The Kumkuat Korner

Once upon a time, there was a young boy named Allan. Allan was seven years old and everyone ignored him. His parents ignored him, at school his teachers ignored him, and he had no friends. He was a very lonely boy. One day on his way home from school, he found a small grey bird crying for its mother. Allan picked up the small bird with careful hands. The bird snuggled up in Allan’s hands for they were warm and it was the beginning of a harsh winter and soon, snow would come. Allan decided to take it the little bird to his house and take care of it. Months passed and no one knew about the slowly growing bird in Allan’s room.  It was a secret that only Allan and the bird held.  Everyday, when Allan would get home, he’d run up to his bedroom and lock the door behind him.  His parents never paid any close attention to their son’s new behavior. They were too busy with their lives.   But Allan didn’t care. He was the happiest boy in the world. After coming home

I am chaos, I destroy all in my path. I am stupidity, I affect everyone. I am devastation, I bring nothing but shattered dreams. I am war, I spill blood in your lands. I am misery, I will bring all of you down. I am anger, I can blind you with buried wrath. I am lust, I make you dizzy with desire. I am the plague, I bestow it to everyone close to me. I am poverty, I can be seen on the street everyday. I am sorrow, I can make you cry. I am greed, I make friends turn against each other. I am hate, I will exist forever. I am depression, I come after happiness. I am fear, I swear to be always with you. I am infidelity, I happen to everyone who want something new. I am starvation, I carry a weightless burden. I am jealousy, I fill your head with doubts. I am human, I make mistakes. Written by Lady Kumkuat

The life I remember from many years ago is still picture clear in my mind. The endless days of watching such as Cartoon Network, Nickelodeon, Animal Planet (the list could go on). On school days, I would be practicing my talent to look busy and when my eyeballs weren't glued to the television, I would hide myself from everyone and play with my imaginary friends, entering a world of witches and princesses previously seen in dramatic Disney movies. My efforts to go unseen were always short lived because of major interruptions such as my mother yelling at me for trying to skip my chores. Whoops! With in time, things changed unknowingly. Before there was no one who could have made me really read books.   I hated reading .  No way, no how, could anyone ever make me read a real chapter book.   I preferred picture books, like the ones on the second floor of the old Public Library, under the children section where one can always find mothers with their infants, reading

We have all been there. Shattered and left picking up the fragments of our hearts. And while people say "Time heals all" it really doesn't, does it? For example, its not that easy to get over a broken heart. You try to put the pieces back together after someone leaves you,  some one dies,  someone hurts you,  some one betrays you. You feel exposed. Raw. Vulnerable. You opened yourself so much to another being. You had kept no secrets from them. It was only you and them. But now its just you, after them. Because life still continues, even when we are stuck, slowly drowning in quicksand of emotions. Anger. Hate. Sadness. Regret. Guilt. Back to sadness. Back to hurt. And it continues all over again. Viciously sinking us to a deep dark place in all of us no one has ventured into. That place makes us see the ugliest part in ourselves that we fear show others. And when you finally surface from the pit of solitude, You start to see the world differentl

So a recent study shows that Scottish lovers are more passionate than English lovers. On a scale of 1 (being I'd get More Action From a Robot)   to  10 (being Toe Curling and Amazing so Lets do it Again)  " Scottish men earned a near-perfect nine for their passion and their kissing skills . English men, on the other hand, scored a measly 5 for passion, and a barely-better six for their attempts at lip-locking. " The results?  " On average, Scottish men scored 7.7 out of 10 across 11 categories, while English men only scored 6.2 in a survey of almost 1400 female members of a dating site." Not only are Scotsmen a heart-warming nine for their romantic efforts , but also an eight for their sense of humour and their generosity . Need more convincing? Scotsmen last long in bed as well as their level of expertise and are pretty skilled if you know what I'm sayin'. Scottish accents ranked higher than English accents. I mean you HA

I write down and write down but on a computer screen I take my time writing then reading it again then changing things over and over. I would love to make my thoughts flow on to the screen unfiltered until the very end of my novel. See, the funny thing about my brain is that I can write and write with pen and paper my novel, completely and utterly raw till the point I almost finish the story. But as I retype it, I stray. Fixing, then re-fixing things over and over until I think they're good enough. Then later, during one of my million's of proofreads, I will chance something again, or add, or remove. So writing the story by hand first doesn't help. And typing  the story requires a computer, and a computer has wi-fi, which actually means internet and we all know that the internet has a lot of stuff and thusly a complete distraction. By distraction, I mean pictures of cats with mustaches and animal videos that turn you in to melted butter. How do you do it? Do you writ

Yesterday I went out with a some friends of mine in celebration of my friend's birthday! We danced, we drank, we danced some more. I was so sweaty and buzzed from all the drinks but THEN we decided to hop to another bar because we would have free drinks since someone was related to the bartender or something like that. More drinks, more dancing (mainly on my part). Ladies and gentlemen, for the first time ever in my 24 years of life..... I got drunk. Not blackout drunk where I can't remember what happened, just a feeling like you're on top of the world kind of drunk. And turns out I'm even more awesome when I'm drunk since I'm 50% funnier (friends say) and I am a happy drunk (no idea what that means but that's good). Sad to say, there will be no repeat performance, maybe ever, since I don't think the world would survive my super-awesome-drunk self. Oh and by the way, Happy birthday Sam!

A writer, who was also a philosopher, had to cross a big lake in order to get to his destination. As he waited for the ferryman, he read his notes from his lecture from the day before. During the lecture, a young man stood up and asserted firmly: “The poetry I know are verses and rimes from other times. We have been forced to read and learn them by heart, as the standards of literary good taste in style. Personally, I don’t see any interest in poetry!” His tone of voice was so convincing that Tagore felt that many of his listeners agreed with the young man. There was little time to think of a good retort. Our lecturer recited one of his own poems, stressing very expressively certain words in order to fully regain the attention of his listeners: “With a lute, the beggar’s song for you and me Out of tune, gray, high winds playing eons Sowing pauses and sighs His melody adheres as to absorb your soul and mine We may have borrowed one image or two from other childhoods

Okay.   First of of all, the heading is CORRECT . On Wednesday September 10th of 2014 an idiot a mom of a middle school student was heading to her daughter's school to drop off a saxophone and as she neared the school, got distracted because she was running late for some meeting at her work.  WHILE driving, (around 25 miles per hour) she texted her work and BAMN .  Her truck slammed into a school pole (like the ones for handicap rails). The pole went through her truck, sliced into the back of her seat, and impaled her up her butt.  Umm.  Whut? Talk about freak accident. The woman is a live an well, just a bit sore all over her butt, not to mention she received over 40 stitches outside AND inside of her body. "I'm truly a miracle. They said if it gone just a little bit the other way I would have bled out," The woman said. This is exactly why  I don't text and drive.  Cause it can be a such a  pain in  the ass.

You can visit California and me anytime!

Yup. I think I'll do that. And bring a book. And maybe a snack, and an umbrella. Oh yeah. Fun!

There is seriously NO BODY here on Blogger. Every blog I check has gone MIA after 2012. Was it because they thought the Mayan Calendar was going to really prophesier the end of the world? Cause NEWS FLASH people!  It's 2014 already! And while the 2012 might have squashed those Bloggers like a tennis shoe on a cockroach, I  am very much a live and breathing and will continue to write. Because I miss it. This will be come my diary....   And no, by diary I don't mean like the Bridget Jones Diary from that one movie (or was it book first then movie?) with Rene Zellweller-something!   And not at all like the song Diary of Jane by Breaking Benjamin, although that's a pretty amazing song that make me go ape-shit and make me want to be even more rebellious and BAD ASS !  Now as I listen to this song and sing along, I wonder where the point I was about to make go. Oh well.  CARRY ON while I sing my lungs out!!!!

Sometimes, I don't want to be me.  There's nothing good about me. Really, there isn't. I imagine what it would be like in other people's shoes. Sometimes a rich person's expensive shoes.  Sometimes a person without shoes and with only the clothes on their back and a dog named Jelly Bean. Or a person with absolutely no obligations, nothing holding them back from doing anything or nothing at all. I wish I could be anyone. Anyone, but me. I space out, wish I didn't have big hips. big breast, belly rolls, and a flat ass.  Wish my I had a body that everybody wanted or a body that at least got noticed, but certainly not mine. In my head, I rip my soul out of my body and place it on someone beautiful or handsome or plain or ugly.  But I can't.  Because I'm not anybody.  I'm just me. So, I stick to what I have.  I flaunt the things I have plenty of. Wit, snide, intuition, sarcasm, sass,  cleavage.  And shrug off the things that you probably

As I go through other people's blogs, I ask my self, WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED TO BLOGGERS?!!! The majority of bloggers have stopped writing and checked in to reality (the non-internet type) . Its a shame really.  Some people who I had subscribed to have not written since 2011. And the most recent post was from 4 months ago!! Oh no. This will not do! We must take Blogger back, (and their little puppy too)!  Minions My fellow followers.... UNITE and WRITE!!!!  (Hey, that rhymed!)

About a month ago, I was perusing through Craigslist, because I have nothing better to do and I was feeling pretty shitty about myself when I came across a personal ad.  (I have no idea how I got there really!) The subject line was " o.O Im alone. Even in a crowd." The title alone was intriguing so as I read the actual body of the ad, I realized it was a suicide note .  The person writing the personal ad said that they've had enough of the bullshit and the liars of the world.  That "cutting" was no longer numbing the pain that they felt.  That there was no happiness in this world at all. That there was nothing but pain and misery in his future.  And that they were going to end it all and nobody would even notice because they were alone. And in pain. My first thought was, "No, surely, they don't mean what they say. Maybe he just want's someone to comfort  them in a weird sexual way."  But it kept gnawing at me.  What if its