Diet Coke and Mentos, Near Death

Saturday Night!

Okay. I am SO FUCKING JAZZED today.

Fer starters, Nicola Griffith's Memoir "And Now We Are Going To Have A Party" is now in my possession for the time being, and I have Karina of SheTranslates.Com to thank for it, as she is the one who initiated the kind gesture in the first place. Karina is a member of the Ozymandias Google Group as well, and while in the midst of members throwing out ideas and themes and mission statements and what not, Karina offered to order a copy of Nicola's "And Now We Are Going To Have A Party" Memoir to any who were interested in reading it, and HELL YES I was interested, so I jumped on the offer, which to me, is one of those "once in a lifetime" opportunity typed thingamahoozits, because how often is some complete stranger going to offer to buy you a $50.00 piece of art, AND have it shipped to your house? And all I have to do is promise to pay for shipping to the next willing recipient? Not often enough, I'll tell you THAT!! Karina is MUY awesome!!

It's funny though, but now that Nicola's Memoir is in my grasp, I don't want to let it go. I fell in love with it the instant I saw the link for it on Payseur & Schmidt, and now that it's tangible, and actually within my grasp? I'm like Gollum with the One Ring, and I don't want to let it go. It is indeed my Precious. I'm thinking of quite possibly keeping this copy, and just doing what Karina did for me in regards to whoever is next in line. And then of course repaying Karina for her awesome gesture. But I dunno. I'll have to see what muh cash flow looks like by next Friday. I'm really hoping that this is the case, as I don't see myself parting with this lightly. There will be much weeping and gnashing of teeth. Oh yes.

Nicola's Memoir comes in five volumes. It also comes with a cd of her early band Janes Plane, which I love, (reminds me of old Cure) and an autographed baby picture of Nicola, and 3 lovely lovely lovely scratch and sniff cards, which you will totally keep scratching and sniffing and appreciating the hell out of, and giggling too, cause there's little prefaces for each scent that make you giggle in that way that only Nicola has the ability to do. I twittered Nicola last night, to let her know that I had just begun reading "Limb of Satan", volume 1 of the memoir, and she sent me a twitter back with a link to her "read-aloud" of it, which I have watched many a time over in utter adoration. (You have only to scroll down to the first 2 videos, and WATCH EM!! You'll be HOOKED!! I promise!!) Nicola is such a wonderful storyteller, and she connects with her admirers, her fans, her audience, the ones who appreciate her, so wonderfully. She doesn't have this bullshit heir of "Hey everybody. I'm famous now. I'm better than you. I shouldn't be stooping to your level to talk to you."

And that? Right there? That's what builds a loyal fanbase. That's what real admiration should be all about. Not this untouchable, invincible entity of a mess that contradicts everything that one SHOULD be standing for. And this enthralls me. I love it. It's the stuff my dreams are made of. Sort of like this whole, "Reach for the stars" momentum, 'cept, you have only to "look up" and there they are. They're not out of reach, they're not unnattainable. You have only to reach up and there one will be, to rightly pluck out of the infinite sky, and then to be in the palm of your hand, shimmering fantastically for all to bear witness to.

I dunno. Perhaps I'm just too giddy with Saturday Morning Delight.

Yet another reason I'm also totally jazzed is because Snookms and I are taking the kiddos to see Coraline in 3-D tonight, and I can't friggin wait, as I've been waiting FOREVER to see this flick, and it's soooooooo up my alley in every way deemed possible. I follow Neil Gaiman on Twitter, and all he fucking does is talk about all the interviews and the premieres and the Red Carpet in Oregon, and while it's COMPLETELY understandable that he is Twittering all this in the first place, it's driving me mad, mad, MAD with envy and jealousy. I'm starting to develop one of those strange manic depressive bi-polar delusions that many are known for developing? Like, maybe that I know Neil in real life, that we have a secret mind reading relationship, and that he secretly wants to write stories all about me and my life sized teddy bear Footprint, and that in the end he is going to reveal that Sandman is a girl. And that indeed, I AM MORPHEOUS, KING OF DREMES. Oh yes. Everyone should want to bow now, before I get way too infamous to even be in your presence in the first place.

*See now, therein I contradict myself, and it just goes to show you that I should indeed, NOT be famous, nor adored. I should want to squash you all like the bugs and vermin that you are, with my trail of infinite wisdom and notoriety, leaving behind me a glimmer of Silver Stardust for you all to hover about and lap up like rabid hyenas.*

This is really strange, cause I've not even had my morning coffee yet, and already I'm blathering away like a raving lunatic. Must be the "Rock My World" jigglies too. I can't wait to have that in my greasy paws!! Demon Baby rocks my world!!

I'm so happy I could poop a rainbow!!

"Rock My World!"

Yay for me!!!

Author Erica Orloff is sending MOI a copy of her book, "Rock My World: A Novel of Thongs, Spandex, and Love in G Minor".

*click on above link for more book info *



I won it simply by entering her "contest" of sorts, hosted by lovely Demon Baby, and I was Of The Chosen. There was one other winner as well, and when Erica announced the winners this morning, I was erratically overjoyed, as I've been secretly longing to have one of her books in my hands ever since I've had the pleasure of happening acrossed her blog. She is one of the most intriguing beings on this universe that I've met in a while. (Aside from Mysty, Kat, Sex, and Nicola!) I truly look forward to both receiving this book and reading it, and talking it the hell up afterwards.

And another big plus, I now have Erica's email address, so I can add her to my list of people to stalk and harrass via email. WOOT!! :D

She is...

The other half of my morning star:




Dangit!! The pictures' so dang big that it cuts off some of it. Mysty's holding up the Wicked Witch of the West Post Its I bought her, and on the top one it says "I love Rachel". And it shows off Mysty's awesomely awesome fingernail polish. (Also ala the Wicked Witch of the Westside fashion.)

*swoons*

Billy Mays is a douche!

"Revenge is the product of helplessness"

Oh boy howdy!! :D

Okay. So this has been long overdue. I'm kinda behind schedule in the way of "introducing" the talent on board Ozymandias, as I promised in my previous post. I had intended on initiating introductions last week, but my kids have all taken consecutive turns being sick, sick, SICK!!! And then of course I got sick, so it's been one hell of a week!! Or 2 weeks, I should say....

*Always*

By Nicola Griffith



I just finished reading that 514 page novel, and to say that I am blown away by Nicola's talent is an understatement.

First, let me just start by saying that given the current economic crisis, times have been financially backbreaking in our household. 4 weeks ago, when I walked into Barnes & Noble to order Always and Ammonite, (both by Nicola), that I was under the impression that Snookms and I were okay financially. A week later our lives were literally turned upside down, and while I was okay with that (aside from the drama queen antics I pulled these last few posts) I was utterly miserable at the thought of possibly having to let ol' B&N ship back my book orders had I not the cash to foot for these 2 novels. Weeks went by with no prospect of our financial prospect getting any "better". Electricity was due to shut off, as well as water.

And then the snow storm hit. 12 inches of beauty stacked up at my doorstep. And while this may be a bitch for many, this meant financial "yays" all around the household fer us Turnerfolk. Snookms got called out to shovel the lovely white mess, for 24 hours straight even!! And while Panda Express never got back with neither Snookms or me, (as well as Target, and Starbucks, and all the other billion and 1 places we had applied at!) we were able to struggle up our financial hill to a place that wasn't of ruin. But not before I could unbury my little 2001 Kia Rio out of the 12 inch chaos.

But I was hell bent on a mission, you see. It was the 28th, and B&N was threatening to ship Always back to where it hailed from the very next day if I didn't make it up there by the 29th. So like, all the fucking odds were against me, from an already exhausted husband whom I wouldn't of expected to help me dig our car out, to 3 kids taking turns hacking up lungs, to my own lung being hacked out, to me having to scrape up $15.00 in change so Always could once and for all be in my grasp.

And let me tell you right now, folks.

It was worth every, fucking, cent. And every pound of snow shoveled, and every gulp of icky Robitussin, and all that other hullaballoo.

Now I'll get on to the good schtuff....

Two words:

Aud Torvingen.

Oh. My. GAWD.

That's all I kept saying while reading this book. And I couldn't help but continually picture Nicola as Aud, the whole god-damned time, so my obsession level both with Aud and Nicola increased dramatically with this read.

Aud is a self defense teacher. Aud has come to Seattle from Atlanta to take care of much business. Aud has demons in her closet. Fuck skeletons. The kind of demons that make one truly shiver and want to curl up in a ball and cry for mommy. And the "beauty" (if one can dare to refer to it as such) of this book is that they aren't even fully revealed. There are fragments and patches here and there that come to present themselves, but it's good in the kind of way that makes you hungry for more.

And Nicola shows, shows just how important it is for women to embrace their womanhood, to be proud of it, to be unapologetic, but in the classiest of ways. In a way that would make the truest and noblest of men bow down to her in humility and loyalty.

It's not all about manhate. It's not all about disregarding femininity. It's about coming to terms with oneself, identifying who you are, finding out what works, repairing what doesn't, and going back out there and giving it your all.

Nicola speaks of places you've never been, and makes you long to be there, in the moment, eating of her exotic foods that she so astutely describes via taste, touch, and smell. You want to be basking under the same sun she once spoke of as a child, lying beneath the Norweigean rays of light.

You want to take Kick into your hands as Aud does, and finesse her sand coloured mane, and brush your lips acrossed hers as Aud does, simply stating "Bed" as a means for her legs to continually be wrapped around your midriff in utter midnight delight, be it man, woman or Minotaur.

And if that weren't enough, there's always THIS folks. There's always THIS:

"When an ovulating woman offers herself to you, she's the choicest morsel on the planet. Her nipples are already sharp, her labia already swollen, her spine already undulating. Her skin is damp and she pants. If you touch the center of her forehead with your thumb she isn't thinking about her head--she isn't thinking at all, she's imagining, believing , willing your hand to lift and turn and curve, cup the back of her head. She's living in a reality where the hand will have no choice but to slide down that soft, flexing muscle valley of the spine to the flare of strong hips, where the other hand joins the first to hold both hip bones, immobilize them against the side of the counter, so that you can touch the base of her throat gently with your lips and she will wimper and writhe and let the muscles in her legs go, but she wont' fall, because you have her.

She'll be feeling this as though it's already happening, knowing absolutely that it will, because every cell is alive and crying out, Fill me, love me, cherish me , be tender, but oh God, be sure. She wants you to want her. And when her pupils expand like that, as though you have dropped black ink into a saucer of cool blue water, and her head tips just a little, as though she's gone blind or has had a terrible shock or maybe just too much to drink, to her she is crying in a great voice, Fuck me, right here, right now against the kitchen counter, because I want you wrist-deep inside me. I hunger, I burn, I need.

It doesn't matter if you are tired, or unsure, if your stomach is hard with dread at not being forgiven. If you allow yourself one moment's distraction--a microsecond's break in eye contact, a slight shift in weight--she knows, and that knowledge is a punch in the gut."

And so there are many fleeting moments like this in the book, coupled with many moments of definitive clarity, no matter what gender you are, that get you thinking, feeling, knowing, and suddenly caring about how very important it is to take good care of yourself, and to then arm those around oneself with this same notion as well.

If Nicola's work isn't getting the exposure it deserves, well, it should be. I don't see why this book isn't found on the shelves of Target and Walmart. They've got Augusten Burroughs up there. And David Sedaris.

Nicola's turn is next.

And if you're wondering about the title of this post, go read the book, and you will understand the beauty of that Orwellian quote, profoundly.

Now I am off to read Ammonite. Thank God for getting paid to shovel driveways. I'll let you all know how it goes. :)

Stay

Oh how I love this video. I happened to have overheard it playing on last week's episode of Ghost Whisperer when I was visiting my mom and dad, and I was like, "Fuck! I remember that beautiful symphony!" I don't really get into Ghost Whisperer though, more my mom's obsession there.

I had a crush on "Death" then. I wanted her to take me to HER world. Because they don't hear you cry, back in your OWN world, y'know?? :D

Such a VERY long time....

I guess I'm officially off blog vacation, if you could have even have called it one. I went what, 3 or 4 days without blogging? Eeeesh.

I feel a bit more stable in my emotions today than I have for a while. I've had fleeting glimpses here and there of insecurity, but it seems to be getting better and better as the days go by.

I think the things that were bothering me most, breaking my heart, are beyond me now, and for better or worse, I've gotten through it. And I thank every last one of you for putting up with my mellow dramatic bullshit.

At this point it's best to just keep moving forward, and when something begins to hurt or tug at my heart strings, I should want to stop, acknowledge it, discover it's origin, put it in it's proper precious place, and move on. That's all I can really offer myself, and it's by far been the best I have been to myself in a long time. Such a very long time.

While on the subject of "moving forward", I've been wanting to blab about this for quite some time now, but have just been waiting for the right "time" (if ever there were such a thing). For those of you that don't know of her, awesomely awesome author Nicola Griffith has been in the beginnings of iniatiating a "co-op" of sorts, gathering up any whom are willing, and combining whatever forces that come of it, in an experimental attempt to take a stab at something "new" in the publishing industry. Rookie as I am to all of this, I have taken the opportunity to jump on this bandwagon of amazing talent, and ride it for whatever experience I can possibly come away with, be it negative or positive, with much of my stock placed on the "up" and "up". Nicola started up a Google Group, encouraging any who wanted to be a part of it to sign up, and has titled it "Ozymandias" in silent nod to the poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley, for it's "reminder that overweening pride is just not helpful" in regards to "all that is wrong with the prevalent publishing model". If you look to the sidebar, you'll see the little "banner" I made, showing off my "Ozymandian" pride. I haven't got any feedback from the group as to whether or not anyone objects to it's presence on my blog, so at this point I'm riding it for all it is worth. :)

Nothing has been anywhere near to being set in stone, everyone is still in the process of introducing one another, but it looks like things may slowly be coming together in agreeance. It's been really exciting to have the opportunity to meet such a slew of talented people, and I feel as though I'm a tiny fish swimming with a bunch of big sharks. But alas, I must remember that we are all JUST PEOPLE.

I wanted to take the next few weeks to introduce some of the talent that's come on board the Google Group, here on my own blog, and I hope at least some of you will be able take a few moments to visit their blogs or sites or whatever it is they have to offer up when I do get around to introducing them, as they all have very wonderful and interesting things to contribute to the universe. I think I might take it one week at a time, introducing first Nicola and Kelley, since they are the "founders" of the group, and then work my way from there. But mostly for today, I just wanted to talk about the group and what it is all about.

During introductions I just explained myself honestly, laying out what cards I had to offer on the table, and have been awaiting further instruction and introductions since. It really is a friendly environment, and I have been superfluosly jazzed about it all, which has been a wonderful component in battling the misery I had been experiencing for the past few weeks. I really can't wait to start "exposing" everyone in the group to the world and how awesome they all are, but that will be in the process of getting completed somewhere between tomarrow and the beginning of next week, as the hour grows late for me.

As time goes on and takes it's toll upon me, I may just indulge in posting a weekly video with an excerpt or 3 of the imaginings in my head that run wilde. Otherwise, it will just be the usual me, blathering on about fucking Snookms and getting phone calls from friends in the middle of what might have possibly been one of thee best orgasms of the year for me, and instead, being made to pausing in mid-fuckery to laugh at how ridiculous the ring of our cell phone sounds when called 20 consecutive times in a row. I've NEVER laughed so hard while Snookms was inside me, his limp dick curled in defeat while both of us lie on top of one another, crying from eminent laughter at the prospect of it all.

As for now though, I leave you with a *list*:

*The "grrrrrrr!"list*

Mordicai -for ignoring my attempts at friendly convo.
Nicola -for being too clever and sexy in a way that makes me want to stalk like a hired professional
Kelley -for the same reasoning, + being married to the aforementioned awesomeness above
Adam -for not adding me to his blogroll yet
Snookms -for making me JEALOUS
Mysty -for makin' me love her so god-damned much
My Mom & Pops -for having fun without me
Neil Gaiman -for winning the Newbery Award

*The "arrrrrggggh!"list*

Snookms -for being Nice, and Sexy when it matters Most
The childrens -for their Love and Innocence and Originality
Woody Allen -for Stardust Memories
SexScenes@Starbucks -for having such a cool name, and awesomely awesome blog
Mom & Pops -for their undying love, even though they know how I get jealous too easily
Erica Orloff -for her hilarious use of the "Snuggie" reference, calling me a "chick" and saying I "made her laugh", and for being on the same list as Richard Kelly in regard to "People to watch in 2008" (or was it '09?)
Mysty -for being purrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr-fect
Wolverine -for his tacky yellow jumpsuit apparatus that somehow manages to liven my spirits whenever I happen to glance his way.
Neil Gaiman -for writing Sandman
Jesus -for never getting pissed at me, even when I cuss at him on Wii, and tell him that he sucks at Wii Tennis.

Thinking

Thinking, thinking, thinking....



Working things out in my head. Trying not to lose hope. Losing hope anyway. Getting by on "bread alone". Getting by on "hugs" not drugs. (Sorta)



There's so much taking place in my life at this moment. I don't want to take a blog vacation. I want to write the anxiety away. I want to write about all the special moments that have come to pass in my life, and share them with everyone else.



They are so personal.



So private.



So heartfelt.



So beautiful.



I see Snookms suffering the worst case of insomnia I've yet to witness. I awake in the middle of the night to see him frantically searching jobs on the internet. There are dozens of printed applications strewn about our house, more than a dozen newspapers turned to the "career opportunities" section laid out everywhere, countless "Post Its" and scrapped pieces of stationary with contacts of who to get back to for job offers that Snookms is overqualified for.



He doesn't care though. He's willing to shovel shit if it means doing something "constructive" about our current situation.



We had a good heart to heart in the car yesterday, on the way to picking up the spawn from Spawn Academy. We made up our minds that everything's going to be okay, no matter WHAT.



When we first fell in love and decided we couldn't spend another minute apart from one another for the rest of eternity and all that other hullaballoo, we MADE it work. It didn't make any fucking sense to anyone else. We were irrational as all hell in our thinking, considering we had no where to live, no car, no jobs, but we did it.



I guess I just couldn't live another day without the smell of his skin against my own, the security it provided, the confident brush of his hand acrossed my hair after we had made love,even after the 50th time in one day, insuring me every moment of the day that this man loved me for me.



The first time we fucked, he didn't get up, get dressed and tell me, "I'll call you tomarrow". He didn't take me out to dinner, wine me and dine me, and shower me with material possessions. Instead he lay beneath my own naked body, caressing my hair, looking up at me with his brown puppy dog eyes, as if I were a gift from Santa himself on Christmas Day.



And when the lights were all out for that night, save for the glow of television show "Late Night with Conan O'brien" illuminating the walls of his sister's one bedroom apartment, he quietly whispered "I love you" in my ear when he thought I was fast asleep, naked and in his arms.



We're going through what is probably one of the hardest times in our life right now, and all I can think of is this moment in time, when we were still just kids pretty much.



Mike's hair was longer than mine then. He played guitar more than he ate. He could crank out a Randy Rhoades solo like it was me playing a Smoke on the Water riff. His main food groups were Doritoes, cigarettes, Pepsi and Colt 45.



Now he stays up nights playing Jesus Mii on Wii bowling, the highlight of our eventful evening being the burrito he warmed up from last Tuesday.



I don't know where the fuck I'm going with this, I just know that I love this guy with every fiber of my being.



He's not the hottest. He's not the buffest. He's not the snazziest dresser. And he's got the sensitivity level of Tom Green's right testicle.



But with everything else, it just mashes all that shit up into one big pile made from something magical, perhaps the stuff unicorn's horns are made of, and processes it into a very potent elixir of unconditional love.



Suddenly it doesn't matter that he's wearing a pair of pants 2 times smaller than a guy his height/weight should be wearing, and it doesn't matter that he doesn't look nearly as gorgeous as he does when he shaves off his 5 o' clock shadow, and it doesn't matter that he didn't see the tears streaming down my face when I saw how much he struggled to tell the manager of Panda Express that "Yes, I am available anytime, night or day, ma'am".



So right now, I'm thinkin' that that's what being a "man" is all about. Buckled over in a momentary lapse of reason, and STILL showing the ablility to project the image of what every woman would want to wrap her legs around till 4 am in the morning in orgasmic delight.



Like Stephen Parrish quaintly but cleverly puts it on his own blog in regards to all the hapless bullshit in life:



~"Everything else is just conversation".

This little animal is called the Naked Mole-Rat and is from Africa



So if you are having a bad day and feeling sorry for yourself, remember:

You could look like a dick with buck teeth.

Dream Country

I need a good reason to be who I am.

For today.

And for lots of other times too.

I'm taking a blog vacation.

Maybe only for a moment.

Perhaps for decades. I dunno.

There's too much irony in my blood. Too much contradiction.

Normally I revel in this absolute, but today, there's far too much of that metallic component flowing freely throughout my inner verse to feel comfortable in taking everyone else with me into that descent.

It is snowing outside. That kind of beautiful light snow, that doesn't stay long enough to accumulate, but it keeps coming nonetheless? Fluid, flowing, elusive.

That's me in a nutshell.

I feel as though I'm going nowhere, really, fucking fast.

Black Katherine wants me on meds. Real meds, not this herbal supplemental shit that I kid myself with everyday. She's not pimping it on me drug lord style or anything. It's in a way that's making me question my every step though.

Snookms was doped up on meds for 8 fucking years of our marriage. And where did it lead us to? "A Brave New World", that's where. Where opinions didn't matter and apocolyptic zombie like behavior was the condition, rather than the momentum of things.

I queried some lit agent about my memoir. I feel as though I'm handing in an essay from my 1st grade years.

I hope none of you give up on me, as I love every last one of you, "anonymous" and the like.

But I must take refuge in Dream Country for a while, and find the Cuckoo in me. I need to differentiate some things, and find out if she is where she is supposed to be.

"Optimal" is the key word here folks.

Otherwise, I'm fucked.

P.S.

Help this guy out, if you can. His fucking house burnt down for Christ's sake.

Christmas Photos

I know it's a bit late, but I wanted to post photos of the Awesome Christmas Eve I shared with my mom and dad. Such a beautiful night!!

This is my mom and my brother Erin. He's the oldest of my 3 brothers, but I'm still older than him and can still TOTALLY kick his ass.



Here we have my beautiful momma and I. I'll never let her go:



Me and my bro Erin. He fucking owns on World of Warcrack. His guild is ranked 3rd in the motherfucking nation bitches. Stick THAT in yer pipe and smoke it.



Snookms and I. (I may have been cutting the circulation off in his dick. I dunno.)



Love the white tree. Snookms outrightedly refuses to purchase a white Christmas tree. Says it reminds him too much of having to stay at some "rich uncle's" house that doesn't care about you. What a dork.



Feast of the Gods. I should have wanted the dark elves of Mirkwood Forest to partake in the festivities as well.



Only the Renegade Wizard can smoke n cook all at once. (Love the black n red tiles, mom and pops did that all themselves!!)



*sigh* Always a daddy's girl.



"Beautiful" ain't got nothing on the Warlock's Wife. :)



Time to eat!! Yay!!



Fer some reason, I LOVE it when my mom makes this face. She is so silly.



"And on the Seventh Day, Jesus said the Wizard could rest."



Bro Eric engaging "Tha Jr." in a mad battle of Chess.



For some reason or another, photos of my daughter Carmen didn't show up very well, probably cause she was lingering sneakily in the dark the whole time, I s'pose, so here's a pretty from the past to share with the group:



And then one of my Fezziwig, furrowing his brow intently in Origami. It's a passion o' his. He looks terribly possessed here:

And that's all folks.

I Got Me First Award Matey!

Katie gave me my first blog award! I'm all giddy with delight. She nominated 4 others aside from me, all which are well deserved nominees. I'm happy that Katie got one and happy for the others that are receiving as well. (Sarah and Spy would've been 2 of my picks had Katie not nominated them!)



I really like what this blog award stands for:

"This blog invests and believes in PROXIMITY--nearness in space, time, and relationships! These blogs are exceedingly charming. These kind bloggers aim to find and be friends. They are not interested in prizes or self-aggrandizement. Our hope is that when the ribbons of these prizes are cut, even more friendships are propagated. Please give more attention to these writers! Deliver this award to eight bloggers who will choose eight more and include this cleverly-written text into the body of their award."

I already know without a doubt in my mind who my eight are. (Which of course Katie would've been one as well, had she not already received one in the first place.)

My picks are:

Sex Scenes at Starbucks (Miss Betsy Dornbusch)

Mr. Stephen Parrish (whereabouts pending)

Merry Monteleone

Joe Barone

Erica Orloff

Jess Watsky

William Hammet (Where the heck ya been BILLY!!!)

Brian Howe (I don't know you all that well, but you've always got something positive to throw out there, and it really makes a difference "Ewoh" :D)

Congrats Peoples. Maybe you won't think it's a big deal, but I do, and we all know that what I say is GODSPEAK.

A New Lease on Life?

My legs ache. My forearms keep pulsating relentlessly. Every time I bend over I yelp like a puppy that's getting a tapeworm pulled from it's ass with a pair of channel locks.

I've been cleaning for the past few days, quite mercilessly.

Snookms started the bullshit vortex that was I, the cleaning tornado, what with him re-organizing our closet space last week. I was so touched by his organizational ways that I too, had to organize something as well, just so I could feel like a team player. You should see our closet though. It's the stuff Gods are made of. I should have wanted to take a picture or something. Of my fucking closet. Yeah.

I started off in our room, (the room Snookms and I share, that is) dusting off all our old Spidey Action figures. Most of em are still in their original packaging, thumbtacked to the wall, but clear plastic looks pretty shanky when it ain't been dusted in centuries. Then I dusted our dvd shelves, and got my Sandman series out to showcase, (what I have of it at least) and reorganized some of the books and journals that I am using most frequently to be conveniently available at my bedside leisure whenever the need/fancy strikes. Also got our Mr. Potato Head collection all spiffied out too, and it gives me a joy so few could understand to see a potatoe in Cosplay when I awake in the morn' and roll over to see these puppies greet me. So far we have the Spidey/Venom set, Darth Tator, Optimus Prime, Spud Trooper (Storm Trooper) and Artoo-Potatoo. Artoo is particularly adorable because he's tiny, unlike all the other "girthy" spuds.

I also re-organized my faery bedside table, which I'll have to post of picture of sometime, because I gotta show off my purdy faery that my brother Eric and his fiance bought me for Christmas. It's really beautiful, she's a blue fairy and a dragon lover, perched on some mushrooms, snuggling with a baby dragon, and she smells of patchouli, just like them dope-smokin head shops always smell. I luff her. I named her Mysty. :) Did some groupings with my LOTR action figures too, so now my Gollum/Smeagol statue can wave hello to Gandalf and Legolas whilst they deal Final Judgements to the Almighty Cave Troll. Merry and Pippin aren't too happy though, cause they're perched on the Troll's shoulders, trying to give it Hobbit Head. S'pretty cute, if ya ask me.





I then moved on to the kiddos room, and that is hell in a fucking handbasket if you ask me, because these 3 fuckers have to share a room together, and having to shell out who's toys belong to who is fucking beyond me. But I did it. There is now room for each of them to be an individual, and all in one room, and I have the manic episodes of my bi-polar disorder to thank for this, for if it wasn't for it's steadfast, coke-like fevered drive, none of this would have been possible. I didn't get to bed til 9:30 in the fucking morning fer ChristSAKE.

The next day was spent re-enforcing organizational law all throughout the land. Petitions were made, hopes were dashed, and alas I came out the victor. I would put Adrian Monk to shame. And that's not a compliment.

I rested up by playing Wii, making new Mii's, which is almost funner than actually playing, cause you can make Napoleon Dynamite, or Jack Black, or Kyle Gass for that matter, (from Tenacious D!) I also made Jason Vorhees from Friday the 13th and one of the kiddos made Michael Meyer from the Halloween Flicks. We're gonna watch the Youtube vid to show us how to make Jackie Chan sometime today, and I'm thinking of breaking down and making a Spidey Mii, even though the finished product looks pretty fucking generic. So does Jack Skellington's, which really pisses me off, cause those woulda been first on my list to make if they didn't look so utterly lame.

Been on a Donnie Darko kick as of late. Cable got shut off recently, and so will our net soon probably, so I better make the best o' my blogger time. But yep, since our cable's been shut off, we just watch movies now when we get down time, so I've been popping in the Director's Cut of Donnie Darko, which in my opinion, is way better than the other version they released in the theatres. I like how it shows the chapter prefaces, just the way an actual book would play out, explaining what the "Living Receiver" is and does, and the "Manipulated Living's" role in time and space and what not. Such a beautiful movie.



So like, I told Merry Monteleone that I'd play her Honest Scrap game, she invited any of her blog readers to play who would like to, so here goes:

10 Things About Me That You Might Otherwise Not Know

(as if anyone gives a fleeting fuck)

1.) I used to have a crush on Prince. Yeah. That Prince. Purple Rain is what pushed me over the edge. I remember hearing Raspberry Beret for the first time and was intrigued by this motherfucker, pretending not to like someone so cliche (kids are weird when it comes to shit like that, y'know?) but I could no longer resist his seductive like nature after watching Purple Rain. I wanted to be bitch-slapped like Applelonia. When I saw Prince getting ready to eat the bitch out, I pretended to be the utterly shocked and disgusted spectator I was supposed to be, but later pretended that my life-size stuffed teddy bear Footprint was Prince in the heat of that humid midnight summer's eve.



2.) The year Family Ties came out was a rough year for Footprint as well. I had it BAAAAAAAAAAAD for Michael J. Fox.

+

=

Very flat bear.

(Footprint is still sammiched in between Snookms and I, to this day.)

3.) I used to be a hardcore gangsta bitch. I sagged, I wore a Sox beanie, I had dukey braids and could roll my neck out of a wet paper towel. (Not really, but it just puts emphasis where emphasis needs be at the moment.) People were actually afraid of me sometimes, because I put on such an heir of "Don't Fuck With Me or I'll Bust a Cap in Your Ass". Ice Cube was my hero.



4.) I was in a band for like 2 days, with an old friend and my brother. She claims we were called the ChowderHeads. I remember pulling for the "FuckHeads" though. It consisted of us playing really badly, and claiming that we were punk. Meh.



5.) I was born in Texas. Abilene, Texas. My dad was in the Air Force, so we had to move around alot. After I was born, we moved to Savannah, Georgia, where my 1st brother was born, then to Fresno, California where my second brother was born, then to Seattle, Washington where my 3rd brother was born. After that, my parents went off the deep end and we ended back up in California, but in a different part. Fairfield. Then we moved to South San Francisco, The Industrial City (my ASS) and then here, to Indy, where all my hopes and dreams have come true. Werd to yer granny in Cincinnati.

6.) So far I've wrote 3 books but never had the balls to call them books because they suck. But I've been writing for a very long time. Ever since I could hold a pencil in muh hand, y'know? Words are my very best friend.



7.) I have been living each day as if it were my last for the past year. I don't know what truly led me to this perspective of living, but I've enjoyed it ever since. So in honor of Joyce Meyer's latest ranting and ravings: Eat the Cookie Bitch. Buy the Motherfucking Shoes!! (Bitch and Motherfucking added by Rachel J. Turner)



8.)

I want to cram Sex's head knee deep into my crotch. There. I said it.

9.) Two Saturdays ago I had to agree to sign a "No Harm" Contract with my therapist. An accident ensued. A mistake was made. I am no longer un-afraid of sharp objects. I have to wear a rubber band around my wrist at all times and snap it back everytime I wanna hurt myself. Or draw/doodle cuts on myself instead of really making them. Can't I just draw one around my neck??

I suck.



10.) I aim to make everyone's life around me more colourful. If I haven't made someone want to reach for the stars, well then, I ain't served my purpose. I love life and all the living, breathing things surrounding me in it. (And the non-breathing stuff too, I s'pose.) I wish for everyone to feel this way, but I won't push it on you, like some drug pimp, so don't worry if you don't like life right now. It's okay to hate it. :)

The "Robin Hood" of literature....

So I've gotten myself a bright idea, while in the throes of passionate commenting at Joe Barone's blog. I've had a well intended mission planned of purchasing his book A Body In The Record Room, and was letting him know that I was able to get down to the bookstore and place an order, and that it should be ready for me in a week. I had also mentioned that I would run rampant through the store, placing copies of his book on shelves where the "popular" books get all the attention, taking care not to be seen by employees.

And then I thought to myself:

What if I really DID do that?

Is it morally wrong to be the "Robin Hood" of literature to these fellow aspiring writers? In a sense, I'm stealing away attention from other writers, but it's to get others noticed that may have not otherwise received such attentions for whatever bullshit marketable reasoning there is out there.

And then I ask myself, "Would I be mad if I someone put a book over my book at the bookstore?"

The answer honestly? No.

No I wouldn't. I'm just a pushover heathen when it comes to shit like that though, so that's just me.

But think about it:

If you are a famous writer, your shit is going to get found and read, no matter who's fucking book is in the way. Your known, you've been blessed with the chosen of the gods, what the fuck are you going to lose by letting the spotlight shine on someone else for awhile? That's just utterly selfish if you ask me.

So taking from the "rich" to give to the "poor"?? (Not to say, by any means Joe, that I think you are "poor", but I hope you get what I'm saying, and I really don't think you need me to go on a Robin Hood Literature Mission for you at the nearest Barnes & Noble, but I've thought of others who may need it, who aren't getting the attention they deserve.) The mind reels with the possibilities. I've even thought of going as far as leaving a few "self-pubbed" copies of literature in random places "here and there". Like, a coffee table at the local Starbucks, or one "strategically placed" copy at any of the aforementioned bookstores. Little shit like that, you know, to help one another out. I've even toyed with the idea of posting an eyecatching list of URLs of other authors, just to get their name out there (including my own, HEH!!) on bulletin boards all around the "land". They bulletin boards at the library, at Starbucks, grocery stores like Walmart, Kroger, Marsh, Lucky's,....you know, places like that. Anywhere with a bulletin board available. I've been keeping my eye out for these kinds of things.

So I guess another question I'm asking is, "Is this just too damn ambitious?" Or "self-ambitious" rather?

And another thing....the memoir into a blog thing? I've done it. (It's the Fartsmeller by Day, Bounty Hunter by Night secondary blog I've got listed on my profile page, but it's locked, for my viewing pleasure only.) It's not fully completed, as far as details go and putting up of pictures. I've had more fun than ever editing it in this way, almost as though I've been "born" to do this all along, but upon further discussion of this "memoir" translation with Mysty over pancakes and sausage at IHOP, she has pretty much spoken aloud what I had been already thinking silently in my own mind, and that is that it's pretty much like commiting "book suicide". As much as it broke my heart to hear the truth of it from someone else other than myself (I can be REALLY good at bullshitting myself when I want to) I have come to the conclusion that I shall wait, and keep my memoir-blog "locked" until "further notice". Whatever notice that is, I've not a clue, but just a nagging, pressing feeling I s'pose, that'll come from the bowels of my being, clearly resounding, "Now Rachel!! Do it NOW!!" So unless that happens, I guess I'll just keep it on lock and continue to edit the hell out of it until I hear from an agent, ready to suck off my prose at any and all expense.

The likeliness that'll happen? Near to none, but I've told my mountains how big my God is, and they seem a bit daunted, so we'll see. (I stole that from a comment "E" was making in regards to someone else on "giving up", which is good schtuffs by the way "E"!!)

I tell you what though, converting my memoir into a blog has been ever so fun, and has motivated me to keep editing it. But I really am glad Mysty shed a light in the dark hole that was my bullshit pit. I'll have her to thank when I hit my first million, aside from the one that shot me out of her vagina, and the other guy involved too, I s'pose.

On the bright side, I have a Chuck Norris '09 calendar to reckon with. So it can't be all that bad.

Chuck Norris Quote of the Day:

"Chuck Norris doesn't wear a watch; He decides what time it is."