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Old 11-04-06, 11:59 AM   #1
Butterfly Man
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Butterfly Rachel Story-Time for Butterfly Man

I'm sitting in the pouring rain, with my wet dogs.
The pigs have dug up all my fruit trees, the solar system exploded and I've just run out of weed. Would you write me something to read while I pretend to be miserable?
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Old 11-04-06, 12:23 PM   #2
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Lurk Normally I hate the subway.

A few years ago I used to see a man on the bus, semi-regularly. He was the type of good looking that's so distinct and unique it takes you a while to realize he's good looking. Were one molecule out of place, he could be just as easily be very odd looking. It's a fine line between super model and freak-of-nature. As it was, I decided he was very good looking.
He was black, with a shaved head, large wide set eyes and large lips, with a washboard forehead of wrinkles, just like mine. His eyebrows were such a distinguished shape, one might almost assume he waxed. His eyebrows alone made him look like he was thinking about something intelligent, and worrying just a little.
I remember drawing him while on the bus once. I don't think he noticed, and I don't think the drawing turned out well. But it imprinted his face on my mind.
I didn't see him for a year or so. Maybe I got a new job. Maybe he did. I can't remember. For some reason at least one of us wasn't riding that bus anymore.
Then one day I saw a man who looked just like him. ...On the same bus. ...Wearing the same clothes and sporting the same washboard forehead.
He was identical, but he didn't seem like the same man. The other man -- the pretty one -- seemed shy, but laid back. Tired from a hard day's work and ready to go home to relax. This man looked scared and everything about his body language screamed, "Don't look at me." It really made him look like an entirely different man. The thing is, there was no reason that anyone should have been looking at him. No one was. ...well, except for me, but I had always been looking at him.
But it was so clear in his body language. It felt as if people's eyes were laser beams that hurt when they hit him, causing him to flinch.
So, of course, this made me watch him all through the entire bus ride, all the more intently. If you scream, "Don't look over here!", what do you expect people to do?
At first I was just staring at him to figure out if it was the same man. Once I realized it was, I was staring at him to figure out why he had changed. I couldn't get over that something was incredibly different about him. I mean, apart from his demeanor. Something about him had changed, but I couldn't place it.
We always transfered from that bus to the subway, and headed downtown.
I got out after him and followed behind him from the bus to the subway platform (Not purposely "following" him. That's just the order in which we walked off the bus). ...Even from behind, something was different about him.
It took me the entire time from bus to subway to finally realize... his left arm was missing from the elbow, down.
I'm SURE he had a left arm before. And once I finally noticed it, I couldn't for the life of me understand why I hadn't seen it earlier. It was right there. ...or rather, it wasn't right there.
Imagine talking to someone who has a third eye, and not noticing until part way through the conversation. You're brain just glitches and tells you that this is their face, and this is what's normal for their face. ...Once you notice, it's very shocking --jolting -- and hard to shake off.
He just didn't seem like the type of man to be without a limb. He always dressed in very sharp and expensive-looking business attire, with very classy shoes (his shoes were one item that helped me realize he was the same man. He always had very nice shoes). ...for some reason you just don't see such sharp, corporate men, walking around the business sector, missing arms. Why is that?
It's been a while since he's ridden my bus.
Last night after work, I found myself on my regular, sardine-packed subway car, squished right up against this stunning, sad, one-armed man. The whole ride, until he got off at his stop (he must have moved) his back was entirely turned to me. Eye-to-shoulder blades (I'm short). For some reason, I couldn't help but take it personally.
I just wanted to hug him. ...no, actually, it wasn't a hug. I wanted to lean on him. ...have you ever had a big dog like a German Shepherd stand next to you and just lean into you, for comfort? That's what I wanted to do.
For a moment I thought about looking around for the glint of a wedding ring, but then I remembered that... it would have been on his left arm.
People don't talk to each other here. It's not likely that I'll be able to ever ease into any sort of conversation if I see him again. I'll probably always be that girl from the bus who stares at him when he's not looking, while he pretends that he's not looking.

rachel
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Old 11-04-06, 05:03 PM   #3
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Default Scary clown . . .

So yes, I have - unintentionally, well usually, unintentionally- scared the occasional toddler, and the rare teenager, usually a girl practicing out her emotions.

Today, I scared the cows. THE COWS for god's sake! I was on my stilts, with my umbrella, traffic flagging for a bank grand opening. The cows were across the street, five lanes wide, at least. And a third of a mile to the south., and 50 yards from the fence.

In the third hour of a four hour shift, the head cow, oh hell, it might of been a steer, I wasn't looking that close, you know. I was waving to the cars, pumping my umbrella, dancing, prancing, trying to hitch a ride, crouching low, doing squats, flailing my thumb, cheering them on when they - the cars, not the cows, successfully completed their left hand turn into or out of the parking lot, jumping up and down, arms over head yelling YEA!! YOU DID IT! . Ditto for when the bike club made their circuit past the bank, I would cheer them on too.

I was getting tired, I had forgotten my lunch, but had found a banana and
some cough drops, and even a tootsie roll amounst the debris of the cab of my truck. I was tired, but the DJ was doing a good job. Now he was playing some energetic country western.

I looked up, over the road to see the cows "coming home". Lead by a single cow/steer they
trailed slowly, taking their time, but moving purposely to the north. I don't know why, the pasture, if you could call it that, brown and dotted with the hills and burrows of dozens of prairie dog colonies, was baron. So what was the attraction to the north? I have no idea.

But willing to get excited at anything that would get me through this last hour with my sore feet and back, and finally to some food, I excitedly ran back to the DJ, shouting, "the cows are coming home"! And he was shouting "THE COWS . . . I couldn't hear what else he said, but he too had noticed the cows moving.

So I ran back up a slight incline to my spot at the sidewalk near the street . . . and not exactly stumbled, but I did catch myself, and of course waved the umbrella a bit to catch my balance. Bad timing. Apparently the head cow/steer had finally seen me, at what must have been 100 yards away. And instantly reversed direction, causing a mini stampeed as the head of the herd now reversing direction piled into the back part of the herd, who had yet to get the message of the sudden change of direction!

So when you get to bragging about how you scared that kid, or that drunk, remember . . . I SCARED THE COWS!
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Old 11-05-06, 05:10 PM   #4
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Default Subway Ice Breakers

Ray,


what about some pseudo-shy comment to him about the really cool shoes? I can see you, looking down, hands behind your back (so he'll have to guess how many you may or may not have)

"Excuse me, but those shoes are really the cat's meow. No. I mean, the bees knees. No. More like the elephant's candle. Or the hummingbird's wax moustache. The duck's oregano, the anteater's shadow. You know?"


It'll make his day. Pounce away, tigress.
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Old 11-09-06, 01:32 PM   #5
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Default

I'm afraid of him.
I've never met the man, but I'm positive he hates my guts.
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Old 11-27-06, 08:41 AM   #6
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Default "I put the 'ass' in 'class'. "

My quest to become decaffeinated has been a rough journey. Officially I drink only one up of coffee per day now, however I cheat almost every single day. My whole life feels like a lie. I've also set no limit on the size of my one official morning coffee. I have some mugs that are closer to being Vietnamese soup bowls than they are to being cups.

I have managed to lower my caffeine intake tolerance level a great deal, but this only means that when I do cheat I react that much more violently. My brain says I can still drink 2 1/2 pots, but my blood stream says 1 1/2 cups before I begin convulsing.
I've never had my heart implode, but I'm pretty sure I know what it might feel like.

Last week I had a coffee induced fit during a board meeting. We were pitching ideas for a product and it was my turn. Drunk on bean water, I leapt onto the table shouting, "Here's MY proposal!!!" and then I proceeded to make as many offensive gestures as I could think of (which is one. I'm very naive, but I do try hard).
Then I dashed out the board room door screaming, "Screw all y'all!!" and threw a shoe at the receptionist as I passed by, calling her a "son of a biscuit box". (In retrospect, I do feel bad about that. I wear steel-toed boots, and no one deserves one of those in the head, compounded by such vicious verbal abuse. I'm sure her mother is not a "biscuit box".)
In an espresso craze, I waited for the elevator. ...and kindly asked for my shoe back.
I flailed out onto the street and ran into the nearest strip club.
Giddy on Americano, I entered the "Got Ass?" competition that was going at the time, won the $500 first prize, and in a caffeine-induced rage I invested it all in uranium stocks and retired to Vegas as a former professional Ass Haver.
Coo coo on Cocopuffs, I tattooed my professional ass with corporate advertisements, and began teaching classes called, "How Even You Can Make Money at Ass Having".
Long story short, I've just gone under plastic surgery to implant multiple asses, so that I can use them like billboards. It's already cost me a fortune in Office Depot swivel chairs, and now that I'm coming down off my bean high, I'm beginning to regret it.
Coffee's just bad for me.
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Old 11-27-06, 12:44 PM   #7
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Rachel, rachel, rachel...

What have you done? be kind and gentle dear soul, and then if they still piss ya off, rip off their heads and holler down their neck.
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Old 11-27-06, 09:35 PM   #8
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Love Just a warning shot ...

Seadawg ... please be very, very kind to Rachel (not that you did anything wrong yet).

She is my adopted street daughter (hmm, that just doesn't sound right) and I have grown to adore her. If anybody says anything hurtful they will have moi to deal with and well, I don't know anybody who wants a piece of me (sad as that sounds).

I asked her to open this thread because I think she has a lot to offer and I don't want anybody scaring her off.

with all due respect,
Robert


And thank you Rachel for your stories ... if I weren't married and was like 30 or 40 years younger I'd .... no, I'd better not say it ... it'd just make you nauseous.
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Old 11-27-06, 09:44 PM   #9
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Butterfly, I wouldnt do anything to hurt a lady who is as funny and insightful as Rachel. The violent aspect of the caffiene induced craze seems a little out of character.....
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Old 11-28-06, 05:56 AM   #10
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Default "The Devil's Cup: Coffee, The Driving Force In History"

Nothing to worry about, my friends, nothing to worry about.
Nobody was scared anywhere (unless someone was scared away by my caffeine induced, nonsense story).
I appreciate Seadawg's concern for the emotional condition of my multiple asses.
And Robert, since I was a small child, my mother has been widely recognized across Ontario as "The Butterfly Lady". So... I think we might be related.

(By the way, someone has just pointed out to me that "two thumbs up" is NOT an obscene gesture. ...so you can scratch that part of my story.)
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Old 11-28-06, 06:02 AM   #11
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Rachel,glad to hear it.

Somedays I feel like a nut, Other days I take Prozac....

Actually if Siskel and Ebert did the two thumbs up thing now it might be kinda obscene. But then Necromancy is kinda of fascinating. And for you really twisted shits,I said Necromancy and not Necrophilia....
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Old 11-29-06, 08:07 AM   #12
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"if I weren't married and was like 30 or 40 years younger I'd .... no, I'd better not say it ... it'd just make you nauseous."


You know what's sad? I think that's the most flattering comment I've ever gotten!
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Old 11-29-06, 08:27 AM   #13
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Rachel,

It is not nice to fib... I am sure plenty of prince "charmings" have tried to make you offers that you couldn't refuse. but only your steely willed discipline kept you from making them the luckiest one on the planet....
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Old 11-29-06, 09:06 AM   #14
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sure.
Ok, we'll say that.

That, and there are a select few whom I don't kick in the shins and tell to "shut their pie hole".

I also have a fairly drastic "before" picture, which I'm not wiling to pull out on a public forum.

But we'll go with your theory.

Now shut your pie hole.
Don't make me kick you.

next topic.
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Old 11-29-06, 09:46 AM   #15
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Cool

Now I see... a closet dominatrix...

Next thing ya know, you will be threatening to spank someone...OOOH internet video potential
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Old 11-29-06, 09:56 AM   #16
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ok, seriously. no more.
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Old 11-29-06, 10:26 AM   #17
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Jester

ok... I will behave myself
As my wife is so fond of saying...

"just this once could you take this the least little bit seriously?"
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Old 12-30-06, 10:49 PM   #18
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Default My Little Crap Shack of Love

It’s a little crap shack, floating in a concrete sea.

One little brick box with shingles stands in the front/center of a large shopping plaza parking lot. He built a tall fence to keep us out (or to keep Mother Nature in) and he stands alone like a cheese. …Like an island. …Like a lonely island made of cheese.
So honorable! So brave! So… Dare I say, heroic! One little guy stands up against The Man and shouts, “Heck NO! We won’t GO!” and watches on, with quivering lip, as the entire block is paved over – all of his neighbours have sold out, yet he stands firm!
O! To love one’s home to that degree! What an admirable little guy he is!
…This is what I used to think when I passed the house.
Whenever I’m in, at, or around this shopping plaza I can’t stop staring at what seems to be invisible to most others. It’s been there so long, it just blends in to its surroundings like camouflage.
I, however, walk into lampposts. I trip over curbs. I find myself nearly hypnotized by what I’m sure is a great story behind those bricks.
I think it’s love.
I’m in love with Hamilton’s best-kept secret.
The word around the Remax water cooler is that the little guy who bought his home in 1963 did, indeed, hold out against The Man (the plaza developer), many years ago, as I always suspected. But it wasn’t for the love of his home. They say he held out until he was the last one standing on the block so that he could demand an outrageous amount for his home and walk away with pockets full of dough. It so happened that he was dealing with the wrong developer. The developer responded to his demands with a, “Screw that!” and HE (the plaza developer) built the tall fence around the house and left the little guy there to rot in greed.
It finally made sense to me why a man who supposedly loved his home so much would let it look so dingy over time. It seems that someone, 30 years ago, threw a few bottles of Pepto Bismol onto the brick and called it a paint job. The structure (from what I can see while walking into trees) appears sturdy enough… The little guy just let it get Capital “U”, Ugly.
The FENCE, however – The FENCE is perfect. And it always will be. The plaza will make sure of that.
As just deserts for his greed for money, his property now holds next to no value to the plaza, as flattening it would only mean six to eight more parking spots, and as enormous as the place is, I’ve never seen it filled to capacity, even on its busiest of days.
The city actually values this little property at a good amount – far more than any one would actually pay for it, due to its location.
Practically speaking… As far as resale goes, it’s difficult to sell a home that’s in a parking lot. I’m not sure why. I mean, you’ve got all the shopping you’ll ever need literally in your own backyard, plenty of parking for parties, no neighbours to be quiet for, and with highways and main streets all around, you’ll always be able to get places fast! You’d even have a big KFC bucket in the sky, to light your way home at night, in absence of the stars, which Hamilton hasn’t seen for decades.
And in true Hamilton style, standing at the front door of this home is one of two places in the city where you can rotate on the spot and view four Tim Horton's at once. It's a sight to behold.
Commercially, the property is in the hub of everything commercial. …But it has one parking spot. And that plaza, with all its pent up animosity, will eat rocks before it lets customers use its parking spots to enter that house!! I was told that the plaza would likely set up guards around the house, just to makes sure their spaces weren’t being stolen, if someone opened shop there.
So… What a story. I was in love with the house before I knew it, and I was more in love with every syllable spoken.
Perhaps, I thought, the embittered owner would now be willing to get rid of his property at any offensively low price! At this point, he may just want to rid himself of the burden. It can’t hurt to try! I can handle a slap in the face. …Or rather, my real estate agent can!
If the property is structurally sound I could consider buying at a low price to compensate for the resale difficulties. If he were a reasonable man, it’d be difficult to disagree. …But who knows if he’s reasonable.
Here’s where the plot thickens.
He’s dead.
The little guy – the once greedy man – died last year.
The tenants in the house have been there for 11 years, and I’m not sure who they’re paying rent to anymore.
The property has been in probate court since his death, and no one can figure out what should be done with it.
I deemed this a possible lucky break for me. (Pardon my coldness… poor dead man.) But, if I played my cards right, I might be able to take this burden off the family’s hands without as much fear of insulting. How are they going to split up a house amongst them, anyway? A little wad of money is SO much easier.
Ooooh, I know what you’re thinking. If this plot thickened any more, it’d be as dense as the parking lot pavement it sits upon.
Well, our little guy wrote a unique will. As it turns out, he gave his home over to the City, with the wish that they make it into a heritage home – a historical “City of Hamilton” thing.
………………………….Could my odds get any better??
Who cares LESS about this home than the City of Hamilton?
Like this is ANYwhere on their priority list!
This is why it’s been in probate for so long. Who knows how much longer it will sit on the shelf. …Unlesssssss someone walks through the doors with an insanely, offensively, ridiculously low offer to buy.
I found the July record of the City’s discourse on what to do with the property (likely the last time they talked about it). The only two suggestions were 1) that the house be torn down to widen the street in front of it, and 2) that it be sold on the open market and the proceeds go towards The Revolving Fund for Heritage Homes.
Suggestion 1 requires not only paving over the house, but also cutting into plaza property. I just don’t see that happening easily or any time soon.
Suggestion 2 is my only hope. This sounds somewhat like what he wanted in his will. …We all know it isn’t what he really wanted, but we can put a “heritage” label on some big rock somewhere and all feel good about it when we go to sleep.

I’m still very cautious. I’m absolutely in love, but I’m very wary of what could end up looking much like a dysfunctional marriage. You pay a high price for what, at the time, looked like adorable eccentricities, but after a few years you come to resent them, and then you wake up one morning and it dawns on you … you’re stuck with this for LIFE.

But then, like a huge tattoo on your forehead, you could role with it and let it help you express your own eccentricities.

…It could go in so many directions. Much of it is choice.

But do I want a solid investment that keeps up with the current market?
Or do I want take a once-in-a-life-time chance?
Life isn’t like the movies. I want to root for the second choice, but I won’t have a football team to lift me onto their shoulders while tear-jerking music plays in the background, and the evil developer gets a pie in the face.

It could just end up being a poor choice.

Now, resale of that house is difficult… but not impossible. …Not if someone grew up to be a marketing genius. Not if someone knew how to get the media involved.

…I’m just sayin’. There are possibilities.

I waver, daily.

There will be a conclusion to this story soon enough. City Hall is dead over the holidays, but when Tuesday rolls around I have an agent on the case. …Wow. That sounds so legitimate.

This could be the future home of the Dundas Busker Fest Annual Wrap Party/BBQ.

Or I could get a normal house.
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Old 12-30-06, 10:51 PM   #19
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The crap shack in its current state

(the property actually goes back pretty far, with an extention on the back, a yard, and a giant shed or workshop) It's deceptively large.

And that's not grass on the roof, that's a tree in the back yard.
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Old 12-30-06, 10:52 PM   #20
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The crap shack as I see's it...
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