Have you ever noticed that things, whether they are good or bad happen in threes. People die in threes. Especially famous people. Wishes, if granted by a sane genie, are of the three variety. Movies more and more these days seem to be made into trilogies. That the third time is a charm – whether it is getting a lighter lit, fixing something that is broken, or getting the car started in a very bad situation.

Three seemed to be the right number for these little candles that I found on my brother’s new coffee table. Very Martha Stewart-y.

I think they represent – See no Flame, Hear no Flame, and Speak no Flame.

What do you think?

A woman needs comments, people. So comment. Comment away.

Ah, the good ole days. Or not.

I don’t think there ever was a day I enjoyed partaking in my expensive education at the University of Hell. Or at least not consecutive days in which I thought I was getting anything out of the never ending “blah blah blah”.

But I can look back on it now and laugh. Was the 4 1/2 years worth it? No. Not in the educational sense. Did I meet some cool people? Yes and no. Did I get anything out of it? Yeah, I found Jenny, my inner demon. Would I do it again? Probably. Why the hell would I do that? Because college is a necessary step in most of our lives. I wouldn’t call it important. No, that is a little extreme, but I think necessary fits nicely. It is just another stepping stone. A slippery one that usually leaves us on our buttocks, but at least it leaves us some where. Hopefully, not poor. Hopefully, more well rounded and wise. Hopefully, the experience leads us to our compass and true north. But if the world is always spinning, and we keep moving north – do we ever find happiness; an end?

Where is my diploma? Sitting between a wall and my dresser, still in the envelope it came in. Am I poor? Not yet, but it’s coming. Am I a well rounded and wise woman of 24, almost 25? God, I don’t even know. That’s not for me to know or to decide. And my true north? It is some where over the horizon, some where beyond that hill, some where beneath that star that I wish upon each night.

I thought Hell was over. But life has only just begun.

For all of you who have a hard time believing that the Chinese have humor . . . Behold! I have found the proof.

Some time ago I was driving around the Clemson area because that is really all you can do up there besides drink. And we all know that I am by no means a drinker. You can thank not living on a college campus for that. (Thanks, mom. Thanks USC for being so freaking expensive.) But anyway, yeah, I was driving around Clemson when I pulled off in some shopping strip mall parking lot for whatever crazy reason. And that is when I saw it.

Oh, boy, did I laugh. I have eaten at my fair share of Chinese restaurants – all with their respectful names, but I don’t think I have ever seen one as original and humorous as this one. Thank the purple heavens I had my camera at my side. I wish I had gone in to eat, but I guess either I wasn’t hungry that day or I figured out where I needed to be.

But I thought someone else may need a chuckle for the day.

Laughing is supposed to make you live longer.

So laugh because it’s kexiao!

So I decided to go to church this past Sunday. I know, I know, go ahead and gasp, I’ll wait. (And just so you know, the church did not implode.)

Done? Alright, well, here is why I decided to attend church for the first time in seven months. I went not for His sake, or my sake, or my mother’s sake, but for my cousins, her husbands and their four month old, Hayden. They had a Parental Dedication. The preacher promised, the congregation promised, God promised, although no one heard him say it, and of course the parent’s promised that they would . . . I guess do everything that the Lord would want them to do in the raising of their daughter. And then they sat down, and the real learning of the day began.

If any of you know me, you know how I feel about churches. In short, I just don’t like them. They are full of hypocrites and liars, fake and greedy souls who care about nothing but themselves. Now I am sure that there are some church’s that have some redeeming people in their congregation, but not enough. And by visiting this new church, I can say that this one was no different.

First, there was the Soul Snatching Greeters. They were strategically placed on the premises to grab new-comers. I was quick to sneak past them. They came close a few times. One prepared a very convincing smile and was just about to put out his hand to shake mine, but I put my head down and ran! He radioed the others so that they may be able to trap me, but I made it through the mine field unscathed. Ah-ha!

And then there was the actually church. Oh, my. It was huge. Not as big as some that I have seen, but it was still too much for the eye to take in. I can only imagine how many trees (and the many homes that they provided) they cut down to build such an atrocity. It makes my stomach churn. I mean, does a house of God have to be this big? I mean does God really care if you build Him a 800 billion square foot building or a little shack? The only thing I can figure is that the people who make these decisions think that God will only love them only as big and as expensive as their church is. What a clever thought!

Inside of the church was the real kicker. They had little information booths like you would find at a sporting event or musical performance. I kept waiting to see a stand where I could buy a hat, a shirt, or a poster with the church’s logo and motto on it, but I wasn’t that lucky. And there was no divine intervention to bring it into being. Darn.

I joined my family on the second row and began the waiting game. Elevator music quietly emitted from the speakers as random people tried to squeeze by to grab a seat. With as many pews as this place had, everyone should be allowed their own. I felt like I was at a sold out movie and there was constantly just one unoccupied seat in the middle of the pew I was sitting on. Trying to allow someone to get by why you are wearing a skirt or a dress is not easy. If they were going to make the church as big as they did, you would think the next logical step would be to allow moving room between pews. I guess they didn’t get God’s memo on that building idea.

But one they did get was: Build two very large screens that will allow you to send subliminal messages to the entire congregation. I averted my eyes as much as possible, but it was difficult. They had the cutest nature scenes splashed across them. Several times I found myself starring at them, and had to pull my eyes away. I wonder how much damage my mind endured.

Five minutes before lift off, a time clock appeared in the bottom right hand corner and began to count down. I was later asked by someone why they didn’t have a count down for how long until the service was over. I thought this was a very good point. I’ll have to tell the Preacher.

The sermon was less than spectacular. I took some notes. They were a lot different than my mother’s. but they helped pass the time even if they were, well, only bits and pieces of what he actually said. But I picked out the main ideas, and that was what I was taught in school whenever I read or studied. I’m so going to hell, I know.

There was more talk about people not related or involved in the bible than those who were. At one point I found out, “That OhMiGod, I killed Jesus.” And that committing crimes was okay as long as your motive was rooted in the right place. I’ll be sure to tell the judge that if I ever get arrested for stealing, killing, or whatever random thing I may get in trouble for. I also learned that righteousness was a thirteen letter word that no one really can define. Or enjoy. Because it is some imaginary place called Bountiful. Through observation only, I discovered that to become a preacher you need only to take a theater class, learn some good jokes, and have some confidence in your lies.

I think I could have summed up this post by simply saying – Modern Churches, I just don’t like them. And with that . . .

This is Maniac Gone Awry

Over and Out

Of all the places I thought I would meet the Holy One of Sector B, I would have never guessed it would have been on a secluded park bench in the middle of a swamp, but I did.

I’ll give you the rundown, but you’ll more than likely never believe me. No one ever believes someone who has met or seen the Holy One of Sector B, because it doesn’t just happen everyday, you know. He doesn’t just bless everyone with his presence. He just visits the crazy people who are sane enough to tell the people who will believe only that the person telling them is certifiably insane. At least, that is what he told me . . .

So, there I was, out looking for strange and unusual creatures with an itch to talk. For hours it only seemed the mosquitoes had anything to say. All I could get out of them was some some annoying “buzz buzz buzz”, which I could only make out as profanity against human kind. I’ll spare you their insults for another day. I’ll just say it had a lot to do with a product called Off and lots of hand slapping. I would have laughed at them, but I didn’t want to get eaten alive. And they would have. Oh, they would.

As the sun started to drift further back to Earth, I took a seat on a nice wooden bench, afraid that my day in the swamp had been wasted. I thought it might be a good time to head back because my beloved baseball team would be coming on shortly. But then I thought about it and said to myself, “They are 12.5 games back. It would take a miracle for them to win even the wildcard. The Holy One of Sector B(Baseball) would seriously have to pull some strings. But since that isn’t going to happen, there isn’t any reason to rush home.”

As my synapses finished shooting that thought around my head, there was this wooph sound behind me. It sounded like a big squirrel had fallen from a tree branch as he jumped from one to another. You know that sound, I’m sure. It’s a funny sound. But since I hadn’t seen a squirrel all the live long day, I didn’t think it was a squirrel that had landed behind me. Curious as to what it was, I turned my head slowly to see.

Coming from the bushes, and brushing off some muck, leaves, and the remains of a tree frog on his right sleeve, the Holy One of Sector B came walking toward me.

“Damn, you killed the only living creature that would have talked to me within a 3.4 mile radius. Thanks.”

The Holy One of Sector B looked down and plucked the remains of the tree frog off his right sleeve and held it up before his spectacles and said, “I was aiming for the bench, but a mosquito flew in my eye and . . .”

“I totally understand,” I said, totally interrupting him.

“What? You fly too?”

“No. I rode on a motorcycle without a helmet once. I cleaned out mosquito guts from my teeth for a whole week.”

“Ick.”

“Yeah, that is what I kept saying.”

There was silence for a bit. I was trying to get the mosquito thought out of my mind, while the Holy One of Sector B tried to make himself look more Holy. After getting most of the swamp off his clean white uniform, he came and sat beside me.

“So, yeah, you’re right about one thing. Your team is most definitely going to need a miracle if they hope to see any kind of post season.”

“You think so?”

“Oh, I know so. But, I’ve got some good news.”

“Really? Did you save 15% on you car insurance today?”

The Holy One of Sector B looked at me really annoyed. “That was really lame.”

“Sorry, I couldn’t help it. . . but you really have good news?”

“Yes, Maniac, I do.” He paused for a moment, then said very seriously, “I deal in miracles.”

“Like the Gunslinger delt in lead?”

“Your testing my patience, Maniac. Do you wish to hear my Miracle Proposal?”

“You sure know how to make a bride blush, Holy One of Sector B.”

“MANIAC!!!!”

Ok. Ok. Ok. I’ll be good. It must be this swamp heat getting to me. Either that or I am in the early stages of Malaria.”

When I got the stare of death and total destruction, I knew it was time to shut up.

“Here is the deal, Maniac. I was on my way to see me some goat haters up north about a miracle that they wanted, but when I heard you mumbling to yourself about how your faith in your team was going kapoot, I decided that the goat haters had hated this long – they could hate a little longer.”

” . . .”

“What, nothing to say?”

“Decided to listen.”

“Impressive. Seems your type can learn.”

“Hey!!”

I spoke too soon, it seems. But getting down to business, Maniac. Here is the deal. Your team needs some luck, a miracle. Well, I will give them that. In a form of a cake.”

“A cake?”

“Ask questions later. Listen, Maniac, or I’ll give the cake to your other favorite team. I believe the wear pin stripes.” And I didn’t mumble another word until the Holy One of Sector B left. “The cake will give them courage, endurance, faith in themselves, and most likely the shits, but they’ll get better, at least their percentage of winnings that is. And hopefully, with any luck, I put the ingredients in right, and they’ll make it to the playoffs, no problem. But don’t be asking for a World Series now. I don’t bake cakes that big.” He swatted at a mosquito that was sucking his Holy blood, and I could of sworn I heard about a billion angry “buzzs”, but I kept my mouth shut for fear of screwing up the entire rest of the season.

He said a few more things to me. Nothing all that important, all except for some pretty cool trades that were going to take place at the last possible second and how he had made some pretty crazy miracles in the ninth inning and some other crazy situations for some other teams. I had to bite my tongue pretty hard a few times there.

And that was how it happened. Now I just sit and wait and hope the right people eat that cake. And that Mr. High and Holy got all the ingredients right and that they were measured correctly.

But as you all know I could never let an interview go without a few pictures. The latter is my favorite. For obvious reasons.

And in closing, all I have to say is, ” GO BRAVES!”

You won’t find Berry Berry Land on any map. At least I haven’t. And no one that you talk to will be able to point you in the right direction. At least no one I talked to did. But it does exist. Yeppers. And I know because I have taken pictures of it. The rarest pictures indeed. How did I find it you ask? And how do you get there? Which of the cardinal directions do you take?? Those are the same questions I keep asking myself. And the answers? I simply just cannot remember them. Why?? Why, Maniac can you not remember?!? I blame it on the Berry Wine that I could not stop drinking. It was just that damn good.

But the good news is that my trip was not in vain. I do have pictures to share that prove that I indeed was there. Even now, as I look at these pictures, I think that it might be possible that there is a lingering bit of berries on my taste buds. Or it could be that I am merely insane. But until I have proof . . . that Berry Berry Land was nothing but a sick joke my drunk inner child played on me – I will continue to believe that the beautiful land of Berry Berry Land exists!! I do believe in Berries. I do!! I do!!

The one thing in life’s instruction booklet that you simply will not find, nor learn, is the forever crucial customs of the Flower Pot Gnomes.

The Flower Pot Gnomes, as you can safely assume, live in flower pots.

One thing that you may not safely assume is that they are all heavily addicted to Sunflower tobacco. Sunflower tobacco you ask? That is what I said when they offered me a pipe full of it.

I came upon them quite unexpectedly, like most of my strange encounters. I was leaving a friends house when I decided to take a look at some flowers blooming by the front door. They were purple and pretty, and I couldn’t deny them. Well, when I bent down to smell the flowers, my nostrils were not engulfed by the sweetness of, well, flowers, but that of what I swore was tobacco. I took another whiff just to make sure, and by golly, that it exactly what it was!! Strange flowers, I thought. I had never come across pretty purple flowers that smelled of tobacco before – and I have smelled lots of pretty purple flowers.

One thing I knew for certain – something must surely be amiss.

And that is when I noticed perfect little rings of smoke rising toward the blue skies coming from beneath a purple petal.

Yes, something most definitely was amiss.

I peered a little closer at the purple flower and brushed it aside. Low and behold, before my very eyes was a gnome sitting atop a tiny mushroom smoking away on a pipe.

“Well, hello there!” I exclaimed. “And who might you be?”

Thankfully, for your sakes, I took one very informative class at the University of Hell on Gnomish. Thankfully.

“Aye!” The Gnome squealed. “Oh, Maniac Gone Awry, it’s just you.”

“You were expecting someone else?”

“Oh, no, I just thought you might stop by sooner. You’ve interviewed every other interesting creature this side of the Mississippi.”

“I’m sorry, I took a sabbatical of sorts.”

“An extended vacation you mean, its been months, Maniac. Are you feeling better?”

“I will be in 15 days.”

“15 days? What happens in 15 days?”

“I quit my day job, and then can go about interviewing and finding interesting creatures like yourself. The world really needs more literature on people like you.”

“Literature? That is a bit extreme, don’t you think?”

“Ok, how about . . .”

“I think your audience will only truly buy this truth as fiction.”

“Fiction!!?? But it’s TRUE!!

“True or not, the people of this Earth are not ready for such ideas.”

“I know, I know. It’s sad. What is a Maniac to do?”

“Do what maniac’s do best Maniac Gone Awry – adventure and tell your tales regardless of the simple minds who will never understand.”

“You are one smart Gnome.”

“I like to think that I am.”

“Well, is there anything you want to say, so that I may relay it to my people?”

There was silence for a while as the Gnome smoked on his pipe and blew smoke rings into the air. He rubbed his beard for a bit and then spoke.

He said, “Well, Maniac, I guess you could report on our love of Sunflower Tobacco.”

“Sunflower Tobacco? I never heard of such thing.”

“I don’t imagine that you have. It is a Gnomish thing. We are very much addicted to it. Would you like to try some,” the Gnome said, raising the black pipe to me.

“Sure,” I replied and took a puff.

It was absolutely wonderful and satisfying. And I would be lying if I didn’t say at that moment I felt as if I could be completely content sitting in a flower pot, smoking Sunflower Tobacco for the rest of my natural life. But then, of course, I wasn’t a Gnome, and I would never fit in flower pot.

“Good, huh?” The Gnome asked.

“Very good.”

“Relaxing, isn’t it?”

“Very.”

“Would you like to come inside and meet the missus?” The Gnome stopped after saying this and then thought better of it. “Well, how about I tell her to come out and meet you.”

“Wonderful,” I said. “But you’ll have to let me take a picture of you two.”

“No problem,” he laughed. No problem at all.”

In a little while, Mr. Gnome’s wife came out from behind a purple flower and said hello. She was the most pleasant Gnome I had ever met. We sat there a while, taking turns puffing on the black pipe and discussed world peace. And then they said something about having to leave and said their goodbyes. But first they struck a pose for me. I thought it turned out to be a very nice picture.

I had a very nice visit, and was glad to have met them.  I tooI had to go, for there were hundreds of creatures that wished to have their say in an interview of their own. And so off I went into the world that only a Maniac could appreciate.

With my tummy satiated on lizard, I decided to travel further into the wilderness of Table Rock country. What I found was nothing short of a nightmare.

After hiking a considerable distance, and scaling a particularly steep granite rock, I accidentally stumbled upon a herd of hungry spiders.

Yes, I said spiders.

And to my unlucky astonishment they were not the small, squish with your foot variety.

No, I could never be that fortunate. But the again, if I was, I’d never have interesting stories to tell.

But anyway, back to the spiders at hand, or rather, ten times the size of my hand.

Frozen half in terror and half in awe, I thought about turning tail and running like hell, but then one of the Enormous Eight Legged Freaks turned one of his billion eyes in my general direction and spotted me.

Drat.

“Aww, lookie here, friends, we have a visitor.”

I had no idea I could understand Spider. They had never taught me that in The University of Hell.

“What? Me? No, I was . . . just . . . passing through. Don’t mind me,” I said as I turned to shimmied back down the way I had come.

“Oh, do not leave us Maniac Gone Awry, we have yet to speak to one another.”

I stopped.

“You . . . you . . . know my name?”

The biggest of the spiders began to approach me on his eight rather creepy legs.

“Maniac, you insult me. Of course I know your name. You are known far and wide around these parts. ”

“I am?”

“Now you insult yourself Maniac.”

“I’m . . . sorry.”

“No need to apologize, Maniac.”

I didn’t know what else to say – so I smiled.

“My name Maniac, is Borgous and this is my tribe. And we’re hungry.”

Gulp.

“We were going to split a lizard we spotted earlier, but it seems someone else got to him first.”

“I, uh, really?”

“Yes, Maniac. Someone did,” the monstrous spider grinned. “And now that we have lost our supper, we need to have it replaced.”

“Of course you do, Borgous.”

“That’s Mighty Borgous to you, Maniac.”

“Yes, Mighty Borgous. What do you suggest?”

“Well, you, unless you have another idea.”

Another gulp.

“Mighty Borgous, I’m really not that tasty. Not even a dash of salt could make me edible for any species – especially as one as great as yours.”

“And how would you know that.”

“Oh, it was published it Maniac Weekly last October.”

“And who was the author?”

“Well, um, me . . .”

“Oh really? What gives you such knowledge?”

“Simple. No one but me could be so knowledgeable about me. I know myself best.”

“Good point, I guess. But who or what else will my tribe and I have for dinner then if we cannot dine on you?”

“Well, Mighty Borgous, there is a path just over that ridge,” I said and pointed to where I knew the Table Rock path was. “Just go sit and wait over there. A traveler will appear before long. I promise.”

Mighty Borgous and his tribe deliberated and then bid me farewell, being sure to tell me that I was very lucky that a dash of salt would not make me an agreeable dinner. And on that note they marched toward the path I had pointed out.

Before long, as I walked in the opposite direction, I thought I heard the screams of innocent hikers, but perhaps it was the sound of some strange new species of bird I have yet to discover.

Yes, and that is what I will continue to tell myself after I watch the 11 o’clock news tonight. It was a bird. A strange and fascinating bird.

The Ladies Lizard of the Audubon Swamp tried his best to avoid me for several weeks. He did the best a lizard could do, but I, Maniac Gone Awry, did better!

I got word from one of my contacts that he had been spotted in the upstate of South Carolina. So, as soon as Nick at Nite finished airing another rerun of Mork and Mindy, I took off after the cheap bastard. After all, he owed me at least one good wish, whether or not he wanted to give it to me.

I was half way up Table Rock Trail and rather out of breath when I saw him.

As pretty as could be, he was laying beside the mountain river, relaxing on a prepared pile of fallen leaves. Very carefully I tiptoed up behind him and placed my hand above his green lanky body. But before I could snatch him his eyes popped open and he spoke.

“Maniac, you really must find better ways to spend your time.”

“What?” He had caught me off guard.

“Imagine all the things you could have accomplished had you not been trying to find me.”

“That doesn’t matter. You owe me a wish. And a good one.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Yes. Yes, you do.”

“No. No, I don’t. You had your two wishes. I granted them.”

“Exactly, two wishes. What kind of idoit grants only two wishes?”

“I’m not an idiot, Maniac. And I told you that I was no genie. I am a lizard. The Ladies Lizard of the Audubon Swamp and I only grant two wishes. That is just how it works. Take it or leave it.”

“But . . but . . . you . . . why in the hell am I arguing with you?! You’re just a lizard!”

And that is when I sorta went what they call a little psychotic.

By looking at the above picture you can only imagine how Mr. Lizard spent his last few minutes on beautiful planet Earth.

It was the most wonderful, fulfilling lunch I had ever eaten.

I came across a field of sunflowers mostly by chance the other day, and decided to investigate.

What I thought was a field of sunflowers ended up being a field of condominiums inhabited by a score of Monarch butterflies and a few rather menacing looking bumble bees.

They were all pretty perturbed at the fact that I was A) not invited, B) that I had not knocked(even though I swore that I had never seen a door), and C) that I was neither a Monarch butterfly or a bumble bee.

After much conversation about how rude I was, I convinced one of each species to pose for a picture. I assured them that I was a professional and that taking pictures of such beautiful creatures had been my calling. I don’t know if they believed me or not. Probably not.

Ms. Monarch came first, and she was a little shy. She demanded that I take her picture through her kitchen window. At first I argued this. I told her that I would not be able to capture her essence, but she wouldn’t allow any thing else. She said something about it not being proper with her being an unmarried Monarch and all or something to that effect. I wasn’t really paying attention because a certain, impatient bumble bee was eying my bent over beehind(sorry, I couldn’t resist.)

After taking Ms. Monarch’s picture, I bustled on over to Mr. Bumble Bee’s residence. He was buzzed(that’s pissed in Bee if you’re wondering) and it was rather obvious, but he still offered me a thimble of honey. It tasted a lot like sunshine, which is very good by the way. If you’ve never sampled it, you should take a side trip to the Sun sometime in the near future. The sun itself is a sight to see. But anyway, he buzzed some directions at me and I did strictly as I was told, afraid that if I did anything other than instructed, I would be screeching in agony while I smashed the hell out of one temperamental bee. And with a quick “click”, mine and Mr. Bumble Bee’s short acquaintance came to end.

As I strode away from the lot of Sun Flower condominiums, I scratched my head thinking nothing weirder could possibly happen. But as I usually am, I was sadly mistaken.

One of the, I’ll call them houses, stretched out in front of my path, and asked for a word with me. I obliged, for I had never had a house talk to me before.

“Before you go,” the sun flower condominium said, “take a picture of me.”

“A picture of you?”

“Yes. Would that be a problem?”

“Well, no . . . it’s just that I’ve never been propositioned by a house is all. It’s a first.”

“Ah . . .”

“May I ask why?”

And her answer was this.

“I am more beautiful and complex than that of my tenants, but you must get close to see. I am not a single flower, but a thousand flowers that create one.”

And with another simple “click”, I continued along the path and crested the hill.