Thursday, July 10, 2014


Cake and Icecream:
A Late night lover.
Your sweet taste I crave
Finally I succumb to the desires
As my salivating lips make first contact
I allow myself to be taken into a lost in euphoria.
Savoring every bite, I moan as the crumbs melt into my mouth,
Toes curl as the coldness of the icecream
Tease my taste buds, making them yearn for more and more
Until I had my fill.
And then there is the moment of satiation
When there is nothing left to do, but lay back in utter and deep content

Thursday, November 21, 2013

Writer's Block : Chapter 1: Coffee

This is a short story that I recently wrote, just for fun. Please.. comment, critique, tell me what you think (you can exempt any comments regarding grammer_ ... because, I already know that I'm not an expert of spelling .. and you might be thinking.. but Winter, you were a freakin' English major! Yes.. I was an English major... Enlligh LIT major.. not English spellingmajor) what sense is it in me wanting to write, but never really knowing what other people think of what I write?

So folks, brace yourself...this might be good, this might be bad.. but frankly.. I personally find my stuff funny (sometimes stupid funny) so it could very well be that at the end it.. i will be the only one laughing.
In the beginning it began with a word.... and the word was Fiercely!! 

Fiercely, she scratches her pen on the margins of the page, but no pen marks are made, only erratic indents produced from her frustration are seen.


She frantically searches her purse for a writing utensil - a pen, a pencil, a crayon - not that she has crayons in her bag - but at that moment she feels a desperate need for something- anything in order to write during her moment of inspiration. These urges to write came and went quickly, randomly, and at most times inconveniently when she didn't have anything to write with or on or had no time; it was as if Fate seemed unwilling to let the elements align so all were in favor of her to sit down ... and just write.

Fate had also given her an overly big bag. Well, it was actually a really good friend who had given her the fashionaby huge, black, (Coach) bag for her birthday. But she held the possiblity that it was Fate who had brought her friend to the bag when gift shopping for our inspired writer. Our heroine of a writer believed in the powers that be beyond the material world and imagined that while her friend aimlessly walked the aisles of many a store, for many a day (searching in what might have been distress for the perfect gift) God, the Heaven, Lady Fortuna... showed her the light and led her to the bag.

"Fuck this damn bag!" our writer says under her breath.

Despite frustration, she rummages and sifts through the belongings her bag held: Receipts from earlier in the year. Her Wallet. Gum wrappers with gum in it from God knows when. Birth Control Pills.

Oh my gosh, I've been looking for this!"

A look of delight suddenly brightens her face as out she pulls the MAC 'hush hush' tenderton lip balm she had been looking for nearly a week.

"I thought I'd lost you!" she exclaims.

She then excitedly twists the lid of her balm, lightly dabbs her right ring finger into the heaven sent creation and applies the once-lost lip-ade upon her pucks, shortly thereafter giving quite the loud ladylike smucker. Grabbing her ipod and turning it over it to the mirrored silver back-side, she checks herself to make sure her MAC is properly and with a raised eyebrow, gives her mirrored self a little smile, pleased with the added color to her lips.

It takes her a moment to snap out her moment of vanity as so often happens when she catches a reflection of herself. But when remembering her initial purpose in looking into her duffle of a bag, she renews her search with a determinedly furrowed brow.

Pen, pen ..I need a pen, pen.... I need to write, write.. .. before I lose it, lose it, lose it.. I need a pen

She repeats this line to herself as if it were some kind of chant to evoke the appearance of a pen from out of no where. In her repetition, she becomes so concentrated, she is unaware that she is chanting aloud to herself and almost does not hear a voice speak to her.

"Excuse me, do you need a pen?"

There is a pause as our heroine looks up and seeing a most rediculously handsome face of a man, she becomes wide eyed and lets out one shocked gasped breath.

This guy looks like Michael Vartan!! from ALIAS!! His eyes, his whole look, except for the Starbucks outfit, that he wore - in all my fantasies Michael Vartan never works at Starbucks. Aww, that's the exact same half smile he gave Drew Barrymore in Never been Kissed in that last scene, right before her he ran into that field and gave her that kiss that read "take that Drew Barrymore! take that!... omigosh I LOVE THAT MOVIE!!! 

"....uh...uhmm...uhhh, " she manages to say.

Soon after those sounds are muttered, our distracted writer realizes that they were not very attractive sounds.

I need to calm myself down. Even if a Michael Vartan-ish looking person is right in front of me. I'm so lucky I found my MAC! 

"Are you okay?"the actor look-a-like asks again.

The repeated question almost doesn't register as her mind is still on the fact that the gentleman reminds her of her television boyfriend.


"No ? Do you need a pen? I heard you chanting or something.."


What are you talking? You do need a pen! Tell him you need a pen!

"I mean," our damsel responds embarressed. "No, I wasn't really chanting. I was.. singing this song I heard on the radio only.. I didn't know the words so I kind of just improvised."

Whew! nice save.. good one 

"I see. Well, I have one if you need one..

Our Michael Vartan look-a-like then gives her a smile and taking a pen out of his pocket, he twirls and swivels the pen around his fingers before handing it off to our lady in distress.

"... here you go."

Our writer is immediately impressed (and partly turned on) as her mouth goes ajar in utter wow and she witnesses the pen floo-flaw through his fingers. She immediately has flashbacks of her high school days when she herself had tried to learn the art of pen twirling. Much to her dismay, she had never quite mastered the trick, as many a time her efforts resulted in her pen flying across the classroom, hitting fellow classmates in the back of the head, and embarrassingly having to get out of her seat in order to retrieve her fallen object.

"Wow," she finally says in awe. "you must be really good with you're fingers..."

It takes a second our flirtatious writer a second to realize the idiocracy of her statement.

"... with typing and stuff," she quickly adds.

Whew.. saved myself again 

Our Michael Vartan potential stunt double holds a confused look, as if registering the words our writer had just said. Then realizing the humor in the statement he responds with a slight smile:

"Well I do type pretty fast. -69 wpr"

And with that he gives our damsel a quick wink that was so quick, she questioned whether he had even winked at her.

I think he just winked. I probably blinked at the same time he was winking.. so I didn't get to see the whole wink.. or maybe I'm making this whole thing up because in my Michael Vartan fantasies, he always winks at me. Did he just say 69 ---? 

"Well, thanks..." our writer says trying to calm herself down after that ambigiously dirty remark. "...I'll be sure to give the pen back to you when I'm done... whenever... after all I know where you work.."

"Alright," Michael Vartan's long lost twin replies with a chuckle. "Don't worry about it."

He turns to walk away and then turns around.

"My name is Earl, by the way."

Earl? like.. from the show 'My name is Earl? So he's not Michael Vartan doing some research on being a Starbucks worker for a new role ::frown:: ...Earl ? Earl Vartan? But why would Michael Vartan have a brother named Earl? 

"So Earl... like? the Earl of England?" are future New York bestselling author asked smoothly.

"Something like that."

The Starbucks working Michael Vartan look-a-like again gave his genuine "never been kissed" smile and turned to go back to work. Meanwhile, tapping her newfound pen on the chair our heroine tilts her head and watches him in deep - almost inappropriate- thought as he walked away.


She turns her attention to her blank sheet of paper and for moment, doesn't know where her thoughts are. She looks back to Starbucks boy and suddenly.. inspiration lights. Fate has aligned the elements. She has her pen. She has her paper. She has the time and motivation. So she puts her headphones in her ears, flipping through her ipod playlist she finds the song "You Remind Me" by RKelly and begins to write:

Fiercely, she scratches her pen .....

Friday, August 30, 2013

Found this in my 'work notes' notebook

While I was waiting for a work meeting to start, I found a 'entry' I wrote in my work notebook.

When did I write this? I thought. 

Usually when I write something, I have the idea of what I'm trying to write in my head for a while. I write, rewrite, edit. rewrite again, and then if I see that it's not going anywhere (Which is usually the case) I drop it. As I was reading it, I wondered where I was going with with it. There were no rewrites, no edits, just one entry. 

It's actually not that bad. I told myself. Which is weird because when I usually write something, I become critical of my work. Perhaps it's because I don't recognize this and don't know if I completely take ownership of it as something that I wrote (even though it's obviously my handwriting), I am not as critical.  Or maybe it really is horrible. 

               *                  *                  *                    *               * 

He looked at me, deep in thought and there was an awkward silence between us. His eyes, intently piercing through mine and for a second I thought he could read my thoughts, feel my heart race, and know exactly what I was feeling. The rest of the world - the people sitting in the booths next to us, the big screen tvs that played in the background - seemed to fade away. 

"You're lucky," I said as I tried to regain my logical sense and snap back to reality. "I have spent years developing a defense system against men with piercing blue eyes"

His moment of deep thought was broken by my randomness, and after a moment, a hint of a smile could be seen forming at the corner of his lips. 

"Is that right?"

"Yea," I said matter of factly. "What you're trying to do, is not working."

"And what is that I'm trying to do?" He asked, still with a slight smile on his face.

I hesitated. I hadn't thought how this conversation would play out. 

"Okay well, maybe I don't really know." I said. And that was the truth. What I did know was that him looking at me with such intensity made me nervous. I turned to my drink and began to fidget, stirring the straw clockwise, counter-clockwise, and then clockwise again. 

.                          *                           *                      *                             *

And that's as far as I got. 

 I thought it was interesting because I don't remember writing this and I don't know what in the world would have inspired me to write this. I don't know.. just thought I'd share.

Friday, July 19, 2013

The Story of : A First Kiss

This was it, the moment I was going to have my first kiss.

We were playing spin bottle: I spun the bottle and it pointed to him, an 8th grade boy with braces. His name was Logan, like 'Logan' from Wolvarine. I had seen him around school, but being a year younger, never really talked to him.

 Now, we weren't going to talk, but kiss.  As required by the rules of "Spin the Bottle", the kiss had to happen. I wasn't going to back out; the only reason why this kiss wouldn't happen would be if he backed out, and then he would be labeled the wuss, a reputation that could only be redeemed by kissing 5 other girls just to prove otherwise.

I was ready to go through with it. I mean, no one knew I had never been kissed, and they didn't need to know. Besides, at the end of what was about to happen, it wasn't even going to matter. I was hoping it would be him: he was a year older, played baseball, and was kind of cute. It wasn't like he was a bad-looking kid - just a little skinny and awkwardly lanky, typical of any prepubescent middle school boy in America. Was I worried about the braces? Kind of. MTV hadn't prepared me for kissing someone with braces

Everyone watched, intently.  I hoped they couldn't see my heart beating out of my shirt, my hands clenched tightly, shaking and sweating. I tried to give a smile like I had done this a million times before which I think everyone bought, but inside, I was a nervous wreck.

Oh my God, I thought. this is happening. This is how it will all go down. When I talk about how my first kiss happened, this is what I'm going talk about. 

I made the first move, leaning forward into the middle of the circle, inviting him to do the same. I heard giggling in the background, along with hoots and hollers from friends cheering us on.

I can do this. I can do this. 

I closed my eyes and felt his lips touch mine.

And then, quick as quick could be, it was done.

He leaned back into his spot without as much as giving me a look, while I lingered for a few moments before going back to my spot, disappointed.

That ... that was my first kiss. 

I don't know what I was expecting. Maybe a little more of a romanticized moment? You know, one where all of a sudden you hear a song playing in the background, kind of like in the movies and in tv: in the movie She's All That, when Freddie Prinze Junior kissed that girl he ends up with at the end of the movie (I don't remember her name, I just remember Freddie Prinze Junior) it was "Kiss Me"; in Dawson's Creek, when Joey and Dawson kiss for the first time, it was that one Ewin Mccdain song.

I, unlike what occurred in romantic movies, I heard nothing.

Logan continued to avoid eye contact with me, talking with some girl talking next to him. Blonde, blue-eyed, well -endowed for being 14. She was pretty. If Gap had some intermediary clothing line in between their "Gap Kids" and regular "Gap", she could've been a model.

Suddenly I wished I was blonde, blue-eyed, and didn't have an A cup bra size. Maybe then he would've wanted to kiss me, or maybe I would've been kissed a while ago and wouldn't have had to depend on some game in order for it to happen: Boys would be wanting to kiss me.

"Chloe," I heard my best friend whisper in my hear. "Are you okay?"

"Yea," I said giving the best smile I could. "I'm fine."

"Mmmkay," she said, suspiciously knowing that I was otherwise. "You know she's a slut, right?"

I nodded, giving her a half-smile.

"Kara and Jack - it's your turn!" someone shouted.

I saw that the bottle at pointed to my friend.

It was a queue that our side conversation ended, and he leaned into the circle and gave him a kiss which was followed by oooohs.

"Kiss again!" someone shouted.

They had barely finished the last kiss before they went in for another one, and another. ugh. 

God, I wanted this game to end. 

Wednesday, June 12, 2013

Poetry: To Heartache

I should probably let you go,
Find someone new,
Someone to give you their heartache,
To shed you their tears,
and wallow in sadness with.
But I'm finding it hard to break.
Perhaps in fear,
Or perhaps in my own insecurities
I let you stay,
Believing that if I lose you,
I might lose that one fragment of happiness
That had once made me content:
That smile, that kiss, the look that once said 'forever',
Now, a lingering memory.
I know I shouldn't dwell,
And most times I'm fine,
Most times there is no regret, not remorse,
No thought as to what had been.
But sometimes when alone
sitting, laying, standing in the midst of silent thoughts
I find you there, resilient and unwavering.
And unable to think, knowing of what to do,
I sink into your arms
and begin to cry.

Thursday, February 21, 2013

Fuck the Rain

It rained.

It had been raining for 3 weeks straight, a slow and steady pitter patter that created puddles and muddy grounds everywhere it could.

Then again, what else is to be expected of Seattle?

I waited for the bus, watching people as they walked by, heads huddled in the hoodies of their coat, hands buried deep into the seam of their pocket. They looked to the ground as they walked, careful to not to let any part of their face become drizzled by the rain. God forbid. Don't fuckin' talk to me, their demeanor said. In fact, don't even fuckin look at me. 

It was depressing. The rain and the grey helped only to add to the cheerlessness and miserable feeling.

I've heard it said that when you think warm thoughts, you forget or deal whatever sad situation that you're in. Sort like in the movie ' Sucker Punch', where these girls create this alternative reality to deal with the fact that they were in a mental institution.

So I tried to remember the sun, tried to remember feeling it's heat on my back while laying on the beach. I tried to remember how I felt the time I got so incredibly sunburned,  even the locals felt bad for me. All I got were images, quick flashes of my photographic memory that gave me scenes of what I experienced, but did not invoke warm feelings that I had with those memories. Perhaps the rain and the grey had sucked that out of me, leaving me only to dwell on the depressiveness of life.

One day, I always vow to myself, one day I will drop everything and leave for a sunnier life. Then surely, life itself will be better.

But the words end up being worthless promises said to stir up what hope can be begotten and I end up walking among those people I had watched, the depressed ones with their heads huddled, hands buried, looking towards the ground thinking fuck this, fuck the rain. 


Thursday, January 31, 2013


When I was 3, I wanted to be a  cheerleader. I don't know where I got the idea from. Probably from watching cheer competitions on ESPN, or seeing them on tv during college basketball games. 

When I was 8, I wanted to be Mariah Carey. I would sing all the time, during car rides, on the walk home, while I was doing homework. And it was always be when I thought no one was listening. The moment I realized someone was listening, I was immediately embarrassed and would turn away or try to thwart their attention towards something else. 

When I was in high school, my honors English teacher gave us an assignment to list out our top 20 or so goals in life and to map out our life somehow. I wanted to graduate college, be a writer, learn how to knit socks, all by the time I was 30. 

When I was in college, I thought business school was the way to go so I took all these classes, but I was delusional, my true passion was in the Arts. So I become an English major and thought about how amazing it would be to be a writer or be a college professor that talked about books.

And I graduated college and thought, okay - maybe I'll work this job a few years, then go back to school, get my doctorate in English Victorian Literature, or become a high school teacher. 

6 years later, I'm still working that job, and occasionally I think about how if I could just think of that one good idea, one good piece of work, I can get out of this job that I love so much and just live my dream. But, as life would have it, my writing dreams have taken a back seat. What happened? Perhaps it was my lack of drive, I don't know, but I always feel like you can't force yourself to write, the elements have to just align for ideas to come. In college, my mother would always nag me when I was writing college essays, does it seriously take you that long to write your essay? and I would annoyingly respond greatness does not happen over night!  I feel like I proved her wrong with my 4.0s in every essay I wrote. But then again, maybe it takes less time for someone to write 4.0 essays, and I am just slow so maybe it really isn't that great.

Regardless, there's this feeling of unfulfillment, like I know I can do this... I just have to take time out to make happen so that I can do it. But it feels like everything else in life finds it's way to make precedence, and \time and time again, my dreams takes the back seat. 

When will it be time? Is now the time?