I'm an introvert. But I'm an odd introvert. I have zero issues with being shy. Like none. I am not one bit shy. I don't embarrass easily. I don't mind people looking at me. Or even laughing at me. I dance in public spaces. I laugh loudly at jokes. I sit up front at seminars and in classrooms. I am one of those annoying people who will butt into a conversation in public if I have what I think is helpful information.
That is what the title of this blog is about. Monday when Brent and I came home from Las Vegas we stopped at Blue Star in the airport for a donut (it was a holiday, sugar is totally allowed on holidays). While we were sitting there I overheard a woman talking to one of the workers about the lack of apple fritters and if there would be some soon. They had pear lavender fritters that day. I'm sure they were lovely for people who aren't allergic to lavender but I had felt her disappointment because I had also hoped for an apple fritter. They make the best apple fritters. BUT...I also knew something I thought would be helpful information. So I butted in. I always apologize for eavesdropping, not because I'm actually sorry I heard people talking, I mean you're in public talking assume people are listening...but because it's polite and I cannot abide by rudeness. ANYWAY...I had just read an article about Blue Star buying a new space where they could have a bigger bakery and one of the things they were going to do was always have apple fritters along with a specialty flavor. So I shared this bit of information then went back to my table.
Brent was like, "this is why people talk to you. It's your own fault." And well, yeah, sometimes. BUT not always. I mean people will come up to me and download their entire life story and I'm just sitting there. Though he points out I'm not just sitting there. I have a very open aspect about my personality. And I am rarely rude to people when they start talking to me. I've written about that before. I have no idea what their day has been like, maybe I am the only person they will talk to all day. Maybe they are dying for some human interaction. It won't hurt me to give them 15 minutes of my attention and it just might make a huge difference for them. So I'm not rude.
This was also following the cab ride we had in Vegas where the driver told us all about her life and her grandkids and how she does whatever the fuck she wants with them and gets around the rules her daughter sets by following the letter of the law but not the spirit, like she doesn't feed them cotton candy but will give them donuts...and on and on and on...It was quite the ride. But I made friendly noises at her while she talked. Because I didn't want to be rude to the person driving us someplace, that could end up a nasty ride, and also because it costs me nothing. Brent was like, short answers, no eye contact, headphones or phone. Which never works for me anyway. Seriously. I can get on a plane put on headphones and open my Kindle and the person next to me will still want to engage in a conversation.
I have friendly face syndrome. I've talked about this, I call it FFS. Because it makes me laugh. FFS people stop talking to me!
But I'm still an introvert. Even as social as I appear and as much as it doesn't bug me.
I'm just an odd introvert.
Crowds drain me. Like I can physically feel the difference if I've been in a crowd all day. I am exhausted by the end. Big groups where I have to be social toward everyone make me want to curl up in a ball for a week to recoup. It's like all of my energy is being syphoned off by these people. I have friends who the bigger the crowd the better, the more people to interact with the greater the energy. And I'm like, yeah, no. Can we just go home now?
But get me with one or two or three people and I will hold court. We can talk about everything and I will be engaging and interested and focused on you and thrilled to be around you....right up until I'm done and then I'm like, Gotta go! Thanks!
So yeah, I'm an odd introvert. I have FFS. I will chat with you even if I don't know you because I'm hopeful that what I'm telling you is helpful to you or that you will feel better because you talked to someone. Maybe I'm just an introvert with an overly inflated sense of do gooderism? My feelings of needing to help are greater than my feeling of leave me alone, okay? Maybe.
I want to help.
I want to make a positive impact.
I want to share knowledge that I have that might make a difference in your life.
I do not want to be rude.
I also just want to read while I'm on the plane so please don't think that just because Brent is napping or I'm travelling alone that I want to chat with you, mmmkay?
And yes, I know, it's usually my own fault.
Thursday, May 31, 2018
Wednesday, May 30, 2018
Draft...
I'm down to the last two May blogs. I have a rant in my head but I don't really want to write it out. It's tied to yesterday's blog and my status update and I just don't feel like giving it more attention. I might end up doing it anyway, because that happens sometimes. Things get lodged up in there and won't make room for anything else until they are written.
And then there are the other things. I have WIP (work in progress) folders on my desk for short stories and longer stories that have been started but never went anywhere. Those are the things that actually get edited and rewritten and worked on to get a little more polish to them. The submittables. My blog is normally the write, read, post, fix a typo when someone sends me an email pointing it out.
Usually.
But I have 9 draft posts here as well. Things that were started but not posted. Two were things I wrote and then when I read them before posting thought, "Yeah, this is too personal for even me." A few were things that were obviously just ideas and I wrote them as loose notes on the blog instead of in my little notebook like normal. One I just couldn't figure out how to do the format style I wanted to do. I still think it would be a really clever story, just beyond my and my blogs formatting abilities. And there are two that are full fledged starts to short stories. One of them I really like the beginning. I remember writing it and then sitting back and asking out loud, "And then what?" because there is a moment of SOMETHING but nothing after it. What in the world was going to happen? Where was my mind going before just stopping?
I read it again today, fixed a typo, re-saved it to drafts so now it looks like I wrote it today instead of 8 years ago. Eight years ago. I'm trying to remember where I was going with a story that I started 8 years ago.
The other fairly interesting thing is how my style has changed a bit over the years. For one these characters have names. They actually have two full names each! And another character that pops in has a name. And the people they interacted with have names! NAMES! Crazy...but even without that there is just something different in the tone and voice. I have a really strong voice when I write. Obviously in the nonfiction. When you read what I am writing you are listening to me talk. I "sound" the same on paper as I do in real life. Some people don't. They have a different speech pattern than writing style. I blend both. I use commas and periods and ellipses to try and get my pauses and stutters in on paper. It's why my grammar sucks so badly. (that's my story and I'm sticking to it) But not just in nonfiction, in fiction as well.
I have a style. You know that most of my stories are going to be a little sideways. I try not to twist every story because I want you to be surprised when it happens, but you never really trust what I'm writing to be "true" until you get to the end. I like writing things that surprise even me. The story I was reading this morning is kind of a twist at the beginning. It's a setup that you are in on from the start. Then something else happens and that's where I stopped. What was it? Was it going to be a double reverse twist? Was there a dead person just waiting to make their appearance? I don't know. Partly because it's not as strongly my voice as what I write now. It's like reading something by someone who writes sort of like me, but not exactly.
It was interesting.
And of course now I'm trying to think of where to take that story. Because I do like the beginning. It's odd, in that it's not exactly like me, but it's kind of interesting. And I think there could be a fun story waiting to finish up there. Or maybe a terrifying one. Who knows...
I am hopeful that it doesn't just sit there for 8 more years collecting virtual dust before I figure it out.
And now I only need one more blog for the month of May...whew!
And then there are the other things. I have WIP (work in progress) folders on my desk for short stories and longer stories that have been started but never went anywhere. Those are the things that actually get edited and rewritten and worked on to get a little more polish to them. The submittables. My blog is normally the write, read, post, fix a typo when someone sends me an email pointing it out.
Usually.
But I have 9 draft posts here as well. Things that were started but not posted. Two were things I wrote and then when I read them before posting thought, "Yeah, this is too personal for even me." A few were things that were obviously just ideas and I wrote them as loose notes on the blog instead of in my little notebook like normal. One I just couldn't figure out how to do the format style I wanted to do. I still think it would be a really clever story, just beyond my and my blogs formatting abilities. And there are two that are full fledged starts to short stories. One of them I really like the beginning. I remember writing it and then sitting back and asking out loud, "And then what?" because there is a moment of SOMETHING but nothing after it. What in the world was going to happen? Where was my mind going before just stopping?
I read it again today, fixed a typo, re-saved it to drafts so now it looks like I wrote it today instead of 8 years ago. Eight years ago. I'm trying to remember where I was going with a story that I started 8 years ago.
The other fairly interesting thing is how my style has changed a bit over the years. For one these characters have names. They actually have two full names each! And another character that pops in has a name. And the people they interacted with have names! NAMES! Crazy...but even without that there is just something different in the tone and voice. I have a really strong voice when I write. Obviously in the nonfiction. When you read what I am writing you are listening to me talk. I "sound" the same on paper as I do in real life. Some people don't. They have a different speech pattern than writing style. I blend both. I use commas and periods and ellipses to try and get my pauses and stutters in on paper. It's why my grammar sucks so badly. (that's my story and I'm sticking to it) But not just in nonfiction, in fiction as well.
I have a style. You know that most of my stories are going to be a little sideways. I try not to twist every story because I want you to be surprised when it happens, but you never really trust what I'm writing to be "true" until you get to the end. I like writing things that surprise even me. The story I was reading this morning is kind of a twist at the beginning. It's a setup that you are in on from the start. Then something else happens and that's where I stopped. What was it? Was it going to be a double reverse twist? Was there a dead person just waiting to make their appearance? I don't know. Partly because it's not as strongly my voice as what I write now. It's like reading something by someone who writes sort of like me, but not exactly.
It was interesting.
And of course now I'm trying to think of where to take that story. Because I do like the beginning. It's odd, in that it's not exactly like me, but it's kind of interesting. And I think there could be a fun story waiting to finish up there. Or maybe a terrifying one. Who knows...
I am hopeful that it doesn't just sit there for 8 more years collecting virtual dust before I figure it out.
And now I only need one more blog for the month of May...whew!
Tuesday, May 29, 2018
Consequences...
No, I'm not done talking about this, so if you want to tell me to stop you can just move along right now...
Roseanne (the TV show) was cancelled today because Roseanne the titular star went on a tweet spree that capped with a racist one about Valerie Jarrett. ABC said, "Oh hell no, this isn't us..." and cancelled the show. Of course I am full of cynicism about it because this is who she is. They knew that. They had to address it in press conferences when they rebooted the show, the whole "She's going to say or do something what are you going to do then?" Line of questioning. Which was met mainly with "Roseanne gonna Roseanne you know?"
And then the first night released and it was BOFFO! BIG TIME! RATINGS BONANZA! DOLLA DOLLA BILLS, Y'ALL! President is tweeting and calling and taking credit in campaign rally speeches (to which Roseanne was like, Oh no...thanks for the support Big Don but THIS IS ALL ME!)
So the network felt pretty smug about their decision. This was genius. Second season renewal! BAM!
Then the next week it was a little less genius.
And a little less genius.
And then at the finale it was 43% fewer viewers genius.
But still the network had to be fairly happy, right?
Guess not.
Because what Roseanne tweeted was racist and vile and not the first time she's gone to the black women as ape comparison. They knew. You know they knew. You know it was someone's job to scour all of her old tweets to be prepared for what might come. Like when she got ahead of the whole Hitler costume baking little children cookies. What a HILARIOUS joke that was and if you couldn't see that it was a HILARIOUS joke you're just a snowflake that doesn't understand satire. Or the whole PizzaGate conspiracy theory stuff, if we can't have differences in opinions we are all lost, 9/11 was an inside job belief, Oh come on you know she's just quirky...
Anyway...
They knew is what I'm saying. The people working with her knew, the writers knews, the crew knew, they all knew. ABC knew. It was always just a matter of time before the ratings weren't going to be good enough to ignore who she is.
It just came sooner than expected. And sure, I feel badly for the number of people who are out of work, except you knew. You knew who she was when you signed on. So...
And I feel a little badly for Roseanne in the abstract because she's finding out what so many others have, Trump gets away with all of this shit and you don't. Somehow he does not face consequences for his actions he just makes up bolder and brasher lies and his base eats that shit up. You, you don't get to do that. You have to face consequences.
So yeah, I'm pleased that ABC did the right thing even though I'm really cynical about their reasons. I'm glad that somebody out there faces consequences for their actions. I'm glad that she didn't just get to scream about FAKE NEWS! WITCH HUNT! NO COLLUSION! and walk away with people nodding behind her, fake news...witch hunt...no collusion...(By the way, five guilty pleas, 19 indictments, it's not a witch hunt, it's a hunt where there's bears to be hunt situation)
So today I'm glad that there are still consequences out there. Let's hope that sometime soon it makes it all the way to the White House. REAL NEWS! BEAR HUNT! POSSIBLY COLLUSION! DEFINITELY OBSTRUCTION! HE FUCKING ADMITTED IT ON NATIONAL TELEVISION! COME ON!
Roseanne (the TV show) was cancelled today because Roseanne the titular star went on a tweet spree that capped with a racist one about Valerie Jarrett. ABC said, "Oh hell no, this isn't us..." and cancelled the show. Of course I am full of cynicism about it because this is who she is. They knew that. They had to address it in press conferences when they rebooted the show, the whole "She's going to say or do something what are you going to do then?" Line of questioning. Which was met mainly with "Roseanne gonna Roseanne you know?"
And then the first night released and it was BOFFO! BIG TIME! RATINGS BONANZA! DOLLA DOLLA BILLS, Y'ALL! President is tweeting and calling and taking credit in campaign rally speeches (to which Roseanne was like, Oh no...thanks for the support Big Don but THIS IS ALL ME!)
So the network felt pretty smug about their decision. This was genius. Second season renewal! BAM!
Then the next week it was a little less genius.
And a little less genius.
And then at the finale it was 43% fewer viewers genius.
But still the network had to be fairly happy, right?
Guess not.
Because what Roseanne tweeted was racist and vile and not the first time she's gone to the black women as ape comparison. They knew. You know they knew. You know it was someone's job to scour all of her old tweets to be prepared for what might come. Like when she got ahead of the whole Hitler costume baking little children cookies. What a HILARIOUS joke that was and if you couldn't see that it was a HILARIOUS joke you're just a snowflake that doesn't understand satire. Or the whole PizzaGate conspiracy theory stuff, if we can't have differences in opinions we are all lost, 9/11 was an inside job belief, Oh come on you know she's just quirky...
Anyway...
They knew is what I'm saying. The people working with her knew, the writers knews, the crew knew, they all knew. ABC knew. It was always just a matter of time before the ratings weren't going to be good enough to ignore who she is.
It just came sooner than expected. And sure, I feel badly for the number of people who are out of work, except you knew. You knew who she was when you signed on. So...
And I feel a little badly for Roseanne in the abstract because she's finding out what so many others have, Trump gets away with all of this shit and you don't. Somehow he does not face consequences for his actions he just makes up bolder and brasher lies and his base eats that shit up. You, you don't get to do that. You have to face consequences.
So yeah, I'm pleased that ABC did the right thing even though I'm really cynical about their reasons. I'm glad that somebody out there faces consequences for their actions. I'm glad that she didn't just get to scream about FAKE NEWS! WITCH HUNT! NO COLLUSION! and walk away with people nodding behind her, fake news...witch hunt...no collusion...(By the way, five guilty pleas, 19 indictments, it's not a witch hunt, it's a hunt where there's bears to be hunt situation)
So today I'm glad that there are still consequences out there. Let's hope that sometime soon it makes it all the way to the White House. REAL NEWS! BEAR HUNT! POSSIBLY COLLUSION! DEFINITELY OBSTRUCTION! HE FUCKING ADMITTED IT ON NATIONAL TELEVISION! COME ON!
Monday, May 28, 2018
Vegas, Baby!
Well that delayed posting thing while I was gone worked really well except there wasn't an automatic notice for me this morning telling me the blog for the day was posted. Bummer...
Quick dash to Las Vegas this weekend at the last minute trip is in the books. It all started on Monday or Tuesday when Brent sent me a note from Chicago (he was traveling for work) on the cost of tickets to Vegas. We had been talking about trying to get tickets to a hockey game. For those of you living under a hockey free rock, the Las Vegas Golden Knights are playing for the Stanley Cup in their very first year as a hockey franchise. This is a huge freaking deal. And all year long the Knights have put on an amazing show along with great games. So we really wanted to try and catch a game and with the long weekend it seemed perfect. Except they decided to start the series on Monday not Sunday so we weren't going to be able to spend and arm and leg for a couple of tickets and go...
Then Brent tempted me with Hawaii and I realized he really needed a weekend away. I am not good at last minute stuff. I know most of you are SHOCKED at this news. I am a planner. I am an adjuster. Spur of the moment, while almost always fun once you are there, never seems like a good idea to me before it happens. But I realized I was just being weird and a trip away for the long weekend would be fun, and really, Vegas would be something to see even without hockey so why not?
Brent hadn't been in around 25 years. I haven't been in about 10. I used to go a LOT for work. A few trips a year. But traveling for work is totally different than traveling for fun. So off to Vegas we went.
So here is the other SHOCKING part for you all. I don't really gamble and I don't drink a lot. The joys of Vegas have generally been lost on me. I'm a decent poker player and I did win enough money playing Blackjack to pay for my massage table and my massage chair when I was in school. BUT...that comes with a huge caveat. The table was playing for me. Hit here, stay here, hit, stay, split, double down. When every player at the table is telling you what to do and you get a little luck streak going it's much easier. I also knew exactly how much I needed and tucked it away and walked away. Normally I would "play" craps on business trips. Stand at the table with my clients and put a chip on the pass/no pass line and play for hours on about $20, that's what I can handle. I hate losing money.
So what did we do since we didn't drink a lot or gamble? We walked around and looked at everything on The Strip. Well pretty much everything. We didn't do the side jaunts to the Rio or The Palms and we didn't make it all the way to Mandalay, but we wandered through most of the other bigs. We also saw Carrot Top. He gets very little respect from the comedy world, prop comic is to stand-up like puns are to satire I guess. But as I love puns as well I've always thought he was funny. And he was. I laughed pretty much constantly. I will say you could leave offended by at least a half dozen of his jokes, take your pick which ones, but if you take it all as comedy and lighten up a bit it's as a whole a very enjoyable night. I didn't laugh at everything, I cringed at a couple of things, but I laughed more than I didn't and I laughed more at his set than I did at Jerry Seinfeld's and the tickets were much less expensive so there is that as well.
We walked down The Strip after the show to take it all of the lights as well. It's really something to see. Of course The Strip during the day was something to see as well. On work trips we used to say that people have a Vegas Wardrobe. That corner of the closet that housed outfits they would only wear in Vegas. The cut down to here and up to there dresses. Well, work trips generally happened in the Fall and Winter, being there when it was warm was something else entirely. People were just walking around in their barely bathing suits with a see through cover up. Lots of thongs and triangles. So much T&A and we didn't even have to pay for the show. Brent and I were trying to decide the difference between body confidence and total lack of shame. Because there were some people that should indeed have body confidence, they looked great. And there were others that just had no shame.
We also went to the Mob Museum, which was interesting but I really thought it would be more about the Mob in Vegas specifically and it really seemed like they wanted to shift the focus on Chicago then, and organized crime in other parts of the world now. Which, in a way, is a very American thing to do. Bring up a crime problem and people want to shout, WHAT ABOUT CHICAGO? Mmmhmmm... But I did learn something new about how the mob ended up really focusing on Vegas so any trip to a museum that lends itself to learning something new is a good trip to a museum. (basically putting the squeeze on illegal gambling in bigger cities led the Mob to set up shop in the only city where it was legal)
We also went to the Neon Graveyard. I had wanted to go there for ages. A friend of mine did a photo shoot there a few years ago and it looked amazing. The night time access was all sold out and they don't just let you in to wander around anymore so I was stuck with a daytime guided tour, but that's better than nothing. When I download the photos from my camera I'm optimistic that there will be some nice shots on there. I also learned a few new things, so we know it was a good trip.
Then we hit up The Fremont Street Experience, and yes, yes it was. When we went 25 years ago, downtown was just downtown. The gambling was a little better than on The Strip because table limits we lower and the slots were a bit looser. Now they've covered the street and do a show on the ceiling. I described Fremont as what would happen if The Strip did acid. It was crazy. The people were wild, and trust me they had a lot to top. There were a lot of buskers and most of them were lacking a bit in talent. There was one guy whose entire act was him in a jockstrap with a lumpy stuffed sock and a very small dildo covering his penis while he "played" electric guitar. He was rocking out with his cock out...And then there were the barely clothed men and women who would pose for pictures with you for a small fee. And the Times Squaresque people in cheap costumes also willing to pose for pictures for cash.
We also saw the Stanley Cup! Woo! We've seen it a few times, I was even in Toronto during a Hall of Fame weekend and posed with the cup there. But it's still the Stanley Cup and as a hockey fan you just are so excited to see it and be near it and feel the history radiate off of it. I got a great picture of Phil Pritchard giving side eye to someone who wanted to see the "show girl" again when I asked Phil to pose with the cup for me. See, here's the thing, the way to know that you are looking at THE Stanley Cup is if Phil is with it. He's the Keeper of the Cup. So a picture with Phil is a picture of the real deal. I'll forgive Vegas fans for not knowing yet, but they better learn. Their story is a great one, but hockey has a lot of great stories.
Overall impressions, still can't stand being in the casinos for long without a headache. Indoor smoking is blech. Now though there is the added bonus of weed being legal so people outside are smoking pot. And because they don't want to spend all of their money on weed they are buying really skunky shit. The headache for two days was real. Smoke inside and out. Bleh.
People, people, people, don't bring your little kids to Vegas. It is not for kids. Really. The entertainment is for adults. The atmosphere is for adults. The hangovers are not conducive to young children running and screaming down the halls. It's okay, Vegas will be there when they are older. You can come then. Or let them stay with their grandparents. Really, an adult weekend away will be much more fun than trying to navigate a stroller down Las Vegas Boulevard, or explaining to Johnny why there are pictures of naked ladies all over the ground. It's just not for kids. And yes, I'm judging you. So is everyone else here without kids.
And here is one for our pilot this morning. He gave an overly long welcome aboard speech where he touched on Memorial Day by asking any Veterans on the plane to raise their hands, then talked about the ultimate sacrifice we honor on Memorial Day and calling for a round of applause to thank them. Just a note, don't ask for people to applaud for dead soldiers. It's not appropriate. We mourn them, we honor them, we respect them, but we don't clap for dead soldiers. AND yes, wearing your seatbelt at all times is a thing we should do but don't point out that the plane we are on is the EXACT SAME TYPE as the Southwest plane that just lost a window and a passenger lost her life. One, she had her seatbelt on, it's why she wasn't sucked completely out of the plane, and two WE DON'T WANT TO THINK ABOUT THE WINDOWS BLOWING OUT ON THE PLANE! It was a crazy preflight announcement.
And let me tell you a 6 AM flight out of Vegas is an odd one. Fully half of the passengers hadn't yet slept off the drunk from the night before and in the two hours it took to get home the plane soaked up the stench of alcohol and smoke seeping out of everyone. I cannot imagine how much the flight crew hates that flight...phew....
I picked up money at the bank on Friday before we left and came home with all of it so we broke even. Which is always the goal right? Sure, sure, it's easier when you don't bet any but over all it was a good, if not traditional trip, to Vegas. And we walked 26+ miles so I'm not even feeling guilty over the two missed trips to the gym and the ice cream and drinks we had. Now I just need sleep. Thin walls, late nights and early mornings...Viva...
Quick dash to Las Vegas this weekend at the last minute trip is in the books. It all started on Monday or Tuesday when Brent sent me a note from Chicago (he was traveling for work) on the cost of tickets to Vegas. We had been talking about trying to get tickets to a hockey game. For those of you living under a hockey free rock, the Las Vegas Golden Knights are playing for the Stanley Cup in their very first year as a hockey franchise. This is a huge freaking deal. And all year long the Knights have put on an amazing show along with great games. So we really wanted to try and catch a game and with the long weekend it seemed perfect. Except they decided to start the series on Monday not Sunday so we weren't going to be able to spend and arm and leg for a couple of tickets and go...
Then Brent tempted me with Hawaii and I realized he really needed a weekend away. I am not good at last minute stuff. I know most of you are SHOCKED at this news. I am a planner. I am an adjuster. Spur of the moment, while almost always fun once you are there, never seems like a good idea to me before it happens. But I realized I was just being weird and a trip away for the long weekend would be fun, and really, Vegas would be something to see even without hockey so why not?
Brent hadn't been in around 25 years. I haven't been in about 10. I used to go a LOT for work. A few trips a year. But traveling for work is totally different than traveling for fun. So off to Vegas we went.
So here is the other SHOCKING part for you all. I don't really gamble and I don't drink a lot. The joys of Vegas have generally been lost on me. I'm a decent poker player and I did win enough money playing Blackjack to pay for my massage table and my massage chair when I was in school. BUT...that comes with a huge caveat. The table was playing for me. Hit here, stay here, hit, stay, split, double down. When every player at the table is telling you what to do and you get a little luck streak going it's much easier. I also knew exactly how much I needed and tucked it away and walked away. Normally I would "play" craps on business trips. Stand at the table with my clients and put a chip on the pass/no pass line and play for hours on about $20, that's what I can handle. I hate losing money.
So what did we do since we didn't drink a lot or gamble? We walked around and looked at everything on The Strip. Well pretty much everything. We didn't do the side jaunts to the Rio or The Palms and we didn't make it all the way to Mandalay, but we wandered through most of the other bigs. We also saw Carrot Top. He gets very little respect from the comedy world, prop comic is to stand-up like puns are to satire I guess. But as I love puns as well I've always thought he was funny. And he was. I laughed pretty much constantly. I will say you could leave offended by at least a half dozen of his jokes, take your pick which ones, but if you take it all as comedy and lighten up a bit it's as a whole a very enjoyable night. I didn't laugh at everything, I cringed at a couple of things, but I laughed more than I didn't and I laughed more at his set than I did at Jerry Seinfeld's and the tickets were much less expensive so there is that as well.
We walked down The Strip after the show to take it all of the lights as well. It's really something to see. Of course The Strip during the day was something to see as well. On work trips we used to say that people have a Vegas Wardrobe. That corner of the closet that housed outfits they would only wear in Vegas. The cut down to here and up to there dresses. Well, work trips generally happened in the Fall and Winter, being there when it was warm was something else entirely. People were just walking around in their barely bathing suits with a see through cover up. Lots of thongs and triangles. So much T&A and we didn't even have to pay for the show. Brent and I were trying to decide the difference between body confidence and total lack of shame. Because there were some people that should indeed have body confidence, they looked great. And there were others that just had no shame.
We also went to the Mob Museum, which was interesting but I really thought it would be more about the Mob in Vegas specifically and it really seemed like they wanted to shift the focus on Chicago then, and organized crime in other parts of the world now. Which, in a way, is a very American thing to do. Bring up a crime problem and people want to shout, WHAT ABOUT CHICAGO? Mmmhmmm... But I did learn something new about how the mob ended up really focusing on Vegas so any trip to a museum that lends itself to learning something new is a good trip to a museum. (basically putting the squeeze on illegal gambling in bigger cities led the Mob to set up shop in the only city where it was legal)
We also went to the Neon Graveyard. I had wanted to go there for ages. A friend of mine did a photo shoot there a few years ago and it looked amazing. The night time access was all sold out and they don't just let you in to wander around anymore so I was stuck with a daytime guided tour, but that's better than nothing. When I download the photos from my camera I'm optimistic that there will be some nice shots on there. I also learned a few new things, so we know it was a good trip.
Then we hit up The Fremont Street Experience, and yes, yes it was. When we went 25 years ago, downtown was just downtown. The gambling was a little better than on The Strip because table limits we lower and the slots were a bit looser. Now they've covered the street and do a show on the ceiling. I described Fremont as what would happen if The Strip did acid. It was crazy. The people were wild, and trust me they had a lot to top. There were a lot of buskers and most of them were lacking a bit in talent. There was one guy whose entire act was him in a jockstrap with a lumpy stuffed sock and a very small dildo covering his penis while he "played" electric guitar. He was rocking out with his cock out...And then there were the barely clothed men and women who would pose for pictures with you for a small fee. And the Times Squaresque people in cheap costumes also willing to pose for pictures for cash.
We also saw the Stanley Cup! Woo! We've seen it a few times, I was even in Toronto during a Hall of Fame weekend and posed with the cup there. But it's still the Stanley Cup and as a hockey fan you just are so excited to see it and be near it and feel the history radiate off of it. I got a great picture of Phil Pritchard giving side eye to someone who wanted to see the "show girl" again when I asked Phil to pose with the cup for me. See, here's the thing, the way to know that you are looking at THE Stanley Cup is if Phil is with it. He's the Keeper of the Cup. So a picture with Phil is a picture of the real deal. I'll forgive Vegas fans for not knowing yet, but they better learn. Their story is a great one, but hockey has a lot of great stories.
Overall impressions, still can't stand being in the casinos for long without a headache. Indoor smoking is blech. Now though there is the added bonus of weed being legal so people outside are smoking pot. And because they don't want to spend all of their money on weed they are buying really skunky shit. The headache for two days was real. Smoke inside and out. Bleh.
People, people, people, don't bring your little kids to Vegas. It is not for kids. Really. The entertainment is for adults. The atmosphere is for adults. The hangovers are not conducive to young children running and screaming down the halls. It's okay, Vegas will be there when they are older. You can come then. Or let them stay with their grandparents. Really, an adult weekend away will be much more fun than trying to navigate a stroller down Las Vegas Boulevard, or explaining to Johnny why there are pictures of naked ladies all over the ground. It's just not for kids. And yes, I'm judging you. So is everyone else here without kids.
And here is one for our pilot this morning. He gave an overly long welcome aboard speech where he touched on Memorial Day by asking any Veterans on the plane to raise their hands, then talked about the ultimate sacrifice we honor on Memorial Day and calling for a round of applause to thank them. Just a note, don't ask for people to applaud for dead soldiers. It's not appropriate. We mourn them, we honor them, we respect them, but we don't clap for dead soldiers. AND yes, wearing your seatbelt at all times is a thing we should do but don't point out that the plane we are on is the EXACT SAME TYPE as the Southwest plane that just lost a window and a passenger lost her life. One, she had her seatbelt on, it's why she wasn't sucked completely out of the plane, and two WE DON'T WANT TO THINK ABOUT THE WINDOWS BLOWING OUT ON THE PLANE! It was a crazy preflight announcement.
And let me tell you a 6 AM flight out of Vegas is an odd one. Fully half of the passengers hadn't yet slept off the drunk from the night before and in the two hours it took to get home the plane soaked up the stench of alcohol and smoke seeping out of everyone. I cannot imagine how much the flight crew hates that flight...phew....
I picked up money at the bank on Friday before we left and came home with all of it so we broke even. Which is always the goal right? Sure, sure, it's easier when you don't bet any but over all it was a good, if not traditional trip, to Vegas. And we walked 26+ miles so I'm not even feeling guilty over the two missed trips to the gym and the ice cream and drinks we had. Now I just need sleep. Thin walls, late nights and early mornings...Viva...
Sunday, May 27, 2018
Sunday, Sunday, Sunday!
Okay, I wrote a short story that will be published tomorrow, well yesterday, and now I've got this Sunday blog to write and I will schedule it to publish in two days, well today, and then I'm covered for the weekend so my restless brain can feel accomplished. Yay me!
The story I wrote "yesterday" was another writing prompt that Dana sent me. It's actually a thing I've done before because I like patterns in writing. It was to start a story with a line that was positive and end it with the same line that was now sinister. Paraphrasing, but that was the gist.
I really had no idea what the middle parts were going to be, and I think it does show in the story a bit. I mean, that's a completely off the cuff, oh wouldn't it be cool if the roses were red story. At first I thought the florist was going to be a bad guy. Then it was like, nope, she's leaving the florist so where is she going? Her mom? What did her mom do? And again nope, that's not it. I know it seems really odd that I often have no clue what I'm going to write even while I'm writing, but it happens a lot.
Sometimes it's really great and the story is wonderful. Sometimes it's not great and the story doesn't work at all and it gets put "away." The one I wrote just now, two days ago, yesterday, is in the middle. I wrote it in an hour, I re-read it twice, I set it to publish and I called it good. This is what happens when you are in a challenge to yourself. You cut some corners. It's good enough.
And that, my friends, is my writing process a lot of the time. Good enough. I write to get the words out of my head. And sometimes I write them in such a way that they are really good. Those are great days. Even when I'm the only one who likes the story. I wrote one recently that got like close to zero interaction on my blog page and I was bummed out for a bit because I was really proud of it. But that happens. Especially because I tend to favor things that are a little off. I view the world sideways so I know my writing is cockeyed as well.
Another thing that happens because of the fast way I write a lot of blog short stories is that I forget them. You've seen me post about it. I'll be searching for something else I've written and stumble across a story I don't remember at all. I like reading those and seeing if I like them. You don't often get to judge your own work. The good news is that I generally do like them. Can you imagine if I didn't? What an existential crisis that would be. I mean, it would be great in one way because that would be like, 3 or 4 blogs worth of material right there! But probably horrible over all...
It happens often enough when I am working on a piece that really needs to be polished and GOOD. I get about halfway through it, or halfway through editing it and decide it's crap. And not only is it crap, but everything I've ever written is crap. And everything I ever will write is crap. And I am not sure why anyone would ever tell me differently, except for Brent and he has to because we're married and he doesn't want to see me cry. CRAP I TELL YOU. But that's pretty standard for the writers I know and the writers I've read who talk about their writing process. There comes a point where you are sure you suck. The trick is to not delete everything and just wait it out. Then a break through comes and you are good again.
Let's hope for something really good for next week to wrap up this month. If you have a cool writing prompt you are always welcome to share it with me. If it grabs ahold of the muses I will be grateful for the help, if it doesn't then please understand the prompt was good, it just wasn't for me.
I hope your weekend has gone well and you are enjoying your time. I am sure I am. I mean, I am. I know I am. It's Sunday after all. I would know that I am having a good weekend by now, right?
And done...
Whew.
The story I wrote "yesterday" was another writing prompt that Dana sent me. It's actually a thing I've done before because I like patterns in writing. It was to start a story with a line that was positive and end it with the same line that was now sinister. Paraphrasing, but that was the gist.
I really had no idea what the middle parts were going to be, and I think it does show in the story a bit. I mean, that's a completely off the cuff, oh wouldn't it be cool if the roses were red story. At first I thought the florist was going to be a bad guy. Then it was like, nope, she's leaving the florist so where is she going? Her mom? What did her mom do? And again nope, that's not it. I know it seems really odd that I often have no clue what I'm going to write even while I'm writing, but it happens a lot.
Sometimes it's really great and the story is wonderful. Sometimes it's not great and the story doesn't work at all and it gets put "away." The one I wrote just now, two days ago, yesterday, is in the middle. I wrote it in an hour, I re-read it twice, I set it to publish and I called it good. This is what happens when you are in a challenge to yourself. You cut some corners. It's good enough.
And that, my friends, is my writing process a lot of the time. Good enough. I write to get the words out of my head. And sometimes I write them in such a way that they are really good. Those are great days. Even when I'm the only one who likes the story. I wrote one recently that got like close to zero interaction on my blog page and I was bummed out for a bit because I was really proud of it. But that happens. Especially because I tend to favor things that are a little off. I view the world sideways so I know my writing is cockeyed as well.
Another thing that happens because of the fast way I write a lot of blog short stories is that I forget them. You've seen me post about it. I'll be searching for something else I've written and stumble across a story I don't remember at all. I like reading those and seeing if I like them. You don't often get to judge your own work. The good news is that I generally do like them. Can you imagine if I didn't? What an existential crisis that would be. I mean, it would be great in one way because that would be like, 3 or 4 blogs worth of material right there! But probably horrible over all...
It happens often enough when I am working on a piece that really needs to be polished and GOOD. I get about halfway through it, or halfway through editing it and decide it's crap. And not only is it crap, but everything I've ever written is crap. And everything I ever will write is crap. And I am not sure why anyone would ever tell me differently, except for Brent and he has to because we're married and he doesn't want to see me cry. CRAP I TELL YOU. But that's pretty standard for the writers I know and the writers I've read who talk about their writing process. There comes a point where you are sure you suck. The trick is to not delete everything and just wait it out. Then a break through comes and you are good again.
Let's hope for something really good for next week to wrap up this month. If you have a cool writing prompt you are always welcome to share it with me. If it grabs ahold of the muses I will be grateful for the help, if it doesn't then please understand the prompt was good, it just wasn't for me.
I hope your weekend has gone well and you are enjoying your time. I am sure I am. I mean, I am. I know I am. It's Sunday after all. I would know that I am having a good weekend by now, right?
And done...
Whew.
Saturday, May 26, 2018
Red is for Love...
She'd never seen a rose that shade of red before.
"Lovely isn't it?" the florist startled her.
"Yes, it's so deep. It's like velvet."
"Red is for love you know."
"Excuse me?"
"Roses. The color rose you give is symbolic of your feelings. Yellow is for friendship. White is purity. Red is love. I created this deep red to try and capture that feeling of everlasting love."
"You created this color?"
"Well, sort of. Crossbreeding. That's how we get different colors and even shapes. Crossbreeding between various strains. This was the result of 10 years of work."
She laughed, "I would say that is deep and everlasting love for sure."
"It's not just a job, it's an obsession."
She laughed again. "Well what do tulips represent? My mother loves tulips and that's what I was hoping to get today."
"Tulips represent spring, hope, optimism and new beginnings. It's a good choice for a gift for your mother. How many would you like?"
She wrapped up her business with the florist and was on her way.
As she drove to her mother's place she thought of the florist and the red roses. What would be something she would be willing to put 10 years of work in to? The perfect recipe maybe? She loved to cook and could imagine having one perfect dish should could serve that would always be a hit. But 10 years to perfect it? No, probably not. A song? If she wrote music maybe a song. But, again, for 10 years?
Maybe it helped to do things incrementally. Like the deep red must have come from trial and error and each step of the way presented something unique. That might keep her interested. But again, she didn't think she would have kept trying if that was the case. After all a few shades lighter, just a touch less deep and that red rose would still be something beautiful to see. Why keep going? Why keep trying to make it better when it was good enough?
She pulled into the driveway at the assisted living facility her mother had moved in to last month. Or more accurately been moved in to. She had not been happy about it at all. She seemed to be starting to settle in, finally, a little at least. Hopefully it wouldn't take her 10 years to fully accept it. As soon as she had the thought she gasped, she hadn't meant that she hoped her mother didn't last 10 years! She knocked on her dashboard and called it wood as the feeling of guilt flooded her. Which she knew was ridiculous. She knew that wasn't what she had meant, she hadn't said it out loud. There was no reason for the heart racing, panic she was feeling. But the guilt over dragging her mother out of her own home and in to this horrible death's waiting room (her mother's description) was real.
She probably should have asked the florist what color flowers were for guilt. She looked at the bouquet of tulips and realized it was mixed. She laughed again. That actually worked. Mixed. That was her right now. She knew this is where her mother needed to be. She wasn't able to live on her own anymore, and she couldn't live with her. Nobody was at the house full time. She had work and the kids and it was all just too much. But moving her out of the house she had lived in for 40 years, the house she had raised her family, loved her husband, lost her husband? The guilt was real.
She took a deep breath and walked in the front doors bracing herself for the smell of cleaning supplies, old people, and cafeteria food that seemed to permeate the air. She showed her ID and signed in at the front desk. They were starting to recognize her but the procedure was always the same anyway. Show your ID, sign in on the visitor's sheet while they checked you against the authorized visitor list.
"Good afternoon, Mrs. Rancine. Your mother is in the rec room with your brother."
"With my brother?"
"Yes, he got here about an hour ago."
"Okay, thanks."
She started to walk down the hallway, faster than a stroll but not running. She didn't want to call attention to herself. Her brother? He was on the authorized list, her mother had insisted on it, but he hadn't been to visit her in at least a decade. Why in the world would he be here now? And for an hour?
She stopped at the doorway of the rec room and scanned for them. They were sitting over by the window. James was talking to her mother while he patted her knee over and over again. Patronizing. She tried not to think things like that. It was a knee pat, how could it be patronizing. But it was the only way she could think to describe it. To describe James.
"James, this is a surprise. Mom, these are for you." She leaned over and gave her mother a kiss on the cheek while handing her the flowers.
"Sis, Mom said you might stop by."
She tried not to look as annoyed as she felt, "Yes. I come a few times a week to check in." She looked at her mother who was staring at her with a blank expression on her face. "Mom? You okay?"
James reached out and patted her mother's knee again, "She's good. Probably just tired. We have been visiting for awhile. Did you want to go back to your room and get some rest?"
"I just got here, James, I would like to spend some time with Mom as well..."
"Now, now, Sis, don't be selfish, Mom needs her rest."
She could feel the anger rising in her chest. How dare he try to tell her what their mother needed. She had been the one taking care of her all of these years. She had been the one to handle everything. And now he wanted to tell her what she needed? She took a deep breath and tried to calm down.
"Mom? Is that what you want? To go back to your room and rest?"
Her mother nodded her head slowly. "Okay, I'll help you get settled. James, why don't you wait here for me and we can visit for awhile?"
James smiled, "That would be fine."
She helped her mother back to her room. She fluffed the pillows on her bed and helped her get settled in for a nap. She noticed a smear of black on the side of mother's hand. "Mom? What is this?"
For the first time since she had arrived her mother spoke to her, "James had some papers for me to sign. He said he knew you were doing your best but I really need a man to take care of things."
She felt the panic rising again, what had he done? She finished getting her mother situated and even took the time to put her flowers in a vase before heading back out to the rec room to talk to James about just what exactly he had had their mother sign.
He was nowhere to be found.
"THAT SON OF A BITCH!" She yelled as soon as she made it back out to her car. Then the irony of the statement washed over her and she laughed, just a bit hysterically. She had been there, had taken care of everything, had made all of the sacrifices and he had swooped in and had her mother sign over...who knows what all she signed away. The house probably, maybe a whole new will or power of attorney. She couldn't believe the asshole had done it. She had worked so hard to protect them all from him and his greedy ways and he waltzed back in and undid it all in a moment.
The next day the extent of the damage was starting to be felt. The nursing home called to let her know that her brother was trying to to have their mother moved to a new facility. A less expensive one. The broker for her mother's house called to let her know that James wanted to take over the selling of her parent's place and putting it on the market right away instead of waiting to finish sorting the contents. By the third phone call of things James was trying to do she had reached out to her own lawyer to see if there was anything she could do to stop him. If he had paperwork that gave him power of attorney that was dated after hers she might now. Though she could fight in court to prove her mother was not capable of making an informed choice right now.
She finally reached James and he agreed to meet her at their mother's house. She found him in the backyard looking at her mother's rose garden. She started talking as soon as she saw him.
"The home is the best in the state. Moving her isn't a good idea. She needs stability. She needs the care they are able to provide."
"That care is expensive, Sis, it's eating through her savings. There won't be anything left within a few short years if she isn't moved."
"If she is moved she won't be here in a few short years. She needs that care. She started wandering. She doesn't remember to feed herself. She doesn't remember to take her medication. She needs that level of care."
"Sorry, it's just too expensive. I wouldn't expect you to be able to understand."
"How do you think you could understand? You haven't been here. You haven't had anything to do with any of us since Dad died. And even then you only showed up for the funeral and left."
"I did more than just show up and leave. I wasn't here for a funeral."
"What?"
"I checked on the will. Seems he had left everything to her, so there was no reason to stick around. And she was planning on leaving it all to you. Can you believe that? I mean, I'm the oldest. I'm the one who should be incharge of all of this. Not you."
"You've been gone. You weren't the most responsible of people when you were here. You haven't taken care of anything. And like you said, there isn't going to be much to be incharge of. The house proceeds will go toward her care as well. She needs this money. She needs this level of care."
"She's an old woman who is dying anyway."
"She's your MOTHER."
"It's been a long time since I needed my mother. You should have tried growing up as well. It would have done you a lot of good."
Suddenly she was filled with rage. Rage for all of the years growing up that he had only thought of himself. The problems he had put their parents through. The drug abuse. The forged checks. The shame of seeing their oldest child serve time in jail. He was her brother, but she could find no love for him in her. And now he dared to come back to try and rip her mother off one last time? He'd been gone a decade. Ever since their father had died. Ten years.
She started to laugh then.
"What is so funny?"
"Just yesterday I was trying to think of something I would be willing to work on for 10 years. I just realized that I have spent the last 10 years forgetting what an absolute asshole you are."
"I'm glad you find that amusing."
"I do. Because I also spent the last 10 years learning not to be afraid of you."
"Oh real..." was all he was able to get out before the shovel she had picked up hit him in the back of the head.
She didn't feel guilty. Not about this. She searched his rental car and found the paperwork he had had her mother sign and burned it. She went through his wallet and his luggage and then his cell phone. Nobody listed as an emergency contact. She would just have to see what would come of that, when, if he was missed. For now she calmly sat down in the backyard on her mother's porch and called the home, the realtor and her lawyer. They were all very glad that she and her brother had reached an understanding about what was best for her mother.
She would have to figure out what to do with the body. She thought about it, how long would it take to dissolve into nothing here in her mother's garden? Ten years? Was she willing to hold on to the house for that long? She could sell her own and move in here. The kids would love the school district. Ten years, she had found what she would be willing to work on for ten years. Protecting her mother. Protecting herself.
She went to the back of the garden to start to dig. Stopping to look at the roses she noticed a spray of blood, she was going to have to wash that away. She'd never seen a rose that shade of red before.
"Lovely isn't it?" the florist startled her.
"Yes, it's so deep. It's like velvet."
"Red is for love you know."
"Excuse me?"
"Roses. The color rose you give is symbolic of your feelings. Yellow is for friendship. White is purity. Red is love. I created this deep red to try and capture that feeling of everlasting love."
"You created this color?"
"Well, sort of. Crossbreeding. That's how we get different colors and even shapes. Crossbreeding between various strains. This was the result of 10 years of work."
She laughed, "I would say that is deep and everlasting love for sure."
"It's not just a job, it's an obsession."
She laughed again. "Well what do tulips represent? My mother loves tulips and that's what I was hoping to get today."
"Tulips represent spring, hope, optimism and new beginnings. It's a good choice for a gift for your mother. How many would you like?"
She wrapped up her business with the florist and was on her way.
As she drove to her mother's place she thought of the florist and the red roses. What would be something she would be willing to put 10 years of work in to? The perfect recipe maybe? She loved to cook and could imagine having one perfect dish should could serve that would always be a hit. But 10 years to perfect it? No, probably not. A song? If she wrote music maybe a song. But, again, for 10 years?
Maybe it helped to do things incrementally. Like the deep red must have come from trial and error and each step of the way presented something unique. That might keep her interested. But again, she didn't think she would have kept trying if that was the case. After all a few shades lighter, just a touch less deep and that red rose would still be something beautiful to see. Why keep going? Why keep trying to make it better when it was good enough?
She pulled into the driveway at the assisted living facility her mother had moved in to last month. Or more accurately been moved in to. She had not been happy about it at all. She seemed to be starting to settle in, finally, a little at least. Hopefully it wouldn't take her 10 years to fully accept it. As soon as she had the thought she gasped, she hadn't meant that she hoped her mother didn't last 10 years! She knocked on her dashboard and called it wood as the feeling of guilt flooded her. Which she knew was ridiculous. She knew that wasn't what she had meant, she hadn't said it out loud. There was no reason for the heart racing, panic she was feeling. But the guilt over dragging her mother out of her own home and in to this horrible death's waiting room (her mother's description) was real.
She probably should have asked the florist what color flowers were for guilt. She looked at the bouquet of tulips and realized it was mixed. She laughed again. That actually worked. Mixed. That was her right now. She knew this is where her mother needed to be. She wasn't able to live on her own anymore, and she couldn't live with her. Nobody was at the house full time. She had work and the kids and it was all just too much. But moving her out of the house she had lived in for 40 years, the house she had raised her family, loved her husband, lost her husband? The guilt was real.
She took a deep breath and walked in the front doors bracing herself for the smell of cleaning supplies, old people, and cafeteria food that seemed to permeate the air. She showed her ID and signed in at the front desk. They were starting to recognize her but the procedure was always the same anyway. Show your ID, sign in on the visitor's sheet while they checked you against the authorized visitor list.
"Good afternoon, Mrs. Rancine. Your mother is in the rec room with your brother."
"With my brother?"
"Yes, he got here about an hour ago."
"Okay, thanks."
She started to walk down the hallway, faster than a stroll but not running. She didn't want to call attention to herself. Her brother? He was on the authorized list, her mother had insisted on it, but he hadn't been to visit her in at least a decade. Why in the world would he be here now? And for an hour?
She stopped at the doorway of the rec room and scanned for them. They were sitting over by the window. James was talking to her mother while he patted her knee over and over again. Patronizing. She tried not to think things like that. It was a knee pat, how could it be patronizing. But it was the only way she could think to describe it. To describe James.
"James, this is a surprise. Mom, these are for you." She leaned over and gave her mother a kiss on the cheek while handing her the flowers.
"Sis, Mom said you might stop by."
She tried not to look as annoyed as she felt, "Yes. I come a few times a week to check in." She looked at her mother who was staring at her with a blank expression on her face. "Mom? You okay?"
James reached out and patted her mother's knee again, "She's good. Probably just tired. We have been visiting for awhile. Did you want to go back to your room and get some rest?"
"I just got here, James, I would like to spend some time with Mom as well..."
"Now, now, Sis, don't be selfish, Mom needs her rest."
She could feel the anger rising in her chest. How dare he try to tell her what their mother needed. She had been the one taking care of her all of these years. She had been the one to handle everything. And now he wanted to tell her what she needed? She took a deep breath and tried to calm down.
"Mom? Is that what you want? To go back to your room and rest?"
Her mother nodded her head slowly. "Okay, I'll help you get settled. James, why don't you wait here for me and we can visit for awhile?"
James smiled, "That would be fine."
She helped her mother back to her room. She fluffed the pillows on her bed and helped her get settled in for a nap. She noticed a smear of black on the side of mother's hand. "Mom? What is this?"
For the first time since she had arrived her mother spoke to her, "James had some papers for me to sign. He said he knew you were doing your best but I really need a man to take care of things."
She felt the panic rising again, what had he done? She finished getting her mother situated and even took the time to put her flowers in a vase before heading back out to the rec room to talk to James about just what exactly he had had their mother sign.
He was nowhere to be found.
"THAT SON OF A BITCH!" She yelled as soon as she made it back out to her car. Then the irony of the statement washed over her and she laughed, just a bit hysterically. She had been there, had taken care of everything, had made all of the sacrifices and he had swooped in and had her mother sign over...who knows what all she signed away. The house probably, maybe a whole new will or power of attorney. She couldn't believe the asshole had done it. She had worked so hard to protect them all from him and his greedy ways and he waltzed back in and undid it all in a moment.
The next day the extent of the damage was starting to be felt. The nursing home called to let her know that her brother was trying to to have their mother moved to a new facility. A less expensive one. The broker for her mother's house called to let her know that James wanted to take over the selling of her parent's place and putting it on the market right away instead of waiting to finish sorting the contents. By the third phone call of things James was trying to do she had reached out to her own lawyer to see if there was anything she could do to stop him. If he had paperwork that gave him power of attorney that was dated after hers she might now. Though she could fight in court to prove her mother was not capable of making an informed choice right now.
She finally reached James and he agreed to meet her at their mother's house. She found him in the backyard looking at her mother's rose garden. She started talking as soon as she saw him.
"The home is the best in the state. Moving her isn't a good idea. She needs stability. She needs the care they are able to provide."
"That care is expensive, Sis, it's eating through her savings. There won't be anything left within a few short years if she isn't moved."
"If she is moved she won't be here in a few short years. She needs that care. She started wandering. She doesn't remember to feed herself. She doesn't remember to take her medication. She needs that level of care."
"Sorry, it's just too expensive. I wouldn't expect you to be able to understand."
"How do you think you could understand? You haven't been here. You haven't had anything to do with any of us since Dad died. And even then you only showed up for the funeral and left."
"I did more than just show up and leave. I wasn't here for a funeral."
"What?"
"I checked on the will. Seems he had left everything to her, so there was no reason to stick around. And she was planning on leaving it all to you. Can you believe that? I mean, I'm the oldest. I'm the one who should be incharge of all of this. Not you."
"You've been gone. You weren't the most responsible of people when you were here. You haven't taken care of anything. And like you said, there isn't going to be much to be incharge of. The house proceeds will go toward her care as well. She needs this money. She needs this level of care."
"She's an old woman who is dying anyway."
"She's your MOTHER."
"It's been a long time since I needed my mother. You should have tried growing up as well. It would have done you a lot of good."
Suddenly she was filled with rage. Rage for all of the years growing up that he had only thought of himself. The problems he had put their parents through. The drug abuse. The forged checks. The shame of seeing their oldest child serve time in jail. He was her brother, but she could find no love for him in her. And now he dared to come back to try and rip her mother off one last time? He'd been gone a decade. Ever since their father had died. Ten years.
She started to laugh then.
"What is so funny?"
"Just yesterday I was trying to think of something I would be willing to work on for 10 years. I just realized that I have spent the last 10 years forgetting what an absolute asshole you are."
"I'm glad you find that amusing."
"I do. Because I also spent the last 10 years learning not to be afraid of you."
"Oh real..." was all he was able to get out before the shovel she had picked up hit him in the back of the head.
She didn't feel guilty. Not about this. She searched his rental car and found the paperwork he had had her mother sign and burned it. She went through his wallet and his luggage and then his cell phone. Nobody listed as an emergency contact. She would just have to see what would come of that, when, if he was missed. For now she calmly sat down in the backyard on her mother's porch and called the home, the realtor and her lawyer. They were all very glad that she and her brother had reached an understanding about what was best for her mother.
She would have to figure out what to do with the body. She thought about it, how long would it take to dissolve into nothing here in her mother's garden? Ten years? Was she willing to hold on to the house for that long? She could sell her own and move in here. The kids would love the school district. Ten years, she had found what she would be willing to work on for ten years. Protecting her mother. Protecting herself.
She went to the back of the garden to start to dig. Stopping to look at the roses she noticed a spray of blood, she was going to have to wash that away. She'd never seen a rose that shade of red before.
Friday, May 25, 2018
Old Stories...
I'm pretty sure most of you have heard my prom story, but I'm going to tell it anyway, just so you know.
So the first thing you will notice is that there is something deeply wrong with this picture, and I'm not talking about the fashion. It was 1986, we looked OUTSTANDING for 1986. It's that Brent is the one smiling and I'm not. I didn't smile for pictures unless you caught me off guard. I hated the way my smile looked. Too much teeth and gum and my cheeks would wipe out my eyes and I hated it. I still have too much teeth and gum and my cheeks still wipe out my eyes but that's just the way I smile so I'm okay with it now. In fact, I think I have a pretty great smile. Now.
But then? No way. Not smiling. Take the damn picture and let's move on.
I was deeply, deeply insecure about how I looked. How I smiled. How much money we didn't have. Who I was. And those things added to prom being a really lousy time. Let me backup...
I did not go to prom until senior year. We didn't have a lot of money and the costs involved were not something I was willing to ask my parents for so I convinced myself that it would be more special if I just went senior year. I did that a lot during that time of my life. Convinced myself that I really didn't want something anyway. We didn't have the money for me to go on student trips. Who would want to do that anyway? Being locked in to only seeing what someone else thought important? What a drag. We didn't have the money for me to buy the uniforms necessary for choir, or band, or drill team or...so who would want to do that sort of thing? I'm not really a joiner anyway, and they all needed so much extra time. Drama? All donations? Cool. That's a much better outlet for my particular creative talents anyway.
I'm not saying it was a bad coping method, in fact I think it helped me not resent being broke as much, but it was totally a coping method. And prom fell right into that pattern. Freshman year I was asked to prom by an older boy, in a dramatic fashion (for the day, now people do crazy things to ask people to prom) but I turned him down. One, I thought he was asking me out as some sort of joke. We didn't really know each other except for passing nods in the hallway and so why would he ask me out? (crippling self esteem issues here in play) I was just a dumpy little freshman and he was a popular older jock so it had to be a set up of some sort. But mainly I couldn't afford the dress. I knew I couldn't afford the dress so there was no way I would say yes.
Sophomore year I was asked again and again said no. I was only going to go senior year. It just wasn't happening, but thank you anyway.
Junior year the boy that asked realized that part of why I said no to everyone was I couldn't afford it. He offered to buy me a dress. And a coat. And get a limo. And I looked at that and said, Hell no. That's a debt I am not willing to pay off at the end of the night, and it's one that would be expected to be paid. We talk about our teenagers as if they are young innocents, and they are, up to a point. But they are not nearly as innocent as we try to pretend they are. We weren't. Why do we expect them to be?
So anyway, Senior Year! This is THE prom! And it couldn't be better, I found a beautiful dress, I'm going with my fiance. I'm wearing the shoes and the jewelry I will be wearing again in 7 months at our wedding. It was going to be great. I'd waited all four years for this one perfect shimmering night.
There was no way it was going to live up to the hype.
So a few weeks before prom hits my best friend and her boyfriend break up. He's already got the tickets so asks someone else. She's like hell no, I'm not staying home while he goes to prom I'm getting a sexy dress and going stag! And she did get a great dress. I was actually kind of bummed when I went with her that I went with the ballgown dress when there was a form fitting mermaid dress that was cheaper and so va va voom I could have gotten. But, I digress...
So she is going to ride with us. We will pick her up and go to dinner with her and four other friends. We are all dressed up acting like adults at dinner. Feeling very mature. When I hear someone yelling through the restaurant, "SQUIRREL! SQUIRREL YOU FORGOT SOMETHING!" It was my brother. I had forgotten my wrap that went with my dress and so my brother, being nice, brought it to me, and my brother, being an older brother, decided the best way to get it to me was to embarrass me in the process. Yay...So I'm feeling like I really don't belong in a fancy dress in a fancy restaurant acting like a grown up and we haven't even gotten started. (crippling self esteem remember) But I bluffed it off, went outside for a cigarette and composed myself. Really, it's not terrible. Only embarrassing.
So we get to prom. Walk in the door. My friend sees her ex slow dancing with the new chick realizes this was a horrible mistake spins on her heel and goes outside to wait by the car for the rest of the night.
Oh.my.god.
Brent and I did a quick walk through of the place. Nobody says anything to me. People are glaring at us. And I'm thinking, "She didn't even make a scene she just walked out, what is your major malfunction?" But I also can't get over thinking that she's just outside waiting at the car to go home. And what sort of friend would I be to let her?
So we left. We took her home. We spent maybe a half hour at prom. I don't think we even danced a single dance.
After calming her down and getting her settled in for the night we went to Village Inn. Just the two of us, me apologizing for ruining the night. Him being him and letting it all slide off his back. Then this little old couple came over and told us how we reminded them of them at our age and how they could tell we were a really good couple. Which was incredibly sweet.
Then we went home and Brent spent a half hour getting the pins out of my hair and brushing it all out so it wouldn't be a rat's nest in the morning. And we laughed about how lousy of a time prom was and how glad we were to be home together anyway.
And that to me is what makes my lousy prom story actually a good one.
We had a lousy time together then went home and brushed it all off.
It was a good lesson for a life together. Now, don't get me wrong, we've actually had it pretty easy. We've had some lousy times, every couple does. We've had some really stressful experiences. We've had heartbreaking times. But we are home together brushing it off. And that's where we prefer to be anyway.
Also, the reason people were glaring? Monday morning at school I had people come to tell me all about how Brent took someone else to prom. The hair and makeup was like a superhero disguise I guess. It made me laugh and shake my head. One that they would think Brent would take someone else, first off we were engaged, secondly we lived together so how was he going to get out of our house and to prom without me noticing, and then that they ratted him out to me, but didn't confront him that night. It just added a funny twist to the whole story.
So we had a lousy senior prom, but a funny story to share later. We (I) learned to not put pressure on certain dates to fill outsized expectations, which actually led to us not celebrating most holidays in a big fashion. Which is so much more relaxing and chill for us. It's perfect. And our lack of a formal at prom official photo led us to start doing this when given the opportunity for a couple's photo:
Which makes me laugh every time! So really, it all worked out for the best.
But then? No way. Not smiling. Take the damn picture and let's move on.
I was deeply, deeply insecure about how I looked. How I smiled. How much money we didn't have. Who I was. And those things added to prom being a really lousy time. Let me backup...
I did not go to prom until senior year. We didn't have a lot of money and the costs involved were not something I was willing to ask my parents for so I convinced myself that it would be more special if I just went senior year. I did that a lot during that time of my life. Convinced myself that I really didn't want something anyway. We didn't have the money for me to go on student trips. Who would want to do that anyway? Being locked in to only seeing what someone else thought important? What a drag. We didn't have the money for me to buy the uniforms necessary for choir, or band, or drill team or...so who would want to do that sort of thing? I'm not really a joiner anyway, and they all needed so much extra time. Drama? All donations? Cool. That's a much better outlet for my particular creative talents anyway.
I'm not saying it was a bad coping method, in fact I think it helped me not resent being broke as much, but it was totally a coping method. And prom fell right into that pattern. Freshman year I was asked to prom by an older boy, in a dramatic fashion (for the day, now people do crazy things to ask people to prom) but I turned him down. One, I thought he was asking me out as some sort of joke. We didn't really know each other except for passing nods in the hallway and so why would he ask me out? (crippling self esteem issues here in play) I was just a dumpy little freshman and he was a popular older jock so it had to be a set up of some sort. But mainly I couldn't afford the dress. I knew I couldn't afford the dress so there was no way I would say yes.
Sophomore year I was asked again and again said no. I was only going to go senior year. It just wasn't happening, but thank you anyway.
Junior year the boy that asked realized that part of why I said no to everyone was I couldn't afford it. He offered to buy me a dress. And a coat. And get a limo. And I looked at that and said, Hell no. That's a debt I am not willing to pay off at the end of the night, and it's one that would be expected to be paid. We talk about our teenagers as if they are young innocents, and they are, up to a point. But they are not nearly as innocent as we try to pretend they are. We weren't. Why do we expect them to be?
So anyway, Senior Year! This is THE prom! And it couldn't be better, I found a beautiful dress, I'm going with my fiance. I'm wearing the shoes and the jewelry I will be wearing again in 7 months at our wedding. It was going to be great. I'd waited all four years for this one perfect shimmering night.
There was no way it was going to live up to the hype.
So a few weeks before prom hits my best friend and her boyfriend break up. He's already got the tickets so asks someone else. She's like hell no, I'm not staying home while he goes to prom I'm getting a sexy dress and going stag! And she did get a great dress. I was actually kind of bummed when I went with her that I went with the ballgown dress when there was a form fitting mermaid dress that was cheaper and so va va voom I could have gotten. But, I digress...
So she is going to ride with us. We will pick her up and go to dinner with her and four other friends. We are all dressed up acting like adults at dinner. Feeling very mature. When I hear someone yelling through the restaurant, "SQUIRREL! SQUIRREL YOU FORGOT SOMETHING!" It was my brother. I had forgotten my wrap that went with my dress and so my brother, being nice, brought it to me, and my brother, being an older brother, decided the best way to get it to me was to embarrass me in the process. Yay...So I'm feeling like I really don't belong in a fancy dress in a fancy restaurant acting like a grown up and we haven't even gotten started. (crippling self esteem remember) But I bluffed it off, went outside for a cigarette and composed myself. Really, it's not terrible. Only embarrassing.
So we get to prom. Walk in the door. My friend sees her ex slow dancing with the new chick realizes this was a horrible mistake spins on her heel and goes outside to wait by the car for the rest of the night.
Oh.my.god.
Brent and I did a quick walk through of the place. Nobody says anything to me. People are glaring at us. And I'm thinking, "She didn't even make a scene she just walked out, what is your major malfunction?" But I also can't get over thinking that she's just outside waiting at the car to go home. And what sort of friend would I be to let her?
So we left. We took her home. We spent maybe a half hour at prom. I don't think we even danced a single dance.
After calming her down and getting her settled in for the night we went to Village Inn. Just the two of us, me apologizing for ruining the night. Him being him and letting it all slide off his back. Then this little old couple came over and told us how we reminded them of them at our age and how they could tell we were a really good couple. Which was incredibly sweet.
Then we went home and Brent spent a half hour getting the pins out of my hair and brushing it all out so it wouldn't be a rat's nest in the morning. And we laughed about how lousy of a time prom was and how glad we were to be home together anyway.
And that to me is what makes my lousy prom story actually a good one.
We had a lousy time together then went home and brushed it all off.
It was a good lesson for a life together. Now, don't get me wrong, we've actually had it pretty easy. We've had some lousy times, every couple does. We've had some really stressful experiences. We've had heartbreaking times. But we are home together brushing it off. And that's where we prefer to be anyway.
Also, the reason people were glaring? Monday morning at school I had people come to tell me all about how Brent took someone else to prom. The hair and makeup was like a superhero disguise I guess. It made me laugh and shake my head. One that they would think Brent would take someone else, first off we were engaged, secondly we lived together so how was he going to get out of our house and to prom without me noticing, and then that they ratted him out to me, but didn't confront him that night. It just added a funny twist to the whole story.
So we had a lousy senior prom, but a funny story to share later. We (I) learned to not put pressure on certain dates to fill outsized expectations, which actually led to us not celebrating most holidays in a big fashion. Which is so much more relaxing and chill for us. It's perfect. And our lack of a formal at prom official photo led us to start doing this when given the opportunity for a couple's photo:
Which makes me laugh every time! So really, it all worked out for the best.
Thursday, May 24, 2018
Monthly Goals...
Uh oh.
So I decided this year to set monthly mini goals as well as the yearly goals and to make most of those goals in service of the bigger things. This month was a blog a day. It catches me up for the blogs I was behind and puts me a little ahead for other months I might not hit my 13 (average needed each month to hit the yearly goal). Great! Perfect! Totally forgot about the holiday weekend, no big deal I'll just carve out time to write and what's that you say? Out of town? Oh well...
So now I'm looking at not being near a computer on Saturday and Sunday (I know, it's almost a relief to not have odd weekend blogs right?) and missing my monthly goal.
Which isn't that big of a deal. Not really. I mean there is nothing riding on this, they are just things I set up for myself. I don't get paid, or not paid, or fired, or anything really. I just do them because I'm kind of odd and I like to have something I'm working toward. So it's no big deal that I will miss my goal.
At all.
Really.
Except that's not how my brain works.
Now I'm bugged that I set a goal for myself and then put a roadblock in place that makes it extremely difficult to reach.
And no matter how much I logically know this is not a big deal there is a voice in the back of my head saying, yeah but it is.
And you know what?
That's okay.
I'm a bit obsessive. It doesn't usually prevent me from living a pretty normal life. For me. I get that my normal is not your normal but I also fully understand that your normal would drive me insane. It's taken literal years to get to the point where I can take my forms of crazy out, look at them, polish them up a bit, and not feel less than because of them. You know that feeling right? The one you get when someone tells you how you should be? What you should be doing? How you should be feeling? For a long time I would tend to agree with people. Yes, I should be more social. Yes, I should be less obsessive. Yes, I should conform more to the outside expectations of me.
But then I realized if I did all of that I wouldn't be me. And I'm really pretty amazing. Yes, I'm obsessive but that means I get shit done. Yes, I'm absolutely not overly social. Infact large gatherings sap my energy and leave me feeling drained. But that means that I cherish the friendships that I have and I so love the people I have chosen to be in my life. Yes, I have exactly zero fucks to give for people telling me how to live my life, but that means that if I take your advice on something you know it was really solid advice.
So what does this mean for daily blogs? It means my obsessive brain is whirling around trying to decide how to write three blogs in the next day and a half and post them on a time stamp so I still get a blog a day up without actually writing a blog on Saturday and Sunday. It might be two days of haiku, but it will be something.
Because that's the way I am.
And I am amazing.
And so very crazy.
But I'm okay with that.
So I decided this year to set monthly mini goals as well as the yearly goals and to make most of those goals in service of the bigger things. This month was a blog a day. It catches me up for the blogs I was behind and puts me a little ahead for other months I might not hit my 13 (average needed each month to hit the yearly goal). Great! Perfect! Totally forgot about the holiday weekend, no big deal I'll just carve out time to write and what's that you say? Out of town? Oh well...
So now I'm looking at not being near a computer on Saturday and Sunday (I know, it's almost a relief to not have odd weekend blogs right?) and missing my monthly goal.
Which isn't that big of a deal. Not really. I mean there is nothing riding on this, they are just things I set up for myself. I don't get paid, or not paid, or fired, or anything really. I just do them because I'm kind of odd and I like to have something I'm working toward. So it's no big deal that I will miss my goal.
At all.
Really.
Except that's not how my brain works.
Now I'm bugged that I set a goal for myself and then put a roadblock in place that makes it extremely difficult to reach.
And no matter how much I logically know this is not a big deal there is a voice in the back of my head saying, yeah but it is.
And you know what?
That's okay.
I'm a bit obsessive. It doesn't usually prevent me from living a pretty normal life. For me. I get that my normal is not your normal but I also fully understand that your normal would drive me insane. It's taken literal years to get to the point where I can take my forms of crazy out, look at them, polish them up a bit, and not feel less than because of them. You know that feeling right? The one you get when someone tells you how you should be? What you should be doing? How you should be feeling? For a long time I would tend to agree with people. Yes, I should be more social. Yes, I should be less obsessive. Yes, I should conform more to the outside expectations of me.
But then I realized if I did all of that I wouldn't be me. And I'm really pretty amazing. Yes, I'm obsessive but that means I get shit done. Yes, I'm absolutely not overly social. Infact large gatherings sap my energy and leave me feeling drained. But that means that I cherish the friendships that I have and I so love the people I have chosen to be in my life. Yes, I have exactly zero fucks to give for people telling me how to live my life, but that means that if I take your advice on something you know it was really solid advice.
So what does this mean for daily blogs? It means my obsessive brain is whirling around trying to decide how to write three blogs in the next day and a half and post them on a time stamp so I still get a blog a day up without actually writing a blog on Saturday and Sunday. It might be two days of haiku, but it will be something.
Because that's the way I am.
And I am amazing.
And so very crazy.
But I'm okay with that.
Wednesday, May 23, 2018
New At This...
The bang woke April up. Or maybe the vibration from whatever caused the bang. But there was clearly some sort of explosion. She could still hear the echo in her ears. She stayed still for a few moments to see if there was going to be anything else. What was it? Thunder? A car backfiring? Someone hitting the house? An earthquake?
Nothing else happened. Whatever it was it was done. Of course now she had to pee so there was no going back to sleep for her. She stumbled out of bed and in to the bathroom. After she washed her hands she splashed her face with cold water and tried to get some of the sleep out of her eyes. Looking in the mirror she blinked a couple of times and then leaned in closer. Her deep brown eyes looked clear enough, not bloodshot, nothing terrible, except for the fact that they should have been blue.
"What the fuck?" She blinked a few times and they were blue again. And then she heard the voice.
Though it wasn't really hearing a voice, that wasn't quite right. She thought the voice. But she wasn't the one thinking. She could hear the voice in her head and it wasn't her own. That was about right. But she could hear the voice. And it was mumbling.
"I am in control...I AM in control...I am IN control...I am in CONTROL!"
"Control of what exactly?" April thought to herself. Though not to herself so much as to what ever it was that was mumbling inside her head.
"I AM BALOG AND I AM IN CONTROL!"
"Okay, great, you are Balog, again, control of what exactly? And why do I have to hear about it?"
She could feel the frustration wash over her brain. She looked in the mirror and saw she was pouting. Well that was interesting.
"I am in control of you!"
She laughed, "Oh are you now? How's that?"
Now she could almost see something pacing inside her head now. It was sort of like watching a movie but it was all happening inside of her.
"I AM BALOG! I HAVE BEEN SUMMONED BY THE GREAT GREG AND I AM IN CONTROL OF YOU!"
"Greg? You've been summoned by Greg?"
She felt the sigh and the muttering again, "This shouldn't be that hard. You take over, you are in control. Get it together, Balog. Get it together."
"Look, if Greg summoned you why aren't you with him? I didn't summon you. I am fine by myself."
"THE GREAT GREG HAS NEED OF ME IN THIS FORM. IT IS NOT MY PLACE TO QUESTION HIM."
April smirked, "You would do well to question him. It's kind of a good standard to set with him. Question everything. Greg isn't a great anything. Okay? He's my ex-boyfriend and he's really a bit of jerk. Which I think demon possession kind of proves. You are a demon right? I mean that's what this is?"
The muttering started again, "This was supposed to be easy, stop talking to her, she is just the puppet..."
"Puppet? Oh no, sweetie, I am nobody's puppet. Wait, you've never done this before have you? That's why you're having such a hard time. You don't have any idea what you are doing. Greg summoned an inexperienced demon. I bet it was all he could manage."
She scowled at herself in the mirror, her eyes shifting to brown for a moment and then back to blue.
"Okay, yeah, let's just both admit that you are not up to the job. It's nothing to be ashamed of. For a first try you've really done wonders. I mean, you woke me up out of a deep sleep, you've gotten my eyes to shift a few times and your pout was on point. But Greg set you up, man. He put a new demon on the job into a very strong willed shell. And that's not on you, that's on him."
Balog leaned forward to listen a little more closely. She had him now.
"Right? I mean you see that don't you? He set you up to fail. He wanted to scare me but he wasn't sure he could really do the job so he called you. If it worked he was the Great if it failed, it was all your fault. Typical Greg move really. You're in my head, look around a bit, see if you can find some memories in there that will back me up. I'll wait."
She went back into her bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed while her memories of her relationship with Greg washed over her. She wasn't even upset anymore at how horrible he had been. She really saw him as pretty pathetic now. Insecure manchild hiding behind a lot of bravado. It had fooled her in the beginning but when he started trying to tell her what she had to do, how she should think, act, behave, oh no that was the end. Though she did have to admit that this was pretty low. To try and literally possess her? What an asshole.
The memories faded away, "See what I mean?"
She felt Balog shifting around inside her head. "I want to go home."
"Okay, so how do we do that? Can I banish you or something?"
She could feel herself pouting again, "No. He has to send me away. And I don't think he's going to do that."
She thought for a moment, "Balog, how about you and I work together for awhile. I assume you have some pretty cool powers at your disposal. You agree with me that you won't do anything we haven't discussed ahead of time and I will let you get some on the job training."
"You would trust me?"
"Of course I would trust you. We have the same objective don't we?"
She felt Balog nodding, "Make Greg pay."
April smiled. Her eyes were now blue with spokes of brown shooting through them. "Oh yes, make Greg pay."
Nothing else happened. Whatever it was it was done. Of course now she had to pee so there was no going back to sleep for her. She stumbled out of bed and in to the bathroom. After she washed her hands she splashed her face with cold water and tried to get some of the sleep out of her eyes. Looking in the mirror she blinked a couple of times and then leaned in closer. Her deep brown eyes looked clear enough, not bloodshot, nothing terrible, except for the fact that they should have been blue.
"What the fuck?" She blinked a few times and they were blue again. And then she heard the voice.
Though it wasn't really hearing a voice, that wasn't quite right. She thought the voice. But she wasn't the one thinking. She could hear the voice in her head and it wasn't her own. That was about right. But she could hear the voice. And it was mumbling.
"I am in control...I AM in control...I am IN control...I am in CONTROL!"
"Control of what exactly?" April thought to herself. Though not to herself so much as to what ever it was that was mumbling inside her head.
"I AM BALOG AND I AM IN CONTROL!"
"Okay, great, you are Balog, again, control of what exactly? And why do I have to hear about it?"
She could feel the frustration wash over her brain. She looked in the mirror and saw she was pouting. Well that was interesting.
"I am in control of you!"
She laughed, "Oh are you now? How's that?"
Now she could almost see something pacing inside her head now. It was sort of like watching a movie but it was all happening inside of her.
"I AM BALOG! I HAVE BEEN SUMMONED BY THE GREAT GREG AND I AM IN CONTROL OF YOU!"
"Greg? You've been summoned by Greg?"
She felt the sigh and the muttering again, "This shouldn't be that hard. You take over, you are in control. Get it together, Balog. Get it together."
"Look, if Greg summoned you why aren't you with him? I didn't summon you. I am fine by myself."
"THE GREAT GREG HAS NEED OF ME IN THIS FORM. IT IS NOT MY PLACE TO QUESTION HIM."
April smirked, "You would do well to question him. It's kind of a good standard to set with him. Question everything. Greg isn't a great anything. Okay? He's my ex-boyfriend and he's really a bit of jerk. Which I think demon possession kind of proves. You are a demon right? I mean that's what this is?"
The muttering started again, "This was supposed to be easy, stop talking to her, she is just the puppet..."
"Puppet? Oh no, sweetie, I am nobody's puppet. Wait, you've never done this before have you? That's why you're having such a hard time. You don't have any idea what you are doing. Greg summoned an inexperienced demon. I bet it was all he could manage."
She scowled at herself in the mirror, her eyes shifting to brown for a moment and then back to blue.
"Okay, yeah, let's just both admit that you are not up to the job. It's nothing to be ashamed of. For a first try you've really done wonders. I mean, you woke me up out of a deep sleep, you've gotten my eyes to shift a few times and your pout was on point. But Greg set you up, man. He put a new demon on the job into a very strong willed shell. And that's not on you, that's on him."
Balog leaned forward to listen a little more closely. She had him now.
"Right? I mean you see that don't you? He set you up to fail. He wanted to scare me but he wasn't sure he could really do the job so he called you. If it worked he was the Great if it failed, it was all your fault. Typical Greg move really. You're in my head, look around a bit, see if you can find some memories in there that will back me up. I'll wait."
She went back into her bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed while her memories of her relationship with Greg washed over her. She wasn't even upset anymore at how horrible he had been. She really saw him as pretty pathetic now. Insecure manchild hiding behind a lot of bravado. It had fooled her in the beginning but when he started trying to tell her what she had to do, how she should think, act, behave, oh no that was the end. Though she did have to admit that this was pretty low. To try and literally possess her? What an asshole.
The memories faded away, "See what I mean?"
She felt Balog shifting around inside her head. "I want to go home."
"Okay, so how do we do that? Can I banish you or something?"
She could feel herself pouting again, "No. He has to send me away. And I don't think he's going to do that."
She thought for a moment, "Balog, how about you and I work together for awhile. I assume you have some pretty cool powers at your disposal. You agree with me that you won't do anything we haven't discussed ahead of time and I will let you get some on the job training."
"You would trust me?"
"Of course I would trust you. We have the same objective don't we?"
She felt Balog nodding, "Make Greg pay."
April smiled. Her eyes were now blue with spokes of brown shooting through them. "Oh yes, make Greg pay."
Tuesday, May 22, 2018
Oh My Gosh!
I just realized I'm 49 3/4!
Remember those days? When you were never just your year. You were however much of the smallest fraction of the next year you could be as well. 7 and 1/4, 8 and 1/2, 6 and 1/12. But somewhere along the line we stop counting it that way. We just stick with the boring old year. I'm 49. In a couple of months I will say I'm almost 50 because it will seem disingenuous to say 49 when 50 is in sneezing distance.
But I think I'm going to go back to the fractions of years. Because that fraction is looking forward. You stopped because you stopped really looking forward to the next age. I mean after 21 there really isn't a big milestone you are excited about right?
Well, if you are a guy you like 24 because your car insurance rates go down at 24. At least that used to be the age. I know when Brent turned 24 it was lovely. And we were already getting the military and married discounts so we weren't even hit as hard as some.
But other than that the milestones seem like problems instead of bonuses. People freak out about 30 and 40 and holy shit do they freak out about 50.
I've talked before that for the most part age just really doesn't bother me that much. My parents had me when they were older so my clearest memories of them start when they are in their 40s and 50s. And they didn't seem all that old. My mother is almost 86 and she will still tell you how young she looks compared to other little old ladies. She's not wrong either. She has always looked younger. So I'm not freaked out.
Mostly.
I mean I feel it more now for sure. My knees are very chatty when I'm going up and down stairs. Cuts and bruises do not heal the same as they used to. I've got old lady skin going on now. And you all know how much fun perimenopause has been! But that's all just part of aging, nothing really to freak out about. I'm planning on living to 100 so this stuff is all just trifles.
I worry about dementia and do a ton of stuff to try and stave that off. Because living to 100 will only be cool if I'm aware of it and who I am. I don't want to lose my mental faculties. I don't think any of us do. I want to be an active and aware little old lady who gets away with EVERYTHING because I'm old and what the fuck are you going to say? Kind of like me now but with more age.
So anyway...I'm starting a campaign! Bring back the fractions! I'm 49 and 3/4 years old! Woo!
Remember those days? When you were never just your year. You were however much of the smallest fraction of the next year you could be as well. 7 and 1/4, 8 and 1/2, 6 and 1/12. But somewhere along the line we stop counting it that way. We just stick with the boring old year. I'm 49. In a couple of months I will say I'm almost 50 because it will seem disingenuous to say 49 when 50 is in sneezing distance.
But I think I'm going to go back to the fractions of years. Because that fraction is looking forward. You stopped because you stopped really looking forward to the next age. I mean after 21 there really isn't a big milestone you are excited about right?
Well, if you are a guy you like 24 because your car insurance rates go down at 24. At least that used to be the age. I know when Brent turned 24 it was lovely. And we were already getting the military and married discounts so we weren't even hit as hard as some.
But other than that the milestones seem like problems instead of bonuses. People freak out about 30 and 40 and holy shit do they freak out about 50.
I've talked before that for the most part age just really doesn't bother me that much. My parents had me when they were older so my clearest memories of them start when they are in their 40s and 50s. And they didn't seem all that old. My mother is almost 86 and she will still tell you how young she looks compared to other little old ladies. She's not wrong either. She has always looked younger. So I'm not freaked out.
Mostly.
I mean I feel it more now for sure. My knees are very chatty when I'm going up and down stairs. Cuts and bruises do not heal the same as they used to. I've got old lady skin going on now. And you all know how much fun perimenopause has been! But that's all just part of aging, nothing really to freak out about. I'm planning on living to 100 so this stuff is all just trifles.
I worry about dementia and do a ton of stuff to try and stave that off. Because living to 100 will only be cool if I'm aware of it and who I am. I don't want to lose my mental faculties. I don't think any of us do. I want to be an active and aware little old lady who gets away with EVERYTHING because I'm old and what the fuck are you going to say? Kind of like me now but with more age.
So anyway...I'm starting a campaign! Bring back the fractions! I'm 49 and 3/4 years old! Woo!
Monday, May 21, 2018
Exchange Rate...
The bell on the shop door rang out its happy little tune. It actually made Gracie a little mad to hear it. Like it should have been a gong, or bass drum. Something to warn people what they were dealing with beyond this door. But that was probably the point.
"I thought you would be by soon." the lovely young woman behind the counter greeted her.
Gracie just stared. Puzzled.
The young woman waved her hand in front of her face, "Nice isn't it? I got it in a trade. A woman who thought she wanted money instead of beauty. I am always amazed at what people think they want."
The hairs on Gracie's arm stood up. The voice was the same. Twenty years later and it still echoed in her thoughts. So yes, this lovely young woman was who she was looking for. Gracie held herself rigid, trying not to jump over the counter and claw her eyes out, "You need to stay away from her."
The woman's lip curled in to a small half smile. "I didn't seek her out, she found me."
"I don't believe that."
"You can believe what you want it doesn't matter to me. But she came to me, I didn't go to her. The same way you came to me years ago."
Gracie's jaw tightened. She did not believe that her daughter had just happened upon this woman or her shop. "You are trying to tell me that you just happened to relocate here? In this town? After all of these years?"
"Oh, sweetheart, I have locations all over the world. You had to know that. Someone like me? To be limited to a small shop in, where was it you found me? Iowa City? When did you move? I am guessing pretty quickly after our visit?"
"That's none of your business."
"Oh but it is, isn't it? I mean she is my business."
Gracie frowned. "She is not part of the deal."
"Not part of the deal? She was the whole deal. She IS the deal."
"Our deal was between us."
She made her away from behind the counter to stand in front of Gracie. She gestured to her face again, "The woman who traded away this for money? She also thought she had a different deal than the one she made. Why is it that you people never pay attention to what you are actually dealing?"
"We had a deal."
"Yes, and the woman this belonged to thought she had one as well. See she thought with enough money it would be easy to get her beauty back. Plastic surgery being what it is. But she dealt her beauty away. The more she spends trying to get it back the worse it's getting. She should have stopped at what I gave her. Not beautiful, but not really all that bad. Plain. Plain and rich would have been a good thing, instead she's, well, she's still rich but she's fairly hideous, to be frank. People don't pay attention to the deals they make."
"I did. I paid your price."
"You made a deal, you got what you wanted, and you tried to negate what I asked for. And I have to say you did a pretty good job. I don't think anyone looking from the outside would ever be able to tell. But she kind of knows doesn't she? How did you work around that?"
Gracie sighed, "We taught her the same way we would have taught any other child. We read to her. We sang to her. We taught her. She learned just like any other child."
"But she's not just like any other child is she? I mean that's why it's really very remarkable. I'm impressed. But tell me, just between us, how worried have you been? When she did something thoughtless? Careless? Did you wonder if this was normal behavior or the sign of something worse?"
"She was always very good."
The woman laughed, "Well no. Not really."
Gracie felt her anger rise again, "Yes, yes really. She is very good. She's a good person and you need to leave her alone!"
The woman remained calm, "Did she tell you what she asked me for?"
Gracie shook her head. She hadn't. Gracie had found the card to the shop in the pocket of her daughter's jeans when she was doing laundry. Just seeing the name had made her want to throw up. How in the world had she found them? When she had asked her daughter about the card and the visit she had just laughed and told her it was silly bachelorette party stuff. They had all gotten their fortunes read it was no big deal.
"She worries about love. Her friends are all getting married and she's never even had a serious boyfriend or girlfriend. She doesn't even know which she would prefer. Have you never talked to her about this?"
A tear started to roll down Gracie's cheek. Of course she had talked to her about it. Over and over again. That it would happen when it was the right time. That there was nothing to worry about. They had even talked about not finding romantic love. That there were people who lived very fulfilling lives with never having a romantic partner. That that was just a different normal. But her daughter didn't want that. She wanted to love someone. She wanted that feeling. But she never could find it.
"She just wants what everyone else has. And I feel for her. I feel responsible for her as well, as you know."
Gracie could feel her heart starting to race. What had she done?
"Everyone thinks they can make a deal and not pay the real price. You all think you are so clever."
The tears started in earnest now. What had she done?
"You asked me for a child. You said you would do anything for a child. So we made a deal. And you thought you were being clever. That you could work around it. Tell me, did you even believe before you had her that you were giving anything real away?"
And here was the truth. She hadn't. Not really. She had thought it was all a joke. She didn't really believe in such things but when she had discovered she was pregnant just a day after leaving the small dusty shop she had started to believe. And when her daughter was born, when they started to raise her, when they could see the missing parts, then she knew. She knew what price she had paid.
"You bargained with something that wasn't really yours to bargain with. And then you thought you could work around it, you didn't want to pay the price for the deal you made. But there is always a price to be paid. And if you won't pay it, well someone has to."
Gracie started to shake, "What did you do?"
"I just gave her what she asked for. A soulmate of her very own. Of course, not every parent who makes the deal you did is successful in raising a good child. It's going to be very interesting."
Gracie started to scream as the woman laughed and laughed and laughed....
"I thought you would be by soon." the lovely young woman behind the counter greeted her.
Gracie just stared. Puzzled.
The young woman waved her hand in front of her face, "Nice isn't it? I got it in a trade. A woman who thought she wanted money instead of beauty. I am always amazed at what people think they want."
The hairs on Gracie's arm stood up. The voice was the same. Twenty years later and it still echoed in her thoughts. So yes, this lovely young woman was who she was looking for. Gracie held herself rigid, trying not to jump over the counter and claw her eyes out, "You need to stay away from her."
The woman's lip curled in to a small half smile. "I didn't seek her out, she found me."
"I don't believe that."
"You can believe what you want it doesn't matter to me. But she came to me, I didn't go to her. The same way you came to me years ago."
Gracie's jaw tightened. She did not believe that her daughter had just happened upon this woman or her shop. "You are trying to tell me that you just happened to relocate here? In this town? After all of these years?"
"Oh, sweetheart, I have locations all over the world. You had to know that. Someone like me? To be limited to a small shop in, where was it you found me? Iowa City? When did you move? I am guessing pretty quickly after our visit?"
"That's none of your business."
"Oh but it is, isn't it? I mean she is my business."
Gracie frowned. "She is not part of the deal."
"Not part of the deal? She was the whole deal. She IS the deal."
"Our deal was between us."
She made her away from behind the counter to stand in front of Gracie. She gestured to her face again, "The woman who traded away this for money? She also thought she had a different deal than the one she made. Why is it that you people never pay attention to what you are actually dealing?"
"We had a deal."
"Yes, and the woman this belonged to thought she had one as well. See she thought with enough money it would be easy to get her beauty back. Plastic surgery being what it is. But she dealt her beauty away. The more she spends trying to get it back the worse it's getting. She should have stopped at what I gave her. Not beautiful, but not really all that bad. Plain. Plain and rich would have been a good thing, instead she's, well, she's still rich but she's fairly hideous, to be frank. People don't pay attention to the deals they make."
"I did. I paid your price."
"You made a deal, you got what you wanted, and you tried to negate what I asked for. And I have to say you did a pretty good job. I don't think anyone looking from the outside would ever be able to tell. But she kind of knows doesn't she? How did you work around that?"
Gracie sighed, "We taught her the same way we would have taught any other child. We read to her. We sang to her. We taught her. She learned just like any other child."
"But she's not just like any other child is she? I mean that's why it's really very remarkable. I'm impressed. But tell me, just between us, how worried have you been? When she did something thoughtless? Careless? Did you wonder if this was normal behavior or the sign of something worse?"
"She was always very good."
The woman laughed, "Well no. Not really."
Gracie felt her anger rise again, "Yes, yes really. She is very good. She's a good person and you need to leave her alone!"
The woman remained calm, "Did she tell you what she asked me for?"
Gracie shook her head. She hadn't. Gracie had found the card to the shop in the pocket of her daughter's jeans when she was doing laundry. Just seeing the name had made her want to throw up. How in the world had she found them? When she had asked her daughter about the card and the visit she had just laughed and told her it was silly bachelorette party stuff. They had all gotten their fortunes read it was no big deal.
"She worries about love. Her friends are all getting married and she's never even had a serious boyfriend or girlfriend. She doesn't even know which she would prefer. Have you never talked to her about this?"
A tear started to roll down Gracie's cheek. Of course she had talked to her about it. Over and over again. That it would happen when it was the right time. That there was nothing to worry about. They had even talked about not finding romantic love. That there were people who lived very fulfilling lives with never having a romantic partner. That that was just a different normal. But her daughter didn't want that. She wanted to love someone. She wanted that feeling. But she never could find it.
"She just wants what everyone else has. And I feel for her. I feel responsible for her as well, as you know."
Gracie could feel her heart starting to race. What had she done?
"Everyone thinks they can make a deal and not pay the real price. You all think you are so clever."
The tears started in earnest now. What had she done?
"You asked me for a child. You said you would do anything for a child. So we made a deal. And you thought you were being clever. That you could work around it. Tell me, did you even believe before you had her that you were giving anything real away?"
And here was the truth. She hadn't. Not really. She had thought it was all a joke. She didn't really believe in such things but when she had discovered she was pregnant just a day after leaving the small dusty shop she had started to believe. And when her daughter was born, when they started to raise her, when they could see the missing parts, then she knew. She knew what price she had paid.
"You bargained with something that wasn't really yours to bargain with. And then you thought you could work around it, you didn't want to pay the price for the deal you made. But there is always a price to be paid. And if you won't pay it, well someone has to."
Gracie started to shake, "What did you do?"
"I just gave her what she asked for. A soulmate of her very own. Of course, not every parent who makes the deal you did is successful in raising a good child. It's going to be very interesting."
Gracie started to scream as the woman laughed and laughed and laughed....
Sunday, May 20, 2018
Sunday Slog Fest...
Okay we are down to the last two Sunday blogs you will have to suffer.
Good news! I had an idea break through on the story I was working on yesterday so I should be able to get it written next week. Of course it completely wipes out everything I wrote yesterday but that's okay, it needed wiped out. When it's not working it's not working. But hopefully this time it will all come together.
I've got two bitches to get off my chest for the rest of this blog so it's going to be slightly ranty and completely not related.
First off, we went to go see Deadpool 2 today. It was good, not as good as the first but that's only because the first was such a surprise and those aspects weren't really a surprise this time around. But it was highly enjoyable and we really liked it. So...here's the bitch. The previews are going and we get one for a raunchy buddy cop movie featuring puppets. I mean RAUNCHY like if you thought Avenue Q was a little tame this is up your alley. I leaned over to Brent (talking during the previews is fine) and said something about kids wanting to see it, and he said that there were kids in the theater right now.
What? You brought your kids to a Deadpool movie? And it's not like it's the first one so you thought maybe they were kidding with R rating. Deadpool is a hard R. There is nothing in it for kids. It's just not appropriate. I've had this bitch before which is almost always met with people saying they can't afford a sitter or their kids can handle it. No and no. If you can't afford a sitter you stay home. And your kids shouldn't be handling a movie made for adults. They just shouldn't. Did you know why we get tense and our palms sweat in scary movies? Because our fight or flight reactions don't realize it's all pretend. We can rationalize it, but we still feel it. Not good for kids.
You will survive having to wait. Millions of parents before you had to practice delayed gratification while they were raising kids, you can do it too. I have faith in you.
My second bitch is people who are assholes about things that have zero to do with them. This was specifically triggered by a friend posting about Pride and some asshole she is friends with coming in with a "What about straight people?" post. Now, I don't know this guy, but from what he posted and where he went (the intolerant tolerant bullshit angle) my guess is he has zero interest in attending a Pride event and it has nothing to do with him at all. But instead of just scrolling on by he needed to make it about him.
This happens all the time. And mostly with straight white people, sad to say. They don't like Pride because it excludes them. They don't like Black Lives Matter because it excludes them. They don't like ANYTHING that isn't straight and white because it excludes them. But they don't want to say that. They want to say things like "Shouldn't we celebrate EVERYONE." or "The tolerant LEFTIST like to call names when all I'm saying is that celebrating your own culture is insulting to ME." If it has nothing to do with you then shut the fuck up. How's that? I'm not a member of the tolerant left, by the way, that's something the right invented to argue against. I'm a member of the don't be a fucking dick brigade.
So if you see a post about a cultural event that isn't your culture and you have a genuine question, ask it. For instance, you see a post about Pride and someone is asking for people to remember that sexuality is not carried like a sign so don't assume that hetero looking couple is there to site see, they could very well be part of the LBGTQ+ community. So your question is are straight allies welcome? To which you will get an answer. Spoiler alert, it's usually yes. But don't come in with a "question" that is really just looking for an argument masked as concern trolling. "But what about straight people, are you saying that no straight people are ever welcome at Pride festivities?" See the difference? One is, "I want to support you." the other is "I want you to acknowledge ME."
So now that I think about it, my two unrelated bitches are actually related.
Selfish.
Don't be so fucking selfish. It's not always about you. It doesn't have to be about you. You can wait to see a movie so you don't damage your kids, you can show some respect for cultures other than your own and understand that they don't have to cater to you to be valid. You can not be rude. Don't be rude to your kids by dragging them someplace they should not be, don't be rude to people who are already facing discrimination in joint spaces and are just looking for a place to celebrate their own world.
Just stop being such a selfish, rude, asshole, mmmkay?
And again Deadpool 2, funny, enjoyable, not for kids.
Pride festivities, open to everyone but allies remember you are there as an ally don't try to make it about you.
Good news! I had an idea break through on the story I was working on yesterday so I should be able to get it written next week. Of course it completely wipes out everything I wrote yesterday but that's okay, it needed wiped out. When it's not working it's not working. But hopefully this time it will all come together.
I've got two bitches to get off my chest for the rest of this blog so it's going to be slightly ranty and completely not related.
First off, we went to go see Deadpool 2 today. It was good, not as good as the first but that's only because the first was such a surprise and those aspects weren't really a surprise this time around. But it was highly enjoyable and we really liked it. So...here's the bitch. The previews are going and we get one for a raunchy buddy cop movie featuring puppets. I mean RAUNCHY like if you thought Avenue Q was a little tame this is up your alley. I leaned over to Brent (talking during the previews is fine) and said something about kids wanting to see it, and he said that there were kids in the theater right now.
What? You brought your kids to a Deadpool movie? And it's not like it's the first one so you thought maybe they were kidding with R rating. Deadpool is a hard R. There is nothing in it for kids. It's just not appropriate. I've had this bitch before which is almost always met with people saying they can't afford a sitter or their kids can handle it. No and no. If you can't afford a sitter you stay home. And your kids shouldn't be handling a movie made for adults. They just shouldn't. Did you know why we get tense and our palms sweat in scary movies? Because our fight or flight reactions don't realize it's all pretend. We can rationalize it, but we still feel it. Not good for kids.
You will survive having to wait. Millions of parents before you had to practice delayed gratification while they were raising kids, you can do it too. I have faith in you.
My second bitch is people who are assholes about things that have zero to do with them. This was specifically triggered by a friend posting about Pride and some asshole she is friends with coming in with a "What about straight people?" post. Now, I don't know this guy, but from what he posted and where he went (the intolerant tolerant bullshit angle) my guess is he has zero interest in attending a Pride event and it has nothing to do with him at all. But instead of just scrolling on by he needed to make it about him.
This happens all the time. And mostly with straight white people, sad to say. They don't like Pride because it excludes them. They don't like Black Lives Matter because it excludes them. They don't like ANYTHING that isn't straight and white because it excludes them. But they don't want to say that. They want to say things like "Shouldn't we celebrate EVERYONE." or "The tolerant LEFTIST like to call names when all I'm saying is that celebrating your own culture is insulting to ME." If it has nothing to do with you then shut the fuck up. How's that? I'm not a member of the tolerant left, by the way, that's something the right invented to argue against. I'm a member of the don't be a fucking dick brigade.
So if you see a post about a cultural event that isn't your culture and you have a genuine question, ask it. For instance, you see a post about Pride and someone is asking for people to remember that sexuality is not carried like a sign so don't assume that hetero looking couple is there to site see, they could very well be part of the LBGTQ+ community. So your question is are straight allies welcome? To which you will get an answer. Spoiler alert, it's usually yes. But don't come in with a "question" that is really just looking for an argument masked as concern trolling. "But what about straight people, are you saying that no straight people are ever welcome at Pride festivities?" See the difference? One is, "I want to support you." the other is "I want you to acknowledge ME."
So now that I think about it, my two unrelated bitches are actually related.
Selfish.
Don't be so fucking selfish. It's not always about you. It doesn't have to be about you. You can wait to see a movie so you don't damage your kids, you can show some respect for cultures other than your own and understand that they don't have to cater to you to be valid. You can not be rude. Don't be rude to your kids by dragging them someplace they should not be, don't be rude to people who are already facing discrimination in joint spaces and are just looking for a place to celebrate their own world.
Just stop being such a selfish, rude, asshole, mmmkay?
And again Deadpool 2, funny, enjoyable, not for kids.
Pride festivities, open to everyone but allies remember you are there as an ally don't try to make it about you.
Saturday, May 19, 2018
Started It...
Started the fiction piece I was going to write yesterday and got about halfway through it then decided I didn't like the way it was going so I stopped.
A lot of writing is like that.
You have the idea, for most of us you have a LOT of ideas. Ideas are not that hard part of writing, usually. Even when I have writer's block and I'm complaining about not having anything what I really mean is I don't have anything more than the nugget of an idea. Because I have notes and notes and more notes of ideas. The idea isn't the hard part.
It's the rest.
The part that makes it a story. Gives it flow. Makes you see the scene I have in my head.
And right now the idea I had on Friday morning is not yet a story. See I need to get it to the second act, the second scene, that's where the real story is, but I can't just start there. There has to be a door opened to walk through. A room they start in. A frame work. If I don't get that then I can't get to the next piece.
So I came up with something yesterday that I thought would work, but it's not. Not yet. There is something about it that's missing. It's a complicated main character and I need to give you information about her without telling you too much. You need to discover the second piece in the second act. Without that moment of discovery the story doesn't work. The whole premise of the story is around that piece.
But it's proving to be more complicated than I thought it would be.
I think I might need to backup even further. Start you with her from a younger age. But then it becomes a much longer story that I was thinking it would be. That's a different framework. I wanted it to be about 1000 words, if I back up too far I'm looking at 2000, 3000. Or a multipart story. Which I could do but it's not as punchy that way. I really wanted this to be a punchy 1000 words.
And it might be. My guess is that there is a flaw in the original idea and the process is pointing it out. That happens a lot as well. The story I thought I was going to tell ends up not being the story that I tell at all. There is only a passing resemblance to the original note as there was to the story I wrote. And that's fine as well. Usually.
But I do really think there is something here so I will keep tossing the idea in my head trying to polish it up in to a better short story than it is right now.
So that's why you get another filler blog. I'm working it out. I promise. And I am hopeful it will turn into something cool. But I'm also aware that it might not. It might join the pile of false starts and half stories just waiting patiently for their turn.
Hmm...that might be a good story idea. All of the half starts join together to form a revolt...let me think about that...
A lot of writing is like that.
You have the idea, for most of us you have a LOT of ideas. Ideas are not that hard part of writing, usually. Even when I have writer's block and I'm complaining about not having anything what I really mean is I don't have anything more than the nugget of an idea. Because I have notes and notes and more notes of ideas. The idea isn't the hard part.
It's the rest.
The part that makes it a story. Gives it flow. Makes you see the scene I have in my head.
And right now the idea I had on Friday morning is not yet a story. See I need to get it to the second act, the second scene, that's where the real story is, but I can't just start there. There has to be a door opened to walk through. A room they start in. A frame work. If I don't get that then I can't get to the next piece.
So I came up with something yesterday that I thought would work, but it's not. Not yet. There is something about it that's missing. It's a complicated main character and I need to give you information about her without telling you too much. You need to discover the second piece in the second act. Without that moment of discovery the story doesn't work. The whole premise of the story is around that piece.
But it's proving to be more complicated than I thought it would be.
I think I might need to backup even further. Start you with her from a younger age. But then it becomes a much longer story that I was thinking it would be. That's a different framework. I wanted it to be about 1000 words, if I back up too far I'm looking at 2000, 3000. Or a multipart story. Which I could do but it's not as punchy that way. I really wanted this to be a punchy 1000 words.
And it might be. My guess is that there is a flaw in the original idea and the process is pointing it out. That happens a lot as well. The story I thought I was going to tell ends up not being the story that I tell at all. There is only a passing resemblance to the original note as there was to the story I wrote. And that's fine as well. Usually.
But I do really think there is something here so I will keep tossing the idea in my head trying to polish it up in to a better short story than it is right now.
So that's why you get another filler blog. I'm working it out. I promise. And I am hopeful it will turn into something cool. But I'm also aware that it might not. It might join the pile of false starts and half stories just waiting patiently for their turn.
Hmm...that might be a good story idea. All of the half starts join together to form a revolt...let me think about that...
Friday, May 18, 2018
Not Today...
I have a really great idea for a short story. The plan was to write it today for a little Friday Freaky Fiction. I'm hoping that I have a rush tomorrow of inspiration and time and get it done then instead because it's not happening today.
Today is another school shooting day in America. Another day where my feed is full of rhetoric and hate and the same old talking points and we wonder why our kids keep facing school shooters.
I also have a lot of Yanny/Laurel leftovers and the one I found to be fascinating that I posted today where I could change what I heard based on what I told myself I was going to hear. Now, I have two friends who have kids the age to play with the toy that had the recording, neither of them could make the recording sound like anything other than what it actually was. They knew it too well. Their facts were solid, you might say, so their brains rejected any other option. Fascinating.
The Yanny/Laurel recording sounds like Laurel to me. Can't force the change, can't hear something else unless I go to the postings that have adjusted the frequency to higher and lower so people could hear what others heard. But I hear Laurel when it's set "right" and I cannot hear anything else. In this case my facts are solid, but if given a different angle I can hear what you are hearing, I just know it's not right.
How often do we intentionally change the frequency to hear only what we want to hear?
People talk a lot about bubbles. We live in our own bubbles of people who think like us and act like us and believe like us so we wrongly assume everyone else thinks, acts and feels like us. We narrow our fields down over and over again so the only people we interact with are in our bubble. It's normal. Most people don't like conflict and many people cannot handle differences of opinion without it becoming a nasty conflict.
The other night I told Brent that I think it's only fair from here on out if someone calls me a libtard I get to call them a Republicunt. Usually this is where he says no. Instead he said, "Sounds fair." Because I'm tired of it. He's tired of it. We should all be tired of it. I am super progressive and very liberal, neither of those should lead you to make it an insult. I have facts to back up what I feel. I've read and researched what I believe. I also know there are areas where I am more conservative because I believe in those stances as well. I'm fiscally conservative. I don't think we should have programs we can't pay for. I just disagree with capital R conservatives what the programs deserving funding are, and honestly at this point about the funding programs instead of increasing debt load. There are discussions we should have and compromises we should make. But they no longer happen.
And part of that is people adjusting their frequency to hear what they want to hear. Anti-vaxxers, birthers, flat earthers, climate change deniers, 9/11 conspirators, second amendment junkies, and on and on. There are facts, scientific facts, research, reality based evidence, out there that we should listen to. But you change the frequency so you tune out anything that doesn't agree with what you already believe.
There are other countries in the world with stricter gun laws and they don't have the mass shootings, and single shootings, and gun suicides that we have. You can study it. But you ignore it. Change the frequency and find something else more in line with what you believe, or change the frequency so when I say we need to screen, register and insure you hear we need to confiscate all of the guns and probably throw the gun owners in jail for good measure.
We are the only developed country that has turned climate change in to a political divide. There can't be warming because I had to wear a sweater today. How's that for your frequency change? Anti-vaxxers can be shown article after article about safety and the real reason we have a vaccine court and they will change the frequency and find a website devoted to the things they already believe and they will put aside everything else because this is what they want to hear.
On and on it goes.
Don't like what you are hearing? Change the frequency. Find something you want to hear more.
And then be boggled at people who know what is right, their facts are solid, who refuse to hear what you do. Even if they can understand what you are hearing, they keep telling you that you are hearing it wrong because their facts are straight and you have just adjusted the frequency to your own happy place. How can they be so sure they are right? Why trust science when you have all of these feels?
It's frustrating.
Stop ignoring the preponderance of evidence just because it feels better to believe that one blogger who agrees with you. Even if that one blogger is me. Though I would think it would be a rare situation where the preponderance of evidence is against what I'm saying. Even though I hear green storm, I know the right answer is brainstorm so I'm not going to tell you that I'm right. I'm not. My frequency is just off.
It's okay to be wrong. It's okay to even feel like it would be more comfortable to be right, yet you know you are wrong. It's okay to look for more evidence. It's not okay to ignore anything that goes against what you think and find the one obscure thing that agrees with you and act like they are the same weight.
No false equivalence in our frequency range, okay?
Ninety-nine scientists to one means that it's more likely the 99 are right. Stop arguing that the 1 is just as valid. If they were then there would be others who agree.
So yeah, I'm not writing fiction today, but trust me, it's a good one. I'm already pleased with it and I haven't even written a word.
Today is another school shooting day in America. Another day where my feed is full of rhetoric and hate and the same old talking points and we wonder why our kids keep facing school shooters.
I also have a lot of Yanny/Laurel leftovers and the one I found to be fascinating that I posted today where I could change what I heard based on what I told myself I was going to hear. Now, I have two friends who have kids the age to play with the toy that had the recording, neither of them could make the recording sound like anything other than what it actually was. They knew it too well. Their facts were solid, you might say, so their brains rejected any other option. Fascinating.
The Yanny/Laurel recording sounds like Laurel to me. Can't force the change, can't hear something else unless I go to the postings that have adjusted the frequency to higher and lower so people could hear what others heard. But I hear Laurel when it's set "right" and I cannot hear anything else. In this case my facts are solid, but if given a different angle I can hear what you are hearing, I just know it's not right.
How often do we intentionally change the frequency to hear only what we want to hear?
People talk a lot about bubbles. We live in our own bubbles of people who think like us and act like us and believe like us so we wrongly assume everyone else thinks, acts and feels like us. We narrow our fields down over and over again so the only people we interact with are in our bubble. It's normal. Most people don't like conflict and many people cannot handle differences of opinion without it becoming a nasty conflict.
The other night I told Brent that I think it's only fair from here on out if someone calls me a libtard I get to call them a Republicunt. Usually this is where he says no. Instead he said, "Sounds fair." Because I'm tired of it. He's tired of it. We should all be tired of it. I am super progressive and very liberal, neither of those should lead you to make it an insult. I have facts to back up what I feel. I've read and researched what I believe. I also know there are areas where I am more conservative because I believe in those stances as well. I'm fiscally conservative. I don't think we should have programs we can't pay for. I just disagree with capital R conservatives what the programs deserving funding are, and honestly at this point about the funding programs instead of increasing debt load. There are discussions we should have and compromises we should make. But they no longer happen.
And part of that is people adjusting their frequency to hear what they want to hear. Anti-vaxxers, birthers, flat earthers, climate change deniers, 9/11 conspirators, second amendment junkies, and on and on. There are facts, scientific facts, research, reality based evidence, out there that we should listen to. But you change the frequency so you tune out anything that doesn't agree with what you already believe.
There are other countries in the world with stricter gun laws and they don't have the mass shootings, and single shootings, and gun suicides that we have. You can study it. But you ignore it. Change the frequency and find something else more in line with what you believe, or change the frequency so when I say we need to screen, register and insure you hear we need to confiscate all of the guns and probably throw the gun owners in jail for good measure.
We are the only developed country that has turned climate change in to a political divide. There can't be warming because I had to wear a sweater today. How's that for your frequency change? Anti-vaxxers can be shown article after article about safety and the real reason we have a vaccine court and they will change the frequency and find a website devoted to the things they already believe and they will put aside everything else because this is what they want to hear.
On and on it goes.
Don't like what you are hearing? Change the frequency. Find something you want to hear more.
And then be boggled at people who know what is right, their facts are solid, who refuse to hear what you do. Even if they can understand what you are hearing, they keep telling you that you are hearing it wrong because their facts are straight and you have just adjusted the frequency to your own happy place. How can they be so sure they are right? Why trust science when you have all of these feels?
It's frustrating.
Stop ignoring the preponderance of evidence just because it feels better to believe that one blogger who agrees with you. Even if that one blogger is me. Though I would think it would be a rare situation where the preponderance of evidence is against what I'm saying. Even though I hear green storm, I know the right answer is brainstorm so I'm not going to tell you that I'm right. I'm not. My frequency is just off.
It's okay to be wrong. It's okay to even feel like it would be more comfortable to be right, yet you know you are wrong. It's okay to look for more evidence. It's not okay to ignore anything that goes against what you think and find the one obscure thing that agrees with you and act like they are the same weight.
No false equivalence in our frequency range, okay?
Ninety-nine scientists to one means that it's more likely the 99 are right. Stop arguing that the 1 is just as valid. If they were then there would be others who agree.
So yeah, I'm not writing fiction today, but trust me, it's a good one. I'm already pleased with it and I haven't even written a word.
Thursday, May 17, 2018
I Don't Feel for You...
I was listening to a Fresh Air interview this morning at the gym and was hit by a moment of hearing someone who usually "gets it" completely missing it.
Terry Gross was interviewing Tig Notaro and they were talking about Louis CK. First off Tig Notaro was clearly uncomfortable about the discussion and Terry was still forging on. And I get that, to a point, she is trying to get answers people listening might want to hear. Tig was on the forefront of calling Louis CK out on his behavior and working to hold him accountable while also having to work with him as a producer on her show. The relationship was complicated from the outside looking in. Tig gave an explanation of how she came to work with him, what she saw when she started to work with him, what she then did, then the fall out when everyone else found out about him. And that should have been that.
Except...
Terry wanted to make one more point. It was that she felt sorry for Louis CK. (Did you hear the record scratch or was it just me?) See, he is such a huge talent and to be controlled by these impulses is just so sad. (my face was totally doing that my face thing) Tig was going to have none of it. (yay!) She said who she felt sorry for were all of the women he had harassed. The women who dealt with the fall out from it all. The women who would never feel the same way about him, about other men they worked with who supported and covered for him, about women they worked with who did the same and about themselves. The doubt they felt about themselves in what they might have done or not done to prevent it. Because that's what victims of assault often do, blame themselves. Society blames them as well.
I was really glad to hear Tig do that. Often we don't. Terry was very apologetic and wanted to make sure it was clear she didn't mean any harm she just couldn't understand what he did and why since he was so talented...
See and here is where empathy and sympathy can be excessive. He's an asshole. He's a criminal. He's a serial sexual abuser. He's a predator. He used his talent and his connections to get away with it. You wouldn't see the sympathy for a dude on the bus jerking off at women but it's the same thing. I don't care what your compulsions are, you deal with them without victimizing other people.
Talent, money, power, sports skill, all of those things are not excuses for bad behavior but we see over and over again that they are used to justify why people get away with it. Bill Cosby, oh we shouldn't taint his legend. (taint away, he's tainted) Bill O'Reilly, oh it was all a left wing conspiracy that he REPEATEDLY harassed women. Ben Roethlisberger, oh but he throws the ball really well (side note, I had to google his name because we only call him Rapelisberger in this house). Kobe Bryant, oh he's the greatest and he bought his wife that ring to make up for it (umm, it wasn't her that he raped). Don't even get me started on Jameis FuckingWinston. Harvey Weinstein. Anthony Weiner. And on and on and on. We excuse men (mostly men, I'm sure there will be women out there sometime) for horrible things because of a variety of reasons that we shouldn't ever consider. Bad men who have gotten a pass because of money, power, talent, sports skills, family connections...The White House holds one now and if HRC had won would have held a different one. Getting away with things the pervert on the bus never would.
But I get it. Terry Gross is highly empathetic and one of the curses of being highly empathetic is it can bleed over into sympathy where it's not deserved. I am really empathetic. I think a lot of creative people are. You need to be able to understand why people act the way they act to be able to write convincingly about them, or act in a play or a movie as someone else. It's a strong trait. I am not very sympathetic though. I can completely understand why someone got to where they are, I can see the things that led them there, but then I stop short of feeling sorry for them because of the actions they then took. For me empathy usually only goes so far. But for others empathy and sympathy become closely linked and I think that is what I heard in that interview from Terry Gross. Her empathy bled into sympathy and Tig Notaro rightly pulled her back and gave her the real victims to feel badly for.
And just to add to the equation, assholes know how to play on this. Harvey Weinstein supported any number of organizations that promoted women. Louis CK did the same thing. He presented a "good guy" image out there, including promoting Tig Notaro's comedy. The New York Attorney General who was leading investigations in to other men including Weinstein, while all the while covering his own abuse allegations is another. They put up a smoke screen of good guy to cover for the asshole they are so when it's discovered people are left with this feeling of yeah...but...
You aren't sure how to feel. Does the asshole part completely negate the rest? Or does the good outweigh the bad?
Empathy vs. sympathy. I understand your feelings, but I don't feel sorry for you when you act out based on them. And I also can say, "They did xyz that was great, however, it does not excuse abc."
I'm not the Catholic Church, there are no buying of indulgences.
We can understand people and feel badly for their situation but we should never let that cloud our judgement of their actions. I have no sympathy for someone who victimizes others. But what I do have is a ton of respect for Tig Notaro. May we all be so good at defending those ideals.
Terry Gross was interviewing Tig Notaro and they were talking about Louis CK. First off Tig Notaro was clearly uncomfortable about the discussion and Terry was still forging on. And I get that, to a point, she is trying to get answers people listening might want to hear. Tig was on the forefront of calling Louis CK out on his behavior and working to hold him accountable while also having to work with him as a producer on her show. The relationship was complicated from the outside looking in. Tig gave an explanation of how she came to work with him, what she saw when she started to work with him, what she then did, then the fall out when everyone else found out about him. And that should have been that.
Except...
Terry wanted to make one more point. It was that she felt sorry for Louis CK. (Did you hear the record scratch or was it just me?) See, he is such a huge talent and to be controlled by these impulses is just so sad. (my face was totally doing that my face thing) Tig was going to have none of it. (yay!) She said who she felt sorry for were all of the women he had harassed. The women who dealt with the fall out from it all. The women who would never feel the same way about him, about other men they worked with who supported and covered for him, about women they worked with who did the same and about themselves. The doubt they felt about themselves in what they might have done or not done to prevent it. Because that's what victims of assault often do, blame themselves. Society blames them as well.
I was really glad to hear Tig do that. Often we don't. Terry was very apologetic and wanted to make sure it was clear she didn't mean any harm she just couldn't understand what he did and why since he was so talented...
See and here is where empathy and sympathy can be excessive. He's an asshole. He's a criminal. He's a serial sexual abuser. He's a predator. He used his talent and his connections to get away with it. You wouldn't see the sympathy for a dude on the bus jerking off at women but it's the same thing. I don't care what your compulsions are, you deal with them without victimizing other people.
Talent, money, power, sports skill, all of those things are not excuses for bad behavior but we see over and over again that they are used to justify why people get away with it. Bill Cosby, oh we shouldn't taint his legend. (taint away, he's tainted) Bill O'Reilly, oh it was all a left wing conspiracy that he REPEATEDLY harassed women. Ben Roethlisberger, oh but he throws the ball really well (side note, I had to google his name because we only call him Rapelisberger in this house). Kobe Bryant, oh he's the greatest and he bought his wife that ring to make up for it (umm, it wasn't her that he raped). Don't even get me started on Jameis FuckingWinston. Harvey Weinstein. Anthony Weiner. And on and on and on. We excuse men (mostly men, I'm sure there will be women out there sometime) for horrible things because of a variety of reasons that we shouldn't ever consider. Bad men who have gotten a pass because of money, power, talent, sports skills, family connections...The White House holds one now and if HRC had won would have held a different one. Getting away with things the pervert on the bus never would.
But I get it. Terry Gross is highly empathetic and one of the curses of being highly empathetic is it can bleed over into sympathy where it's not deserved. I am really empathetic. I think a lot of creative people are. You need to be able to understand why people act the way they act to be able to write convincingly about them, or act in a play or a movie as someone else. It's a strong trait. I am not very sympathetic though. I can completely understand why someone got to where they are, I can see the things that led them there, but then I stop short of feeling sorry for them because of the actions they then took. For me empathy usually only goes so far. But for others empathy and sympathy become closely linked and I think that is what I heard in that interview from Terry Gross. Her empathy bled into sympathy and Tig Notaro rightly pulled her back and gave her the real victims to feel badly for.
And just to add to the equation, assholes know how to play on this. Harvey Weinstein supported any number of organizations that promoted women. Louis CK did the same thing. He presented a "good guy" image out there, including promoting Tig Notaro's comedy. The New York Attorney General who was leading investigations in to other men including Weinstein, while all the while covering his own abuse allegations is another. They put up a smoke screen of good guy to cover for the asshole they are so when it's discovered people are left with this feeling of yeah...but...
You aren't sure how to feel. Does the asshole part completely negate the rest? Or does the good outweigh the bad?
Empathy vs. sympathy. I understand your feelings, but I don't feel sorry for you when you act out based on them. And I also can say, "They did xyz that was great, however, it does not excuse abc."
I'm not the Catholic Church, there are no buying of indulgences.
We can understand people and feel badly for their situation but we should never let that cloud our judgement of their actions. I have no sympathy for someone who victimizes others. But what I do have is a ton of respect for Tig Notaro. May we all be so good at defending those ideals.
Wednesday, May 16, 2018
So Good...
We went to go see P!nk last night. I bought these tickets in October of last year so I've been looking forward to this show for awhile. Technically I've been looking forward to this show for years. The first time I watched her do the aerial dancing and found out she did it in concert I started looking forward to seeing her one day.
It did not disappoint.
The show is incredibly staged. It's a SHOW. There is choreography and set pieces that change for songs and clever bits and emotional highs and prerecorded pieces that distract you during costume changes and so much aerial work but it's different each time so you aren't getting that feeling of seen it...bored now. And then, of course, there is her music. Which apparently lands in a middle aged lady sweet spot judging from the crowd. It makes sense her first album came out in 2000 and she really hit it big in 2001. So around 17 years ago those 40-45 year old women were clinging on to their 20s feeling rebellious and she spoke to them. I was a little older, but rebellious women always speak to me.
I love her "zero fucks to give" vs. "too many fucks about everything" mashup. She's perfect. Excuse me, fucking perfect.
Brent asked on the way home if there were any songs that I wished she had done that she didn't. And honestly though she missed a couple of my favorites the show was so good I didn't feel like I missed out. And that's a great thing. I mean, she has a lot to choose from so there is no way to get them all, but there are people that we've gone to see and if they hadn't hit a few songs that I love I would have been bummed. So that fact that she didn't do Don't Let Me Get Me or Trouble or Please Don't Leave and I still feel like it was a great show? Outstanding.
Now here is my usual "Why do you do that?" feeling that I leave almost every show with. When we got to our seats the two women sitting next to us started out by announcing to Brent that he would have to dance. Telling Brent he has to do anything is never a good choice and especially something like dancing. But it gave me a good indication of where we were. The party girls. Or women. Okie doke. So during her opening act, a DJ which was an interesting choice but fun, they danced, or moved in a slightly off beat but I'm sure it counts way.
Okay, quick aside, as the arena was filled with a large percentage of middle aged white ladies let me just say that there is more to dancing than a weird hip wiggle, ladies. Really, find the beat, find the rhythm of the song, move WITH it. There is no one size fits all dance, you have to find the groove of the song and well, groove WITH it. Public service announcement portion over...
So then they decided that the DJ was boring and they would go get another drink before the show because the bar area near us had short lines. Well, that was a GREAT idea. So great that they stayed at the bar for the next half hour and brought two more drinks each with them back to their seats.
The drinks combined with the 5 inch platform sandals meant the awkward dancing portion of the evening was over. So I figured our floor show was done. But once the concert started we got a new opportunity. There was a guy a couple of rows in front of us who was a concert continual stander. And I get it, I really do, I don't always want to stand for an entire show, there are some that call for it, Green Day for instance, and some that don't, Indigo Girls, but most are a mix. Stand and sit. But there are always people who want to stand the whole time. And it's a bummer when they are in front of you because you then have to stand too. But it's a concert so you make a Facebook post about how it drives you crazy and move the fuck on.
OR...you yell obscenities at him and threaten to kick his ass.
Which she got chastised for by the moms sitting in front of us. "That's out of line. We are at a concert. Use your words!"
Me? I was thinking, "Bitch you cannot even stand on your shoes right now you cannot possibly kick someone's ass. Besides that you weigh all of 105 pounds, you aren't even a threat sober."
But the mom chastisement from the front row settled her into a sulk for the balance of the show.
Which is where my perennial question comes into play. Why in the world do you do that? The tickets weren't cheap. Not even sitting in the 200 section where we were. You had to buy them last year. You spent a couple hundred dollars for them. You are a fan of hers. Why do you get so drunk you aren't really going to enjoy the show, let alone remember it? I'm also super cheap and drinks at a concert are expensive. A solid drunk like that costs a lot of money. You've already spent a lot on tickets and parking and possibly babysitting and you add another $50 on it to get so trashed you don't enjoy what you originally paid to see? I just don't get it.
I mean she should try sober out for a change, but what are you going to do with a stupid girl?
It did not disappoint.
The show is incredibly staged. It's a SHOW. There is choreography and set pieces that change for songs and clever bits and emotional highs and prerecorded pieces that distract you during costume changes and so much aerial work but it's different each time so you aren't getting that feeling of seen it...bored now. And then, of course, there is her music. Which apparently lands in a middle aged lady sweet spot judging from the crowd. It makes sense her first album came out in 2000 and she really hit it big in 2001. So around 17 years ago those 40-45 year old women were clinging on to their 20s feeling rebellious and she spoke to them. I was a little older, but rebellious women always speak to me.
I love her "zero fucks to give" vs. "too many fucks about everything" mashup. She's perfect. Excuse me, fucking perfect.
Brent asked on the way home if there were any songs that I wished she had done that she didn't. And honestly though she missed a couple of my favorites the show was so good I didn't feel like I missed out. And that's a great thing. I mean, she has a lot to choose from so there is no way to get them all, but there are people that we've gone to see and if they hadn't hit a few songs that I love I would have been bummed. So that fact that she didn't do Don't Let Me Get Me or Trouble or Please Don't Leave and I still feel like it was a great show? Outstanding.
Now here is my usual "Why do you do that?" feeling that I leave almost every show with. When we got to our seats the two women sitting next to us started out by announcing to Brent that he would have to dance. Telling Brent he has to do anything is never a good choice and especially something like dancing. But it gave me a good indication of where we were. The party girls. Or women. Okie doke. So during her opening act, a DJ which was an interesting choice but fun, they danced, or moved in a slightly off beat but I'm sure it counts way.
Okay, quick aside, as the arena was filled with a large percentage of middle aged white ladies let me just say that there is more to dancing than a weird hip wiggle, ladies. Really, find the beat, find the rhythm of the song, move WITH it. There is no one size fits all dance, you have to find the groove of the song and well, groove WITH it. Public service announcement portion over...
So then they decided that the DJ was boring and they would go get another drink before the show because the bar area near us had short lines. Well, that was a GREAT idea. So great that they stayed at the bar for the next half hour and brought two more drinks each with them back to their seats.
The drinks combined with the 5 inch platform sandals meant the awkward dancing portion of the evening was over. So I figured our floor show was done. But once the concert started we got a new opportunity. There was a guy a couple of rows in front of us who was a concert continual stander. And I get it, I really do, I don't always want to stand for an entire show, there are some that call for it, Green Day for instance, and some that don't, Indigo Girls, but most are a mix. Stand and sit. But there are always people who want to stand the whole time. And it's a bummer when they are in front of you because you then have to stand too. But it's a concert so you make a Facebook post about how it drives you crazy and move the fuck on.
OR...you yell obscenities at him and threaten to kick his ass.
Which she got chastised for by the moms sitting in front of us. "That's out of line. We are at a concert. Use your words!"
Me? I was thinking, "Bitch you cannot even stand on your shoes right now you cannot possibly kick someone's ass. Besides that you weigh all of 105 pounds, you aren't even a threat sober."
But the mom chastisement from the front row settled her into a sulk for the balance of the show.
Which is where my perennial question comes into play. Why in the world do you do that? The tickets weren't cheap. Not even sitting in the 200 section where we were. You had to buy them last year. You spent a couple hundred dollars for them. You are a fan of hers. Why do you get so drunk you aren't really going to enjoy the show, let alone remember it? I'm also super cheap and drinks at a concert are expensive. A solid drunk like that costs a lot of money. You've already spent a lot on tickets and parking and possibly babysitting and you add another $50 on it to get so trashed you don't enjoy what you originally paid to see? I just don't get it.
I mean she should try sober out for a change, but what are you going to do with a stupid girl?
Tuesday, May 15, 2018
Are You High?
Michael Pollan changed the way I look at food. That's not an overstatement. The Omnivore's Dilemma is a great book and it literally started me down a different path with eating. Eat food, not foodlike substances has become a mantra of ours when shopping and eating. His other bit of advice, eat food, not too much, mostly plants has not stuck nearly as much though it nags in the back of my brain as what we should do so I would guess eventually I will steer us that direction.
So today I got a letter from him promoting his new book. On using psychedelic drugs to change your reality.
Ummm...well...
I don't get high. At all. I don't smoke pot. Never have. I don't use any other drug except for alcohol and I use very little alcohol. But I don't get high. Part of it is because of my sister's drug use and my upfront view of what that can do to a person and the people around them. Because it was such a part of my formative years, This is what happens when someone uses drugs, I was never even tempted.
But most of my friends got high. And when they were high we could have the deep conversations about life that I loved to have. Their high is my normal brain.
Brent and I have talked about this a lot. We aren't even sure what would happen if I got high. Because I already view the word a little differently. I think a lot of creative people do. You have to, to a point. You are painting or writing about or sculpting something that you see in your head and making it real. That's kind of trippy. And a lot of creative people get high or get drunk as part of their process. Tapping into that well of creative thought. I don't need to do that. It's always there.
Often when Brent is reading my fictions he's concerned it's about him. I've had other friends of mine write me after reading a story and say the same thing. "Was that me?" Well, no. Not unless it's a nonfiction piece and I tell you it was you. But they will recognize something they've done and think I have then turned them into a character in a story. And they can be right about the recognition of a phrase or a physical mannerism, but all that did was inspire another whole person. And I get it, if you aren't the sort of person who makes up people it's hard to wrap your brain around where they come from. I feel that way about friends who paint. How in the world did you get your hand and that brush to create that thing? I can't do that. So I understand that it's hard to imagine that someone else can.
I also dream very vividly. You all have heard stories about dreams that I've had. My imagination is strong. Even when I'm asleep. When my conscious mind isn't directing the train it sometimes goes off the rails. I'm pretty good at lucid dreaming but not always. Sometimes I'm just along for the ride. And it can get pretty crazy.
This is why the idea of doing psychedelics does not appeal to me at all. Letting my mind go unfettered on a trip? Oh my...that's just asking for trouble. But maybe I have found the secret to getting people to like my short stories, hand them a mushroom then a story.
"Oooh....his eyes were in the jar all along! Dude...."
So today I got a letter from him promoting his new book. On using psychedelic drugs to change your reality.
Ummm...well...
I don't get high. At all. I don't smoke pot. Never have. I don't use any other drug except for alcohol and I use very little alcohol. But I don't get high. Part of it is because of my sister's drug use and my upfront view of what that can do to a person and the people around them. Because it was such a part of my formative years, This is what happens when someone uses drugs, I was never even tempted.
But most of my friends got high. And when they were high we could have the deep conversations about life that I loved to have. Their high is my normal brain.
Brent and I have talked about this a lot. We aren't even sure what would happen if I got high. Because I already view the word a little differently. I think a lot of creative people do. You have to, to a point. You are painting or writing about or sculpting something that you see in your head and making it real. That's kind of trippy. And a lot of creative people get high or get drunk as part of their process. Tapping into that well of creative thought. I don't need to do that. It's always there.
Often when Brent is reading my fictions he's concerned it's about him. I've had other friends of mine write me after reading a story and say the same thing. "Was that me?" Well, no. Not unless it's a nonfiction piece and I tell you it was you. But they will recognize something they've done and think I have then turned them into a character in a story. And they can be right about the recognition of a phrase or a physical mannerism, but all that did was inspire another whole person. And I get it, if you aren't the sort of person who makes up people it's hard to wrap your brain around where they come from. I feel that way about friends who paint. How in the world did you get your hand and that brush to create that thing? I can't do that. So I understand that it's hard to imagine that someone else can.
I also dream very vividly. You all have heard stories about dreams that I've had. My imagination is strong. Even when I'm asleep. When my conscious mind isn't directing the train it sometimes goes off the rails. I'm pretty good at lucid dreaming but not always. Sometimes I'm just along for the ride. And it can get pretty crazy.
This is why the idea of doing psychedelics does not appeal to me at all. Letting my mind go unfettered on a trip? Oh my...that's just asking for trouble. But maybe I have found the secret to getting people to like my short stories, hand them a mushroom then a story.
"Oooh....his eyes were in the jar all along! Dude...."
Monday, May 14, 2018
All Apologies...
The press is confused. Again. It's a pretty standard way of acting for them now. I find it to be disingenuous at best and incredibly ignorant at worst. They keep waiting for an apology from the Trump White House about an employee saying that John McCain's opinion didn't matter because he was dying. They (the press) keep expecting this apology and how it's important instead of paying attention to the fact that Trump doesn't apologize and not only that his base loves him for it.
His base is made up of the same people who hated Barack Obama using diplomacy instead of fear tactics. They called his approach of admitting the United States shouldn't act unilaterally an apology tour. They despised him as weak for not blustering his way through speeches in foreign countries and instead listening and seeking advice and heeding it when necessary. His base loves that Trump is a bully. They cheered when Melania Trump said if you hit him he hits back 10 times harder. And they love that his idea of hitting is nothing more than someone not being obsequious.
The bullying, unapologetic, strongman, wanna be dictator is what they like. And the press somehow doesn't get that and expects an apology. It's just common decency! What? Common decency left the building when Trump walked in. He campaigned on uncommon vileness and they.ate.it.up. So...stop being stupid, Presspeople, and start remembering who you are dealing with.
The response from the White House has been one I've expected. "Let's talk about the really serious issue which is the leak." And you know what? On one hand Sarah Huckabee Sanders isn't wrong, the fact that everything is leaked is a serious issue. But it's an issue coming from inside their own house. The leakers are people they hired. There is no Deep State sabotaging them, they are doing it themselves. But on the other hand, no, that's not the only really serious issue. It reminds me of a philanderer being caught because their partner read their emails or texts. Yes, you are right, they should not have invaded your privacy, HOWEVER, there is still the issue that you're cheating that needs to be dealt with.
The fruit from a poisoned tree argument only goes so far. We know the leaking is bad, we know that you are mad about it, but we also know that you work in a group that thinks "joking" about a man dying of brain cancer is hilarious meeting material.
And on that note, as a progressive, liberal, cultural elite, education is a good thing, West Coast snob I am expected to apologize for not understanding the "average" American in the heartland. We still hear it today a year and half after the election. We just don't understand them, they are just so tired of being talked down to, they hate that we think they are ignorant or bigots or racists. We need to apologize. Well no. That would show weakness and I know that you hate that shit. And since you aren't being obsequious to me and telling me how smart and pretty and thin I am I have to assume that you are hitting me so I should hit you back 10 times harder. Because you like that. Right?
I'm kidding. Joking. Mocking. But it's true. I'm supposed to be apologetic to the Right while they continually make excuses for no apologies ever. Yet I do get you. I do understand you. I know that there are a lot of you that voted how you did for a variety of reasons. But understanding you doesn't mean agreeing with you. And I'm not going to apologize for that even if you think I should.
So, no, the Trump White House doesn't apologize, unless it's a nonapology apology. Either the, "We're sorry you were offended by that." or the forced apology of the Susie you apologize right now, "Sooooorrrryyyy" type. And I just wish the media would stop acting like they will. Yes, we all know (or at least more than half of us know) that they should but the fact that the rest of them LOVE that they won't means that they won't. Trump governs for his base. And he's not one bit sorry about that. Stop expecting him to act like it. He loves only those that love him. And he only cares about catering to his base.
Yeah, I know he said that: "I pledge to every citizen of our land that I will be president for all Americans..." but we all also knows that he lies. So stop acting surprised about that too.
His base is made up of the same people who hated Barack Obama using diplomacy instead of fear tactics. They called his approach of admitting the United States shouldn't act unilaterally an apology tour. They despised him as weak for not blustering his way through speeches in foreign countries and instead listening and seeking advice and heeding it when necessary. His base loves that Trump is a bully. They cheered when Melania Trump said if you hit him he hits back 10 times harder. And they love that his idea of hitting is nothing more than someone not being obsequious.
The bullying, unapologetic, strongman, wanna be dictator is what they like. And the press somehow doesn't get that and expects an apology. It's just common decency! What? Common decency left the building when Trump walked in. He campaigned on uncommon vileness and they.ate.it.up. So...stop being stupid, Presspeople, and start remembering who you are dealing with.
The response from the White House has been one I've expected. "Let's talk about the really serious issue which is the leak." And you know what? On one hand Sarah Huckabee Sanders isn't wrong, the fact that everything is leaked is a serious issue. But it's an issue coming from inside their own house. The leakers are people they hired. There is no Deep State sabotaging them, they are doing it themselves. But on the other hand, no, that's not the only really serious issue. It reminds me of a philanderer being caught because their partner read their emails or texts. Yes, you are right, they should not have invaded your privacy, HOWEVER, there is still the issue that you're cheating that needs to be dealt with.
The fruit from a poisoned tree argument only goes so far. We know the leaking is bad, we know that you are mad about it, but we also know that you work in a group that thinks "joking" about a man dying of brain cancer is hilarious meeting material.
And on that note, as a progressive, liberal, cultural elite, education is a good thing, West Coast snob I am expected to apologize for not understanding the "average" American in the heartland. We still hear it today a year and half after the election. We just don't understand them, they are just so tired of being talked down to, they hate that we think they are ignorant or bigots or racists. We need to apologize. Well no. That would show weakness and I know that you hate that shit. And since you aren't being obsequious to me and telling me how smart and pretty and thin I am I have to assume that you are hitting me so I should hit you back 10 times harder. Because you like that. Right?
I'm kidding. Joking. Mocking. But it's true. I'm supposed to be apologetic to the Right while they continually make excuses for no apologies ever. Yet I do get you. I do understand you. I know that there are a lot of you that voted how you did for a variety of reasons. But understanding you doesn't mean agreeing with you. And I'm not going to apologize for that even if you think I should.
So, no, the Trump White House doesn't apologize, unless it's a nonapology apology. Either the, "We're sorry you were offended by that." or the forced apology of the Susie you apologize right now, "Sooooorrrryyyy" type. And I just wish the media would stop acting like they will. Yes, we all know (or at least more than half of us know) that they should but the fact that the rest of them LOVE that they won't means that they won't. Trump governs for his base. And he's not one bit sorry about that. Stop expecting him to act like it. He loves only those that love him. And he only cares about catering to his base.
Yeah, I know he said that: "I pledge to every citizen of our land that I will be president for all Americans..." but we all also knows that he lies. So stop acting surprised about that too.