Property of Honey Beeson

I've grown up around stealing all my life. I realized this yesterday and I am sure other people have witnesses as much stealing as I have in my life. I have seen a cast of characters to choose from as thousands of dollars were taken from my father's closet. I have watched as the thief gets justice over the right parties because they couldn't take being in the wrong.

So when I was stolen from only a week ago. I knew there was a feeling that all this would feel familiar. My iPod Nano has been stolen, from someone in my building. Actually this crime has been fairly easy to settle, but still is strange.

It baffles me that human beings can be so deceitful. That you can actually look me in the face and tell me you didn't steal my iPod. Then later I am to find out that you registered my iPod under your name and address. Tsk, tsk. It's scary though, maybe someone is trying to sabotage you. You did say this has happened to you before. Me thinks she is trying to scam me. . .

That's It Folks

When you're lost in the rain in Juarez
And it's Eastertime too
And your gravity fails
And negativity don't pull you through
Don't put on any airs
When you're down on Rue Morgue Avenue
They got some hungry women there
And they really make a mess outa you

Now if you see Saint Annie
Please tell her thanks a lot
I cannot move
My fingers are all in a knot
I don't have the strength
To get up and take another shot
And my best friend, my doctor
Won't even say what it is I've got

Sweet Melinda
The peasants call her the goddess of gloom
She speaks good English
And she invites you up into her room
And you're so kind
And careful not to go to her too soon
And she steals your voice
And leaves you howling at the moon

Up on Housing Project Hill
It's either fortune or fame
You must pick up one or the other
Though neither of them are to be what they claim
If you're lookin' to get silly
You better go back to from where you came
Because the cops don't need you here
And man they expect the same

Now all the authorities
They just stand around and boast
How they blackmailed the sergeant-at-arms
Into getting up and leaving his post
And picking up Angel who
Just arrived down here from the coast
Who looked so fine at first
But left looking just like a ghost

I started out on burgundy
But soon hit the harder stuff
Everybody said they'd stand behind me
When the game got rough
But it was all a big joke
There was nobody even there to bluff
I'm going back to New York City
I do believe I've had enough

It's coming. Take this for now, while I write.

Lets End This Sooner Than Later

I'm ending this affair upstate, only a day earlier than planned. I have accomplished all I can while I've been up here. I need to just be in Brooklyn and be done with this last semester. I need to take a breath and think of what is coming next.

I've rediscovered Queen thanks to K. Freddie Mercury makes me so happy and hot. Bicycle is such a trippy song and the way he sings the word "bicycle" is just chills my soul. I melt a little.

So today was the day I ate with my Oma and Opa. Which means I returned into that time capsule. In turn this means images I enjoy thoroughly:




My Opa has made a bunch of pens out of different kinds of woods from all over the world. He let me pick out any one of the pens from his collection. I felt like a J.K. Rowling character getting their wand for the first time.I picked this one he made from a rare African wood and African Nut. Also because the story of this pen went something like this:

OPA: (Thick German Accent.) I get these little African nuts, that I have to shape with my machines. So I crack open the nut and what do I see . . . little insects! Little insects are living in the nut! You know what I do? I pack the nut up into a plastic bag . . . and I stick it in the freezer!

My Oma stores her cookies in a pot with pieces of bread to keep moisture? The pot is stored in her guest/sewing room. She somehow manages to make cookies without using butter or some intricate ingredient.
Welcome to my home...

Pandora's Box

I will never look at a someecard the same ever again. Last week, in humor, when I dropped the news to my date that I was in a delicate way. I decided to be show how humorous I can be by doing it through a someecard. He got his revenge, I suppose, but in a less serious way that I did.

I opened his someecard to find that he has found this blog. In the words of Ms. Piaf: Non, je ne regrette rien. I appreciated his honesty and basically was won over when I read the body of the message:

I like knowing that under your occasionally dizzy exterior theres an articulate, self-aware writer with an eloquent command of the language and a powerful desire to know himself and make sense of the world around him. The combination of goofy twink and thoughtful artist is oh, so endearing.

Can I quote this regularly? I feel like I want this written on two things. My resume and my tombstone. Except when I quote it I may mistake my date with the NY Times. As I said, there is a third date to be had tonight. His sobriquet hasn't been worked out yet, but I have ideas I'm working out in my head.

In other news I have finally discovered Pandora. As usual I am three hundred years behind everyone else. The Music Genome Project? Really? How stunning that I put in one artist and it just works out all the kinks of who I may also like. This will greatly help the improvement of my music knowledge outside of Musical Theater. Like Etta James...

Lady, where have you been my whole life?

Now if I could just figure out the back button?