Never Say Never...

...unless you want to eat your words. This morning I did something I said I would never do. I stood in line to buy a rain check from GameStop for a Wii console. I see some of you snickering at me. I deserve it, I know. I have caved to Christmas Commercialism and no one feels worse or more disappointed than me. I will now have to qualify every declarative statement I wish to make in the future, even this one.

I think I will have Sunday all to myself. I am planning on catching up one everyone's blogs and even updating my own. Thank you all for your wonderful comments and especially for reading what I write. I can't express fully how much it means to me. A special thank-you to Pauline from Glimpses Intangible who writes beautiful poetry. She has been reading my NaNoWriMo 2007 novel during this busy season and leaving comments on each section. I couldn’t have gotten a better Christmas present. If I don't see you until later:

Happy, Merry, Peace, Joy and Love.

Christmas Cards 2007

Here is this year's Christmas card design. It looks better in person (it didn't scan well because the papers are so thick.) Water color, ink, watercolor board and heavy card stock. It looks very old fashioned. You can see last year’s card HERE. I still haven't scanned the cards from previous years but I have found them (but still not my calendar.)

Front
Inside
Back

Oops, My Bad.

Minka The Ice Princess and Actonbell The Tempest in a Teapot have found my 2007 NaNoWriMo novel on their own and have made some very kind comments. If you wish to peruse the 50K+ words, you may do so HERE. Sorry for the delay. It seems the holidays are getting the best of me. I thought I had loads of time but all kinds of things are happening at once and I think my innards may become my outards. Of course, the books I’m reading are not helping my time management (shush, don’t tell anyone.) And I can’t find my calendar (where I schedule everything) which has begun to obsess my thoughts and really screwing with my head.

Numbers

I wrote my 50,173rd word at 10:09 PM last night.

I will publish this year's effort by Monday, December 3rd, 2007, for anyone interested in reading what words look like when you shove them in a word processor.

Don't Hurt Yourself Laughing

I haven't written anything on my NaNoWriMo 2007 novel since the 19th. Have you seen my word count? I have six, yes count them, 6, days left to write over 28,000 words. I had the nerve to read a book yesterday instead of writing (not even one single word.) We are looking at 4,712.66666666666 words per day for the next six days. Start taking bets and don't hurt yourself laughing at me.

Merry Turkey Holiday

Best, Better, Bestest

Thank you all for your well wishes. The puppy and I are doing very well. The funk has lifted and i am moving on. My word count for NaNoWriMo 2007 is over 16,000. That's a little light for the 18th but I'm getting there. I've been doing between 2,000 and 3,000 words a day, so by the end of the month I'll be there.

Time to go do my daily chunk.

Pity Party Passed

Mercury being retrograde during October and November this year is really doing a number on those around me, which is effecting me and it’s also doing a number on me personally. I haven’t even had the energy or time to check the comments you’ve so kindly been leaving.

Just so you can all have a pity party for me and mine, I will tell you my sweet little puppy hurt his leg last Thursday and I was too sick to take care of him. I had to call my husband home from work (which I never, ever have done) so he could take the Codes to the vet. The Codles had no serious injury; it looks like he slipped on the tile floor and twisted his knee. He and I whined for several days. Make with the little violin thingy, go ahead.

So, I am recovering, as are all of the other people who have been bombarded around me. I am horribly behind now on NaNoWriMo, but do not despair, there’s still time to catch up there, too. These past two weeks have been a lesson to me that sometimes I need to go with the flow more instead of trying to bulldoze my way through things.

The weirdness factor is still operating but I think I know what that is about too (extra sleep from sickness sometimes has advantages.)

I’m sorry for neglecting you all, but it could not be helped. I will make the rounds this week and catch up. Here’s to hope.

Weird

The past week or so, I have had that weird out-of-body, out-of-mind feeling. I am my physical self, slogging through everyday life like pulling myself through a muddy swamp and then there’s me, watching, listening but not quite there. If you are old enough perhaps you remember the shadows on TV – that has been me. I have been caught several times, staring into space. The looks I’ve gotten are priceless, as I usually reserve my complete disconnect for when I’m alone, but my will power has been lacking. I just didn’t feel like being my usual excessively focused self. I’m straddling various realities, but I feel a major change coming (I hope it’s not schizophrenia) and it’s very strong so instead of hiding from it, I’m waiting and looking and listening. And I am writing my little heart out for NaNoWriMo, which takes precedence this month.

I have read everyone’s comments, which I love and for which I thank you. I will respond during those brief times when my selves are merged, but I make no guarentees.

Happy All Hallow's Eve

Say hello to some ancestors and put out a libation to sooth a troubled spirit.

Things That Bug the Livin' Shit Out of Me

Acronyms - Just use the stupid words already and quit being all elitist.

Cell Phones - I'd rather breath second-hand smoke than listen to people's cell phone conversations.

Drugs - The human race will become extinct because we take drugs for everything instead of fixing the real problems or building immunity.

Celebrities - I just don't care about Brit or Paris or Mel or any of them. They are for entertainment purposes only. They are not friends or relatives. I already know enough nuts.

Whiners - OK, I go now.

Good Blow

Heaven

A bird warbles just outside my window. A breeze, cool, constant and caressing, flows over me as I sit reading and daydreaming. I consider the peace of this sunny, crisp autumn day and thank God for the gifts I enjoy.

Whispers of calm and murmured mantras shuffle the branches high in the trees. Light dances through the leaves: yellow, green, red and orange mosaics shimmering across the grass outside and the tile floor on the porch. The play of lights and darks hypnotizes me; heaven could not be better than this moment in time.

* * * * *

NaNoWriMo 2007 starts in a week and a half. I am working on my outline. I won last year writing a 50,706 word novel during the month of November. Granted, many parts of it sucked, but there was NO planning involved. I just went after the word count. From now until November 1st, I will actually think about a story before I begin. Despite the pressure, it was loads of fun just slopping words on the page. Consider joining me.

Juglans

There once was a wacky black walnut.
To avoid a tree rat’s gullet,
he hardened his shell,
rolling away where he fell;
traveling faster than a speeding bullet.

Lines

Thanks everyone for your concern and well wishes.

We are starting to sleep again. But we are still a little jumpy, hearing noises, triple checking locks and looking over our shoulders for Vodka Man.

The backyard of our house is full of sand. The previous owners had a beach theme going on. We are covering it with a stone patio. Vodka Man was the person installing the stone.

Vodka Man once had a lovely wife, three kids, a great house, cars and a well paying job. When he was a young boy in Georgia, his father killed his mother and he shot his father. He never got help for what that must have done to him, so I think a melt down was inevitable. He used copious amounts of alcohol to self medicate. His wife divorced him and took his kids across the country. He's had his car reposed and he has no job. He's now been padlocked out of the rooming house he lived in.

QV had him doing our patio thinking he was helping VM out and VM was doing a good job. He'd lay the stone for us and QV gave him all the beer he wanted and paid him, too.

We think this is what happened: Friday we were going to leave first thing in the morning for the mountains, but we had to wait because we were having a lawn irrigation system put in the front yard and the company decided to do it Friday and we had to be home. All day Friday VM sat around drinking beer and watching the guys install the sprinklers. VM drank up all but three beers. When the guys were done, QV gave them tips. Then we were going to leave. He gave VM the last of the beers in a cooler because VM was going to do some stone after we left. QV said that's all he had and he had no more cash but he'd give VM some on Sunday when we got back.

Saturday, VM did stone in the afternoon. It was hot and humid. He was still at the house at 4:30 when Snoogs was leaving the house. VM was on the front porch when she opened the front door. She told him she was leaving. He said he was thirsty and water wasn't cutting it. She told him we had no beer. He walked by her, into the house and got the BIG bottle of vodka from the liquor cabinet and took it out back.

When Snoogs got back to the house at seven, Vodka Man was gone and the vodka bottle was empty on the backyard bar. We think he downed the vodka in a very short amount of time and since he had no food all day and it was very hot, it sent him into a rage because QV didn't leave him beer or money.

When his ex-wife was fixing up their house to sell, he got drunk, broke in and destroyed the newly renovated bathroom, just because he was mad.

It has now been over a week and no one has seen him. Many people are looking though, as they want to see QV pop him one. We have since heard that he has been banned from several local bars for stealing money off of the bar when people go to the bathroom.

Discombobulated

This week will be a bit off for me. While we were gone on our relaxing weekend, someone broke into our house.

Snoogs is fine. She did an excellenet job handling the situation. Cody is fine. He was alseep on our bed when Snoogs came home to find the window on the backdoor smashed in. The bathroom window upstairs was broken. Nothing was stolen.

Based on the time frame from when Snoogs left the house to go on an EMT call and when she got back a couple hours later, the way the house was broken into and nothing stolen, we are fairly sure who the culprit is and he has not been seen by anyone since Saturday night.

I consider us very lucky because as things go, the damage was minor. But we won't be sleeping too well for a while, so it will take some adjustments and cleaning up and repairs this week.

I hope to be back in the swing of things by the weekend.

Mountain Retreat

I am off to the mountains for some well deserved peace and quiet. I have posted an animated apple, bad bee and cold cat at the Scavenger Hunt blog. I will be reading Specimen Days and Leaves of Grass for the book group at Nessa's Reading Room. I will also be crocheting scarves for gifts for over seas relatives and drinking wine and tasting apples and cheese. Have fun. I'll see you Sunday night.

Check out the links to the right there, for my other blogs.

Check It Out

The Wieners of The Amazingly Bombastic Creativity Image Scavenger Hunt for September have been announced and the new list for October is on the side bar.

The blog for the reading group called Nessa’s Reading Room is up with information and the first book to read.

The theme for October's Photo studies is posted here. Last month's theme was One.

I think I am done with adding new blogs for a while. When you are bored, check out the various offerings I have there on the side. I put the dates of the last updates next to each one so you always know what’s new.

Amnion

The earth and sky swirled as one.
Fire burned below the earth.
Fire burned above the sky.
Water held them all together.

Crazy Eights

I won this lovely gift from Dr. John because while I rarely have anything witty to say, I comment anyway. Notice the butterflies? Do you see how speaking up can be profitable?

A while back, Jadzia tagged me with the eight things list, so here, finally, are eight more slightly odd things about me.

Crazy Eights

1. I can’t count paper money unless all of the bills are facing the same way and all of the corners are flat.

2. I must pick up every coin I see on the ground and say, “Thank you.”

3. I count to distract my mind. I count to help me fall asleep or when I have nothing to read or if I’m having obsessive thoughts.

4. I sigh. A lot. Loudly.

5. I wear my wedding ring on my right hand. It likes living there.

6. I like Bombay Sapphire Gin with Vintage Tonic and Lime (expensive gin and cheap tonic.) Yum.

7. I like Vanilla not Chocolate (please don’t die from heart failure.)

8. I like eating several appetizers for dinner.

I have six, yes, count them, six other blogs. If you get bored, check them out there to the right. I note the date of the last entry so you can always be up-to-date on the important stuff.

There will be another blog starting in October. It will be a Book Reading Group blog. Look for it soon. That will make a total of eight blogs. I would promise to stop there, but I’d be lying.

There are still prizes open at the Scavenger Hunt blog. The first game does not end until September 30th.

I have added a new entry to Devine Death – An Ongoing Novel (which hasn’t gone on for over a year.) I am going to try to finish it before the NaNoWriMo 2007 starts on November 1st.

Jackie from Jackie’s Garden has given me the Rockin’ Girl Blogger award. This was so unexpected that I have no acceptance speech prepared. I can’t pick just five people for this award. All of the “girls” on my blogroll are Rockin’ Girl Bloggers. Check them out if you haven’t already. They are all great for various reasons. If you are listed there, consider yourself awarded.

Talk Like a Pirate Day

This be Dread Pirate Kidd.
“Like the famous Dread Pirate Roberts, you have a keen head for how to make a profit. Even though you're not always the traditional swaggering gallant, your steadiness and planning make you a fine, reliable pirate. Arr!”
What is your prirate name?

Arr! Dis be me pirate nife, dat me be carry where ever me be goin'. Arr!

De last times I be a goin’ to NYC when my aunt from Austria be visitin’, I done forget about de knife. I be priratin’ me aunt to sight the Empire State Building. De dastardly Queen’s men yanked me aside for having a weapon in me scabbard. Dat little incident be good for a few har hars throughout da day.

Me fruit of me loins won me dis knife at the PA RenFaire a couple of years ago. It be makin’ me feel dangerous, especially when I be usin’ it to decapitate flowers. Arr!

Wood

The forest floor, littered with stones and rocks, twigs and branches, leaves and bark, in varying shades of brown and gray, blushed with tints of blue, purple and pink, crunched under foot. A touch of mossy green outlined areas of interest. The path was well-defined with use. Traversed by humans and animals alike, years of walking and trotting created a smooth surface for future travelers and a map to the best spots in the woods.

Along each side of the path, bright green fern and tufted grasses created a hedge outlining the path and a barrier between the walkway and the trees beyond.

Only the trunks nearest the path were distinguishable. Past the first few trees the forest became dark and flat, hinting at the deep distance in which the trees lived.

The woods spoke in whispers, gossiping about travelers that passed through their domain. They laughed at the naiveté of beings that only lived a few short years.

Happy Birthday, Baby

Today, my daughter, variously known as Snoogs, Honey Bunches of Oats and Tigs, turns 21.

My daughter saved my life. Because of her, I gave up my carefree and erratic ways to help us both grow up. While I tried hard to do my best, I wasn’t perfect and I made many mistakes, but she rewarded me by becoming a wonderful person. She considers me her best friend (you can’t beat that.)

She goes through life full steam ahead. She is a spitfire of a girl; all of about five four, with big brown eyes and brown hair the color of mink. When I first looked into her eyes, I dubbed Brown Eyed Girl by Van Morrison her song.

Shortly after she was born, people told me that I looked too good to have just given birth; I looked so happy. I consider her my greatest creation.

In her first twenty-one years, she has avoided the major pitfalls of smoking, drugs, alcohol and promiscuous sex. She has a good, fulltime job and a meaningful, long-term relationship. She is a firefighter, an EMT and has taken up reading (finally.) She likes RenFaires, let’s me make her costumes and corsets, plays with swords, has a belly button ring but no tattoos and she has about fifty big hoodies. She’s good with her money, doesn’t give up easily, hates injustice and cares for the people around her. She is smart, fun, loves to do things and keeps me in touch with the wider world.

I love when she says, “I have a question…”

I love you, baby.

Remember 09/11/01

Because I remember, I despair. Because I remember, I have the duty to reject despair. – Elie Wiesel

Unless we remember we can not understand. – Edward Forster.

Do not keep the alabaster boxes of your love and tenderness sealed up until your friends are dead. Fill their lives with sweetness, speak cheering words while their ears can hear, and while their hearts can be thrilled and made happier by them. – Williams Childs

Please Play with Me

Are you game?

K.I.S.S.

I have neatened up a bit around here; made things simpler (I think.)

I re-did my Nectar list (the blog's I visit.) I listed everyone by the way they are named when commenting. If you don't like the way you are listed or if you do not want to be listed, please let me know. If I missed you or if you visit here without commenting (grabs heart in serve [severe] pain) let me know that, too.

My email address is goldennib at comcast dot net.

Thursday’s Thoughtless Thinking

When I walk, I see feathers lying all over the ground, but no dead birds. Do you think bald birds live in my neighborhood?

Astronauts, astronaut stalkers (astronauts who stalk) and old bikers have it made. They get to wear adult diapers and pee whenever they want. Can you imagine the shear joy of just letting go at the supermarket?

When I empty the dishwasher I want to drop the plates. When I go to put a jug of milk back in the refrigerator, I want to let it fall to the floor. Do you ever feel like doing that?

I found a dollar bill on the ground when I took my morning walk. Does this mean “The Secret” really works?

No matter what kind of bra I wear or how I adjust the straps, the left side always slips off of my shoulder. Does this make me a hunchback?

People who hold conversations on their cell phones in stores are rude and no one says anything to them. Could I get away with holding my hand up to my ear and talking to myself loudly?

I think we should change our court system. If you commit a crime, you are guilty, regardless of who you are or the circumstances. Only the sentencing should involve mitigation. If you admit to killing someone, how can you be not guilty?

I know it is not Thursday, but I like all of those “th’s” in the title. Have you got a problem with that?

Happy Long Weekend

Have a great weekend. Here are a few odds and ends for you while I am off to the deep woods.

Clown

A red balloon popped over my head. The shards of the latex snapped on my cheek, stinging and bringing water to my eyes. I wiped the tears away with my white gloved hands and smudged the green, blue and orange grease paint covering my face. I reminded myself this was why clowns should not cry.

Traffic

I have carried this newspaper clipping in my wallet since about 1978. (Click to make it larger.)

Passion Prayer

I cleaned out some old things the other day and came across this poem I wrote in my twenties. Can you tell?

* * * * *

Wrap your arms around me, I want your loving embrace
hold me, softly, sweetly, butterfly kisses on my face

The stars shine above me, reflected in your eyes
floating, drowning, melting, caressed by your sighs

Upon the sea we’re drifting, light, unchained and free
fearless, passion, a heat that we can see

Whisper softly to me, seduction in my ears
across my breast you’re trailing as the trembling nears

When you rise to meet me, the rhythm in my soul
rocking, gently swaying, embers, white-hot coal

Lay your breath upon me, inhale my fragrant wine
churning, swirling, pounding, worship in my shrine.

John

Once upon a time, a man wearing green flannel pajamas with orange polka dots on them lived in an underground house, the walls of which were lined with old rubber tires. He called himself John.

His parents didn’t give him that name. Mr. Twindle, John’s father, had no say in placing an appropriate title upon his son. Mrs. Twindle, without rising from her birthing chair, proclaimed her male offspring, Samuel Harrison Ignatius Twindle. Her sense of humor rivaled that of her mother-in-law who had bestowed upon her son, John’s father, the glorious name, Stanley Howard Inigo Twindle. Stanley’s father wasn’t around to object or to give Stanley his own surname so Miss Twindle gave Stanley her maiden name.

Mrs. Twindle, John’s mother, liked to refer to her son as The Little SHIT and her husband as The Big SHIT. Miss Twindle, John’s grandmother, never did, but she giggled whenever Mrs. Twindle called her men SHITs.

Mrs. Twindle did other things she found funny. She sent John to school with an empty brown paper bag for his lunch. She replaced his English essays with her old love letters from old beaus. She sent him to the drug store to buy her feminine products. She castigated Mr. Twindle in public while John stood by, unable to defend his father who never defended himself.


Mrs. Twindle did other things too but John knew by instinct they should never be talked about with outsiders. He kept things to himself. He never attempted to bring anyone home. He hid what he could.

When he was eight, he began calling himself John. He would not respond to anyone if they did not call him John. This made Mrs. Twindle mad. Mrs. Twindle began beating John. She called him Little SHIT. He ignored her. She took the toilet cleaning brush, called him John and hit him so hard with the bristled end of the brush it left bloody dots where it landed on his bare skin. She thought her use of the toilet brush as weapon to beat John funny. Mrs. Twindle wasn’t really smart enough to go beyond bathroom humor, but that didn’t stop her being effective in her torture.

John ran away from home at the age of twelve. He didn’t get far. The town came together for Mrs. Twindle to search for John. They found him at the bus station trying to buy a ticket with coins he had scrounged together for two years. They returned John to Mrs. Twindle’s bosom along with twenty-three fifty in pennies, nickels and dimes, housed in an old sock. That night Mrs. Twindle used John’s running away money as a cudgel on his thighs and buttocks. When she raised heavy welts on his legs and the bruises pleased her simple nature, she sent John to the store to buy her douche and he had to pay for it with his own money.

Mr. Twindle died a few weeks later, followed closely by Miss Twindle. John’s grandmother left her entire estate to her grandson. She even mentioned in her will she did it to make Mrs. Twindle furious.

Mrs. Twindle went to court and had herself made the executor of John’s estate. She began proceedings to have John committed.

That night, John crept into Mrs. Twindle’s bedroom while she slept, climbed on top of her, his knees pressed into her chest and placed a pillow over her face. She fought like a banshee but John, desperate, held that pillow down until Mrs. Twindle was dead.

John straightened up Mrs. Twindle’s hair and bed clothes, smoothed out the blankets and went to bed. He slept until eleven in the morning. He ate breakfast, brushed his teeth, dressed and walked to the police station. He announced to the officer on duty that his mother had died during the night in her sleep. No one ever questioned Mrs. Twindle’s death. Mrs. Twindle left all of her money to a home for wayward girls specifically to purchase red high heeled shoes.

John lived until the age of eighteen in a group home just outside of his hometown. When he came of age, he took all of his money from his grandmother and bought camping gear, a shovel and a piece of property in Montana.

John began collecting used old car tires and digging a hole. When his hole was large enough to suit him and his dog, he lined the hole with the tires he had gathered. His home remained the same temperature throughout the year. He wore green pajamas with orange polka dots, slept in a sleeping bag on the ground and he never had indoor plumbing.

Shit Happens

Shit happens. It happens to all of us. When it does, it is hard to maintain a positive attitude and continue to focus on forward movement. I have a tendency to obsess, playing and replaying self-defeating scenarios that keep me stuck and miserable.

At lunchtime yesterday, I drove to the park near work intending to read. Depressed and unhappy, reading was the most energy I could manage. Instead, I took out my Neo, propped it on my steering wheel and just began typing. Before I knew it, I was three minutes late getting back to work. I couldn’t believe all of that time flew by. And I felt a million times better. That’s why I love to write.

* * * * *

Adam shivered in the cool of dusk. He awoke to the point of a sword. He followed the blade to the gloved hand holding the hilt. He continued up the wrist to the elbow and on up to the face looking at him. The face contained the normal features placed in the normal places with the exception of a mountain range scar beginning at the hair line above the left eye and moving diagonally down the forehead over the right eye across the cheek and ending at the tip of the right ear. The top lid of the right eye was glued to the bottom lid, oozing yellowish crusty bits. The other eye flashed a bright alert blue with each blink. The mouth worked like a bass out of water, all lips and no teeth.

Adam began to speak but stopped when the tip of the sword flicked up and carved a chunk out of his chin. He felt the warm driplets of blood fall on his collar bones. He waited for the sword’s next move.

The sword wobbled slightly in the palsied hand. The head wobbled a bit on the palsied neck. The mouth opened and words came out.

“Ya ain’t got much, have ya?” The mouth closed, the lips working against each other, forming their next thought. “Course, there is something to giving the very last that ya’ve got to give.” The sword rose and etched a cross on Adam’s right cheek. Blood blossomed in petals on his skin and poured down the stem of his scrawny neck. He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, holding back the squeal of pain that came up from the empty pit of his stomach.

“Come now, ya can do better than that.”

Adam released an agonized scream as the sword sliced off the tip of his right ear.

“Now we are getting somewhere.”

Adam looked into the satisfied eye of his tormentor. Drool dribbled from the corner of the man’s mouth as if he were salivating over a juicy haunch of meat.

Adam watched as the man transferred the sword to the left side of Adam’s face. He clenched his mouth shut as the man sliced off the tip of Adam’s left ear.

“Now ya head will not be lopsided.” The man giggled with a sickening pleasure. “But ya have cheated me of my joy. Perhaps we need to raise the stakes a bit in our little game.”

The man began to slice up the left leg of Adam’s ragged breaches, nicking his thigh in several places on the way to Adam’s groin. Adam tried to suppress his cries and fear but tears flowed from his closed eyes. He sobbed and begged for mercy in mumbled and incoherent phrases.

The fiend cutting off bits of Adam gave a gargled cry and Adam opened his eyes when a heavy weight fell upon him.

The man lay dead on Adam’s lap, a dagger protruding from his back. The man’s blade lay between them gouging a new injury into Adam’s thigh.

Above them sat a man on horseback calming reviewing the scene.

“I don’t think the sheriff will mind much if all of your pieces are not there, do you?”

Two men on foot came from behind the horse at a signal from the rider. One hefted the dead man off of Adam and tossed him aside. He took hold of the sword and slung it into the pack on his back. The other man went behind the tree and cut the ropes binding Adam.

Once released, Adam fell over. The two men hauled him to his feet after binding his wrists and ankles and hoisted him belly down over the horse in front of its rider.

The rider spoke to the back of Adam’s head.

“What say you? I dare say, a nice clean beheading looks pleasing about now, aye?”

Prezzie for Me

* * * Update * * * 1:22pm It is here. I am about ready to jump out of my skin. And it is green, too.

I bought myself a present. It will arrive at my place of employ tomorrow. I am so excited I’m wiggling in my seat as I think about it.

I write by hand all of the time. I have a black leather journal in which 5”x 7” notebooks fit perfectly. I write notes and to do lists and story and craft ideas, character descriptions, cool sounding names, mood swings, poems, everything, in this journal.

I print small. I write big with looping letters and loads of flourish. Some pages are filled with columns, others with drawings or cartoons. Other pages have stacks of sticky notes on them from the times I can’t get my journal out of my purse fast enough. Other pages have sheets of scrap paper tucked in them from when I’m at work and I grab some paper from the overhead bin on my desk.

Sometimes I write in pen, other times I use different color markers. Every once in a while I jot notes with a mechanical pencil. Once I was so desperate to write something down, but couldn’t find a pen that I used a package of yellow mustard while I was attempting to drive my car. (Not really, but can’t you see it?) My journal travels everywhere with me.

I use my journal to clarifying my thoughts and download the junk that floats around in my head. It is my therapist and best friend. While it helps me weed through tons of junk to get to a final writing project, I can’t write anything in it that I later want to be a finished piece. For some reason, I will not play the role of my own secretary and transcribe.

I hear some of you quietly murmur that I do have a laptop. I love my laptop. It’s a DELL, with a huge screen and pretty features and lots of fun things to do, like talk to you on the internet, or look up word definitions or search Wikipedia for arcane and pointless knowledge or learn how to use Facebook or make movies or moving cartoons or, um, what was I talking about?

As you can see, I am easily distracted. I am also very busy. The things I like to do must fit in with a 50 hour a week job, a husband, a child, a dog, parents, my brother and his family, housekeeping, bookkeeping, exercise, a social life, as meager as that is and occasional schooling. I forgot what I was talking again and now I’m tired to boot.

I need compact. I need structure. I need focus. I need lightweight. I need the AlphaSmart Neo.
This neat little word processor weighs less than two pounds. There’s no internet. It is just for writing. I’ll be able to go out to lunch and type away for an hour. I’ll be able to type in the car when we go places. I’ll be able to sneak it out of my bag in the bathroom at family functions. It turns right on. It has auto save of every letter you type. The battery has 700 hours of work time. The display screen has large letters and only shows several lines of text, so there is no stopping to read the jewels I produce. It’s like an electronic typewriter. Talk about focus. I’ll be able to kick some writing arse. I love the word arse, don’t you? Huh? Yeah, I’m off track again and I was going to tell you about something else too but I’ve forgotten what.

Pictures

I have a video of the private fishing boats going out to sea. This went on all morning, the boats coming from several directions and each racing the other I guess to get the best spot in the Atlantic Ocean. I found the Fishing Run very funny.

Here are some of the Birds I saw. I don’t know the name of the little brown one.

And some assorted pictures of The Jersey Shore: The Barnegat Lighthouse, the fishing campers at the end of Island Beach State Park and The Stinkhouse (an abandoned fish refinery.)

Self Abuse

I want to thank everyone for your concern over my ankle (it is slowly getting better.)

Your interest in my husband’s rentability made me laugh. Just to be clear, as a fisherman, he is very good with his pole and it is only this ability that I would consider lending out. He only told me about the woman paying attention to his lure once we were home, so we never did actually get to hook her.

At our last family reunion, I was suckered into being the new secretary. I admit to being a sap but the woman who held the position before looked so forlorn and downtrodden after five years, I decided to take over. How hard could it be?

My first duty was to book the pavilion for next year. The appointed date to call the PA Park Service was August 15th, according to the notes left me by my predecessor. I have been on edge since mid-July, worrying that I would miss the date, not get the required date for next year, disappoint my father and look like a fool incapable of doing the simplest things. Yeah, I know, I’m not wrapped too tight.

Tuesday night I was so agitated I couldn’t sleep. I tossed and turned, finally falling into a nightmare where I slept through the seven o’clock deadline to call. I had this nightmare about five times before the alarm went off.

I got up, made my coffee and walked around the kitchen staring at all of the sticky notes posted around the room with the word “Pavilion” written on them. I called at six fifty-five and got a recording telling me the office didn’t open until seven. I called again at seven. The automated system couldn’t find the park I wanted. I was sure someone would get my date and pavilion before I could figure the system out.

At five after seven I got a live body. She politely asked for the park I wanted. She asked what date I wanted. I was five days too early. They only took reservations exactly eleven months to the day. I’d have to go through all of this again on the twentieth.

I’m a little cranky right now.

Weekend Update

Saturday the weather was fine, so I headed off for a long walk with the Codes and tripped in a rut and sprained my ankle. I limped home, sat myself down to read to recover from the trauma and discovered I lost my reading glasses on my aborted walk. Good thing I have lots of backups.

Sunday, my husband, QV, and I went fishing (carrying a fishing pole more than 3 feet counts as fishing.) We went to Barnegat Light and Tuckerton. Pictures will be posted later this week. The hundreds of fishing boats leaving the bay for the Atlantic Ocean made me laugh. They raced like they needed to be first or all of the best fish would be taken.

A rich, sixty-something woman kept giving QV the eye while he baited his hook. He said she made him feel dirty. I told him I'd rent him out if it meant I didn't have to go to work.

Drawing When I'm Bored

I wanted a picture to help me keep my hero, Fendor, from my evolving story Divine Death clear in my mind. I could not find a magazine clipping or picture on-line that fit the person I had in mind.

I decided to draw him.

I began a sketch Sunday, but abandoned it after showing it to my daughter. She took one look at what I now call
Pseudo-Fendor and told me he looks just like Firenze from the Harry Potter movies. Back to the drawing board for me, but at least you get a laugh.

An Irish Tale

Long ago, in a time before the common man could read to the heights of an eight grade level, there was a cailin known as Colleen the Bookwurm. Brown of hair, brown of eye, the people of her small village mistrusted her because of her ability to read. She remained unmarried long after the normal age at which a woman would normally achieve conjugal bliss. In other words, she was a bit long in the tooth and her books weren’t keeping her warm at night.

Colleen decided to hire a matchmaker to find her the perfect man for a husband. Nosy Parker, the most famous matchmaker of all time, agreed to take on this difficult job. The first thing Nosy did was take away all of Colleen’s books. No one likes a learned woman.

Nosy next made up a list of all of Colleen’s good qualities that would counteract her dismal reputation as a reader. Once complete with only those things that men liked, the list would be the basis of an advertisement to bring in a well-rounded group of men from which a mate could be chosen.

Nosy mentioned Colleen’s ability to cook, in particular her famous steak and mashed potato sandwiches topped with brown gravy. She included Colleen’s material assets: a hut with indoor sleeping facilities, three pigs, and a donkey. Nosy also highlighted Colleen’s physical attributes: despite her advanced age, Colleen still had all of her teeth, her eyes weren’t crossed even after all of her reading and she was still quite bendy.

Riders went out and nailed the ads on trees and doors throughout the region. The date for the male revue was set for May Day. Many men came.

The wedding was a fete to remember. Patrons of pubs and taverns talked about it for days. Colleen’s new hubby ventured into one of the pubs on Sunday for a well earned day of rest.

Asked how he enjoyed his new wife and her dowry, he replied, “Colleen has a sweet ass.”

Tidbits and Odds and Ends

Update 20070801: At Wings Unfolding for Wordless Wednesday - Pretty Pink Petals.

I can't find a picture to use for my hero in one of the books I'm working on so I will have to draw him. I can't use pictures of actors that look like him because their personalities or personal lives are getting in the way of my image of my hero. I can't separate the person from his picture. Perhaps I shouldn’t read the tabloids.

I read this weekend that the average advance on a fiction novel is around $1,200.00. That means putting out 5 or 6 novels a year just to make a decent living. I need to write faster.

Summer is my busiest time at work, so I'm always exhausted from the stress. I still haven’t won the lottery.

There's always so much that needs to be done that if I don't do lists, I end up wallowing in my own procrastination. My head hurts. Don’t let me forget to book the pavilion for next year’s reunion. I have to call in at 7am on August 15th. Already I can’t sleep from thinking I’ll miss the deadline. I’m pathetic.

I re-read and did an edit on Storytime,
which now has a snapping new title called Divine Death. I made some very cheesy mistakes, which I fixed and I changed a few things. If by any chance you have read any of it, I will finally be continuing on with this story. This one is practice in not only finishing a word count but also in planning a story and having it make sense. I did a map this weekend for the point to where the story is now. I know who dies and who the killer is and I have pictures of all my main characters, except like I said above, my hero.

I am also reworking my NaNoWriMo 2006 novel which will be called Marriage and Murder.

At some point a person just has to either shit or get off the pot.

Antisocial Commentary Release Party

With a different turn of mind, Diesel, the author of The Mattress Police – Antisocial Commentary will entertain you and make you think. If you have not read his site yet, the following announcements he wrote will give you an idea of what you can expect. I will be pre-ordering my signed copy today.

THE OVER-THE-TOP RAVING ENDORSEMENT

Diesel, the twisted genius behind the humor blog The Mattress Police , has announced the publication date for his first book! Antisocial Commentary: From the Secret Files of the Mattress Police, is a hilarious excursion through the mind of Diesel. From topics as varied as James Blunt and the Incredible Hulk to global politics and perpetual motion machines, Antisocial Commentary is a tour de force of satire, sarcasm, and just plain silliness. Savor such essays as “The Force is Middling in this One,” which answers the question “What happens to someone in the Star Wars universe who isn’t quite Jedi material?” and “Harry Potter and the Inevitable Slide into Satanism,” which explores the nefarious connection between the works of J.K. Rowling and the minions of the Devil.

Antisocial Commentary will be published on August 15, but for a limited time you can pre-order a signed copy at a significantly discounted price. In addition to being an all-around great guy, Diesel is quite possibly the funniest blogger on the internet. This book is a collection of over 50 of most hilarious essays. I’ll be pre-ordering my copy today, and I suggest you head over to The Mattress Police and do the same.

THE NONCOMMITTAL SUGGESTION

Diesel, who runs The Mattress Police , has announced the publication date for his first book! Antisocial Commentary: From the Secret Files of the Mattress Police, is a collection of over 50 of his best essays. These include “The Force is Middling in this One,” which answers the question “What happens to someone in the Star Wars universe who isn’t quite Jedi material?” and “Harry Potter and the Inevitable Slide into Satanism,” which explores the nefarious connection between the works of J.K. Rowling and the minions of the Devil.

Antisocial Commentary will be published on August 15, but for a limited time you can pre-order a signed copy at a significantly discounted price. Diesel is a good guy and an excellent writer. Help me show some support for a fellow blogger making his first foray into print. Head over to his site to preview the book or just check out some of his funny posts.

THE OFFHAND MENTION

I wanted to mention that one of my fellow bloggers, a funny guy named Diesel , has announced the publication date for his first book. Antisocial Commentary: From the Secret Files of the Mattress Police is a collection of over 50 of Diesel’s funniest posts. Head over to his site, The Mattress Police , and check it out. You can pre-order a signed copy, read a preview of the book, or just read some of his funny posts.

THE MERCILESS PAN WITH EXTREME PREJUDICE

Get this: A guy who goes by the name “Diesel” has just announced that he’s publishing a book. Yeah, the same “Diesel” who is so painfully un-funny on his blog, The Mattress Police . You may be wondering how in hell a hack like “Diesel” gets published. Simple. The same way every other hack gets published these days: He self-published the book through Lulu.com. You know, the place that ranks just below Kinko’s as a reputable publisher? Yeah, them.

Anyway, this book – which is mercifully only 159 pages long by the way, making it more of a breathtakingly dull brochure than a book – is a collection of Diesel’s “best” posts. Seriously. Gee, thanks, Diesel. Because I can no longer get to your website to read your interminable tripe since my anti-stupidity software flagged it as a potential hazard to my intellectual well-being. I can’t wait to get the hard copy version, because I’ve got an end table that has one short leg.

Of course, it’s going to be a while before I can fix that table, because the book isn’t even published yet. That’s right, he’s having a “release party” for a book that hasn’t been released. Supposedly you can “pre-order” a copy, whatever the hell that means. Sounds like a scam to me. He’s even offering “signed” copies at a discounted rate – presumably because anything that he scribbles his signature on immediately loses much of whatever value it started off with.

So if, for some unfathomable reason, you find Diesel’s tired, self-involved sarcasm amusing and you just can’t get enough of it on his website, head over to his site and experience one of the 100 biggest publishing sensations since the last Harry Potter book came out 5 days ago.

Deathly Hallows Update - No Spoilers Attached

Hi All:

I loved all of your comments in my previous post, even from those of you not into Harry Potter. Those of you who are, I hope you enjoyed book seven as much as I did.

I got my book Saturday morning at eight when Barnes & Noble opened. I hosted a party Saturday (and partied), so I could not read until Sunday morning. I finished just before midnight.

I promised my daughter I would not discuss it until she is done reading, so mums the word.

Now, it's time for me to do some serious concentrating on my own writing so I can be the next J K Rowling (but I'll still be visiting blogs, of course!)

Back and Single Minded

I have returned, as is obvious by my being here.

The weekend was lovely. The days were warm with cool breezes and the nights required blankies. I slept ten hours a night. I am now our family reunion secretary because I can not stand to see grown ups whine. My major function is making sure I call the park at 7am on a specific day in August so we get a reservation for our day and pavilion next year. We have a prayer. Of course, if I screw this up, my dad will kill me. I can't handle the pressure.

But onto more important things: I am catching up on my sleep so that 8am Saturday morning July 21st, I will have my hot little hands on Harry Potter. In between sleep, I am preparing for my husband's birthday party, so I can begin reading every free moment I have. I will forgo alcohol Saturday so I can stay awake all night until I have devoured every page and woe to anyone who tells me anything about the book. Yes, I am that excited.

Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix

I saw it, I saw it, I saw it.

Yes, folks, Wednesday at 5:30pm, I saw the new Harry Potter movie. It was fabo to the extreme.

I skipped lunch so I could leave early from work. My daughter and I went to the theater as a thunder and lightening storm struck the area. We ran into the building, ending up drenched, but did we care? No, of course not, 'cause we were going to see Harry Potter. Then, lightening struck the building knocking out the sound from all of the theaters. I must say, people get nasty really quick. Several people came out of their movies like anyone had any control over the weather. Assholes.

We were early. We wanted good seats. We picked the perfect time to go. Most of the other people there to see the movie were adults. Sound came back on quickly. All was well in the world until Ole' Voldy got up to his tricks.

This was the best of the five movies so far. Obviously, nothing compares with the books, but this was good. I'll say no more as I know it's early in the movie going timeline and I do not want to spoil it for anyone going this weekend.

I am off to the mountains tomorrow. I plan on reading and writing and walking and seeing about 120 close relatives. I'll be back (said in the Terminator voice.)

Updates...

Because I have nothing else right now due to brain fatigue.

1. Saturday, we all went on a trolley tour of Philadelphia and had our teeth rattled and our kidneys bruised. We stopped at Penn’s Landing for the Puerto Rican festival then took my Austrian Aunt to a Bavarian restaurant. The beer was good.

2. I spent the day Sunday putting together slide shows of our trips so she could take them home but when I tried to burn the CD it didn’t work, so I am still trying to finish that project. Then I drove my Aunt, my Mother and Father to the airport. My Aunt’s flight left at 8:20pm our time. She set off the alarms going through security (she has two metal knees) couldn’t find her doctor’s note and was almost strip-searched. On the upside, she said our female security guards have gentle hands (no, she didn’t really say that, she actually said they were quite mean and rough.) She arrived home safely.

3. Neither I nor anyone immediately related to me is listed in the D.C. Madame’s little black book.

4. My daughter and I are going to see Harry Potter and The Order of the Phoenix Wednesday, July 11, 2007 at 5:30pm. (This really should have been listed first and written in capital letters. Yippee! I’m sorry, I’ll calm down now. Yeah, right.

5. Friday, we are off to the mountains of Pennsylvania for our annual family reunion for my Father’s side. I plan on getting some good nights sleep. My Father was a little nervous yesterday, as the Governor of Pennsylvania closed some non-essential functions of the state government Monday due to budget disputes and the park we have the picnic in was closed briefly. But all is well and I will spend the day with people whose names I can’t remember.

6. Next weekend I must have a party for my husband’s birthday on the exact day that Book 7 comes out. I wish to express my deep sadness that I will be forced to take many bathroom breaks away from my guests in order to read my book. I consider this hardship and cruelty that I will be forced to suffer my husband’s birthday present. You think that’s fair, right?

Don't Make Me

I have been tagged by the lovely Dabich from This Too Shall Pass …and these are the rules:

Each person posts these rules before their list, then they list eight things about themselves. At the end of the post, that person tags and links to eight other people then visits those peoples' sites and comments, letting them know that they have been tagged, and to come read the post, so they know what they have to do.

1. The first thing you should know is that I love rules. If you know the rules…

2. …you know how to break the rules. I love to break rules. I do it on purpose all of the time.

3. I think most rules are really stupid and are only made so someone can control someone else.

4. I hate being controlled, even by myself. It’s a nasty habit.

5. I am easily controlled, though. If you want me to do something, tell me I am not allowed to do it. Easy, peasy, see?

6. I believe in commitments. Before making a commitment, one should think long and hard. Before breaking a commitment, one should think long and hard. This is why I didn’t get married until I was 39.

7. If I play games with no stakes involved I do really well. Once money is involved, I lose. Never ask me to buy you lottery tickets.

8. I remember writing my first story when I was nine. Unfortunately, I don’t remember anything about it except that it was a story that I also illustrated.

Now, because of number two above, I am not tagging anyone.

I have learned how to use Movie Maker (free on many computers already) and YouTube (also free) over the last few days.

You can see my slide show of my trip to New York City on Thursday, June 28, 2007 or my slide show of my trip to Washington, D.C. on Saturday, June 30, 2007 or a video of my crazy dog called Mad Dog and he's crazy every day.

If you feel like it, tag yourself and let me know.

News Flash Friday

In a rare show of solidarity and intelligence, the United States government has unanimously voted to change the 4th of July holiday to Independence Day and designate its celebration date as the first Monday of every July.

“We know that we are breaking with tradition by making such a smart decision,” says a Congressman who would only speak on a pay-as-you-go cell phone so as not to be identified, “but it really wasn’t our idea.”

“We received a letter from Lindy Lou from Idaho making the suggestion,” said a page between his paging duties.

“We wouldn’t normally pay attention to someone too young to vote and from such a backward area of the country to boot but her letter brought us hardened politico types to tears.”

After reading LL’s letter and wiping the dew from this reporter’s eye, the situation has become clear.

You see, Little Lou Lou suffers from an ailment that makes her wear her hair in tight pigtails. This causes all of the blood in her head to go to her scalp, thereby depriving her brain of oxygen. She normally only gets a good idea once or twice a year because of her disease. She figured this was one of them and wanted it acted upon before all of her brain cells died. She thought our governmental representatives would understand her predicament intimately. Lucky Lindy struck a chord with those hardened old codgers in Washington DC.

“We all know what it’s like to be brain dead, but this poor girl has been afflicted at an unnatural age, so we wanted to lift her spirits,” said a Representative who couldn’t remember his name for this interview. “Her deformity is so heart-breaking we enacted this new law before most of us realized we all agreed.” He shook his head in wonder. “I can guarantee this won’t ever happen again.”

This reporter urges you to write your Congressman, State Representative and Senator to let them know your appreciation for this uncharacteristic show of brilliance. We don’t tell them often enough when they do a good thing.

* * * This just in: The President has vetoed the bill. In a comment overheard by a carpet sweeper, the President is alleged to have said, “We can’t have none of this agreeing b*llsh*t. What would come next, d*mn*t?”

Off

Sound reaches my ears through serous waves. I feel the vibrations more than I hear people talking. The words reach me as a dull hum that envelops me in a surreal haze. I wonder throughout the day if I am awake or if I am floating through a déjà vu experience; my elbows tingle, the skin on my lips comes alive as I breathe and my cheeks pulse with heat.

The juxtaposition of sensations makes me nauseous. I walk the landscape of an Escher drawing, spiraling in a topsy turvy world where up and down dance in confused order. My body disconnects from my mind and soul, the tenuous plasma chord which usually keeps me whole streaming off to nothingness. The realities I normally keep compartmentalized switch places and blend like crayon shavings melting on a piece of paper held over a light bulb.

My solar plexus throbs matching my racing heart beat. My eyes do not exist. My lungs constrict, tighten, full of phlegm. My mouth tastes of ozone, a dry thunderstorm brewing behind my teeth.

I want to close my eyes, to sleep, to dream, to be in a place more fully realized than this humid swamp I wade through.

Family Secrets

My brother has rusty nuts. We are so close that I know these kinds of intimate details about him.

My aunt arrived Sunday from Austria. After bringing her home from the Philadelphia airport, we sat around the dining room table having snacks and drinks and just chatting.

My father closed the sliding glass door behind him.

My sister-in-law asked, “How does your door slide so smoothly and quietly?”

My mother, in her usual helpful manner said, “You must clean the runners every once in a while.”

As we always do and to my mother’s utter chagrin, we ignored her sage advice.

My sister-in-law said, “Stan* (my brother) won’t let me use WD-40 on the door.”

“WD-40 will just make the runners gummy and sticky,” says I. I know about these things. I’m so wise and learned.

“You need to use graphite,” my father tells her. “It’s good for loosening things, especially rusty nuts.”

I’m sure you know the rest of the story.

*Not his real name, because I don’t want him to kick my ass.

Friday News Flash

The results of a new study released today by the U.S. of A.’s Department of Wildlife says that there is a definite link between Communism and an epidemic of walking fish on the eastern seaboard.

“Fish are coming out of the ocean in droves,” says an unidentified official, who wishes to remain unidentified. “They walk right up onto the beach and confer in small groups briefly before heading into town.”

The unidentified official, John Burke, says that card carrying Communists and their sympathizers living in coastal towns along the Atlantic Ocean are telepathically calling the fish and inviting them to walk right into their homes, join in the meetings and become fellow comrades.

“We are on a definite recruiting campaign,” said one Communist who does not wish to be named because he believes people will think he’s a kook. “We do not discriminate against anyone. We are a brotherhood. We even have a marsupial who has been a member for two years now.”

While this reporter was interviewing for this report, several fish, perhaps they were Stripers or Sunnies, I’m not sure, walked right passed me, as plain as can be.

They neighbors seem to be taking things in stride.

“We don’t care what they do,” says one homeowner, “as long as they don’t leave the fish standing on the porch too long. The stench can be unbearable. And it has nothing to do with them being Communists.”

My Dirty Little Secret

I have a shameful weakness. I hide my dirty little secret in an old case that belonged to a man who traveled around Europe looking for work as a painter. My secret fits perfectly, its edges brushing against the sides of the case and blending with the paint splattered in colorful drops like blood dripping from a cut vein or dew pooling in morning tears. My secret fits the sadness that emanates from the case as failed dreams seep from a broken heart. The man, the original owner of the case, only achieved success as a painter of walls, dabbing false flowers to create false visions. His paintings languished in the darkness of the unknown and were buried in obscurity, unappreciated by the mouths he had to feed. Those mouths needed feeding and his soul needed feeding and there was never enough for both.

Potentates from the city clambered for his talent in creating gardens upon their walls, intricate petals and leaves twirling in perfect imitation of nature. He poured his being into their dining rooms and parlors, leaving himself imprinted on their walls, brushing his identity on their living spaces. Once he had demeaned himself for their pennies, he would fill up his empty spaces with beer and schnapps and go home to pour his venom into those gaping, needy holes; worms of worthlessness dropped into those bird-like mouths.

He’d stick around long enough to blanket them in their inherited worthlessness before fleeing to the mountains. He walked and hiked his anguish into those ancient rocks leaving behind that rotten core that spoiled the good things in his life. Once he was clean and fresh and he could breathe again, he would stand in the sunshine and paint. All things forgotten except his brush on canvas. As he covered the canvas, he became whole and he thought he could go on again.

And he did go on again. He created a legacy that repeated itself until his death and from beyond the grave in the behavior of his children who carried on his cycle of anonymous pain and brilliance and chaos and genius and fractured dreams. He created the case in which I lock the fire of my inspiration, hiding it from the air and my consciousness like a dirty little secret.

Pass It On

Update 4.28pm 6/11/07: I hate to write a disclaimer, because I thought what I was doing was self evident, but this would not be the first time I have been wrong (in my assumptions – I’m not ever really wrong-wrong; D) Just in case you do not know Ann Coulter, the following is an extreme parody of how she attacks her opponents and detractors. I do not expect anyone to believe me or take my word at face value. Her behavior, her comments and her writing are well documented. My purpose in writing the following was to point out the ridiculousness of this kind of behavior. If you wish to know more about her and her kind, whether right, left, liberal or conservative, they are out there for you to see for yourself. I’m not trying to convince you. Make up your own mind. I did.

I read at She’s a Real Mother that Ann Coulter is really a man who has had a sex change operation.

This does not surprise me in the least. She is a disgrace to womanhood and not because she has strong opinions. Strong women have strong opinions. No, I say she can not be a woman because she defends her opinions with outright lies and slanderous attacks on other people.

So, the alternative is that she is a man disguised as a woman. Of course, this insults all good men everywhere.

What is the alternative? I can only conclude that Ann Coulter must be a sexless alien from the planet Zarcon. Oh gosh, now I’m insulting aliens. Well at least I can say for sure she is not human.

Pass it on!

My Brush with Fame

The last time I had a date, the kids of the dot com generation were just specks in their parents’ eyes. My love life resembled a dried out old man; cantankerous, crotchety and exuding an undefinable musty smell. People looked at me with condolement and tears brimming in their eyes. In an effort to stop the pity parties being thrown in my honor by well meaning acquaintances intent upon ignoring the disasters in their own lives, I agreed to go on some blind dates. Most, as you can imagine, would have gone better if I had poked my own eyes out. One date, though, stands out in my memory with fondness and not a little bit of stupefaction.

The meet time was set for six o’clock at night on the second concourse food court at the local mall. I dressed to impress in my pressed and creased, stove pipe, blue jeans, salmon orange golf shirt and boat shoes, sans socks. I looked hot, mostly because the air conditioning in the mall stopped working about four hours earlier and still hadn’t been fixed. While the sweat dripping from my gelled hair took away some of my swagger, I looked around with faked confidence for my date.

I spotted her easily; her eight feet, six inch height thrusting up through the after-work crowd. Her big round eyes, azure dyed hair, red beads, red shoes and strapless, lime green dress created a vision I never thought to behold in real life. I anticipated an interesting evening.

After sharing an ice cream sundae, we strolled through the stores on the first floor. She showed me her keen shoplifting techniques, introducing me to a few hand and wrist moves I hadn’t seen before. She bet me I couldn’t pocket some Twinkies™ while standing right next to a security guard. I showed her that challenge was a piece of cake. When we passed by a music and video store, she looked longingly at a picture of Ringo Starr hanging in the display case. While she tried to fend off a Hare Krishna, I snuck in the store and bought her the poster. Even though she used the rolled up poster to beat the religious devotee back to the airport, I think she appreciated my thoughtfulness.

We both enjoyed our evening together, but decided it was best not to move forward with a relationship. Even if we could have gotten past our reality differences (me being human, she being a cartoon character) she still wanted to try to make her marriage work.

This I Made Better

Update: There's more silliness here if you want to look.

Look What I Made

A Modern Shakespeare

Compartments

I identify with serial killers. That they look normal and fit in so well with middle class America does not surprise me. For a while, I thought the way I compartmentalized my life and my thoughts was odd but it turns out that we all do it. The BTK Killer goes to church, Bill Clinton gets a blow job without having sex, an acquaintance kills her grandchild blaming drugs and her errant husband and announcing her pregnancy to the court and I pretend I give a shit each day.

Exhaustion seeps from my pores like six cloves of roasted garlic eaten at lunch. I sleep at night but my dreams feature Russian trains, babies that give me lessons in Zen meditation, a dragon that curls around my ankles and my house in an old oak tree. Between fascinating vignettes, I wake up from bizarre flutterings in my arms, a pulled muscle in my neck and charlie horses trampling up my thighs.

These people down the street from my house keep blocking the sidewalk with their trash cans, branches from their backyard and their annoying existence. Neighbors on the corner keep all of their windows open and yell at each other and their dogs to shut up. I would so love to be able to snap my fingers and poof, they would be gone, never to trouble me again, but I believe in letting people be themselves.

When a cranky old man takes possession of your mind you should do your best to hide it and not parade the fact on the internet for the world to point at you and whisper behind their hands.

Say What? Wednesday

I dragged myself from my car. I repeated over and over again the mantra, “Just place one foot in front of the other for a few steps.”

I hoped a touch of nature would cure the bout of blues that inflicted misery on me and the people around me. I hated the dull fog that settled in my mind. I walked, barely lifting each foot to clear the ground. I raised my head.

The wind tingled through the new born leaves on the trees playing with the brilliant sunshine to create a natural lace of young green contrasted with deep shadows. The trunks stood out against a clear baby blue sky not even burdened with the fluffiest of clouds. Air, so clear and clean that birdsong flew around the park faster than the robins that vocalized the tunes, clarified the colors and cleansed the palate. Lily pads shaded bass, pike and perch that hid from herons that skipped across the surface of the pond, dragging their toes through the ripples and disturbing the ducks and geese resting in the water. The scene conjured an impressionist painting perfectly in focus and crisply drawn; the ideal bucolic setting to revive the senses and lift the hammer of depression pounding down on me.

The knots in my neck loosed themselves; the kinks and tangles smoothed out. I immersed myself in the peace of the afternoon until the fingernail screech of the man who whined and cried into his cell phone careened across the lake and slammed into my psyche. He destroyed my feeble grasp on sanity.

Note to self: Invent a bubble head spell that I can aim at people who talk within my hearing. Make the available air in the spherical space limited.


See my Wordless Wednesday picture at Wings Unfolding.

It's All About Nessa

I got this from Bazza; looked fun. You have eight things to put behind your name like “needs”, “is”, “wants.” You take your name and one of the them like “John is” and Google it. Put the results here.


1. Nessa “needs”…LOL @ Nessa...It's not cool that so many of us have crappy jobs. *giggles* Personally I think everyone with the name of Vanessa or Nessa needs to be crowned ...

2. Nessa “is”…Nessa is a versatile guitarist, composer and performing artist who merges elements of the past and present from classical, flamenco, jazz and funk to create ...

3. Nessa “likes”…♥Nessa. 0 Uploads 0 Articles 50 Likes 0 Comments. nessa hasn't uploaded anything yet! nessa hasn't written any articles yet!

4. Nessa “wamts”…Nessa hisses -- she's his mother, and knows what's best for him. "Mother, you sound jealous," he tells her, and Nessa wants to know where he got a silly ...
5. Nessa “gets”…Nessa gets a party and cries 'cause she wants to.

6. Nessa “says”…Nessa says:. i wish that were so. i have four broad topics: tecnology, the doctor's office, parties, and my daily routine and my prof is going to choose one ...

7. Nessa “does”…Nessa does! Love Craft

8. Nessa “eats”…"Ba 'nessa eats haht dawg and spa gettaaz"

Each of these was the first hit that came up.

I PASSED!

I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed, I passed!


I want to thank you all for your support, kind words, encouragement and funniness. The ice cubes in my Gin and Tonic are giggling hysterically and the lime is dancing in circles. I must go join them.

PS. Gender reassignment before and after photos to follow shortly.

I Can't Breathe

Hi, everyone.

Thank you for all of your visits and your comments. April has turned out to be a very busy time for me. I have many tasks I must get done by the end of the month, top of the list being studying for my H/R Certification so I can add some letters to my name. Plus there are holidays and tons of birthdays and working 50 hours a week and other stuff.

My cert test is May 1st. I must ration my time here until I have taken my test, then I can come back and play. I miss you all and hope you are well. You are just too much fun for me to pay attention to right now.

Love,

Nessa

Top Ten Interview Don'ts

1. Don’t show up to an interview dressed in the clothes you wore to muck out the barn. Big rubber boots covered in horse poop will not get you a job in an office.

2. Don’t show up in a mini skirt with thigh high stockings and five inch heels, unless of course you are looking to work in a Gentlemen’s Club.

3. Don’t show up in sandals, jeans with holes at the knees and split below your butt cheeks and with a t-shirt that advertises you are free and easy. I think I figured it out.

4. Don’t show up in the same clothes you wore last night. Try taking a shower and combing your hair. Oh, and make sure your shirt is right side out.

5. Don’t tell me your boyfriend continues to stalk you from state to state and threatens you with a gun. Don’t add that you continue to speak to him each night on the phone because he loves you so much.

6. Don’t list for me all of the medications you are taking. While I can be sympathetic on occasion, it’s best not to tell me how you thought about killing your baby, yourself or strangers on the street.

7. Don’t tell me you handle stressful situations by having a drink, having a cigarette, having God take care of it or having a fit.

8. Don’t tell me you got fired from your last job because they didn’t understand you have a weak bladder and need to go to the bathroom every half hour.

9. Don’t tell me you need a job for the health insurance because you are pregnant again and you hope they will let you keep this one.

10. Don’t tell me how you have met all of your spouses online and that you need next Tuesday off to finalize your current divorce.

Make A Wish Come True

Swampwitch pointed out that Shane Bernier, a very sick seven year old boy, would like millions of birthday cards for his eighth birthday, which is May 30, 2007. Take the time to make his wish come true and then spread the word.

Video One – 3 minutes

Video Two – 1 ½ minutes

Video Three – 1 minute

Mail your cards to:

Shane Bernier
P.O. Box 484
Lancasater, Ontario
KOC 1NO
Canada

Alban Eilir

It's the first day of Spring. There will be more sunlight. Alban Eilir Click on the pictures to enlarge.

Public Service Announcement

I placed an ad for a Customer Service Representative position I need filled here at work. Reviewing resumes gives me chest pains because people are idiots. Here are some pointers for anyone who may be looking for a job and submitting resumes:

Use spell and grammar check. There is no excuse for any spelling mistakes or using two when you meant too or to. i is always capitalized, as in, I can’t believe the mistakes on some resumes.

When I ask for your salary requirement, please give me a dollar figure. Don’t say it’s negotiable or ignore the request all together. I have a budget. There is no point in our talking if my budget is $12.00 - $14.00 per hour and you want $19.00 per hour. You can’t negotiate that big of a difference.

If you are going to use an email address, please get a business-like one. If I see your email address on a resume is hot mama, satan’s dog, tiny tina or big bad bill, I’m going to assume you are looking for a different type of job. Email addresses are free. Do yourself a favor and get one that just has your initials and use that for job hunting.

Please stop telling me you are a team-player, a self-starter, a go-getter, a people-person, a multi-tasker. You have “strong customer service relations?” Do you sleep with your customers? I want to know specific job skills.

If you are computer proficient why can’t you format your resume properly when sending it via e-mail?

Strange background pictures, broken sentences, odd characters, all capital letters, weird bolding and italizing in sentences: these things are like pink paper and perfume. They are no-no’s.

If you are looking for a job as an insurance underwriter, legal office assistant, computer programmer, medical receptionist, graphics designer, bookkeeper, sales manager, or anything other than a customer service representative in my business, don’t send me your resume. I am looking for a customer service representative in my business, just like I said in my ad. Read the friggin’ ad.

I put my name in the ad. It is clearly a female name. Do not address your cover letter to me as, Dear Sir.

A resume objective is a place for you to tell me how you can help me. I don’t care if you want to grow. I don’t care if you want advancement. You want to secure a rewarding position? Well, duh, who would want a position that is not rewarding? But, what has any of this to do with what you can do for me?

Don’t make handwritten changes to your resume. Take the time to make the changes on a computer. Computer use is free at most libraries. Don’t tell me you wanted to get me your resume, as soon as possible, so you don’t miss out on an opportunity or because you are perfect for the job.

Don’t be cute. Don’t call yourself a “Domestic Goddess.” Don’t say you were “out finding yourself” when you were on unemployment. As a matter of fact, if you feel compelled to use quotation marks on your resume, leave the item off.

Keep your resume to one page. Make your name smaller or your margins smaller or your sentences shorter, but somehow stick to one page.

I don’t care about your hobbies, unless they directly reflect on job skills. As a matter of fact, some peoples’ hobbies scare the living shit out of me.