The daily nightmares of writing and living

(Also be sure to follow along with TinaJeanKrista, and Tambo as they say much more sane and less esoteric things than me!)

This family needs a flowchart.

So why am I sharing a picture with faces? Because it is totally and completely ludicrous.

I know, it doesn’t look funny, but let me put it in perspective.

  • There are 27 people in that photo.
  • Of that 27, 18 are blood related, the rest are by marriage.
  • All 18 are blood related as children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, or great-great-grandchildren  to the women in red.
  • 10 are children, grandchildren, or great-grandchildren to the woman in blue right next to her.
  • Only 2 are direct children of the woman in blue–3 are represented here if you include the grandchildren given to her by one of her children that has passed away.
  • The woman in blue has 9 kids total.

Mull on that a moment. For most people, this picture would represent their entire family, plus friends. For my family, it is only a fraction of a percentage. Aside from my aunt’s nine kids, my grandmother had three, neither of which started popping out offspring as…generously as my aunt, but both of which also have children, grandchildren, and possibly great-grandchildren as well. What you see here is actually a conservative family gathering.

Why don’t I know for sure? Because, in order to keep up with this family you need a programmable flow chart.

I figure, at the rate we’re going, one out of every ten people will be blood related to my family by the year 2130.

Also, this casual poolside picture? Guess what time of year it was taken.

The smart ones caught the one hint in the photo and have already guessed it.

Christmas.

(Also be sure to follow along with TinaJeanKrista, and Tambo as they say much more sane and less esoteric things than me!)

Today is a letter to someone who’s recently hurt me. Easy-peasy, since I happen to have been recently wounded, and wounded pretty terribly. There is nothing worse than finding out a friendship is false.

Dear Girl-I-Shall-Not-Name,

I’m past being angry, mostly. I’m past being hurt, mostly. Now I’m just feeling foolish, betrayed, and used. I kick myself daily for losing two extraordinary friends over someone like you. Sure, they were far from perfect, but gods know I’m not either. I could have simply, quietly asked them not to make fun of people I loved to my face and told them that wasn’t cool. Instead I pushed, and pushed, and finally exploded.

And lost them.

And you, you gained them. You guys are bestest buds now. For over a year, one of them said the absolute worst things about you every chance he got, while the other very quietly stepped aside and let him do it, never even quietly asking him to pick a more appropriate crowd to vent his feelings to, or at least tone it down a notch; permission seemingly given and agreement made simply by never saying no. Neither ever spoke up for you in any way, not even to just keep things cordial when in mixed company. In fact, they had no use for you at all.

I spoke for you, time and again. I supported you from the first day I met you. I often spoke up for you when people mocked you, in spite of the trouble it caused me. I stepped forward when others stepped away. I bragged about the comics you created to new people who had never seen your work and pointed them towards your creations. I talked out problems with you when others were afraid to speak up. I was the one who finally told you why the bad blood existed between you and your tormentors (yes they were my friends, but let’s face it, they were definitely your tormentors)–everyone knew, but I was the only one who had the crassness to step forward. I did it to try to and start the process of mending fences; after all, you can’t correct what you don’t know about.

And why did I do all this?

Read the rest of this entry »

(Also be sure to follow along with TinaJeanKrista, and Tambo as they say much more sane and less esoteric things than me!)

I can’t recall my first exposure to blogging. It was back when the net was new; back when LiveJournal was just starting out and hadn’t been sold to companies who decided liberally sprinkling the pages with ads was somehow a good idea. I had wanted to keep a diary for a long time, but frankly, I suck at diaries. I’m one of those people that purchases them, keeps a day or two, then relegates them to the back of the bookshelf so I don’t have to feel guilty every time I run across the empty pages. I thought maybe having people looking in on my work would help my determination to keep up with it, so I made my first journal.

Like all journals of young people, there was much emotion and angst, to the point I don’t know how I ever got followers. But I managed with well over 100, which was a pretty respectable following in the early days of the net. It helped my memory, my emotional equilibrium, and my life in general. But at some point I befriended one too many of my flakier followers. I screamed one too many times where a boyfriend or girlfriend could see it. And the drama bomb exploded once too often in my lap.

So I abandoned it.

About the point I felt I could take it back up again, LJ had added advertisements, and it just didn’t feel like the same place anymore. I already paid for my account, I did my part to support LJ for years, and saw no reason why I should be punished when times were lean. Especially when I knew (as everyone there did) that they weren’t exactly hurting for money. I’d be there right now, but what’s the point? I thought I’d give WordPress a try instead.

I’ve since thought of taking it up again, as practice to getting back into daily writing. So far the “daily” part is an uphill battle, but at least the “writing” is happening. I am woefully behind, but I haven’t given up.

(Also be sure to follow along with TinaJeanKrista, and Tambo as they say much more sane and less esoteric things than me!)

These posts really assume I’m an interesting person, don’t they?

Today is another picture of me with my friends, because, you know, I have permission to splash their faces all over the net. Not.

All right, here’s one of my subversive pictures with a small and very prosaic story attached.

No, really, it was easy....

It was a new year party/birthday party of a friend, and we all got together, got a little smashed, and enjoyed such party essentials as “is the bathroom ever free,” “long talks about nothing at all,” “drinking games,” “ease the munchies,” and Rock Band. These days, no party is complete without Rock Band.

I don’t really play guitar, and i find the game guitar fun, but not really my thing. I loved the drums–for about five seconds. The drum set was somehow not coordinated with the game right; you’d hit the drum, then about two seconds later the game would register the hit. The lag in anything else  would be barely noticeable, but in Rock Band precision timing is critical. It frustrated so many people that the entire drum set eventually got stowed.

This left guitar, bass guitar, and microphone. A lifelong attendance of choral classes had me gravitating towards, you guessed it, the microphone.

I spent a lot of the night singing, actually, with varying results. The 100% up there, however, was the apparent amazement of those around me when I belted out a perfect score on a song I’d never even heard before. Keep in mind, it was on Easy, and Easy is really, really forgiving. I tried higher levels with songs I did know and bombed badly.

But it made the message board anyway. Other well wishes and smart-ass remarks were erased so my accomplishment could be posted, and it stayed there the rest of the night.

I still say it was only because it was on Easy.

How is this a pic of me with friends? Well, every message there is from a party-goer. One was written by my roomie, one by her sister, and the rest from people I know. Except the well hung bird. I have no idea who drew that (or if it was originally intended to have a ding dong), but you must admit, it’s an amusing little doodle. The bird seems genuinely surprised by his dong.

(Also be sure to follow along with Tina, Jean, Krista, and Tambo as they say much more sane and less esoteric things than me!)

Also note: If SOPA and PIPA pass, I could go to jail for this post, for daring to embed my favorite songs into a post and giving these musicians free advertising. This post could also be used to shut down WordPress and YouTube…permanently. Please click the link in the upper right hand corner of this blog and protest these bills–or any future bills like them, being passed.

Today’s challenge? Songs I listen to when I’m happy, sad, bored, hyper, and mad. Translation? An excuse to link spam! SQUEE!!!

The problem is, this is going to be difficult, since I have no one particular song for any of these emotions. Not to mention, these are very rigidly defined. For instance, the song I would listen to if I were mad at some jerk for cutting me off and making me miss my exit would be different than the song I listened to if I were fuming over an ex. And for either of those situations, I have probably fifty songs in my arsenal.

I am a music-o-holic, always have been. Even as a child, the radio was on in our house (back when radio was still good) more often than the tv. I took to cassette tapes like a duck to water, and I probably owned a million of them. My musical tastes in rock run from practically the birth of rock all the way up to the present day, and I love songs that you’ve probably never heard of. I also dip into industrial, jazz, blues, folk, symphonic metal, experimental, pagan, comedy, some older country, a very little rap, and gods only know what else. And if you have explored every one of those links, congratulations, you are as music crazy as I am. And probably up as late.

Choosing just one per mood is not easy; it’s tantamount to simply pulling a title out of my ass and calling it Gospel. It irks me. But on the flip side, if I went off on a music-y tangent, we’d be here all year.

What to do…what to do….

Edit: Eh, screw this. I was laying down a pretty good post, when WordPress screwed up enough of the formatting that I had a choice to laboriously redo it, or go back and just do the original question.

Hellooooo, original question! Let’s get this done in five minutes, shall we? I’ll probably still be giving it my own take, it’s just a different take from the one I was using before.

Read the rest of this entry »

(Also be sure to follow along with TinaJeanKrista, and Tambo as they say much more sane and less esoteric things than me!)

Also note: If SOPA and PIPA pass, I could go to jail for this post, for daring to embed my favorite songs into a post and giving these musicians free advertising. This post could also be used to shut down WordPress and YouTube…permanently. Please write your congress-critter and protest these bills–or any future bills like them, being passed.

Today’s challenge? Songs I listen to when I’m happy, sad, bored, hyper, and mad. Translation? An excuse to link spam! SQUEE!!!

The problem is, this is going to be difficult, since I have no one particular song for any of these emotions. Not to mention, these are very rigidly defined. For instance, the song I would listen to if I were mad at some jerk for cutting me off and making me miss my exit would be different than the song I listened to if I were fuming over an ex. And for either of those situations, I have probably fifty songs in my arsenal.

I am a music-o-holic, always have been. Even as a child, the radio was on in our house (back when radio was still good) more often than the tv. I took to cassette tapes like a duck to water, and I probably owned a million of them. My musical tastes in rock run from practically the birth of rock all the way up to the present day, and I love songs that you’ve probably never heard of. I also dip into industrial, jazz, blues, folk, symphonic metal, experimental, pagan, comedy, some older country, a very little rap, and gods only know what else. And if you have explored every one of those links, congratulations, you are as music crazy as I am. And probably up as late.

Choosing just one per mood is not easy; it’s tantamount to simply pulling a title out of my ass and calling it Gospel. It irks me. But on the flip side, if I went off on a music-y tangent, we’d be here all year.

What to do…what to do….

Edit: Eh, screw this. I was laying down a pretty good post, when WordPress screwed up enough of the formatting that I had a choice to laboriously redo it, or go back and just do the original question.

Hellooooo, original question! Let’s get this done in five minutes, shall we? I’ll probably still be giving it my own take, it’s just a different take from the one I was using before.

Read the rest of this entry »

(Also be sure to follow along with TinaJeanKrista, and Tambo as they say much more sane and less esoteric things than me!)

Hunh. I had quite the roll on these posts going until I got smacked by this question. Something I’m proud of in the past few days? Only one thing comes to mind, and it seems silly.

So, after a job interview, I was stranded out by a shopping mall. I needed conditioner and a couple other things, so I moseyed on in. Bad, bad move. The woman with no disposable income should not be in a place with Christmas sales.

This is not the story of how I resisted, but why I gave in.

See, my roommate loves pajamas. She especially loves warm ones, with batshit crazy prints on them. Some notables are elephants in roller skates and…others. Yes, I need to steal a peek at her pants drawer to remind myself.

I have to admit, I don’t look all that closely at them anymore since seeing them for the thousandth time, so they’ve been relegated to a sort of cloth “background noise.” If you don’t get how that can happen, think of your best friend, then try to describe ten shirts they own in more detail than “…and there’s a blue one, and a green one…” If you can do it, I crown thee “Ruler of the Non-Shoddy Memory.”

But I digress.

Anyway, I found these deliciously adorable minty green kitty print pj’s that were so much her style they were practically screaming her name. And it was a sale, 80% off, which made the expense oodles easier to justify.

Plus, while I had managed a Christmas present, it was small and had never meant to be the present, just a part of a larger one. Then my job bit the dust, and suddenly I was spending less than a dollar on every member of my family (god bless flea markets). I have had better Christmases.

Yes, I picked them up–against all good sense–as well as two ornaments I thought she’d appreciate, and quietly laid them on her bed. Then I left it alone.

The laugh I heard from the bedroom when she finally discovered them was all the reward I needed, and she’s been wearing them for three nights now. I somehow picked a winner.

That is the only thing I can think of that I am proud of. Sure, I’ve sent out dozens of job applications, looked into apprenticeships, am looking at schools (again), am catching up my blog, and have done all my chores like a good little girl. However, those are responsibilities, expected. The sheer delight i gave her, it took so little and meant so much to both of us.

And that’s it.

Hmmm…maybe I should have prefaced this with “boring shit ahead.” I could have come up with something much less obscure had the time frame been longer.