Saturday, December 31, 2011

Twenty-Heaven - Not the Year of the Bore

          To hell with the drafts, I'm starting next year with an up-to-date blog. Even if this means deleting all but the drafts I manage to finish tonight there will be no incomplete posts by midnight. There are only two drafts I care about completing anyway: the much delayed conclusion to Smoke and Mirrors and the extended comparison of sex and driving that I thought up on the drive to see my brother from another mother. Before I can get to either of those, though, I feel like reflecting on the year as it winds to a close.

            We’ll go over the fun stuff first. Notable games of the year for me were Skyrim (hands down the best game out this year), Dead Island(not as good as the hype had me expecting, but still engrossing), and Arkham City. There were likely more, but those were the ones I see sitting on the shelf nearby that I particularly enjoyed.

            Movies this year is a more difficult choice, as I spent much of the early part of the year in the theaters. I was disappointed that Transformers 3 didn’t include Unicron as Michael Bay had stated it would after the release of number 2, but it was still a solid movie if you didn’t expect anything more from it then explosions and action. The Hangover 2 followed the exact same recipe as the first one, but once again you don’t go into a movie like that expecting depth. Since I listed three games I’ll add Rise of the Planet of the Apes to round out this list. If nothing else, it was nice to watch Draco Malfoy come to a shocking end.
         I think the only book I read that came out this year was The Wise Man’s Fear and it was amazing. It’s quite a daunting project for the casual reader at nearly 1000 pages, but there is nothing left to be desired in this sequel to The Name of the Wind. I have two hardcover first editions that I’m sure will be worth a healthy sum( the first editions of the NotW certainly is going for a high price), but even then I’m not sure I’ll part with either. I’d also heavily recommend Blue Sky Days by Marie Landry, but you’ll have to wait a couple weeks for that one. I can’t really count that one since what I read was essentially an ARC (Advance Reader Copy). I’m behind on my reading, I know. Maybe I’ll get caught up next year.

           Now onto the dear diary aspect of this entry; it’s time for the personal stuff.

           One year ago I was battling, and losing horrible, depression. My ex was still living with me after having broken our engagement of three years and it was not fun times. Her son, whom I still consider to be my own even after everything she put me through, was on the coast with his biological father. The ex and I had agreed to be friends, but I’m sure everyone reading this had been there and knows just how awkward it is. Especially when her definition of friendship seemed to be me taking care of her ever whim while she answered with bitchiness and hostility. I knew there was no way the arrangement would work, but I was determined to endure it for the same reason I stayed with her throughout everything – my son. I would have done anything to remain a part of his life.

           That was a weakness she capitalized on even after she finally moved out of my house. He was with me a minimum of 4 days a week and we enjoyed every minute of it. I blew up my Facebook profile with pictures and videos of us playing and having a blast together. I’ll admit I even took him along on dates but I had little choice when she always had a reason not to watch him when it was her turn. It was during this time I met Pinky, who is the best female friend a guy can have. I should have seen the writing on the wall when the ex started to show angry toward her son talking about Pinky all the time. I refused to believe she was capable of hurting her son by taking me out of his life though, and I ignored all the signs. Yet one month after she moved out, a married man moved in with her and she found herself without need of me as a free 24/7 babysitter. She picked him up on day for his turn to stay with her, and she never let me see or talk to him again.

           Mere hours after receiving the text that I was no longer needed to watch him I was sitting in a jail cell with a visiting friend in another state. Those twelve hours in the drunk tank(I was completely sober, unfortunately, that’s just where they were throwing everyone that night), were spent in boredom and reflection. It wasn’t my first time spending a few hours behind bars, but this was much different than the time my brother and I shared a cell singing “I Shot the Sheriff” just to listen to the echo. The charges were trespassing, which we got dismissed because the cops liked me, and open container which I took the bullet for since the owner of the vehicle and alcohol was 19. End result: a couple hundred dollars gone and a lesson learned. The lesson being don’t trespass on the estate of a man that owns a good portion of North Carolina and is rumored to have mob connections on his payroll. That’s right boys and girls, I was stupid enough to explore the Biltmore Estate without permission or notice. I would’ve gotten away with it scot free, too, if we hadn’t left our third friend in the car in a nearby parking lot to spill the beans when the cops rolled up. Amateur.  

           The rest of the year seemed to stretch out for an eternity and vanished in a blink at the same time. I made a ton of new friends, returned to college after dropping out so my ex could go, reconnected with friends lost due my ex and rediscovered myself. I had lost my identity in being a parent and partner. I have given the relationship my all and gotten nothing back in return. When the biological father contacted me with an offer of allowing me contact with my son if I helped him get sole custody, I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t been severely tempted. I decided in the end that a clean break and cold turkey was the easiest on my son and in the end I refused on the grounds of not wanting to be a yo-yo in his life. I was not going to let him be used as a bargaining chip. Without any counting on me I regressed to my psychical age this year and indulged in all the partying I missed out on over the years. My tolerance isn’t as high as it used to be, it turns out, and I’ve made an ass out of myself on a few occasions. After feeling like I went from twenty years old to forty over the course of a proposal, it was nice to have the freedom to be young and stupid again.

            This was the year I took the plunge and quit the day job to write full time. Freelance writing has had its ups and downs, due mainly to Google and its thrice damned updates, but I would trade the freedom for any salary. I haven’t checked in with my partners in a week or so but last I heard our site should be ready soon. Time permitting, I intend on launching my review site as well and will focus on the three sites for the majority of my income.

            One notable mistake I made this year is a current pain in my side. An overconfident wager and a boxing match with loaded gloves left me with cracked ribs around early summer. I won the match and the bet despite the cheater’s advantage, but since then my ribs on that side have been prone to injury. Even stretching or moving the wrong way sends a red hot lance of searing pain through my side. Falling on it during the tussle at Pinky’s apartment left me with bruised ribs that flare with agony at pretty much every sneeze, laugh, cough or deep breath. It won’t be enough to slow me down, but it’s not fun to see the look of concern on my friends’ faces when they witness me swearing through gritted teeth after a yawn sends excruciating pain through me. There were other mistakes, of course, but I think this is the only one with permanent consequences. I hope so, at least.

            I could go on about my year, the lessons I learned and the adventures I had but I think I’ll save the rest for other posts so I can do justice to those stories. I’ll leave this one with a picture of a couple of the gifts Pinky got me for Christmas. I would wish everyone a happy New Year, but I prefer 365 celebrations of the New Day as opposed to one celebration of the New Year. We don’t need the calendar to validate our goals and choices: every day is an opportunity.

Wednesday, December 28, 2011

Showing the TMI - It's Good to be Wrong

            This is a mature post; there is no way around that fact. I make no excuses for the extended analogy I came up with during a nerve wracking eight hour drive with holiday traffic. I’m not even going to attempt censorship with this one; that would defeat the whole purpose. I’m going to hell anyway, so this does little to shift my status quo. Luckily I don’t know any minors so there is no reason anyone underage should be viewing this anyway. Hell I can deal with, I’d rather avoid any more instances of jail.

            My eight hour drive to Navy country is old news by now, and the drive there was one I’d rather forget. My plan, hopelessly naïve as it was, revolved around burying the speedometer needle and shaving two hours off the trip. On any other day, maybe. On the day after Christmas: it was an unfunny joke. To stem the tides of frustration threatening to burst into road rage, I put together my ideal road trip in my head in prose form. About ten minutes into this scenario I began to realize just how similar my ideal drive is to my preferences in bed. The following is where that train of thought took me.

            There are way too many idiots on the road; this is a fact of life(and death, when Darwin’s Law comes into play). I strongly believe that 90% of the population should have their licenses revoked. Coincidentally enough, I also firmly believe that 90% of the population should not be breeding.  If you’re going to do something, do it right.

            Driving is more than a means to an end. It’s an art. Go too fast and you risk crashing and burning. Take it too slow, and all you’re going to do is tire yourself out without getting any enjoyment out of the ride. Cars are made to move, but you have to know your vehicle and treat her right to get the most out of your journey. I’ve seen far too many idiots simply jump behind the wheel and mash the peddles with reckless abandon. Those cars usually end up unrecognizable in junk yards from poor maintenance and worse driving.
            Before you put the key in the ignition, you have to prep your baby for the journey. If it’s going to be a long drive, treat her to a tune up. You have to fill her up before you fire her up or it’s going to be a short and frustrating ride for both of you. Some fuel before the event will take her a long way in taking you a long way. A nice wash might not hurt either, and a little bit of wax could really have her shining. Don’t forget to treat her to some new spark plugs and an oil change from time to time to let her know you care. You take care of her and she’s more likely to take care of you. You use her like a cheap bicycle that you can just toss out, and she just might leave you on the side of the road one dark night. Oh, and make sure you have good tires, because you never know what might be on the road.

            After I’ve tuned her up nice and slow, we can get the show on the road. Or the road on the show, whatever floats your boat. Again many people rush in here and end up spoiling the whole journey. You can’t just jump in the driver’s seat and start slamming on the gas. Let her engines warm up. She sets the pace, not you. Start out at the speed limit; she should be pretty comfortable with that. Slowly ease to higher speeds, careful to make sure you’re not over revving her. Pay close attentions to the curves, you’re not in this alone you know. The scenery is wonderful; don’t let it all go by you in a blur. When she’s purring contently you know you’re at the right speed. Just keep going, you don’t want to waste momentum by pulling over now. Eventually her engine will let you know when it’s time to really go full speed.

            “Faster.” She’ll demand between roars. “Faster.” And who can deny her? Give her what she wants, if you can handle it.

            As you see: she suffers because you can’t drive.

            Now that you’ve worked up to this speed, don’t let her down now. Weave in and out of traffic while you listen closely to the hum of her engine. She’ll let you know when you need to shift up, and when you need to shift down. Some cars will take the shifting for you, while others may require you to get more hands on. Knowing your car is critical in this stage, as everyone behaves differently at these high speeds. Many a man has missed his exit at this point, and that’s just not fun for anyone. If you want to enjoy your ride it helps if you know the area. Nothing kills a trip faster than being pulled over when you were just about to open her throttle.

            Again this a moment when knowing your car is critical. Some vehicles are high performance, and can maintain this pace for miles. Others enjoy it as a means to pass and then like to slow to more comfortable speeds for the rest of the drive. A remainder for those in the 90%: she controls the pace, not you.

Other helpful notes include:
  • It’s not okay to borrow someone else’s car without asking. It’s called stealing. That being said, some cars prefer to be driven by someone new once and a while. Just treat her well and make sure she is returned in the same condition you got her. Rules were made to be broken, after all. 
  • Don’t ever get pulled over in someone else’s car, that’s just all around awkward and could get your ass kicked. 
  • Generally speaking: the tailpipe is off limits. Breakage of this rule could result in damage to the car and driver. 
  • Even the most pleasurable ride gets boring if you never do anything different. Take detours and switch up the pace. It wouldn’t hurt anything to switch seats and play passenger, either. 
  • Don’t drive without insurance. You know what can happen if you’re not aptly covered.

Sunday, December 25, 2011

The Best of the Worst - Beware the Krampus

My most rambling post to date; good luck making it the end while maintaining sanity.

It’s been a while since we’ve gotten educational, and I have nothing better to do, so let’s explore a mythological creature we’re missing out on here in the states. This little piece of amazing was brought to my attention via a tweet from Neil Gaiman.  I know, it’s hard for me to believe something useful came out of Twitter, too. Anyway, I’m going to assume you know who Master Gaiman is. If not, your library is grievously lacking and/or you are an illiterate who has somehow stumbled upon my tiny rambling corner of the web. If the latter: I applaud your effort at trying to conquer the elusive text and advise you to read American Gods as soon as possible. If the former: add Stardust, Coraline, The Graveyard Book and Neverwhere(I’m sure his other books are great, but those are the ones I can personally attest to) to it while you’re at it. Now that I’m through advertising ole Neil, I can send him a bill for my services and move on with my half rusted train of thought. Oh, and Good Omens that he collaborated with Terry Prachett on. I can’t believe I almost left that one out. Those two authors working together is like Batman and Superman teaming up together. Minus the tights…I hope.

Anyway, time for a show of hands. Who reading this knew that Saint Nick has a side kick? Put your hands down, you’re probably lying and I can’t see you anyway. Well, not that you know of. The side kick’s name is Krampus, and he is evil. He looks something like this:

Santa keeps interesting company, don’t you think?

The duo has a good cop/bad cop working relationship going on. If you’re a good boy or girl, then Santa will bestow all kinds of materialistic goodness on you on Christmas day. If you’ve been a naughty child, then you get beaten and possibly abducted by the winter chupacabra up there. Did you know that chupacabra translates as “goat sucker”? Well now you do, and may you be forever traumatized by that knowledge.

It gets even better, in the Alpine countries Krampus has his own holiday. On the night before Christmas, grown men get to dress up like the furry demon and raise ten flavors of hell in good natured fun. Activities include smacking people with sticks and just generally running amok. This recipe for fun is known in the locations that celebrate it as Krampusnacht and just goes to show that maybe we really are a country founded by prudes. I tried to recruit my friends to bring it to the state but their allergy to being shot or arrested forced me to abandon the idea – for this year anyway.

I guess that was for the best considering I was in bed most the day yesterday with a fever. I probably wouldn’t’ve been up to the task of introducing the holiday to this country. Somehow I doubt Tennessee would be the best place for that, anyway. Far too high a percentage of the population has a shotgun for me to feel comfortable brandishing sticks and tormenting the locals. Maybe I can bring it to Florida next year…

Next week will probably be a slow week for me on the writing front. I’m waiting on confirmation from my brother to verify that he’ll be on leave next week, but unless they change his schedule today I’ll be driving to visit him. I haven’t seen him since 08 despite his frequent requests for a visit in the last year. We hadn’t even spoke for the two years prior to that due to petty issues and so it’ll be nice to hang out again after all this time. I may even visit Florida after that since I haven’t seen my family down there in that same time period but who knows. If not, then I’ll hop on a plane for Spring Break and haunt my old stomping grounds for a week or two. I really ran out of stuff to talk about two paragraphs ago but Pinky is sleeping on the floor, her boyfriend has yet to arrive and our friend that had dinner with us wandered off about half an hour ago. End result leaves me bored in the living room and writing to kill time.

I thought about making this a sappy post about all the things I learned this year and the friends I made. Then I realized I had two drafts sitting around dedicated to those topics and it seemed a bit redundant. Not that I can do justice to either in less than ten posts, but let’s face it: no one really cares about that stuff except for me. Maybe a couple of my friends that provide inspiration and drive even read this to know the ways they affect me. Marie watches and encourages as much as being in Canada will let her, and Jake is probably my most accessible friend despite being in Florida.  I know they’ll read this and pretend to like it, and probably draw attention to my lack of proofreading in as asinine a way as possible (looking at you, Jake). My partner from three-hours-in-the-past, Shemo, would probably have read this even if I wasn’t going to tag her on Facebook when I post it. Those three live nowhere near me, and yet it seems like they’re almost always there when I did. My local friends won’t read this, and that’s okay, because I know that they’ll be there when the others can’t be. You don’t have to be close to be a great friend, but it helps to be in the room to stop me from playing the hero and getting myself into trouble that can be avoided. Dammit, I just said I wouldn’t talk about that subject now and here my heart is growing three sizes.

I blame the excellent Christmas dinner for making me all dopamine filled and sappy. Maybe a nap isn’t such a bad idea after all. Watch out for Krampus while I’m gone. He’s definitely watching you.

Thursday, December 22, 2011

Conjunction Junction, What's Your Dysfunction?

A quick disclaimer for those with innocent eyes: the language in this is going to be pretty rough. I’ll try to use languages other than English for the majority of the cursing, but cussing in a different tongue is still cussing so fair warning. For the curious I’ll try to add notes on just what language I’m cursing in beside each obscenity.
 ~ French
 ^ Japanese
** Latin
^^ Chinese

           For those who got the reference in the title: give yourself a pat on the back because you’re awesome. I don’t know when awesome worked its way back into my vocabulary but I seem to be using it a lot lately. That has nothing to do with anything so let’s move on before I derail on that pointless tangent and ramble about the under rated nature of Hakuna Matata, Groosfraba and Meecrob. I doubt anyone’s geek cred is high enough to get more than 2/3 on those, so I’ll toss you a freebie: the last one is from South Park back when it was actually funny. Or maybe it’s still funny to some of you, but it was back before I lost interest anyway. Maldito*, I’m babbling again. Let’s just dive in while we can still find the path.

          I knew Tuesday wasn’t going to be an ordinary day when it kicked off with a dream of a zombie outbreak. Reading that you may think my self-image is pretty intense if I picture myself running to the rescue and leaping into danger without regard for self-preservation when my friends (and/or girls of beauty) call for help. Here’s the thing: that’s pretty much the status –quo. When my friends need me I drop everything and run to the rescue; call it a hero-complex if you must(we do). When the merde~ hits the fan, I’m usually the first to step up to face the problem without regards for the consequences for myself. They know this and so I’m usually the first one my friends call, whether it’s a minor repair to be made or the world is collapsing around them. I’ve broken laws to protect my friends, and I’ve confessed to crimes I didn’t commit for the same reason. Why do I bring this up? If there’s a zombie outbreak near you, call me, I will kick some zombie natis**(not really a curse per se, but I like add random bits in other languages), or die trying. Or, more likely, both.

          So, since I was up early Tuesday, it seemed like as good a day as any to get my car ready for the winter snow. In this case that meant taking off my back tires and replacing the brake pads. Since it’s been a while since I’ve done brake work and he wanted the exercise for his hand, I agreed to take it my dad’s work shed and let him help me. Technically I suppose I live there, giving up my place to stay with him after the stroke, but since he’s been improving I haven’t spent too much time there. I didn’t think some father-son bonding could hurt anything. That was not a smart move on my part, it would turn out. I knew it was going to be a long and annoying process when he started telling, not for the first or even tenth time, about the “fine Mǔgǒu”^^ he’s been adding on Facebook. I warn him, for time nigh uncountable, that if he keeps talking about women like that I’ll have to put him back in the hospital. Clearly my mom took a more active role in raising me then he did, and as such I will not tolerate any disrespect of women. He went on to tell me the ages of some of them – I won’t even talk to a girl that’s 18 or 19 and he’s creeping them on Facebook. Inferoes**, I won’t even bend my ‘three floors down is the limit’ rule for a girl that’s 20 unless she’s nothing short of amazing.

          After I take off the tires while he’s talking and switch places to he can take a look at the brakes and pretend to be useful, I occupy myself replacing the handles in the axe heads he has laying around the shop (all my fault, I broke them while last splitting and chopping wood for him). An axe in my hand, I question for the millionth time who my real father is. He makes a predictable milkman comment and I have to remind him not to insult the mother of the guy holding the sharp object. Fast forward past him screwing up just every aspect of the process and me having to fix things. It’s time to replace the master cylinder, which means prying the reservoir off the old one first. Long story short, this exercise ends with his screw driver slipping on the grease. If you guessed that it speared my hand and scraped a few layers of the skin: you know me too well. If you guessed I shouted worty dirds at the top of my lungs, you know me way too well. “Que pinga*” kicked off the swearing in traditional fashion and “Son of Kuso^” soon followed.

           This is pretty much how every project we work on together goes, which really was the point of this entry. Well, that and I wanted to use the title because it amused me. Even the most menial of activities end up in injury and hilarity when my father is added to the equation.

          The dysfunction doesn’t end there, not by a long shot. You’ve already read about the brawl with my best friend’s boyfriend(also a good friend of mine) that caused a hefty bill’s worth of property damage. The screwed up part about that? He and I thought it was fun, the parts of it we remember between the two of us. We both feel like inferoes over the damage we did to her room and that we upset her, but it one heck of a night to us. We’re still on good terms, though we’ll likely argue about who won the fight for the remainder of our friendship (although it seems quite obvious to me: I didn’t want him to leave drunk and he didn’t leave drunk). Typically my antics are in defense of my friends and not as destructive of their property so this was a break in character for pretty much all involved.

         Another break involved last night’s drama. I don’t know the full story because I had nothing to do with it, but somehow I was incriminated in one of my former friends stealing from another. Things got pretty hairy, and it got the point of where I almost left town in frustration and annoyance with it all. Several threats were made and I still have no idea what happened or how I got dragged into it. Needless to say I don’t associate with any of these people. If it feels like I’m skimming over this, it’s because I am. For one thing, I don’t know how to describe it. Also, I doubt it ended well for the actual thief so I’d rather not think about it. Not to mention it’d make a long post even longer and it would read incoherently since I’m still trying to make sense of the parts that included me.

        And I've exhausted all the cursing in foreign languages that I can work into casual context (the real purpose of this). I typically use my non-English diction for two things: flirting and swearing. Not because those two things are priorities, but most the words I know outside of English seem to fit in these two categories very well. Just not in both at the same time, most of the time.


Tuesday, December 20, 2011

Zombies on the Brain - Nightmare Interpretation

Creeping up on the witching hour this morning, I woke up covered in sweat with my heart racing and spider sense tingling. The zombie outbreak was upon me, and I was ready for it. Or so I thought, until realization that it was just a dream kicked in and my fight-to-survive reflex relaxed.I had no zombie threat to combat, but I damnat had one inferoes of a story to tell. I can settle for that, for now.

 The funny part, as is the case with most dreams, is that the entire time I was so convinced it was really happening when in hindsight there were some huge red flags. I’ve decided that should such a crisis occur, I have no doubt that I would quickly perish as a hero throwing himself into danger to save others. I’m perfectly okay with that. Since Jake (Henry) and Marie call me by my mortal name every chance they get, I’ll just go ahead and use that instead of referring to Dream-Keith. That’d just be weird.

 In the dream I “woke” to my phone ringing. I was shirtless at the time, as I tend to sleep when I’m at home, and the first flag that it was a dream should have been the fact that in that scene I had many more tattoos than reality. I have one tattoo and a long list of future tattoos, a couple of which are going to be added within the next couple weeks. Dream-Ray had all the tattoos I plan on getting, and I have to say they looked pretty freaking cool. Anyway, I answer the phone to hear my best friend tell me that something happened at the “plasma place” and people were attacking each other all over the area. Not really believing her, I check Facebook to see that she’s not the only one reporting some crazy things going on. One post in particular catches Dream-Ray’s (henceforth known as DR for the sake of laziness) attention and it just so happened that a girl that I find incredibly gorgeous but don’t know that well was trapped in the campus library by the flesh eating freaks.

It’s on the way to my friend’s so I tell her I’m on the way and busy myself with making a quick zombie apolypse kit. The kit contained: my tazer, my twin magnetic swords, an aluminum baseball bat and a lighter. Instead of riding my PoS Mustang to the rescue DR decided to cruise in style. The result? I rode out in the ’59 Ford Galaxie that the men in my family have been working to restore off and on most of my life. Somehow what should have been a twenty minute drive was reduced to mere seconds and I drove that sexy red beast through the library doors with the reckless abandonment only (Dream)Ray can pull off. A scream alerts me to her presence on the third floor, and it’s time to hop out of the convertible and commence the zombie punishment. I start off with the bat, and score a record high batting average as I battle my way through the horde to get to the study room she’s barricaded herself inside. Armed with the tazer and one of the swords, she follows me in my path of destruction back to the car and we head over to the friend’s apartment.

The apartment grounds are crawling with the angry undead, and we reduce many of them to pulpy speed bumps in our race to get to her building. We’re on the third floor in the blink of an eye, and I somehow manage to prevent any zombies from following us up the stairs by bursting the water main. It made sense to DR; just suspend disbelief already. It was my partner in zombie slaughter that noticed it first: the door to their apartment was ajar and we heard sounds of a struggle inside. I charge inside without evaluating the situation like a true genius and see the occupants of the apartment, including my friend and her boyfriend, struggling to hold the pantry door closed. Their brief moment of shock upon seeing me burst in gives the beastly zombie the chance it needed to break free and it spills into the kitchen.

The necro-Neanderthal makes a grab for one of the girls and DR hits him with a low tackle. DR pushes the bulky behemoth through the glassdoor and over the edge of the balcony. DR is apparently pretty damn fast, because he manages to grab the edge of the balcony as they go over and hold on for dear life. There’s just one problem with that approach; the zombie had a hold of DR and he was one heavy son of a corpse. Dream-Me deals the cannibal a vicious right hook and drop went the weasel. DR manages to climb back up onto the balcony with the help of his friends and they appear to have earned a moment of respite.

The group then occupies themselves with making phone calls, sending texts and checking Facebook to see the extent of the damage. As far as they can tell the threat is the worst in the part of the city they’re in and it was only beginning to spread to the surrounding towns. DR, the eternal optimist, decides that it’s up to them to stop the threat before it spreads further than the dirty dirty. In even my dreams my friends are awesome, and they were all down to ride. We knew we needed to find a better base of operations and so I went out first to draw the zombies away on foot so the others could get into vehicles and get out there with the plan to meet up with them later. I woke up as the zombies were closing in on me from all sides, but I’m sure DR was about to pull something epic out of his hat. I hope, at least.

I was planning on talking more about the dream and the day that followed it in this post, but I think I’ll give your eyes a break and save that for later as that would require this post to be about three times as long. I’ll get that up, in either one or two parts, over the rest of the week. For now, I’m off to house hunt.

Sweet dreams.

Monday, December 19, 2011

True Story: I Fail at Bloglife

I’m sure the title isn’t really news to any of you by now, but it’s what I felt like writing about tonight. I should be writing about something else, and maybe get the draft to published posts ratio back to something acceptable, but that isn’t happening right now.  The whole point of this blog is to be a place where I can write whatever I want, after all, and I’m abusing that fact almost as much as I’m abusing comma splices.

            Speaking of abuse, I look and feel like I bedded an angry badger after an adventure last night that could have been the prequel to the Hangover movies. It was an insane ride that ended in me trying to use my wallet as a cell phone and stubbornly insisting on being taken to jail by the three cops that got involved. To achieve this end I confessed to assault, stealing a stop sign and the assassination of JFK. I would have taken the blame for much more, but my saintly friend made me shut up while she talked the police out of taking me to jail for criminal stupidity. On that count I whole heartedly plead no contest. Don’t ask me how this did not end in me being banned from the apartment for multiple lives; I’m still trying to figure out that part myself. One text, the only one of the night I don’t remember sending, served to be very prophetic when I told another friend that “I’m about to fall on our faces.” And fall on our faces I did, along with a metric ton of broken glass, after enjoying copious amounts of Everclear straight on an empty stomach. Combine the results cuts and scrapes with the bruises from a fight that nearly leveled the place and the tazer marks covering my stomach and I have one inferoes of a story written in my flesh. Needless to say: it was a fun night and a good story.

            Now that the semester is over,  after an extremely eventful finals week, I can focus on my writing without being hindered by Computer Science work. I got maybe 16 hours of sleep, grand total, during finals week so I’m glad for the break. The site I’m co-owning with ole Henry James and another friend will be launching soon so I have a couple weeks to amass a wave of content for that. On that note I really need to start talking to my gamer friends about the things they want in a website for gamers, but we have a pretty good idea of where we’re going with it so that’s a minor priority. My novel has been barely touched since last month’s NaNoWrimo and I’ll be getting back to that as well. I’m dragging my heels lately because the next scene, which I thought up the concept for over a decade ago, involves vampires. This is difficult for me because the practically plagiarized Twilight and similar crap has reduced the once fearsome predators of the night into fanged fairies. As a kid who grew up on Dracula, Buffy, Blade and even Anne Rice’s vampires, I refuse to acknowledge Meyer’s watered down and bedazzled rip off of the Sookie Stackhouse books as vampires or even legitimate literature. I can’t deny that she didn’t commit any tragic injustices against werewolves but that’s the only credit she’ll ever get from me. Once I get that tackled it’ll be full speed ahead with the novel again. Lastly I need to get back to writing for my money site and kick off the review site before my online revenue takes a hit from my prolonged inactivity. I’ll be finishing and posting the various unfinished drafts lurking all over my control panel side of this blog while bored and/or procrastinating and might even finally finish the Smoke and Mirrors trilogy that’s sitting mostly complete in draft form right now. All in all, being on winter break isn’t going to mean any more free time for more with the increased writing workload I’m imposing on myself.

            Marie’s book comes out next month, and I hear tell someone you guys know gets a nod in the acknowledgements there so be sure to pick that up. I’ll remind everyone when it’s closer to the release date but I just felt like mentioning it now anyway. She’s worked very hard on this book for a long time and I predict it will pay off for her. I’m not even a fan of romance novels (which is weird because I’m a closet hopeless romantic), and I greatly enjoyed being a beta-reader for her Blue Sky Days even though I dropped the ball miserably when it came to sending her feedback due to the timing and my overwhelming workload at the time. The male lead is fresh and funny, the kind of carefree character you just can’t help but love. He and the main character’s aunt provide enough free spirited amusement to get the romantically intolerant through the sappy scenes. I can’t wait for the official release or for her to start on her next novel, and I will support both projects with all my available resources. I just need to finish my own novel now so we can go on a book tour together and she can join in my oh-so-fun misadventures.

            And that’s pretty much what I wanted to talk about for this entry. Yet another reason why I suck at blogging: I make random posts with no point other than to amuse myself and hopefully others with whatever I feel like babbling about. There is nothing worse for a writer than an untold story, and so I felt compelled to share as much of last night’s antics as possible without incriminating myself or others. The rest just sort of wrote itself.  Enjoy your holidays folks, and I leave with you one bit of wisdom. There is no such thing as a boring night if Everclear is involved.