The New Blabber Blog

Not that anyone would have guessed it, but... the new place for nonsense resides under the name Mophia. ^.^ http://mophia.blogspot.com is the place to catch up on the happenings of Philip. Take a look and tell me how much you like or dislike the colors :)

Quick Update

Quick update in the four minutes i have left on lunch. I started a part-time job at Eddie Bauers. (It's true!) I'll be mostly in the stockroom. My data entry seasonal job has about 3 weeks left or so. I have an interview friday at Kirkland's, a gift shop, for part time now, holiday seasonal in a few weeks (like my EB job).

I've been playing guitar for 'Spanish Church'. I'm going to be the dedicated 'soundman' for a church 'worship band'. And stuff!

I plan on redoing this here blog thingy, and actually making it about the title, and opening a new one for my random spewing forth of nonsense that happens here sporadically.

Huzzah!

Weddings

I'm currently standing here in the church sound booth, running sound for a couple of friends' wedding. It makes me feel a bit hopelessly romantic. Strange for a guy I know. But I'm getting old... but, I've been patient for 26 years, I guess I'll be patient a while longer yet. *Sigh*

Anyways, I read romance novels on occasion >.> but only GOOD ones, not those lousy cookie cutter ones. Currently, I'm reading The Cubicle Next Door. Check it out.

The Girl at the Bar

See the title? I'll get to it in a bit. First, an introduction...

You know what sucks about being 'artistic'? Well, some of you do, like my friend over at Mischevious Muse. What sucks is that 90% of the time, your ideas come while you're busy doing something else. Like working. Of course being busy is the surest bet to becoming inspired by something, so it kind of is a no-win situation. If you sit around the house all day doing nothing, you're probably not going to come up with any cool ideas and if you're busy, you're often too busy to do anything with them.

Anyways, today at work, I was hit with a blinding inspiration. I decided to do something about it, and wrote a little note, so that I wouldn't totally forget about it. (FYI, my artistic inspirations flow through three outlets: music, writing fiction, and photography). Inspiration follows, in the following beginnings of what could be a rather humorous and interesting story. If anything more ever comes of it that is >.> Anyways, here it goes:

The Girl at the Bar:

The Case of the Ghost Swordswoman

Salena swung open the door to the bar. The noise of the crowd and a loud blare of music greeted us. The interior of the bar glowed with mild amber lighting. The bar, Jackie's Draughts, is a 'happenin' spot, at the edge of downtown Melánville. So even though it was only a Tuesday, a chilly Tuesday in October, the bar was still crowded.

"Come on Jeff, I'll go grab a booth before this place fills up," Salena said.

I followed here as she threaded her way through the crowd towards the back of the the bar. There we found a booth tucked away in the corner with a small reserved sign on it. Salena slid into the booth with her back against the wall. I sat in the opposite side.

"Chandler should be here in about five minutes," I said, glancing at my watch.

"He's in the parking lot," she said. I figured she's right, she IS the psychic detective after all.

"We walked past his car in the parking lot. I waved at him if you recall." She said drily.

"Oh," I said. "That was Chandler?"

"Yes it was," said a comfortable tenor voice, coming from the man suddenly standing before our table. I didn't jump. After even a month of being the secratary for a psychic detective, you get numb to most surprises. Even so, it's tough not to jump when you look up and see a guy built like a linebacker, wearing black sunglasses, a lavender shirt with a magenta tie and khakis looking down at you. I slid out of my seat, so he could sit down.

"Well, I'm going to mosey on down to the bar, see you in a few." Salena shooed me off with a backhanded wave.

I had made my way only ten feet towards the bar when my heart stopped. Not literally, though it was close. I had just caught a glimpse of the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. The hit song by Mophia comes to mind: "Ooh... Ooh, I'm in love again, yeah-ah!" it goes. I got a couple more steps through the crowd and saw her... looking straight at me. She smiled.

I smiled.

I worked my way the last twenty feet through the crowd to where she was sitting at the bar, and conveniently, an empty stool next to her. She was staring studiously at a bottle of ketchup. I placed my order with the bartender, then glanced over at her.

She had long blond hair, down to her waist. She was wearing an interesting ensemble, a crimson blouse with designs in black embroidery to go along with her long, flowing pants. There was a strange sort of glimmer about her. She looked over at me then, so, I took the opportunity.

"Hi," I said.

"Hello," she replied. I was in love.

"I'm Jeff Stitcher."

"Joanna."

"Can I get you anything to drink?" I asked, seeing that she had nothing in front of her.

"No thanks." Some kind of emotion flickered across her face for an instant. A wistful look? She started to rise, so I tried a desperate ploy.

"Say, I was talking to a nice grey-haired lady in the grocery store the other day," I began. She stood. "She was telling me about her daughter and how beautiful and sweet she was. Funny thing is, her daughter's name is Joanna." She stopped. "What a coincidence, meeting a beautiful, sweet girl named Joanna just a couple days later, isn't it? Maybe she's your mom?" (I really had talked to this lady to, oddly enough.)

Joanna looked at me. "My mother is dead," she said in a matter of fact tone, "For ten years."

"Oh. Well, I do that sometimes you know. Talk to dead people that is," I said, mentally kicking my self five ways to yesterday.

"I know you do."

"Uh..." I said, my years of experience and unflappability suddenly deserting me.

"You'll do," she said smiling again. She raised her left hand from where it had been resting... on the hilt of a sword! How had I missed that?! She touched my arm.

It was a strange sensation. Very warm, but somehow without substance. I saw her hand melding into my arm, followed faster and faster by the rest of her, as the warmth flowed into me. I blacked out.