Mark Redfield, bad boy of the art world, and his latest hits!

Oh goodness me! 
Here I am lollygagging in the park again when I should be sharing the bushel and a peck of awesome art, Mark is putting out as of late!
Well, Mark always puts out.....wait, let me finish the sentence before you get your panties in a wad~ha! 
 Mark is busy, always busy, and busy in a way that makes me feel like I am on a permanent holiday. 
 So, If you enjoy your home being the center of attention,  loud gasps from your mother,  provocative, sometimes, button pushing, art, then this is the Etsy shop for you! 
I love the fact that when people walk into my living room they just stare, mouth gaping wide open, and point, " Look!" 
             

                  
Here are some sure winners to get this delightful reaction!

                                            Krampus

                   Now 50% off on this handsome fella!

                              What? Can't take a joke? 

                         Eat me! Or in my case, bite me~ha!


Or, how about some sweeter than honey on Rambutan with these?

                                Something for everyone!

     And, of course, my favorite and many of yours, Poe baby!

                                  In time for Halloween!

  So get cracking folks, get it while it's hot! Liven up those boring,       bare, white walls with a little bit of naughty and nice!
  Here is the link!
https://www.etsy.com/shop/markredfield?ref=l2-shopheader-name
   
 See you all soon!

Is there a Jim Beaver afterglow?

 Today I must hold my head up high despite the fact that a 64 year old furry face gets much better ratings than my fuzzy butt. Ha!

While being slightly annoyed by this revelation, I can't help but hop aboard the Jumble Jim express myself. 

The fans, being slightly hysterical themselves, are attached to him, like a pit bull to a bone, sinking their teeth into a "Supernatural" steak. I was only recently able to pry one loose for questioning to find out what the buzz was all about. 

Her name is Charlie and she's middle aged with two teenagers. 
She is also crazy about a very popular Japanese celebrity making it difficult for me to pin down the demographics of the main fan base. 

Although Charlie is not the kind of fan I expected, her personality encapsulates the heart of those swarming women you find at the comic conventions and on the Internet.

They are bold, eager, and bright, slightly edgy, yet feminine.

The most admirable quality about them though is their dedication. 

I asked Charlie how she felt when Jim's character, Bobby was killed off in season 7 of Supernatural. 

" I refused to believe it!" She said, as if her own father had died, " I didn't want to believe they would do such a thing." 

Many fans agreed saying that Bobby was the center of this long running TV show. He was the place that everyone came back to and it felt like home, it just felt safe.  I speculate, that without Bobby, the show has lost some of it's conscious, it's humanity. I have only seen a few episodes myself, but, Bobby struck me as having the type of lap I just wanted to curl up in and fall asleep. He was a warm comfortable spot with a few bumps that needed softening. 

 Thank Zeus, to ease the absence of Bobby Singer, the writers had his spirit lingering about for future episodes. 

The big question though, is he really dead this time?

But, that is Bobby. Jim Beaver is the man who is so much more than one character. 

" Do you think Jim is at all like Bobby?", I ask Charlie, who I know is old enough to know better. Charlie catches herself before speaking, knowing I am trying to trap her, "Well, I suppose we are all bits and pieces of things, so, sure.... I suppose some of Bobby does live in him." Charlie suddenly jumps. " Oh wait, I've talked to him!" "You have?", I asked, "What did you think?", Charlie is gushing even in text, " He's sweet.." 

Still, I don't feel my question is answered, Why Jim, I wonder? 

How does a handsome, but seemingly, ordinary looking man who is about to turn 65 next month, become a chick magnet? 

I asked Charlie once more before she had to go pick up the kids that day, " Why do you think Jim is so attractive to other women?" 

" Well, maybe because he is a single father and women want to take care of him....", she hesitates, " or maybe the other way around..." 

I understood.

I had Daddy issues, and although I am not a Spring chicken myself, I liked the idea of having an older man around. 

Jim is rock solid with his dedication to his talented, 13 year old daughter though, and that just makes the fans adore him all the more.

He is like the anchor in a stormy sea, an ocean of love.

  I am becoming less and less immune to his charms. The charm that  is Jim, mysterious and unwavering. 

 I try to pretend he is just one, of many, many, actors I have known in my 39 years of public (boot licking) relations, but, he is not. 

He pushes every button on me, above and below, the belt.

He makes me feel like an Idjit for waiting outside of Theatre West for six days for an unscheduled interview. 

He makes me realize how little I know, inside and outside of the business. He gives me a target to reach for. 

He makes me want to be a better woman.

In my dreams I am.

by the way, he is a frequent visitor in my sleep these days, but, what goes on between the sheets is just between Jim and I.

Get your own Bobby doll. Ha!

MENOPAUSE MOMENTS

                             MENOPAUSE MAMA!

I just count the bodies!

 
    It is time for me, to once again, write in my blog, and it is vital for me to do it NOW because in two minutes I will forget what....... OH FECK, it happened again! 

In the last month, I have been lucky to even remember to change my underwear daily or feed the dog.
What is happening to me?! 

                          

 Why is my hair suddenly being mistaken for hay, my vaginal area for the impassable Sahara Desert, and my belly for a five month pregnancy?
 Good Golly Miss Molly, I am becoming Psycho Witch for almost slugging a thirty-something for asking if my fibroid was a boy or a girl! I told her it was an "it" and asked her to kindly feck off. 
I realize with my ADD, GAD, PMS, IBS, CFS, FS, and PTSD I wasn't sane to begin with, but, now with my all day pass to hemorrhoid hill, I am BFH!  

So long, farewell, curves, and being able to fit into a motel bathtub.
  

Adios, Hasta La Vista, to perky boobs, tiny tummy, smooth skin and toenails that aren't yellow.
                   

I have decided to hide behind an avatar and go by the name of "Boobsie Buttercup" and pray that no one wants to actually meet me!

My indoor slip and slide

                                       Wow! What a week! 

The temps have soared into the 100's and my face is melting! 
 I have spent most of the days trying to pull my undies out of the crack of my ass, all while being super glued to the leather couch. 

 Yesterday a bottle of olive oil suddenly burst open cracking the glass container in half and spilling it's contents all over the kitchen tiles. Most of it was invisible to my naked eye until stepped on, then I suddenly found myself on a kinky, indoor, slip and slide, ( minus the other girls).

I must live under a rock because I had no idea they actually had tag teams for this "sport"~Ha! 

Anyway, I'm sure no one wants to read about naked girls rolling in oil and boring things like that.......

On an all too serious note, as I was leaving the hospital yesterday and pulling out onto the main road, a car driving down the right lane, burst into to flames right in front of me! A huge cloud of thick, black, smoke, prevented me from going any further. Within minutes, I could make out a fire truck, soon followed by other emergency vehicles. When the air cleared about five minutes later, all I saw was this~ 

Suddenly, having bottles burst in my apartment, is the least of my worries. I only hope this poor person made it out alive. 

More soon!  

LUCK OF THE DRAW: MY JIM BEAVER STORY

 It might be because the day is so dreadfully hot, that the soul burns with sentiment, or, perhaps, sleep did not bring response nor satisfaction, but for either of those reasons or more, I find I cannot leave a thought.
It is my fully shocked heart that was awakened when a bounty was received in my behalf. 
When this stranger came into my life, I lay in most desperate times struggling to regain a composure and a means to acquaint myself with the mother who bore me.
 In this, I had high hopes that a new life awaited me somewhere in different circumstances if only I could not find myself in monetary despondency. 
I panhandled until I could no longer raise an arm or softly cry out, when a hero arrived with a deafening thud, leaving a substantial gift, then left like a feather caught in a Summer's breeze. 

 All I could do was watch him slowly float away just beyond reach.

I wondered if this kind, bearded, stranger had meant to incapacitate me with curiosity? Did he wish to woe me? Did he just take pity upon me or had my story actually stroked a heart string?  

To me, his lightening quick gesture pounced upon me like a giant bear hug in a place where the soulless wander hardly ever touched.
Perhaps, at one point in his life, he had been there himself.
I needed answers. 
Who was this sentimental, altruistic, human and why had he selected me in a brief, rushing, moment? 
There had to be a reason. And more importantly, why couldn't I accept that there may not have been a reason and there was certain randomness to it?  I could have been a creature in an ocean full of lovely things, another face, a smile, a whim. 

 But,time stops for people in a moment well noted and imprinted upon our bare, exposed soul. We leave ourselves out there in the open, wounded and vulnerable, hoping we will not be devoured and stripped of our humanity. We drop pretenses and pride when we find ourselves standing alone with nowhere to turn.
We finally ask for help, in a pitiful, embarrassing, cry,  knowing there will be expectations, attachments, and obligations.  
It is the circle of life. It is survival.
Those who do not participate will either dominate the chain or will eventually be unhooked as the weakest link.

It felt strange to me to be in a position of simple acceptance. It was not something I could do. 
 My heart reflexes, my hand reaches out, my soul vibrates and resounds! 
I am uncommonly moved.

It didn't matter what face the man wore, what clothes suited him or what vocation had called him. I am obliged. 

 This stranger has all but disappeared from my life. He walks alone to meet his own path with his own obligations that await him. 
I may never know why our paths crossed on that day or why he chose me for a moment in sweet time. 
I cry sometimes being left alone with only unanswered questions. 
There are other days I exhaust myself with anger or longing.
As time slowly heads from overhead to the horizon, I know it will soon disappear. There is a part of me that wants that while the other part wants just one more magical day with him in it.

Appleblossom's Dead: A short horror story (Told by the horse)

APPLEBLOSSOM'S DEAD

It was my favorite time of day when everything went black on me.

I don't remember my heavy body dropping in one giant thud to the ground, or how much time had passed when I became aware again.

But, time had passed, and things were not as they should be.

The other trail horses ran nervously in circles around the dusty corral. In the center of the corral by the watering trough, a horse lay dead. It was extraordinary because it looked very much like me!

There were some things grossly odd about this though.

The body was stiff, while the belly bloated from the gasses inside almost to the point of popping. Flies were swarming heavily above waiting to lay their lava inside the dying flesh. One black eye stared up at me, vacant of life.

It was obvious this couldn't be me!

I sniffed at the poor creature lying there with his mouth gaping and oozing with fluid.

I brought down one big thundering hoof and shook the ground beneath it, but, the grizzly scene remained still and unmoving.

So, the horse laid there as the sun rose higher in the sky for there was nothing more to be done.

The dogs were the first to arrive that morning. They immediately picked up on the pungent smell of death and the four of them gathered around the obese

rising mound. I recognized them easily as answering to the names of Jeez Louise, Montezuma, Turpentine and the wise old leader, Spalding Gray. He would signal them to carefully inspect the rare find before proceeding, but I knew by the end of the day the poor creature would be eaten.

I was relieved when the people of spurs and leather saddles, came at last and shooed the dogs away. The circle of hunched figures in felt hats became even larger now and completely blocked my view. I knew not one of them for we never became familiar.

Their voices muttered in unison across the corral, “ The horse is dead”, “ The horse is dead”. “ How do we move a dead horse?”

How do you move a dead horse indeed?!

I, myself, was big in stature. I knew I weighed 998 pounds before supper and my dead weight would add even seven more pounds.

They had a big problem on their hands, for certain, for if they waited much longer the chances increased for the maggots to have already eaten through the rotted flesh that lay closet to the ground. If they could keep the body intact then they could roll the deceased over the hill and into the creek down below, where landfill was waiting. But, nobody knew how and the horse sat there longer.

The morning sun turned into the dreaded afternoon heat. The hot breeze picked up and blew dust, hay, and the smell of sulfur into the air. It was not a pleasant day for me, and any plans that were made were certainly ruined.

A small boy of seven, who still ate his buggers, was on the outside corner of the barn attempting to knock down a bird's nest, as he often did. When his aim proved true the reward of six little babies dropped to the ground. He carefully laid them out in a row and guillotined each of their tiny little heads and then smiled in satisfaction. He was a hideous little thing, but in that tiny brain of his, perhaps, it held the answer. I didn't speculate any further on the matter because a painfully noisy tractor arrived at the gate. Several men entered and appeared to be taking down a back section of the fence. We were all ushered in one big storm of rising dust, into a holding section. Things quickly became intense! The tractor roared, the earth shook, the men shouted and the other horses reared up and bellowed.

What a hideous sight to witness!

The creature was shown little dignity. Where is the honor in its large pink tongue dangling from the side of its mouth? Where is the honor in the lose of bowels? The tractor only smoked, than it spewed out one final cloud of exhaust before shutting down. The horse could not be moved so it lay there longer yet.

The men, who, by no means, were of any special intelligence, discussed the obvious at great lengths. They spat tobacco, chewed on beef jerky in the midst of swarming flies, and urinated with no consideration of aim. The dogs had returned unable to resist the delightful smell and several small children approached and became spectators to this morbid live theater.

I wondered what it must be like to be dead. I wonder what humiliation it must be? Did memories still linger yet? Was there longing to rise? Was their desire to speak? I wondered if this poor spectacle of reaper's capture could feel it's bones being broken free from rigamortis as they attempted one last time to curve it's foul body into the bucket? Oh, how lucky I was to be alive and I didn't have to endure the horrors I saw before me! The hooves could not be tied together and the body sprawled back out of the scoop like a fat old fellow in a lawn lounger after a six-pack.

The horse rolled out onto the ground and could not be moved once more.

The afternoon grew late and the air of desperation could be felt.

But the manner in which the horse was treated had become softer. A cloth was gently tucked under all of it and was left peacefully in the shadows. Soft wining and nickering returned to the corral. It was better this way.

Who was this unfortunate one? Why had I not had their acquaintance? It was impossible to know everyone here, yet this still baffled me. I liked to think I was considerate of my manner and cordial with my greetings.

As soon as the sun had set behind the trees the men returned in confident stride, each with cans of kerosene, matches and a long hose. My eyes widened, my breath rose and my chest pounded! Did they mean to burn this creature right here before my eyes?! What cruel hearts had entered them during their absence?!

The liquid was poured, the matches lit, and in one sudden burst, before I could protest, the mass of remains became one big bonfire!

The insanity of it all!

The horses scattered frantically and each paced quickly from one side of the fence to the other looking for a way out.

Suddenly, an unexpected wind picked up and carried a potion of the charred blanket up into the air and into the top of a tree by the barn. The treetop quickly caught on fire and spread to the wooden shingles next to it.

The man ran for their hoses ignoring the horses trapped in the back corral, but, it was too late. The heat and dryness of the day made it easy for the entire area to be consumed in one big fiery gulp.

The fire started during my favorite part of the day. I don't remember how the gate opened before me or how long I had been running free, but, when I did, I knew things were not as they should be. I galloped at full speed under the moon. I sped as fast as could go alongside the lake. I went on and on into the night, only turning once to see the fiery spectacle behind me. What an extraordinary day this had been, How ironic indeed! It was a good thing that horse, with the one black staring eye, had not been me!

JUNE BUG

                 

Already it is the 9th of June, and well into the hundreds. I am miserable, sweaty and sticky, as I slowly melt into the leather couch like a chocolate bar on the sidewalk. The apartment easily becomes the same temperature as the stifling heat outdoors.
The two fans I got the day before simply swirl the suffocating breeze allowing me to get a breath or two of breathable air and a moment more of life. The dog simply passes out on the cool tiles of the kitchen and waits for the mosquito filled air of the evening.

The river will soon call my name passionately, beckoning me to swim it's length.  I will hear it in the wind and I will go, as I always do every Summer.