud click.
oh no you didnt, hung up on, disbelief

Yup I was hung up on.

I call back almost ready to have a hissy fit but again before I could even get out a word was rudely yelled out that I need to call back in another half hour they are busy.

Oh, i was so angry. But, i have a motto, not to make a scene until I’m taken care of us. I don’t need my insurance information “getting lost” and receiving a bill in the mail. So i gritted my teeth and waited 45 minutes. Then i called back.

I tried to make an appointment for my next day off but “they were full up all week”.  Then she asked me to “come in right now”. I was even angrier because i was trying to get through the office all morning and I could have went and finished with the appointment and now she is rushing me? But, my foot was in alot of pain and I had a timeline of pressure so I said okay.

I had to call out of work because I was scheduled to work at 5 and it was almost 2 and I had no idea what the foot doc was going to do to me or how long I was going to sit in the office and wait.

I took the hubby with me to the foot doctor because quite frankly I’m a punk with needles and pain. scared, afraid , alone

In the end, 50 dollars poorer and half a toe nail later , i got out of the doctor’s office around 5pm. I could not walk. He numbed the whole toe but i still felt an incredible amount of pain. A 15 minute walk home took almost 45 minutes.

While my foot feels alot better, I’ve been crying through my shifts at work all week. Wearing shoes( i tried all kinds, same result) it just puts pressure on the toe and it’s sensitive where there used to be toe nail. Barefoot, I’m fine. Normal. Put a cage of those bad boys? Holy hell.

I have one more week to wait for the results of blood tests. He has to check my “levels” before prescribing medication. So, in a week and a few days I have an appointment to go back to the primary doctor for a copy of the blood work and then go back to the foot doctor for meds.

All in all, I’m going broke trying to get healthy.But, my doctors are stock piling me with prescriptions  I can fill now and hopefully last awhile while I apply for a new insurance.

So, yes. I’m still alive. I have just been hobbling around trying to get my health in order in between working.
cool, laid back, cough potato,
Also, I’ve been binge watching Game of Thrones. I”m up to season 3. I also binged watched The Voice, season 6. I”m up to date with the last aired episode. And I caught up on this season of Nurse Jackie. Hit a reading slump after  the biker book binge. Needed a breather from reader so have been filling my head with random TV.

Happy Mother’s Day to all my lovely readers!

mother, endearing, mothers day, loving, caring.

Even if alot of days, you are dead tired and dealing with this:
Mother, loving, patience, patient, kind

Even if your mother is different from the traditional sense.

Mother, n bounders, true love, unconditional

All of this makes for a true mother. They come in all shapes and sizes. A true mother loves you unconventionally , unconditionally. They endure, they struggle, they overcome. They are patient and kind when it matters most. They are supportive . They are imperfect too. But, that is okay. Because that’s what makes them special.

Happy Mother’s Day , to whatever kind of mother you are! In the end, it doesn’t matter what kind of mother you are. As long as your child thinks of you as a mother in a positive light, then that’s all that matters.
Mother, mothers day

My feet thundered up the stairs, still not as loud as the ringing screeching through my ears. Or even the pounding of my heart.

That was all i could hear. Ringing , high-pitched ringing only interrupted by a deep thud thud of my ever-increasing heart beat.

And the desire to flee. With each beat my brain screamed RUN.

My dog was in my arms giving me crazy eyes, but felt my rapid heart beat so stayed tuckered in my arms while I stood dumfounded in my door way.


My vision blurred all I could see was a big mushroom cloud of fiery explosion, like in the action movies when a building is blown up. Big orangery blaze inferno.

I jerked and my brain  yelled GET OUT.

Of course, it hadn’t happened. There was no explosion. Or i wouldn’t still be standing there.  But, it was gunna happen.  It was all i could see. I felt it in my bones.

More ringing in my ears.

More burning orangery haze behind my retinas.

I  placed my dog on the bed and couldn’t even muttered a” stay” I just pointed. For once in her little life, she obeyed.

My ripped my night-shirt off, with the remnants of my nice peaceful day off from work. I hurriedly grabbed the first bra I could and strapped it on. Too panicked to look for clothes i put my night-shirt back on. I grabbed a pair of socks. I had one sock on and one sock poised in position when i hear it.


I stood frozen with one foot in the air, ready to be clothed with the sock.

The sirens grew louder.

I stood still.

Then lights.

I un-froze and dropped the lone sock.

Scooped up my dog and with one sock on and one off and i rushed back down the stairs and look out the window.

My whole block was filled with two fire trucks and one of the fire truck jeeps.  I watched as the closest fire truck the doors opened and extracted from the cab of the truck were firefighters, several of them.

Oddly, like a clown car. I wondered how many were in there and how many could fit in there.


They descended upon my house like angels of retribution.

Shit just got real folks.


Okay, let’s rewind. It was my day off from work, coming to a close. It’s been stressful at work, with Easter right around the corner, and the lack of staff and security breathing down my back with helping them man the fitting room. So I’ve been doing what I have been doing for the past several weeks. Escaping to my books. Just reading. In bed, not doing shit but reading.

When i hear my mother and my dad getting into an argument. I ignore it. Go back to reading. Then 20 minutes my mother is calling for my brother and my hubby to go help my father in the basement, something about a stove.

The boys descend to the basement and i still didn’t move.  About ten minutes later, i figured I better go check on the hubby, since he is the only one that has any common sense and he’s been in a “fix it ” situation with people who don’t have common sense and he may need back up.

I enter the basement to the stove pulled out and being informed there is a gas leak from the stove.

That’s when the ringing in my ears started. I stayed, in the far corner of  the basement as I watched them trace the  specific gas line to the stove. The shut off valve for that particular line was so old and rickety. And rusted shut. I watched as they attempted to turn it.

They were in a dilemma. Try to force it. But have a risk it break. And then we would be up shit’s creak.

I couldn’t take it no more. I ran upstairs and my mother asked me who should she call. I started blabbing ” You need to call somebody!”

She tried all our usual people but none answered the phone. The ringing  in my ears got  louder.

Then she got on the phone with 311 ( NYC’s dispatch number, not the police department but they get you the numbers or people you need or just provide information)

Now, this is where I had a panic attacked and brings us to the beginning of the blog post.

I had a panic attack folks. I freaked the fuck out.

All i could see was big explosions. I swear that was all i could see , hear and FEEL.

All  i needed was to get out. I was going to go. I have no idea where the hell i was going to go. I was just going to go.

But, the fire department came and according to my brother the fire fighter turned the valve ” like slicing butter”. So the gas was shut off. And as quickly as they descended on my house they left.

Everyone was departing back to their assigned parts of the house so it was me who answered the door bell when it rung.

It was the po po.

I was immediately greeted by  a police officer sternly asking if everyone was alright.  Flabbergasted I was answering his very stern and direct questions. They got a call about  a gas leak and came to investigate if everything was resolved and everyone was alright.

When i closed the door after the officer left I finally made it back to my room.

And finally I processed everything that happened.

I was up all night processing what happened. My adrenaline did not leave me until the wee hours of the morning.

The next day, i was upset I had a panic attack. Though,now I can laugh about it. But during? I was swore I was going to die in a horrible inferno.

Well, glad to tell you, I’ll live to live another day and blog another post.


All week, I kept seeing this post pop up in my news feed on facebook.

After a blogging friend Cheri part took in answering this, i decided i wanted to answer as well. Plus, I’m curious about you all and your first experience. In the comments or on your own blogs, I would like to know. What was your first concert?


My first concert was… embarrassing to admit. Okay, I’m just going to say it. I was a boy band groupie. N’sync was my first Boy Band obsession. I was still on the young side so I didn’t get to go stalk follow them around. However, B2k came around and I was obsessed. Best part? So was my cousin. We went to every single free concert they performed all over NYC. We left 5am in the morning and froze our butts off all morning to get a front row spot all for a one or two song performance.

I remember one epic concert in front of some news station , my cousin and I stood for hours for a two song performance. The tour bus pulled up right by the stage and the boy band entered the bus. In a mass horde we all started screaming and chasing the bus. Yes, chasing the tour bus. As the bus turned the faithful corner our screams immediately changed into cries of disappointment and sorrow. Then, a beacon of light appeared at the corner. A random guy at the corner started screaming and pointing

“Red light! Red light!”

The screams erupted and we all started running again.

So yes folks, my first concert experiences were that of a boy band groupie.

However, I will never admit to this. When people ask what my first concert was i readily tell them:

Five Finger Death Punch.

Five finger death punch, 5fdp, ffdp, rock band, rock, metal


The hubby and I discovered this band together in the very beginning of our relationship. The song came on headbangers ball ( remember that show?!) and the hubby instantly recognized the lead singer from his previous band. We stopped and stared at the music video and when it was over, we got the album immediately. To this day, when I take the hubby’s ipod ( mine is broken) I always, always end up playing a loop of Five Finger songs.

For one of our anniversaries we went to a five finger concert. They are rarely in NY and when they are it’s usually around a time we cannot afford tickets.  So,  when we finally scored tickets, i ditched my college classes for the day and spent the entire late morning/afternoon pre-gaming.

In typical rock concert fashion, we had to stand through three shitty bands before 5fdp took stage. But, when they did, It was worth it all.
To me, that will always be my first REAL concert experience.


What was your first concert experience?

I’ve been feeling a bit detached lately. I decided it was time to unplug for a little while. You’ve all read about the craziness at work with inventory and if you have not you can do so here.

Work is still tiresome and I was starting to bore with my TV shows. It doesn’t help it was the season finale of Walk Dead last week. Whatever am I to do with my Sunday nights?!

True to my commitment  ( B4Peace motto to live by for this year) though, I have been coming on WordPress everyday and silently reading your blogs. I drop a comment here and there but I’m one of those I don’t like pressing “like” unless I’m leaving a lengthy comment so sometimes i may or may not “like” your post.  But, I’m there stalking your blogs in the darkness of cyberspace.

So, what have I been doing with my time?

Well, you all know I have challenged myself and joined in the Goodreads Challenge to read 100 books this year. Last year, I part took but fell short.  As I type this, I have read 31 books which Goodreads tells me is five books ahead of schedule.

So, when I decided I needed to unplug from the computer and TV, I tried to read.

If you didn’t know, my genre of reading is Paranormal/fantasy/sci-fi.  Well folks, I had to put a ban on myself from buying books until I put a dent into the book I have already bought and yet to read. And it worked. Until last week.

I hit that wall. I was sci-fied out. I started about half a dozen books, reading a chapter of each. And I just wasn’t connecting. So i sat on goodreads and was just randomly searching and one book kept popping up into the recommendations.

Reaper’s Property it was called.

Now, I’m a HUGE Son’s of Anarchy fan. I watched it before it was popular, since it first aired. Every week the hubby and I would sit down and watch it together. It was OUR show.

My man. The first time he worked on a car after surgery and treatment( this was while on a break from treatment)

My man. The first time he worked on a car after surgery and treatment( this was while on a break from treatment)

What you may or may not know… the hubby is a mechanic. Cars have been his thing since he was 5 years old. He grew up in PR in his grandfather’s garage. He’s at his happiest covered in grease.

He’s from the old school mindset and believes you should be able to build from bottom up any ride before you learn to ride it.

Naturally, he became interested in motorcycles. He started the research in going back to school to get certified  in motorcycle mechanics.  But then, as he was planning out his passions and dreams, he fell ill.

Now, that dream isn’t dead but it’s on hold. Point is, he lives out the desire of riding through shows like Sons but because he’s secretly a nerd he watches all kinds of documentaries about Biker MC’s.

And because I’m his lady, I watch them with him.

I have not known or have ever known a real life biker in the lifestyle. But, from documentaries and such I felt familiar with the lifestyle.

So, i never ever thought of picking up a biker book. I just knew I would hate it. It would not be real and nitty gritty and true to the hardcore ways and life of a biker MC.

But, then I saw the reviews for this book that kept popping up in my suggestions. It was bipolar to put it nicely.  Either people hated it, or loved it. And that’s what decided it for me. I’m a sucker for controversial reads. Before i even remembered I was on a book buying ban, I ordered the kindle book and had my kindle up and running.

I devoured the book. It was a work of fiction. It was rude and crude. At times it did read like a fan fiction. But the aspects of biker life was realistic and believable.  I didn’t put it down. And before I knew what I was doing I bought the second book. And then when i finished that series , the next Biker Book suggestion popped up and I bought that too. Then when that book was finished another series was recommended and I bought that too. I”m now on the third book of that series.

Here is a list of the time thieves books.

Reaper’s MC by Joanna Wylde

Book One: Reapers Property
Book Two: Reapers Legacy

Renegade Sons MC  by Dawn Martens
Book One: Renegade Lady

Undeniable by  Madeline Sheehan
Book One: Undeniable
Book Two: UnBeautifully
Book Three: Unattainable

So my lesson is not to judge a book by its content. I thought biker related books would be cheesy .   True some of these are more love and desire and sex  then the rough and gritty biker MC dealings. But, that’s the beauty of it. Even bad-ass bikers fall in love. The hopeless romantic in me has been practically purring this past week.

Disclaimer: If you are interested in reading these books please be aware these are mature books with many “taboo” themes that include, murder, infidelity, rape and endless cursing and sex. It’s not everyone’s cup of tea, but don’t let your preference judge a book for what it is, a story. It is good stories.

Edit: I added links to the Goodreads Pages for the books.


I zipped up my hoody and burrowed in its fleece trying to block out the autumn nightly chill. My feet drag and echo with each step. After working a full retail shift and staying late to clean up, my feet were ready for some TLC with my bed and be cocooned in a blanket.

Funny, i had to wait in line to leave the store, all employees rushing to head home. But, as I walk to the other side of the parking garage no one is coming and going. I am alone.

My steps continue to echo and my messenger purse bounces slightly against my side. A ghost of my breath whispers in the air. Just cold enough to give it sight, but not yet winter so it isn’t fully a cloud of smoke in the air. Just the silence of the night and emptiness of the parking lot makes it easy to hear the ever so slight exhales of my breath.

Out of the corner of my eyes i see  movement.

I whip my head around but all is still. Not even any cars left on this level (the fourth level) of the parking garage.


My feet protest but i stop crawl walking and pick up the pace. I’m about hallway to the other side of the garage, towards the exit.
That’s when i hear it. Shuffling. The faintest sound of quiet feet. Sure feet. Feet that don’t want to be heard.

I whip around again , a full 180 and come to a complete stop in walking  and fully expect to see Michael Myers or Jason  standing RIGHT in front of me.

But, nothing. I strain my eyes looking behind pillars and the the ramps going to the different levels. Looking for a sign of…anything.

Completely freaked out, i turn around and  i speed walk. I hear the shuffling more frantic. Too scared to turn around again, i dash the last few feet to the exit. It’s not a real exist really, it’s a little turn off from the wide open parking garage  a short hallway that leads to a set of stairs and then a few feet from the stairs an elevator.

I press the elevator button repeatedly, torn between running down the stairs or knowing the elevator should be at the landing or close too. Work etiquette, whoever leaves from my store and takes the elevator down would press the button to send the elevator back up to our floor.  And the stairs are closer to the garage opening. The elevator is a few precious feet back.

For a tense 10 seconds i stare at the garage opening and listen intently. The slightest whisper of movement i hear. My heart thumping , my breathing labored from anxiety.

The ding of the elevator makes me jump out of my skin.

I couldn’t help it, I look one last time and a shadow is turning the corner.

Then all of a sudden i hear


My eyes drop to the floor and i see a pigeon running at me.

I duck in the elevator and  the elevator beeps and the doors start to close. The last thing i saw was a pigeon standing before the elevator with it’s wings outspread.

With the elevator starting its descend I couldn’t help it, I started laughing right then and there. I just was stalked and chased and ran from a pigeon.

* This was written to part take in Jenni’s Weekend Funny Challenge over on Unload and Unwind*

*In response to Saturday’s (I’m a day early) Stream of Consciousness  prompt hosted by Linda over on LindaGHill

Topic: Write or right in any of it’s definitions.

The right to write immediately forms in my head.  Writing used to be my religion. As word lovers and crafters, we just want the freedom to express , no matter the venue.

In highschool, i was part co-founder of a Creative Writing group. I’ve always been more of prose writer, diary style. I did write poetry as well. I wrote alot of slam poetry( better known as spoken word).  In highschool, it was a blast. We had amazing teachers and an awesome diverse club.

Until the principle censored two poems that were going to be published in the literary magazine.

I never forget that day. The tears of my friends. Grown adults insulting the creative work of teenagers calling it smut. And I’ll never forget our mentors pulling us off school grounds and taking us to a dinner and sliding a phone number across the table.

The phone number for the New York Civil Liberties Union.

My peers and I received help for NYCLU who promptly contacted out school. We published the censor poems in a booklet and handed them out, just outside legal grounds of the school.

I wish I could say we made a real change in the school. But, it was weeks from graduation ( it was our senior year) and all that we really accomplished was the administration caving a bit and humoring us until we were out the door.  We did stand up for ourselves, for that I’ll always be proud, and we did inspire the creative writing members we left behind. Our writings are left behind too.

As I grow older, i know understand freedom of speech is such a double edged sword. Just as fierce as our young selves fought to have poems published in print, just as fiercely others fight to have their propaganda and hate printed and spread.  Even if it’s harmless, like religious pushers.

I had a lady run frantically through a crowded mall to thrust an unwanted flyer in my hand….and then run off without saying a word to me. I looked at the flyer and it said ” God’s path to Salvation from sin”

I snickered.

Guess i look a sinner.

We all just want to express ourselves. If i want to publish meaningless words, I have the right too. But then I have to stand back and let others do the same, even if it’s against my beliefs.  Even if it’s harmful and full of hatred.

The right to write. I wish it was just one sided, all the indie writers finally coming to light. But, with a door open it allows entry to anyone. We cannot be a hypocrite and pick and choose who walks through that door.

The only thing we CAN choose is how to react, or better yet, not react when we come across something different from our point of view.