Wednesday, December 31, 2008

How I know I love HER.

I was greeted by this blog when I awoke this morning.

Everyone should have a "Mysty".

"Her hair is a voluminous writhing entity within itself. She's wearing purple eyeshadow and black lipstick. She has on mis-matched striped socks a'la the Wicked Witch of the West. Her white ballet flats have wurds such as "Anarchy" and "Life" splashed across them in angry black lettering. Her nail polish is black, and mostly chipped off. She has on a sexxxy, low cut french maid top with blood stains clinging to the lacy white hem. It's the end of December and this walking work of art is holding my hand and laughing with wild abandon. People sneak glances or stare openly at her as she walks by. She is riveting in her exotic beauty, but has no idea of this fact herself.

She's my DIY dolly. Free to be her true self and encouraging me to be mine. She is the most important thing that has happened to me in 2008. I need this. More than she knows."

Not because this was about me, but because she blows me away when she DOES make the time to do this:

Mysty should quit her fucking day job and do what I'm aspiring to do instead


The writing gig suits her.

Monday, December 29, 2008

We've gotta let Olive be "Olive"

Oiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiig!! What a freaking HOLIDAY!! Whew!!

So much to say, so little time.

Fer starters, got to watch Little Miss Sunshine with my daughter today. Saw it when it first came out long ago, but I bought it for Carmen for Christmas, and before everybody starts hopping on the "inappropriate for children" bandwagon, a quick "fuck you" goes out, because out of ANY FUCKING MOVIE that I've seen in these past few years, this one probably spoke loudest in the way of supporting children feeling comfortable in their own shoes. Yeah, there's an "eff-word" thrown in here and there, and a few gramps-porn references, but nothing a quick fast forward of the remote can't censor. And if you really wanna get down to the nitty gritty of it, they can hear "fuck" any time they eavesdrop on mom and pops arguing. Like any of ya haven't let it spout off yer lips at least ONCE.

But anyHOOGLE. "Let Olive be Olive". That's my favorite part in the movie. When Olive's mom says that to Duane and Mr. Hoover, when they were trying to stop Olive from being in the pageant. Duane had a good point when he said "Fuck them, I don't want any of these people judging Olive". But mama just took the wedding cake when she said 'nope.

This movie tears me up inside, and in a damn good way. It's not easy to make a movie like this work, to portray true family happenings like this. This movie hits home for me in such a way that no other movie could do. And DeVotchka's musical presence all throughout the movie only further accents it's message of a victorious "FUCK YOU SOCIETY, I WILL DO WHAT I MAY WELL PLEEEEAAAAZE". Love it, love it, LOVE IT. One of my ideals, indeed.

Going to see Spirit tomarrow night with Mysty. Then IHOP afterwards, to speak in tongues til ungodly hours of the night. I'm so jazzed about this that I have the manic shakes. She is one of the few female entities in my life that I can be myself around. My true human self, and not have to feel like I need to put on any heirs. Fuck how I feel so lucky to have this female in my life. She is, BY FAR, THEEEEEE BEST thing to have happened acrossed my wake this year. She opened up a door in my heart that I never knew existed.

Well let's see. I know yer all DYING to know what I got fer Christmas, right???

Mike's Uncle, which has affectionately nicknamed me as "Gook", took it upon himself to give us a fucking Wii for Christmas. He made up some bullshit story about having bought one for his daughter, but his ex called at the last minute, saying that she already had one, with his "only" option being to "hand it down to us". Snookms must be his favorite or something, because this guy is ALWAYS hooking us the fuck up, even though I have affectionately nicknamed him "The Green-Eyed Douch(e)bag".

So there's THAT.

To top this bitch, my mom n pops got the family a 32 inch flatscreen. Yep, a flatscreen t.v. I about cried, not only because of the gift giving pleasantries shared, but because this is the first Christmas we've had in years that didn't involve someone in the hospital, or homeless, or dead. Mom and dad had all the usual unconventional Bedford fixins, Pancit (a filipino dish that is TO DIE FOR), home made Enchiladas, Smoked Spiral Ham, Christmas Cookies in the shapes of planes, trains & automobiles, Jesus Cake, and dinner rolls. As usual the renegade wizard got teary eyed, and it's fucking contagious as all hell, because then I got the crying disease, and it was just breathtakingly beautiful. Even if we had NOTHING BUT EACH OTHER, it would've been grand, just because there was no immediate tragedy befalling us like the shadow of Nazgul wings over Gondor. My bro Chris is still in prison though, which is a fucking thorn in the side for all in the Bedford Household, but alas, he shall be getting early release, with the prospects of possibly April of 2009 being his out date. So we keep our fingers crossed and our hearts hardy, for if we think too long on it or dwell much further of his absence, it cuts to the heart like a razor. Hope dulls the pain, frightening it away for one more day. Sorta like them apples keeping dentists away and what not?

Other side goodies include Little Women on DVD from my beautiful momma, as well as American Beauty, which are 2 other flicks that hit MAJOR home for me. Snookms discovered a Borders book shop downtown that supplies EVERY LAST ONE of the Sandman Series and managed to snag me volume 5, A Game Of You (which I have YET to read, phooey!) Barnes & Noble didn't seem to have SHIT in the way of Gaiman, aside from The Graveyard Book and a few leftover forsaken fragmented patches of Sandman. And everybody and their fukkin GRANDMA has The Graveyard Book, so it's not like B&N was going out on a LIMB there or anything. So I'm all giddy about not having to panick cause I ain't got the whole Sandman series yet. Endless Nights shall be in my grasp at last.

And for anybody who's NOT read the series yet, or even dabbled a schmabble??? Go fucking read this for Christsake. It will tell you EVERYTHING you need to know about why in the fuck you should have been reading this series LONG AGO.

And yeah, I'LL be making that fucking movie, motherfuckers. I'll be. Screw Peter Jackson.

I must go Wii Bowling now. Happy New Year's all.

P. to the S.

I'm currently making my memoir into a blog. Gonna take a while till it's all in working order, but I'll put a link up when I make it available for any to view who care to. You'll just have to see. :D

Wednesday, December 24, 2008

Christmas Eve Memory....

Awesome bloggin' bud Joe Barone had brought up the topic of Christmas Memories awhile back, sharing some of his own, and had also asked for any memories that others had of Christmas to be shared.

I have many special memories. We all do. Some are very good ones, while others are heartbrakingly painful to even dare to venture in remembrance. Christmas is a good time for all these memories to be dug up and unburied, if for nothing else than the sake of the unevitable. Many of us walk around in a clouded fog of emotion or lack thereof, wondering why. We ask ourselves what could it be, dragging our spirits up, down, and around in such a way that one cannot describe.

Sometimes our minds, our inner conscience, rather, throws out a nibble here and there of an old festering memory. It is solely up to us whether or not we choose to relive those moments and have a change of heart about a certain situation, or continue to remain in our fragile child-like state of existence in that moment.

We choose whether or not to have 2 points of view.

Or just none at all, tossing it back into a fragmented patch of existence, as it awaits it's next opportunity to unfold.

I have come to live on a middle grounds when it comes to the trials and tribulations and folly that is life. It's a hard ground to stand, and I lose many that are faint of heart, but for the ones whom stand boldly, unafraid to step into my circle long enough to catch light of my ridiculous riddle-me's, I bid you a thank you. For your patience with my nonsensical ways, which are quite unreliable at times, but always I'm a devout at "heart".

I have a "Good Christmas Memory" to share with the group. One that doesn't end in tears or question marks that get you up in the morning asking one's self if it was really worth it to be alive for yet another day. I shared this with Joe. He's got a good heart, and I look forward to reading his book, A Body in the Record Room, for it seems to play between these 2 earthly ideals incessantly.

One year, my last year actually, before moving out and starting a family of my own, my brothers and I had been working on this hellaciously evil 5000 piece puzzle, and my mom had joined in at the last minute and we were finally narrowing it down to the last 50 pieces or so. We always celebrate Christmas on Christmas Eve instead, so I got the idea of hiding the last puzzle piece.

My mind worked a bit further in devising something more dramatic, so I ran upstairs, grabbed a pair of scissors, some scotch tape and a roll of wrapping paper. I then went to work in a giggled frenzy, hardly being able to anticipate the end result of this sanity, as I could hear my 3 brothers and mom scrambling to find the last piece downstairs.

The ideal of completely finishing that ridiculous puzzle had been given up on after a 2 hour hunt for the thing. (I even pretended to look for it and get annoyed when nobody could find it, just to add flavor to the final moment.)

You can only imagine the insane bursts of giggles and laughter as my mom and 3 brothers opened the last present that Christmas Eve, tucked under Christmas Tree rug, in a tiny box.

It brought more joy, laughter and smiles than ANY material thing could.

Happy Holidays to Every Last One of You

Tuesday, December 23, 2008

Bosom Buddies - Season 1 Theme Song (Version 1)

Whoops!! How in THEE FUCK could I forget THIS gem?? I LIVED for this song. Hell, I lived for Buffy and Hildegarde. Peter Scolari was GORGEOUS in a dress.

A Playlist Just For Me???

Snookms has offered to make me my own personalized mixed cd for Christmas this year. He told me to make a list, so here it is....

Nights in White Satin, Moody Blues
Tuesday Afternoon, the same
Love Will Tear Us Apart, Joy Division
Shadowplay, the same
Disorder, the same
Until the End of Time, DeVotchka
Ventura Highway, America
Bizarre Love Triangle, New Order
Tear You Apart, She Wants Revenge
Mirror in the Bathroom, The English Beat
Pressure Drop, The Specials
So Much Trouble in the World, Bob Marley
Waiting in Vain, the same
Satisfy my Soul, the same
Sober, Tool
Prison Sex, the same
Vicarious, the same
Schism, the same
3 Libras, A Perfect Circle
Knife Party, Deftones
Hunter, Bjork
Hyperballad, the same
Oceania, the same
Venus as a Boy, the same
By Demons Be Driven, Pantera
Everything Went Black, Black Dahlia Murder
Shiver, Coldplay
One Armed Scissor, At The Drive-In
Where is my Mind? The Pixies
Crackity Jones, the same
Mr. Grieves, the same
Monkey Gone to Heaven, the same
Symphony of Destruction, Arch Enemy
Goodbye Horses, Q Lazarus
Ribbon in the Sky, Stevie Wonder
Lately, the same
Mad World, Gary Jules
Under the Milky Way, The Church
Killing Moon, Echo and the Bunnymen
Head Over Heels, Tears for Fears
Everybody Wants to Rule the World, the same
My Curse, Killswitch Engage
Fuck the Universe, Kraft
Paint it Black, Rolling Stones
Teenage Whore, Hole
The Chauffeur, Duran Duran
Lemon, U2
Zooropa, the same
Stay (Faraway, So Close), the same
Numb, the same
Breathe, Sia Furler
Genious of Lovel, Tom Tom Club
Sugar Hiccup, Cocteau Twins
If You Were Here, Thompson Twins
Pretty, Cranberries
Return to Serenity, Testament
Ceremony, New Order
Little Lovers So Polite, Silversun Pickups
Botchla, Poison the Well
Nerdy, the same
Sugar, System of a Down
But Not Tonight, Depeche Mode
Blue Bayou, Linda Ronstadt version
Maniac, Michael Sembello
Gloria, Laura Branigan (I used to pretend I was Gloria and I would dance and sing this song in a maddened frenzy of delight.)
PYT, Michael Jackson.....the last 4 have very sentimental value. They make me think of my mom.

He better drink lots o' coffee and have plenty of cds to burn. Meh.


Snookms made this shirt last night, only after getting his ass handed to him on a platter by Mike Jr. in a game of chess.

He had locked himself in our bedroom after he had made the Jr. swallow his own defeat, moments before. The Jr. kept banging on the door, demanding for him to "Open up!", but Snookms said, "Leave me alone! I'm gettin' dressed Mike.", although the Jr. firmly stated that Snookms was fully clothed.

"Hmmmm", I thought quietly to myself. "What could he be up to?"

10 minutes later he comes sauntering out, calmly strutting his victory stroll for all to bear witness to.

Look at that detail!!

I almost pissed myself with imminent laughter.

A squee was in order.

Yes Mr. Stephen Parrish, a "squee". (See article 2, section 3 for further "squee" referencing.)

Thursday, December 18, 2008

The REAL Renegade Wizard

My dad:

When I was 17 years old, our family had just moved from South San Francisco, California to Indianapolis, Indiana. Wasn't an easy decision, by any means, but the offer of being a supervisor (lead mechanic) at United Airlines for my father, was not something to be passed up, considering the cost of living in California is/was three to four times higher than it was/is in Indiana. United Airlines had just opened a new hub in Indianapolis, and there the offer of position await for my dad.

Having to come full force with the decision of shedding my "ghetto-fied" San Francisco city roots, only to move to a place I ignorantly considered "Hillbilly Hell", I did the only thing a rational teenager would do:

I fled for my life.

It worked out for about a month, but by the time Valentine's Day came around, I was lonely and tired of having to fend for myself. I couldn't take any more of my parent's demands for me to fly to Indiana, what with my own doubts lingering heavily upon me, so I finally agreed with my mother's final plea.

I was abusing alchohol and drugs to a mortifying degree considering I was only 16 going on 17, and I knew all my connections were going to be for shit once I moved to "Hillybilly Land". I figured "now" was as good a time as any to start putting my life back together, what with a new start and all. On the plane out to Indianapolis, I had decided right then and there that I would need to mend old and tattered relations if I wanted to be successful at walking the path of joy in my newfound life.First I would reconcile with my 3 brothers, saving the hardest ones to sew back into symbiotic harmony for last.

I won't say that earning back my mother's trust was easy, by any means, but compared to what I would have to patch up with my father, I think I had analyzed right when deciding to save my pops for last.

Every word that ever came out of my mouth when it came to saying anything to my dad was co-erced. I had to MAKE myself think of clever things to say, topics that he would feel comfortable speaking to me about. Finding subjects that avoided re-opening of past hurts was difficult, and most times I just remained a silent observer, learning as much as I could about what meant most to my father, what spoke loudest to him in saying, "Dad, I'm sorry I betrayed your trust for so long, but I want to earn it back, even if it kills me".

I had been picking up alot of old hobbies by the time I was "settled" into our brand new beautiful house, journaling being one of them. I needed as much as I could to distract me from my wanton desires to go out and get completed shitface wasted. So I looked to new hobbies as well, adding cleaning mercilessly to the list and cooking dinner. But I needed more to replace the evergrowing sense of loneliness and urgency that grew inside me everyday.

We had never lived in a 2 story house as young children and it was always a secret hope and dream of mine to have one. Everything was so shiny, clean and empire for us to start from scratch, all on our own. Unlike the past, we always had enough to eat, hell MORE than enough to eat. We didn't have to split our Klondike bars in 4ths just so everyone could have a fair share of dessert, and eat crablegs and steak for dinner every night if we wanted to. Life was actually...."easy".

Funny, but when I finally got what I had always hoped and dreamed for as a child, it never did feel like "mine". I had fucked up so many relationships in the immediate family, that I just couldn't ever feel secure enough in my own shoes there. I knew I wouldn't last there long, I was getting to be the age that one feels most compelled to go out and start an empire of their own, and I had just severed so much of the relationship I had once had with my parents. I knew they always loved me know matter what, but there was so many things I couldn't forgive myself for.

It made for akward moments and a lack of conversation when my father and I were in a room alone together.

I didn't want to leave this nest with burned bridges. But I didn't know how to rebuild, and my father had seemed like he was ready to throw the towel in. There was too much heartbrake for him in trying to put stock into something he had already invested so much time and energy, with less than nothing to be returned to him. I know I took a big chunk out of him, and for that I held my head down in secret shame.

My father has always been a musician. Been playing guitar ever since he was 12. His dad had bought him his first guitar on his 12 birthday and told him, "Don't come out of your room until you learn how to play something".

And so it went....

30+ years later and the man is pumping out David Gilmore leads that would probably have brought tears to my late grand-daddy's eyes.

I knew this about my father, his passion for music, and while we hadn't shared the same taste for music in years, I could appreciate his love for bands like Black Sabbath, Tool, Metallica, and the likes. I also knew that while he wasn't crazy about Cypress Hill or Ice Cube, that he had tried his hardest to incorporate what I enjoyed at the time into our relationship, at the cost of his own "lowering of standards". But he did, in his own way, and I remembered that when all the attempts at feelings of love we had expressed for one another had failed when I was 17.

I had been getting into different musical genres, trying to let go of old past musical memories, ones that drug up too much remembrance of a life I no longer lived. U2 provided a certain amount of simplicity that my life so needed at the time. Hearing the beautiful riffs used in songs like "With or Without You" or "Sunday Bloody Sunday" made me think of my father, and how his own beautiful melody mickmicked that of theirs.

I had decided I was going to learn how to play guitar.

I didn't know to approach my father about this, because it had been something I had always secretly wanted to do, but in hearing my dad shred away, I would feel intimidated and tuck back inside of me, not wanting to be made fun of or put into a more vulnerable stance than I already was.

But again, at this point, I was willing to patch up what had been undone between my father and I, even if it killed me.

So I bit the bullet and told him I wanted to learn, and wanted to learn from the best.

It was hard to get a good read on him, how he felt about this. He was no public displayer of emotions. His initial response was stoic. "So play", he said, letting his infamous shrug of indifference droo on his lanky shoulders, while letting yet another hit of smoke drag up his slender nostrils. I walked away defeated that afternoon, not letting on that my heart was broken and shattered into a thousand pieces. "I deserve it" is what I told myself.

The next day, when I came home from school, my dad was at his usual station on the computer, cigarette dangling freely from his mouth. There was a large black case on the floor next to him, and his prized Ibanez was sitting on a guitar rack next to him.

He says, "If your gonna play, let's get one thing straight right now. You need to be listening to this, or this", handing me the "Paranoid" album from Black Sabbath and a "Best of" compilation of Jimi Hendrix. Then he says, "If you can play like Tony Iommi one day, I've done my job well."

That day was the start of a beautiful reparation of what I thought was a forever lost cause. We began to chatter on endlessly about "artificial harmonics" and how high the action should be on a guitar, arguing that I couldn't stand it because it hurt my wimpy fingers, him jokingly telling me to get over it and take it like a man, while sharing breakfast bacon and eggs with one another in the sunny mornings of our new breakfast nook.

I would walk to work everyday, swapping the "Paranoid" album in my walkman for other such "Black Sabbath" pleasantries. "Planet Caravan" being a favorite song, "Fairies Wear Boots" being another mutual favorite between the growing relationship that was my father and I.

The first time I heard Ozzy sing about "The Wizard", I thought immediately of my father.....

"Never talking, just keeps on walking, everyone is happy when the wizard walks by"

Except that my father was always shrouded in a cloud of mystical darkness.

He wasn't Mr. Happy Pants, and didn't take shit from anyone.

But he made US happy. OUR family. And that's all that mattered in his world.

Sure he had his faults, who didn't? But he brought home the bacon, begged for apples at Jonny's when we lived in Seattle and couldn't even afford to drive to the store to BUY the fucking bacon in the first place, having to ride a bike everyday just to get to and fro, for Christ's sake.

(Begging for apples at Jonny's is an ongoing inside joke that I will disclose more information on in another memoir)

So, he was "The Wizard" alright. But he was THE RENEGADE WIZARD. He did things his OWN fucking way, and while not everyone was a fan of his ways, it got the job done, raising 4 great kids in a place where the odds were always against a man and he's STILL happily married to the Warlock Wife, (even if it IS out of loving spite!) 40 plus years later.

"Never Talking, just keeps on walking, spreading his magick, the wizard walks by."

Tuesday, December 16, 2008

Current mood: wakky-tobakky in love


An update is probably in order. Haven't been posting much of anything lately. Been sorta lazy in that way, what with the spawn being home sick, and having to haul Snookms around everywhere. Taking him to work every morning isn't so bad, it's the backseat driving that drives me to drink. And then picking him up is just fine and dandy, except that as soon as we get home it's time for homework, dinner, showers and maybe 20-30 minutes of quality time with the kiddos if we're lucky. So my desire to write has been drained as of late.
I've posted little "snippleys" here and there on Blogger, but nothing big and kneeslapping. But I've been feeling Blog withdrawal big time, so I figured I'd slip in a little "me" time while Carmen gets caught up on episodes of Total Drama Island. That cartoon is kinda funny. It pokes fun at all those reality shows. Nothing wrong if anybody else is into em, but frankly they just aren't my cup o' tea.

But BIG BANG THEORY is, fo' shizzle. Last night's episode was TO DIE FOR, and I about shit my pants with laughter when Sheldon started have a "geekgasm" over Leonard Nimoy signing the napkin that Penny gave him. I absolutely ADORE Sheldon and live to watch him every Monday night. He makes me giggle with delight. I was literally clapping my hands and jumping up and down because of this guy, I love him SO MUCH! He (Sheldon from Big Bang Theory, that is) had a guest appearance on the movie Garden State as the guy in the suit of armour, that said "By the way, it's says BALLS on your face" to Zach Braff. He was also explaining how to say "Kill Kirk" in Clingon, but he probably really was just saying "How can I stick my dick in your wrinkled ass pussy without having to take this suit of armour off?"

So yeah, like an update...

Let's see. Went out and saw Twilight with Mysty last Wednesday. For those of you that don't know, it was her birthday last Saturday, so I went out and got her a balloon bouquet, and derived joy from every moment of getting her them. I couldn't WAIT to see the look on her face when I gave them to her. It was one of sheer delight and beauty, and her giggle does something to my inner system of process that one can just not compute. It sends it into overdrive, and whilst my system is trying is damndest to recover, it just crashes over and over, unable to reformat itself properly. Mysty just does that to people. Damnit. (Too bad I couldn't say the same about Twilight.)

So like, here's her, and on her little headline thingy it says she's pretending the unicorn is me. Gwaaaaaaaaaahhhh.

She makes me feel like it's MY BIRTHDAY instead.

Let's see, what else?

Oh! I've been going here quite frequently, Nicola Griffith's blog. She's a pretty snazzy chick, if you have the time to read up on any of her stuff. She wrote a really cool memoir that I have yet to read, as well as a handful of novels, and she's really fucking innovative, very friendly, and outspoken in a good way. Plus she digs X-men and LOTR, so that's a big plus in my book! (Except she says Wolverine is her LEAST favorite character!! Whaaaa?? )

But she's no Mysty. :P

This Nicola chick is in the works of trying to put together a co-op arrangement of sorts, in the blogosphere, regarding muzaks, (music), writing, ANY KIND, visual arts and all kinds of other exciting and avante-garde schtuffs. A collaboration of the arts sort of thing, helping to promote one another, I s'pose. I think her main thing is finding a way to freely market and promote each other's arts, without having to sell out to corporations and what not. At least that's what I'VE taken from it. And that's always, for some reason, something I've longed to dodge, just because of all the fucking rejection one has to be subjected to (for me, that is), not to mention the changes one is forced to make if anyone DOES decide they wanna promote your shit. And I've heard both sides of the arguement about why this is actuallly a good thing versus why it's a bad thing, but when it all comes down to it, I'm just fucking neutral on it all, as usual. As long as everybody's happy, which is never gonna fucking happen, but what can I say??? *shrugs shoulders annoyingly*

Katie and I have been talking about collaberating our efforts to write some sort of something, and I really need to get up off my ass and get on the ball about it. It's really hard to do these days though, when all I wanna do is kick this mutherfucker's ass. (I got 96% on hard, fer cryin' out loud!) We've agreed to start emailing each other snippets of whatchamahoozits, and going off each other's prose. So at least it's a start.

Alas, I am watching the beautiful snow fall and listening to the muzakal magic that is Depreciation Guild playing loudly in the backdrop of my life right now. They manage to orchestrate some of THEE MOST beautiful fucking muzak I've ever heard in my life. 8-bit chips falling from HEAVEN. Listen to Heavy Eyes, Sky Ghosts cranked full fucking blast. I promise, you WILL NOT be dissapointed. Pretend you're a kid again. Just lay back in your computer chair, or on your couch, close your eyes, and let your mind take you back. That's where this music takes the beautiful parts of my childhood. What a wonderful way to defy the laws of physics, time travel and all that other hullaballoo.

Snookms and I have been staying up late and playing Return of the King for PS2, and we keep getting our asses handed to us on Pelennor Fields. Seeing oliphaunts up close and personal is cool and all, and even being able to walk over the rotting corpse of one is coolness within itself, but when the fucking Easterlings and Nazgul hand your ass to you and then throw it back to the Uruk Hai to eat the leftovers, you just finally want Samwise Gamghee to shut the fuck up about singing of the oliphaunts and shove the last piece of lembas bread up his ass already. Pelennor Fields has always gave Snookms and I problems, but we've had to go back to the Southern Gate 3 fucking times now, just to build our levels up high enough to deal any sort of significant damage in Pelennor. We DID opt to play on "normal" mode rather than easy, so that may be the gist of it. I can't wait to get Gandalf unlocked again. For some reason, our memory card keeps taking a shit on us and has been randomly deleting old files off itself over time, which REALLY pisses me off, because I have...well HAD lots of important fucking files stored on there. Like the love scene that ensued between Tidus and Yuna at the Macalania Woods campsite on FF10, and the final boss fight between Sephiroth and Cloud on FF7, as well as the town that Cloud has to saunter through dressed in drag. So I'm kinda perturbed about that.

I also had some really cool files of Kage doing some riduculously funny moves on Drunken boxing old fart Shun Di on Virtua Fighter 4 via Kumite Mode. I renamed him Ugli Fruit!! (Or at least the file!) But it's gone. All of it. Only the boring files are left, like of DragonTales when Carmen was 5, or fucking Shrek 3. Who really gives a shit about those?? (Or ANY OF THIS, for that matter!)

End geek rant. For now.

Haven't been to my therapist in 2 weeks. Supposed to go see her tonight at 7, had to reschedule my 10 o'clock today for tonight, cause I can't take my little Carmen with me just so she can hear me bitch about how unshapely I think my buttocks have become, or how I'm jealous because my grandma never offered to pray the gay outta my cousin instead of me. So tonight shall be a busy night!

I've had this running around in my head all fucking week. Tragically beautiful. Kinda reminds me of Sex's little fallen angel snippet. (You'll have to scroll down to the 5th blog entry, titled "Angel Noir").....Way cool.

I had wanted to say more, but am (miraculously so) at a loss for words at this point. Snookms and I took a shower together the other night, (no we didn't fuck) ..... (not till much later in the night, anyway) and he offered to brush my hair. He put a bunch of conditioner in it and then hand combed all the tangles out, and THEN brushed it with a brush. The whole time he just kept telling me how beautiful my hair was, and how much he loved my hair, and I'm STILL high offa that, 2 nights later, fer CHRISTSAKE.

My hair feels so....unnatural.

Don't freak, I fixed all the lazy linky love. ;)

Sunday, December 14, 2008

A New Hope?

This has been something I've always played around with, daring to cast off that adulthood veil of doubt and dare hope for a moment that things like this could exist.

I already know that Sex and Katie know what I'm talking about when we say that Nicola Griffith is way cool, but her bold initiative has got me shaking with the mere possibilities of it all.

Is it wrong to feel so excited about something not quite yet born? Kind've like the expectant mother who wrestles with the possibility that her unborn child could be miscarried, due to pregnancy complications? Yet I hope, much like that of an expectant mother, drawing parallels to the world of naming the nameless, coming up with blueprints for the nonexistent of the "what shall go where?" and the "who?" and "how?".

I dunno.

Just go here.



Even in doubt, offer up what you may, provide angles we haven't forseen, roadblocks, potholes, Anything that may get in the way of not seeing this come to fruition....

If you have a desire to outlet your creativity, just click. It's a dream in the makes of possibly coming true for many, many aspiring "creatists" out there. It's a way to possibly get heard, get seen, get noticed, and to help others get noticed in that same stream of things.

It's innovative as all hell, and I'm really fucking excited and passionate about it.

Thursday, December 11, 2008

Heavy boots are caught up in the crowd


That is all. Must go tend to the sick childrens.

Monday, December 8, 2008

The Vampire Newspaper

Just got "hired on" as a writer here.

Didn't take much. Don't know how the "cards" will sort themselves out either. We'll see.

Just hearing the name "The Vampire Newspaper" gives me the gigglies.

Look for my "poetry" here. (Black Picket Fence and Dark Realm)

You should apply Katie. ANYBODY can post schtuff there. :) (and not because you're an "ANYBODY", but because you're a damn good writer. )
Sugarplump, December 25th, 2007

I wanted to show you that I support your skill in writing your book(s). I wanted to offer some advice and inspiration. I have noticed lots of our favorite writers all found inspiration in their own lives with things they just could not change, or may have felt powerless over.

C.S. Lewis took the reality of Jesus and the World Wars and combined them in his own fantasy. (Narnia)

J.R. Tolkien took the fears and events of the wars and made a happy ending in his. (Guess what book?)

Tell me, if these realites in this book were in your own head...

-What would you change?
-How would you fight back?
-If our world and personal lives were in your head, what would it look like, what would you change, who would you help, who would help you, who would be considered strong?

I'm certainly not suggesting that you escape life to fantasy.

But couldn't you tell lots of reality WITH fantasy?

I KNOW you could.

You have a great gift and skill that some people would kill for. Use it to your fullest, and always remember Jesus first.

From your first real fan,


P.S. I love you.

I found this in my stocking for Christmas last year, rolled up like a wizard's spell casting scroll, scribbled on a very jaggedly cut piece of Christmas wrapping paper, taped to a copy of the book "The Diary of Anne Frank."

Out of all the gifts I received from Snookms throughout our 12+years of relationship, this has been the one that speaks to me the loudest. I keep it rolled up in it's original scroll form on a book/dvd shelf in my room, right next to our bed, and I'll be damned if it doesn't work like a real magickal spell, casting demons out in it's name, scaring away the doubts and fears that linger within my own sometimes tortured soul.

Maybe Snookms didn't graduate. Hell, he barely made it through the 10th grade, he had so much tragedy lined up against him in his life, having to battle the trauma of undiagnosed OCD all throughout his childhood well into his teens, as well as living life with an alchoholic father who could barely even be there for his own god-damned self much less anyone else. Having to live day in a day out with all the other personal struggles he and his family had to work out for themselves, dreams such as graduating with his high school class had to be abandoned in the name of other priorities that took more precedence over his life than what one would would dare to call "aspirations".

But this guy, the one who was struggling to stay awake in 2nd period algebra, the one who seemed like Satan himself wouldn't have a thing to do with, was the one who penned this mighty piece of inspiration. He didn't need a college degree, or some high school diploma to accomplish all the awesome things he's done throughout his life. Just a willingness to love, and open his heart up for that love to be returned. More again, pointed in the way of "God's not looking for ability. He's looking for availability."

And yes, he still calls me "Sugarplump".

Saturday, December 6, 2008

Lady Sings the Blues

Ahhhh. Sweet warmth to the thighs does wonders to my ill at ease body.

Been to "Christmas at the Zoo" all night. I thought my face was going to freeze off on the train ride, but I took it all in stride. I kept shrieking "Botox injections!" whilst buzzing past the onlooking walker-by. Did they pay attention?? Nope.

We got to go to a free Dolphin Show too, and even though I've had to bear witness to that show for the umpteenth fucking time, it still manages to tinge some sort of my desensitized heart whenever I see a dolphin leap at the command of it's trainer.

I have to sit and wonder what it must be like for those trainers day in and day out, being able to live the rest of their lives in a profession that most would only dream of. Those dolphins look to their trainers as if they are the only thing that matters to them in their life, and I just find that so insanely endearing. To know that something so heavenly looks to them for it's every move, just brings tears to my eyes.

The only difference in the show I saw tonight versus the 50 other shows I've had to endure (volunteering as a chaperone on school field trips) was the choice of music for the dolphins to dance to. It was all Christmas-ey, but it was really kinda sweet. It set just the right ambiance for Christmas festivities, and there was a version of some Christmas song that Gloria Estefan (sp?) was singing that was just so touching that it brought tears to my eyes a few times.

I must have not been the only one to have been affected by the beauty in Gloria's unique inflection, because my 11 year old son David tapped me on the shoulder and asked, "Who does this song?" I told him that I was pretty sure it was Gloria Estefan, and he says, "Sounds like Grandma."

My heart melted in hearing that statement, because it is all too true.

There was definately something in her voice that brought me to thinking of my beautiful mother's singing voice. My mom has the gift of song upon her heart, always has, and she managed to pass this same gift along to my son David, the one who was asking about the music in the first place. He's a closet singer, doesn't like an audience, doesn't sing on command, refuses to show off. But you will catch him at his finest hour, singing to his heart's content the chorus line from Dream Theatre's "Pull Me Under" in the shower, mind you. You can also catch him singing "Through the Fire and Flames", or "Heroes of Our Time" by Dragonforce with amazing accuracy, and I just know it's because of my momma and her beautiful gift getting passed on to my spawn.

She's been singing the blues lately, literally. I think the weather's affected her somehow. Always does. I can't help but wonder how fucking dismal winter would be for us if it wasn't for festivities such as Christmas, Kwaanza, and all the other colorful arrays of creative human survival we have come up with for ourselves to endure the suffering and agony of barren Winter. I get "S.A.D." too, and I have to go force my eyeballs into a lighting fixture when I realize what it is. Never helps, but at least I can say that I've tried.

Long time family friend Brian has been coming over lately with his daughter Kailey. They get here around 7 or 8 p.m. and stay till about 12 or 1 in the am. It's been kinda nice though, because life has been extra hard around here for Snookms and I know Brian's witty humour kinda takes the edge off for him when my porn star head won't do the trick. He used to be in this really cool band called Loxstep, (my Dad even helped remix the "Grace" track!!) but he kinda let it all go to be there for his daughter. His band was doing really well back in North Carolina, even went on tour with awesome ass bands like Atreyu, but he just didn't feel right not being there for his kiddo. That takes a lot, to leave behind dreams that are coming true for you, just so you can help build dreams for someone else. Much respect for the guy, and I can see why Snookms has kept this guy on as the one and only friend he still hangs out with from his youth.

Welp, I'm off to cheer up my mama, some way, some how. Maybe you all can go visit her page and give her stats mad hits and then she can feel all giddy and loved. She gets them a plenty, but more can never hurt, right??

Happy Winter venturing all. Don't forget to wear your mittens!!

Friday, December 5, 2008


Krampusnacht is the new Jesus.

Fo' sheezy. I"m all bubbly inside.
I have finally decided what keeps me from writing most....


Smoking is my newfound hobby. Sure, I had taken it up as a 14 year old pre-pubescent teen, but then I put it down when Snookms would pretend to be the baby that he injected into my tum, retorting, "Mommy, the smoke is making my lungs black."

So I put it down for a year or 10, and picked it back up about 2 years ago. I had replaced smoking with drinking soda, chewing my lips into an incessant frenzy of blood and TMJ, and volunteering my ass off at my kiddos school (when I wasn't homeschooling them of course.) But when Snookms and I elected to put the spawn in public school, it freed up much of my time. Time that could be dedicated to picking back up old hobbies, such as smoking. Much of it had to do more with the stress factor of Mike Jr. being newly diagnosed as autistic, my parents losing everything they had after the big airline layoffs, my brothers being in the hospital after a horrible car accident right before Christmas, and Snookms telling me that his OCD made him feel guilty everytime he whacked off to an image that wasn't of me.

But what's this habit most useful through those trite times was that I had more free time. So first I typed, then I smoked. Then I smoked and typed. And now? I just smoke. I sit, and read everyone else's blogs and smoke. I have taken a whole year off from volunteering at spawn academy just to do that:

-Write and smoke.

And now, just smoke.

I don't have the ability to smoke whilst I write, otherwise I'm sure I'd be pumping words out like they were semen coming from the penis of a porn star. But I just can't do it. Whenever I try putting a cancer stick in my mouth and let it hang for my hands to do other things, the second hand smoke goes up my nose and just makes me wanna vomit all over my Spiderman shirt. So instead of put the smoke down and taking up writing, I've done the latter. And when everyone asks what I've done with my well earned year of non-volunteering, I can happily spew forth, "I smoked!"

Don't get me wrong here fellas. Smoking has been a saviour of sorts for me. It's saved me from getting hooked on crack, and from watching daytime television shows such as "Tyra Banks", "Montel Williams" and "Jerry Springer".

It hasn't saved me from Ellen yet though, but that's okay, because Ellen is a saviour of sorts in her own God-given right. Her obsession for Guitar Hero gives me joy, a joy so far beyond any "optimal" functioning human being's mentality should possess.

I had read somewhere that one of the symptoms of bi-polar is that the sufferer is clouded with the delusion that they know celebrities, that they have formed an actual relationship with these celebraties just because they watch them on t.v.

Does this make me a candidate?

Cause if it does, I demand royalties damnit. She wouldn't be the success she is without me "ESP-ing" her to be funny without being dirty. That was gonna be MY gig, and she stole it from my esp flow. So now I have to be funny AND dirty. All at the same time. It's not as easy as it looks folks.

I was watching an episode of Showtime's "Californication" with my mom and dad at their house 2 days ago, and I envied David Duchovny's character, for he could pull the "smoke and write" gig off with ease. My bulbuous nose sneered in jealousy. Fucker. I no longer desire to possess a bulbuous nose. I want a pointy slender one. Like Snookms's.

I've been sauntering my reading efforts between "The Man Who Mistook His Wife For a Hat", "Where is God When It Hurts?", "The Five Love Languages", and Neil Gaiman's Sandman series. I have since completed volume 4 in the Sandman Series, and must wait till next week to indulge frenzied madness into another volume, so I've been filling in the gaps with the aforementioned books. "The Man Who Mistook His Wife For a Hat" is a re-read for me, as well as "Where is God When It Hurts?", but "The Five Love Languages" is all new to me. It's kinda funny too, how I happened upon this gem, because I had no idea it was in possession all these years. It was my intention to look for the "Where is God When It Hurts" book last week, buried in the makeshift bookshelves on my bedroom wall, and low and behold, what do I find sammiched in between my copy of "When Rabbit Howls" and "The Fart Book pt. 2"?? The languid book of Love and it's five primary languages (dialects included). I was delighted beyond belief, as I had been wanting this book ever since I first heard Joyce Meyer speak so fondly of it on one of her panels, even having the author of said book, Gary Chapman as her guest speaker.

I had even took the liberty of jotting down what he felt were the five primary love languages:

1)Quality Time

2)Words of Affirmation


4)Acts of Service

and then finally....

5)Physical Touch

Had I known that it was in my library all this time, maybe I could've been knee deep in mind shattering orgasmick sex alot sooner.

This book has thrown me for yet another loop, as did "Getting Through the Day: Strategies for adults that were hurt as children", written by Nancy J. Napier.

It's pretty much self explanatory in the title.

This Chapman fellow muses that there is the 5 love languages, and that each of us speaks a primary one. When couples aren't communicating to one another in their primary love language, then their "love tanks" run on empty, eventually leaving the relationship empty as well. It gives a lot of prime examples, and kind've a "matter of fact" approach to it all, but it really has been helpful to me in understanding that blow jobs was Snookms primary love language.

That, and doing laundry.

Those two would fall under the "physical touch" category and the "acts of service" category. Snookms also puts a dent on "Quality Time" as do I, which is rather exhilerating to know when the both of you are slashing "Final Blows" to the asshattery that is the "Uruk Hai" on Playstation 2's version of Return of the King. The only problem that arises is when we argue over who gets to be Faramir, (a MAAAAAAAAAD skilled archery warrior) and Gandalf Stormcrow (pretty self explanetory why this motherfucker is arguably one of THEEEE best characters to play in ANY Lord of the Rings game when Balrogs aren't present as an option.) We usually solve this arguement by pushing each other out of the way after we get the spawn to bed for the night, and whoever falls hardest and furthest gets to be the character they want to be.

I have yet to decipher which is my primary love language. First I ventured back and forth from "Quality Time" to "Physical Touch", but upon further soul-searching, I've come to the conclusion that ALL love languages are good for me. I really do like "Gifts" though. Both giving and receiving. So I dunno.

Also, can't blow jobs fit under both the category of "Gifts" AND "Physcial Touch"? Come to think of could fit under any four of the primary love languages, could it not? The only base it's not touching is "Words of Affirmation". And that's a doozy there, cause the husband could be yelling those out whilst performing this "Act of Service", right?

I dunno. All's I know is that I'm trying to use bigger words on muh blog. I found this generator thingy on some other mighty blogger's page, one that tells you what edu-ma-cation level your blog readers would need to have in order to read your blog. This blogger's was a college level of some sort, so I figure, based on my field o' expertise in fancy werds and what not, that I'd paste my URL into that baby and get back "ROCKET SCIENTIST".

You know what it hurls back at me?????

~A Jr. High reading level.~

Big surprise. (please sense my sarcasm here, SOMEONE!!!)

It's just as bad as being called a Math Tudor, a Prison Barber, or a Near Sighted Gynecologist by Robin Williams on the movie Hook.

Maybe the previously mentioned occupations will generate a higher level of educational requirements for my blog fans. I'll be right back!!