The tale of Dr. Alle Gory

There once was a respected doctor in the little village that was nestled beautifully between an emerald green lake and a mountain range that resembled enormous chocolate chunks which had been gently sprinkled with icing sugar.

The village thrived as every citizen offered something unique to the town, and the doctor's job was to take care of everyone... until one day, a faceless and evil entity crept into the village. This villain whispered ideas into the villagers ears, telling them that they didn't need the good doctor anymore. There was this thing called "the internet" that could surely show them how to do everything that the doctor could do - and this way, they would be saving so much money and time, just by taking care of their maladies themselves.

What a catastrophically devious plan.

The faceless villain could be heard throughout the land as he joyfully chuckled with his deep and sinister voice. It sent chills down the doctor's spine and she cringed. The creature swiftly left the village and moved on to the next, as if he knew exactly what was about to occur.

Soon after, Dr. Gory's patient list became sparser and sparser as they dropped their appointments one-by-one, like a wilting daisy losing its petals. Around the same time, she noticed that some villagers started to look, well, off, for lack of a better word. They would limp a little, but then smile at the doctor, likely to create the illusion that everything was alright.

They became absolutely convinced they didn't need the doctor when convenient wysiwyg techniques were accessible to them. And yet more and more of the ill advised citizens began to look injured, or sick. Some looked like they had strange rashes and other ugly deformities on their bodies. One man even tried to remove a growth from his leg by himself! Dr. Gory ran over to this horrific sight and offered to help, but he winced and protested, "No, no, no. It's fine. I played around with the saaaaame tools that you have and for the most part, I think I've figured it out."

Alle stormed away, pulling at her hair and gnashing her teeth in frustration.

The citizens became sicker and more grotesque to the point where the disheartened doctor couldn't even look out her window without seeing carnage. A fatally false sense of "knowledge" had been given to these people with those seductive tools and things called "free apps" and "filters". And the saddest part was that they either didn't notice how awful they looked or they were just in severe denial and refused advice from the one and only person that was truly qualified to help them.

The doctor wept under her face mask as the village collapsed before her very eyes. There was nothing left of her once beautiful village. All that remained was an ugly ghost town filled with corpses and old flyers rustling in the wind like tumbleweed. As one flyer slapped against her ankle, she leaned over to pick it up. It read:

Seeing this horrific mockery of everything she had learned and worked towards for the past ten years must have been the breaking point for this poor, broken doctor. Alle slowly looked up to the sky and let one single tear drop escape her eye as she ripped up the flyer. She let it drop to the ground and with resolution in her mind and conviction in her steps, she got in her car and began to drive it full speed towards the calm lake. There was a great CUR-SPLASH as her vehicle pounded into the water. Giant air bubbles violently screamed to the surface as the car quickly sank to the bottom, along with the doctor inside...

But of course, I wouldn't have to worry about such nonsense because since I'm just a graphic designer and not a doctor, no one would ever bother to undermine my profession and think that they could do my job.

THAT WOULD JUST BE
UTTERLY. FUCKING. PREPOSTEROUS.

Delete. Delete. Delete.

When Kris bent me over and edited the fuck out of me. 

OK, so Kris from PrettyAllTrue is, like, my gum-smacking, hair-twirling BFF. Like, totally, oh my God! Well, not really, but let's all pretend, shall we? I know I do.

Wait. What?

Anyhow! I asked her to edit the little two-part love story that I composed a short while ago and she most graciously agreed. Shortly after, I received her comments. She not only edited my work, she totally dissected it. Only one of true awesomeness can so effectively edit like this.

I've been fucking schooled, yo!

I had to reduce the size so it would all fit in the blog, but some of the comments brought tears of laughter to my eyes. Also, I want to point out that there are many things that Kris has shot down that I actually had written ON PURPOSE, which just also implies that I meant to write like a fool and she's called me out on it. She likely thought they were over-sights on my part. Sadly, no. On purpose, babe. On. Fucking. Purpose.

I don't expect you to attempt to read her notes. Just enjoy the sight of all the redness. However, I'm sure you can make out the word "Delete" - it's fairly easy to spot.

Some of my personal favourites:

"She is not impressed with his memory skills, is she?" (Umm, no)

"He is annoying me."

"Ummm . . .this position is not effortless. Just saying."

"...the repeated use of the word “hard” here makes me giggle, as I imagine him erect in his sadness. Ahem."

And the best one, ever...

"You use more semi-colons than many writers, and this particular one is incorrect and distracting."

She signed off the email with: "And as I said? Talent, babe. A lovely story."

Why do I not believe that anymore? Good save though, Kris!

Kris, I love you. Thank you very much for bending me over. It does well to bludgeon my false sense of grandeur every now and then, similar to a vigorous game of Wack-A-Mole. However, I'm suggesting once a year is quite enough.

Because let's face it, I rather enjoy living in this cozy cocoon of my own delusions.

An Alternate Ending (Part II)

In case you're just joining us, Part I is here. This is Part II. Enjoy.

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He leaned in to kiss her neck and started to pull off her jacket. He began to walk backwards, continuously removing pieces of her clothing, leading her down the hall and into his bedroom. They both were undressing each other with fervent excitement and yet still wanting to savor every second.

They laid down on his bed and she ran her fingers through his dark hair as he kissed her chest, her nipples, her sternum, her scar. She went to grab him and he resisted, "It's fine! You are beautiful." His words were all too hauntingly familiar.

His tongue simply touching her sent pre-climatic tremors throughout her entire body; she couldn't take it for very long. Her impatience was over-powering and she wanted and needed him inside her. She usually had difficulty reaching orgasm, but today, it came effortlessly.

She pulled him back up to her face and he pinned her arms above her head. "Remember this?" Of course she did; it was like
the first time they ever kissed. She was in awe that he remembered. He was always insistent that he had forgotten so much of their past together.

With a quiet and broken voice, she responded, "The first time. Our first time. Yes."

He let go and they leaned into each other for a kiss gorged with sentiment and affection while she wrapped her legs around his and firmly ran her fingers up and down his back. He suddenly pulled back slightly and caressed the side of her face. He looked intensely into her eyes: "Are you sure this is what you want?"

She didn't say anything; she just took hold of him and gently slid him inside of her. For a few moments, he didn't thrust; he just remained deep inside, making them one. He then pulled back and brought her up with him, sitting up together on the bed. They held each other to stay up, intimately and effortlessly.

Slow and loving.
Smooth.
Tender.
Enchanting.
Rhythmic; like a dance.
And then harder.
Louder.
Frenzied.
Volcanic.

They fell back on to the bed, exhausted. They continued giving each other was seemed to be like congratulatory kisses - quick and happy yet firm and satisfied. They rested while savoring each other's company. Together; in silence. For the most sublime hour of their lives. It physically ached to get up, knowing that it was all coming to an end.

Again.

Time was a selfish tyrant stealing back its gift. Taken away. Used up. No more.
She had a plane to catch.

After some fumbling, dressing and prolonging the painfully inevitable, he walked her to the door. They embraced one last time, attempting to dissolve into each other. Their arms fell down and found each others' to hold tightly while they kissed. It was hard. Harder even than the last time she said good bye. Much harder.

He brought up her hand with his and kissed the back, as if her skin was the most precious thing in existence. He had let out a few hiccups of heartbreaking desperation as they engaged in a wordless conversation. She pushed up on to her toes and gave him one last loving kiss before she peeled her body away from his for the final time.

As she walked away from him, she knew many things.

It was the happiest moment of her life.
And the saddest.
He would always be wonderful and sexy.
To him, she would always be young and beautiful.
And now, their love will be eternal.

It will grow.
And breathe.
And love.
And laugh.
And live on.
Forever.

"These days turned out nothing like I had planned..."

An Alternate Ending (Part 1)

In an alternate universe (a.k.a. My imagination) this is how "the final day" really happened.

His text: I've thought about it. Can you be here at 2 tomrw?

Her text: I'll be there.

Her heart couldn't stop pounding since she received his message. Her breaths were short and fast. Thoughts and emotions were rapidly swirling over her body like satin ribbons; they were wrapping around her like a cocoon and getting tighter. The anticipation alone was more excitement than she had felt in so long that she couldn't even estimate to compare.

She tried so hard to sleep that night, but it was difficult. Her mind kept racing. The occasional bursts of jumping up out of bed to do some happy dancing probably didn't help either.

That morning she showered, shaved, inspected every inch of her body. She changed outfits five times - but finally decided on the first one.

She hadn't smoked in 4 years but she had 6 already that morning. She was nervous but it was the best kind of anticipatory nervousness; simultaneously ecstatic and terrified. She felt drunk.

The entire drive took longer than she had planned. Every stoplight she panicked and looked at the clock; she could not be late. To her immense relief, she arrived 25 minutes early. It was too early. She sat there in her car, waiting, thinking, doubting. No. She had come this far - there was no fucking way she was going to turn back now. She had been through far too much already, all of which had led her to this very moment in her life; she was ready.

Still 10 minutes early, she couldn't take it any longer. She approached his house gripping her skirt, trying to cure her hands of their anxious moisture. She opened the screen and knocked on the solid wood door. He mustn't have been far as he almost immediately opened it and smiled.

For the first time in almost 24 hours, her heart stopped throbbing for an eternal second. She held her breath and then exhaled deeply.

He reached out his hand and took hers, leading her in through the door way. Still holding her hand, he used his other to close the door behind her and then brought her in close, in one fluid motion. Their bodies pressed up against each other. She was buried in his chest and then she looked up slowly until their eyes met. He smelled so good. She could feel his heart beating in synchronized intensity with her own.

The silence was ceaseless - but right there, as they embraced for the first time in so many years, it was the most pure moment. Two opposing magnets that had lost each other had at long last been reunited. Perfection.

Finally, he spoke, "What does this mean?"

She smiled and replied, "It means everything... and it means nothing."

He let go of her hand and brought his up to caress her face. She closed her eyes and became lost in his touch as he pulled her in even closer. His lips touched hers. At first, it was gentle and unsure, but just beneath an eruption was waiting, full of repressed emotions that instantly burst into a frantic and over-whelming kiss. Zero to Sixty in 5 seconds flat.

Love.
Hate.
Regret.
Loss.
Resentment.
Yearning.
Lust.
Sadness.
Euphoria.

It was all there, in that kiss.  

After what felt like a lifetime inside that kiss, he pulled away to look at her. She opened her tear-filled eyes to see his were equally soaked - and they both began to laugh. She was just about to say something and he stopped her.

He whispered, "I know."

She gulped, composed herself and then nodded in agreement.



to be continued... click here for Part II

Jeremy's North American World Tour

If you are a new reader, you might not have read the first installment of the legendary Lady Estrogen and Jeremy London imaginary conversation. Have a quick read, because like most sequels, apart from being tragically inferior to the original, previous plot lines are often referenced, so to have seen the original BEFORE the sequel is usually a good idea... unless you like being confused... if so, by all means, read on.

Lady Estrogen is sitting in a dark leather chair with an identical one across from her and a low coffee table sits in between; she is waiting for Jeremy. She is leaning over the table, reading the newspaper when he arrives and he collapses into the opposite chair with a deflated sigh.

Lady Estrogen: Welcome back! How was your trip?

Jeremy London: Exhausting and a little bizarre; I'm still recovering from it all.

LE: So, visiting your fans wasn't what you thought?

JL: To put it mildly.

LE: Well, don't keep me in suspense - show me the damn photos!

JL: OK, so the first stop was to meet Barbara in Ohio. She was ready and waiting when I arrived.

LE: She did her hair all pretty like, just for you. Aweeee.

JL: She slobbered on me... (winces) and it tasted like spam.

LE: Yum.

JL: Then this guy, Darren, told us to meet him in the forest somewhere in Northern Michigan; it was a little off-putting.

LE: I'm sure it was.

JL: He asked if he could kiss my pegasus. I still don't know how he knew I had a pet miniature pegasus.

LE: I don't think he said 'Pegasus', Jeremy.

JL: Well, he seemed to enjoy giving Persephone a little smootch.

LE: Persephone?

JL: YES! What the hell would you call YOUR pet pegasus? 

LE: I never really thought about it. I'm just impressed by your alliteration skills.

JL: You're a bitch.

LE: What can I say? You bring out the best in me.

JL: AAAANYWAY, we then met up with this Raymond character in Sault Saint Marie. His house smelled like moth balls and dirty boxer shorts; I tried not to be more than 4 feet from any given exit route.

LE: I like his glasses - très sexy. Are they Transition lenses?

JL: Seriously?

LE: What? It's a genuine question.

JL: I don't fucking know, nor do I care. I'm just relieved I got out of there without him pushing me into a hole in his basement.

LE: I would have saved you.

JL: Whatever. After I left his place, I took a hot shower and scrubbed the creepy off me.

LE (winks): I'm sure he took a shower too.

JL: Thanks for that; I think I just threw up in my mouth a little.

LE: It's one of my many talents; I've gotta be me.

JL: Please, for the love of fuck, don't start singing.

LE: Ugh. FINE.

JL: Then, we made it to Toronto just in time to witness the Slut Walk; it was good times.

LE: I'm sure you were a big supporter.

JL: Anything for a good cause, right? I tried to enjoy it from a distance.

LE: What's wrong? Too scared to mingle up close with the local sluts?

JL: I never said I was a man of the people... just a man FOR the people.

LE: That's from Gladiator.

JL: Shit.

LE: You should know better than to try and sneak a movie quote passed me. I mean, really, Jeremy. It's like sometimes you don't know me at all.

JL (rolls his eyes): Anyhow, I have to get going.

LE: You just got here! You're always in a hurry when you come meet with me.

JL: What can I say? YOU bring out the "I just remembered I gotta be somewhere else" in me.

LE: It's a fine line between love and hate, isn't it? 

JL: Yup. I balance that shit like a ginger midget on a tight rope.

LE: You just HAD to throw in a midget reference, didn't you?

JL: It's all apart of that same fine line.

LE: Saint Jeremy, slayer of cunt dragons and lover of ginger midgets.

JL: Don't try to bring that stupid shit up with me again, I'm NOT going to do a movie about cunt dragons.

LE: Even if it was an Arthouse flick?

JL: Look at my face.

LE: I'm looking.

JL: What is my face telling you?

LE: That you're annoyed with me and ...also? That you actually love cunt dragons. Am I right?

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In honor of my 200th post, and because Jeremy London is such an awesome sport about all this, 

I'll be giving away one of my infamous Cunt Dragon mugs! YAY! 

Everyone that leaves a comment will be entered into the draw. GOOD LUCK!

Move Over Struzan, There's a New Bitch in Town

Well, maybe not. But I thought it was time I combined my talents obsessions into one piece of work. Movies, Design and Humor - what more could a girl ask for in order to entertain oneself at 1 o'clock in the morning? So, yes, just in case you're slow to the plate, and to cover my ass, this poster is 100% F-A-K-E. Satan bless the internet for good quality celebrity images for me to lift.

Like the title? I could so see it working! It would be one of those Rom-Coms that reveals all the awesome jokes in the preview but then flattens out a little in the full feature. You know, because it has a few slow bits and drags ever so slightly in the middle. 2 1/2 stars, I'm thinking, possibly 3. Of course, it would have been my screenplay as well, so I am my worst critic.

* Drew Struzan is a graphic artist that has done over 100 movie posters, including Indiana Jones, Star Wars and Back to The Future. He is a god & telling him to move over is blasphemous - which, of course, is why I did it. I love blasphemy.

Me, Myself & Jeremy

This is a purely hypothetical conversation that I've never had with Jeremy London, casting myself as an agent-slash-scriptwriter. Although it's totally ridiculous logical, I thoroughly I believe that if he ever actually read it, he'd say, "Wow, Lady E, you hit the nail right on the proverbial head with this one; it's like we've had this conversation in a parallel universe."

Yes, Jeremy London; a parallel universe, indeed.

The café is dark; the burgundy walls are randomly littered with Gothic style paintings which hide the disrepair of the walls. The light is low - glowing from tiny teardrop lights that dangle above every table. Jeremy is already seated at a table against the far wall, drinking an iced tea and tweeting something from his phone. He's laughing at himself; he thinks everything he tweets is exceptionally clever.

Lady Estrogen: Hi Jeremy. We need to get you into one of my screen plays.

Jeremy London: It's nice to see you too. I have been busy, you know.

LE: Yeah, yeah. I don't mean TwitterPimp big; I mean BIG - like, Ferris Bueller big. (pause) You know... you would have been really good in that movie.

JL: I was only 14 when it came out.

LE: Fine. Whatever. It's not like we can go back in time and cast you in it anyway. Don't split hairs with me, Jeremy. (Waitress brings her cappuccino to the table. She looks up and smiles.) Thank you.

Waitress: You're welcome. (She looks at JL while talking to LE)

LE: Oh, please. (Waitress leaves) How about I write you in something like an action/adventure where you go searching for some lost, important artifact?

JL: Like Indiana Jones? Or Laura Croft?

LE: Dammit. I forgot about them. Hhhhhow about one where you have to destroy a meteor that's going to crash into the earth?

JL: Like Armageddon? Or Deep Impact?

LE: Fuck! This is harder than I thought. What about a couple of guys that just got dumped by their girlfriends and they wander aimlessly... let's say... around a mall, to search for meaning and redemption?

JL: You're an idiot. I've already done THAT one... over 15 years ago.

LE: Shit. I knew it sounded familiar. I have a lot of ideas, you know. I'm just scratching the surface.

JL: Was that supposed to be funny?

LE: I do try.

JL: It wasn't.

LE: Maybe you need to do something with some serious 'edge', ooooo, like 'The Cunt Dragon Slayer'.

JL: What the fuck is a Cunt Dragon? Besides, that word won't go over well; Hollywood is a cruel bitch.

LE: What? Slightly offensive, yet mythical creatures are forbidden but Kevin can do a movie with bestiality and discuss going ass-to-mouth?

JL: Yep. And look how well that one did.

LE: I guess so. It's still bullshit though. How about if it was an off-Broadway musical?

JL: No.

LE: Theatrical production?

JL: NO!

(LE pauses for a deep thought while JL takes the last sip of his drink and the ice rattles in the glass.)

LE: Can I take a photo of you holding a sign that says, "I Love Cunt Dragons"?

(Long pause; JL looks severely annoyed, unimpressed and deflated.)

JL: No.

LE: You disappoint me, Jeremy.

JL: Well, I have to get going. It's been...

LE: Fun? Enlightening? A pleasure, as usual?

JL: (Rolling his eyes) Yeah, sure.

(He gets up and starts walking away; leaving LE sitting at the table.)

LE: I still have big plans for you, ya know. (Raising her voice as he's exiting the café) BIG FUCKING PLANS, JEREMY!

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Part Two - The dramatic sequel can be read here.

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