Category Archives: My life

EPIPHANY!!!

That’s right! I’ve had one. An amazing – if dangerously insane – idea for a blog and maybe something more.

But first – I must get the people to come. And if the Field of Dreams knew what it was talking about, all I have to do is build it, right? If I build it, they will come.

Build what?

Well, far as I can tell, build an interest, an anticipation, a desire to see what will happen next in this, the blog of all blogs, the mother of all ideas, the thing which could be one of two things: the Stairway to Heaven or the Highway to Hell.

So… here goes. A teaser.

Does anyone remember those choose your own adventure books from about, oh, 20-something years ago (maybe older still)? Well, in an effort to inspire myself and maybe others (to do what, I haven’t yet decided), I had the idea to open myself up to living the adventures others would choose for me.

“Whoa-ho, Nelly! What are you sayin’ here, pardner?” No, I will NOT run naked through the Super Walmart screaming for Peep Freedom. Well, I won’t run naked, anyway. No, no, it’ll be a little less spontaneous than that. But the choice, my friends, will be completely up to you.

I’ll start small.

Once a week, let’s say on a Monday, I shall post a poll. This poll will consist of three (3) actions. Actions that I would perform should one of them become the ‘Chosen Action’ – the action chosen most often by the folks who frequent my blog. I’ll leave the voting open for five (5) days, at the end of which I will tally up the votes and determine the winning action – which I will have to complete over the weekend, the next two days after the polls closes.

I had thought to make the choices all dating related, like a ‘hey world! won’t you come help me find a date?’ and I still may do that once I see people coming back and participating. And once people are coming back and participating regularly I will make it a daily poll. A daily chance to state your opinion and see it make a difference.

So here goes. Be sure to check back tomorrow morning and seggggggg (I shouldn’t type this when sleepy – who knows what I’ll end up doing!)

Check back tomorrow morning and see what’s on the table. What will YOU have me do this weekend?

~h

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Where’s my blade of grass?

“An Irishman is never drunk so long as he can hold on to a blade of grass and not fall off the face of the earth.” ~ Unknown

So either I’m not really Irish or I’ve been really drunk, because I’ve lost my blogging groove.

It doesn’t help that I usually snake the internet from the random wifi in my neighborhood – which I have to access from outside the house – and it has been occasionally rainy and/or wet more often than not in the past few weeks. That pretty much hosed me. One of these days I’ll be a big girl and either a) get my aircard fixed for my computer or b) get real internet like everyone else.

So let’s see… *digging through mental notes. Not a whole heckuva lot has happened lately. I didn’t win the lottery recently (dammit) and I haven’t finished my book. I’m still working on it though. I’ve actually been fighting the writer’s block by editing – a suggestion from a fellow writer friend whose name escapes me now – and i’m a little under halfway through my first edit. I still have fresh writing to add to the beginning since my original start took place somewhere in the middle of the timeline (*watches as a black wasp – mud dauber? – hovers menacingly around my ass region) but I’ve been plugging away at it. A few friends have mentioned that my story feels like a series, and the more that rattles around in my head, the more I feel like leaving this particular work where it is: a bit of a tease. The ending that I have in mind seems so far away that when I start shopping my ms around (notice how I said when? that’s right – I’ve got aspirations) I think it would be too long for anyone to want to mess with. So shorter and sweet, right? Sure. We’ll see, though. I’m fickle.

In other news (ha! news), the play is this weekend and the next. Nothing major there ‘cept it’s been chopping my nights into two halves: before practice and after. That’s also been cramping my writing/lounging/tv catching up on time, so that when I get back home, dinner made, and settled for the night it’s later than my usual start time for all of the aforementioned activities. And not that I mind staying up into the wee hours of the morning half-drooling over Sam and Dean Winchester – don’t let me fool you, I don’t mind it at all (I’m lying about the half- drooling, too) – I’d just like to start a little earlier.

Hmm… more. Sorry I’m behind on journal entries. Kate, Wyatt and Nathan are still doing there thing. Wyatt’s been smittenly lurking in the background of Kate’s karaoke nights, Nathan has been snooping in Wyatt’s books, and Kate is still fishing for the man of her dreams and playing single working mom. I just need a few hours/days to put it all to paper/puter.

In other news, my five year old got his cast off yesterday. He was thrilled, and he got to go swimming for the first time without. He’s such a little fishy!

(is that it?)
(hmm… for now)

Okay, well I’ll quit bending your ear for now. If I remember anything life-altering or think of anything super awesome to impart I’ll be back. In the words of my good friend,

Peace and hair grease

~h

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So – I’m a bitch.

Just so you know, there’s not real moral to this particular post. No feel good happy ending, no lesson to be learned (unless it’s just to not be so bitchy).

I am a bitch. Plain and simple.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m a really swell gal, too. Lots of the time, actually. But in general – and on any given day – I am just a plain ole bitch.

I’m short with my friends. I’m snarky. I’m argumentative. I’m contrary. I am bitchy. Period. The question is why.

I can be nice. Nice as pie. And I love my friends dearly. They are my friends for a reason. So why am I so awful sometimes?

The thing is, I get over lickety-split. I’m bitchy and then I’m done faster than Sybil changes personalities. So I know that I get over it. Do my friends, though? You, you out there, you people who love me. Do you know that I don’t mean it?

Whew! Good. Okay. On to bigger and better things.
Side ponytails.

It seems they are making a comeback (or not).

I saw a girl at Old Navy sporting a snazzy impromptu (although if you ask me, it looked pretty well thought out) side ponytail. Then again tonight, out a CLUB, no less, a girl is wearing a THOUGHT out (on purpose, did ma hair just so it would look THIS cool) side ponytail.

Both to the right, I might add (does to the left mean you’re gay, or an alien or something?).

I currently have layers, so this look won’t work for me, but I would totally rock it. BUT…

…now that everyone else is doing it, I don’t wanna. I’m not a follower, see.

Anyhoo, I guess that’s it for right now. Oh! I guess I’ll update you on life and Life Sucks and whatnot.

So I’ve now written three beginning chapters. Each independent of the other and each with more info included – I think – than I actually have included in the rest of the written material. I love to make things difficult. As far as the end (the written end, what I have so far) of my story, I’ve been dealing with my writer’s block by editing. I’m fifty pages into the editing, so hey – I can at least say that I’m getting something done, right?

Sorry that the character journals fell behind for the few – if any – of you who’ve read/followed them. I’ll catch up soon. Trust, though, that they have been keeping up with them and that things have still been moving forward.

In other news…

……
………
Um, yeah. I got nothing. Not tonight/today, anyway. Maybe tomorrow?

~h

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Vagabonds and failed attempts

Yesterday I went on a nice long (too long) walk with my friend. The weather was gorgeous, the sun was setting, and I realized that walking with me is probably like walking with a 5 year old.

I notice everything.

Pretty wildflowers, too much trash, an empty Extenz package (you know what I’m talkin’ bout, Willis), and last but not least – a mulberry tree.

Right on the other side of the guardrail was this mulberry tree loaded with plump, ripe berries. We couldn’t resist, so we hopped (okay, straddled, checked foot placement, and slipped) over the guardrail. We both about busted it a couple times trying to navigate safe footing on the loose rocks there, but it wasn’t far to the tree. And there we stood/sat – grabbing at the branches, stuffing our faces and staining our fingers with the sweet and sometimes tangy berries. All the while cars zoomed past, probably wondering where our hitchhiking packs were. It was great though, and well worth the brief pit stop. Got us thinking about going back with bags so we could bring some home. What can you make out of mulberries anyway?

On to failed attempts. Well, I didn’t get chosen out of the 500 something entries in the chase/suspense scene contest. At first I was a bit frustrated, being as I think I’m a pretty decent writer and all. But the more I got to thinking about it (and as I remember what Nathan said about how he sifted through the entries) I realized that my scene just didn’t quite fit the bill for this particular contest. It wasn’t that my writing wasn’t good. Just not right. I especially love what Lisa Brackmann wrote about her process. Felt a lot like the way I write. So I’ve decided that I’ll just keep plugging away. Another day, another contest, right?

So… yep. That was my past 24 hours. What did you?

~h

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WARNING – Rude opinion below

Pregnant women are DUMB.

Sorry, all you baby-makin’ machines out there. Not all of you are dumb, but a darn good lot of you are.

I mean really, ladies. I’ve heard plenty of myths, wive’s tales and truths regarding pregnancy, from people eating rocks and other non-edible items to just being forgetful. But I don’t recall ever hearing that common sense takes a hike just because you’re spawning life.

When I was pregnant, I don’t remember my intellect taking a dive and dipping back into my late toddler years, as far as common sense is concerned. I was fully aware the drugs, alcohol and smoking would very likely cause a problem for my unborn child and I refrained. Not that I do drugs or smoke – never have. I have been known to imbibe, but never while pregnant. *knocks on noggin. Call it common sense.

I was fortunate enough to recognize the difference between pee and ruptured membranes. I knew what Braxton-hicks were and how to ease them. I rested when I was overly tired and drank water when I was dehydrated. Under no circumstances would I wet myself repeatedly and just stay at home doing laundry nonstop. I knew when to call the doctor and when to problem solve on my own.

Seriously. What has happened over the last five years that has turned pregnant women into plumb idiots? Is there something in the water?

~h

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I hate autosave.

Especially when it fails me.

You know, it’s not entirely my fault that I fall asleep while trying to type on my laptop. I can’t help it that the night air is so soothingly cool and wispy. Or that the crickets and cicadas have developed this wonderful, harmonious melody that they won’t stop chirping. Or that there is no traffic nearby to startle me. Or that there are no streetlights nearby to buzz incessantly.

OR – more importantly – that there are dog sized raccoons historically proven to eat cars who just might decide that my ample, sleeping form looks pretty darn tasty. A fact which – after I realize it and where I’m at (and after briefly waking from my atmospherically perfect slumber) I quickly slam shut my laptop and head inside, forgetting to save my current night’s worth of typing. Furthermore, since my computer is merely ‘sleeping’ and not ‘off’, I don’t plug it back in because I’m going to bed, and so it stays on in some capacity until the battery dies, leaving my unsaved, UNautosaved work to fade into the night as I do into my dreams.

In the words of my twelve year, Brennan: Curses!

So tonight, for the umpteenth time, I think I’ve decided I’m done working on my novel. That, or it’s ending in a tragic donut fire asap.

Bah humbag. (here’s to tomorrow)

~h

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Don’t quit my day job –

– even though it seems I have quite the career as an armchair/earpiece counsellor. I spend more time advising people on their lives, relationships and self image than I do anything tending to anything relating to myself. Well, not really, but it does feel like it sometimes.

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t mind it a bit. I love it, actually. And I’m pretty darn good at it, too. But I really think I need to start charging. Shouldn’t I be getting something for all of my thoughtful, insightful, well crafted advice? Time is money, after all.

There simply must be a solution. I mean, is Dr. Phil a real doctor? Or Dr. Laura? Maybe. But I KNOW there must be some folks out there who have the title but not the pedigree. I need to work on this. Find a way to peddle my intellectual wares. Any ideas?

~h

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