I Recall Central Park In Fall

We did a photo shoot today way out in Central Park in Rancho Cucamonga for a friend that you might know and love as Miss. That's the precious girl there, she hired us out. It was our first official job as Terwilliger Photo, with contracts and everything.

See, as I explained to her, we offer a really unique service with the double camera shoot. I take all of the posed things, while David uses our other camera to capture candid shots of Grandma fixing hair and little Billy bending over to tie his shoe. It went well, considering all of what was working against us.

First of all, partly cloudy my ass, okay? She was trying to coordinate this huge group of people, which is understandably hard, so basically all she could work out with everyone's schedules was 1:00. Not the best lighting, but had it been partly cloudy like it was supposed to be this would not have been a problem. But no. The sky was unapologetically blue, so the lighting was fairly bad. Plus, one of the little kids was stuck in pout mode for the first half hour. They bribed him first with Tic Tacs, and then with a Wii game.

Damn, I ought to pout more often.

The only thing was that we did not anticipate the post production to take as long as it did. An hours worth of pictures on two cameras ends up being a couple hundred photos at the end of the day, and we agreed to sit at a Starbucks with my laptop and process them so that Miss could just take them home so that we wouldn't have to deal with shipping them or anything, because some of her family is visiting from out of state.

Yeah, that took? About three or four hours. Now that we know how long post production can take, we've decided to no longer offer the "we process your shit that day in a Starbucks" without a deposit, which we only require on trips that are out of our region, which technically Miss might have been because she's a little closer to the LA side, but still in the Inland Empire so really it's just a lesson learned. Now we know how many pictures can be taken, and how long it takes to process them. And we know that we are lucky that the client in San Diego decided not to opt for the Starbucks sitting service. Because damn, okay?

We also sat at Red Robin and I broke my tooth on a chip.

Miss will probably tell you more about this, but her grandmother is turning 90, which is why everyone was out. They were a somewhat uncooperative group, including a girl who wouldn't remove her glasses and the red head who refused to participate, but I think it was a nice set.

Something else I learned by driving out there today is man I love it here where I live. It's all malls and big city and wide roadways out that way. Traffic. Ferraris. $400,000 condominiums. The part of the Inland Empire that I'm from, grew up in, and still live in, is all narrow roads, trees, empty fields, and churches. We have to explain where we live by naming 10 other things. "About an hour from Disneyland, about an hour and a half from LA, kind of by Palm Springs, 45 minutes from the beach, a little over an hour from San Diego, two hours from Mexico...kind of in that area."

But you know what? As much as I do long to have a bit of a change of venue for a while, which could happen when David gets hired on with CHP, I want to live here forever. I don't care if it's 90 degrees up through most of November, it's my home, and there are red tailed hawks and golden eagles here. Out there they have Hooters and a bunch of billboards for strip clubs, which I don't mind, but 40 foot tall mostly naked women all along the freeway does become a bit of an eyesore, I hate to admit, because I love the porns, you know how much I love the porns...but I guess what I mean is that I have an appreciation for the clever little church marquees down here that say "sign maker on vacation, message inside."

I like that I know the cops here by name and that it's a big deal that we got a Wal Mart. And I like that yes, Beaumont is getting an In And Out.

Not that we live in the sticks, because you know that line in Tom Petty's song, "There's a freeway running through the yard," yeah that's literally how my house was that I grew up in, and it's not more than a two minute drive to the 10 which will take you to LA, but being in the big industrial world really reminded me of just how neat Beaumont and Yucaipa and even Redlands is. And Redlands is supposedly "overdeveloping."

Just thoughts from the long drive home...

Taste The Madness (via video)

So are you like totally ready for the fast forward shopping cart ride video? I am...

I was not a door buster, because I am not about to get shanked over a freaking toy. Oh oh, you think that's funny? I'm overreacting? Two people are DEAD as a result of a fight ending in gunshots at a Toys R Us store just 20 miles from where I live. That? Scares the shit out of me. I wont be doing any more Black Fridays. Perhaps a Grey Saturday Afternoon at best.

I am a passive shopper. I don't count on getting anything I came for, and feel lucky as hell if it's still there. I don't fight over things, and if someone takes something out of my hand or my cart, more power to them. I wont even ask if they have more in the back. This way I don't get shot, I don't draw attention to myself, I just get out alive.

Anyway, because I wasn't there first thing, I missed the $88 Powerwheels Jeeps, which the toy department lady tells me there was a huge brawl over. I did however get the $28 vacuum, a stack of towels for $1.50 each, a two pack of Nerf guns for $10, a two pack of remote control helicopters for $20, and the 10 pack of Hotwheels for $5. I missed out on the $10 4 gig SD card because the electronics department line wrapped around most of the store, but then I went to Staples later and found the same exact deal and there was no lines at all. Though it was 50 degrees outside, it was about 85 inside because of all of the bodies and I had to start stripping off sweaters and shit. Checkout line at Wal Mart was less than 45 minutes.

My favorite part was that Beaumont PD infiltrated the place, and six delicious cops stood proud and tall at each of the exits. My lord. They were like stallions. Even the blonde chick.

Look, you have to understand that they are in straight black uniforms, okay? They're dazzling. Simply dazzling. My heart and pajyma go all aflutter.

Anyway, I also went to Home Depot to get the six pack of LED flash lights for $10, because kids fucking love flashlights like cats love...cat...things. Stocking stuffers, is the plan for them, and they even came with batteries. I got out of Home Depot in less than three minutes because there wasn't anyone there.

Ace wasn't crowded, as you'd expect, but their crap was all jumbled and I didn't appreciate it. But I did find my tripod flashlight which David needs for The Cans when it gets dark on a count of he cant turn on his lights because if he does he doesn't have enough solar energy to run his printer...which is kind of important, you know?

I dropped off the kids with my sister and went to Staples, like I said, and shat in a McDonnald's bathroom even though I didn't eat there. I then drove to World Market to see if they were still giving away free Christmas ornaments, and they weren't of course. Their sale was BOGO on ornaments but they didn't have anything cute, plus their shit was way too expensive. The one ornament I liked was $20. So no. I went to Target for the lulz and to check out the madness there.

At Target I just got wrapping supplies and some Color Wonder black board thing that you draw on with neon markers. Their electronics department was crowded as hell, but their check out process was fast. A girl stands there and tells everyone which checker to go to. "Hi, checkstand 12, and you go to checkstand 3..."

So now we have "spiders in our closet," which is the lie that we tell the children to keep them out of there because it's full of presents, and I still have all of my toes.

Rate it even if you hate it!

Fanksgivin

Okay, I just have to submit this first one to the Photo Challenge this week. The cutest gosh dern thing you ever saw, David's grandparents on the Terwilliger side (aka "The Twigs") playing duets on the piano.

The tradition is to gather round to hear them play their hymns. I don't remember the names of the songs they played today, but I think one of them had something to do with the sweet love of Jesus. Grandpa Twig was a pastor for many many years.

Things went well at the Thanksgiving breakfast gathering. I saw Cousin Nick who I went to high school with and knew way before I met David, and people didn't hate me or anything, so that's always a plus in my book. They're actually a really warm family, I kind of forgot that. David is lucky, really he is. I also got a group shot, but I was not in it because like always, I was holding the camera.

Then we went to my sister's house for turkey and we busted out the Atari. For serious.

California knows how to party.

I have to go now. I'm waking up to go to Wal Mart to punch people in order to get a $28 vacuum and a pow-pow-power wheels Jeep. Expect video if I don't accidentally sleep in. Toodles!

Don't Freak Out, There's Gonna Be Prayin'

We've been invited to a Terwilliger Thanksgiving breakfast get together. Ya, well we haven't seen anyone from the Terwilliger side of the family in...oh...four years. We aren't a part of the church so I think we're kind of looked down upon, plus there was a lot of drama that happened concerning me entering the family...which I did in an unconventional way since 15 year old David knocked me up and all. But hey, I paved the way for all of the other underaged kids to get knocked up in that family drama free, so I'm kind of like a pioneer I guess.

I don't really care what people think of me. Actually, I have no idea what these people think of me, but I've always said from the beginning that when we've been married five years, I think they'll get the point that I'm staying. And lookie, our fifth anniversary is December 31st. Too soon to call it?

His dad called him and warned him "Now don't freak out, there's gonna be prayin'." This reminds me of when I had Sally over for Thanksgiving the other night, where she kept asking what stuffings was and only ate turkey and mashed potatoes but no gravy because she was scared of the American food. She was like "I thought you were going to like hold my hand and chant," because she had never been to Thanksgiving dinner before and she probably saw something on TV. My response was "It's not witchcraft, Sally!"

Whatever happens at this thing, we'll be out of place, because we're always out of place wherever we go, and we assume that hatchets will be buried or at least kept back with a shaking slash-happy hand until it's over. Hey, you don't gotta love me, you don't even gotta like me, you just have to tolerate me at best.

Then I think my sister and the four of us are going to hang out at her house and hover over a turkey until it's done cooking. Thanksgiving has been moved to a distant relative's house this year and my brother in law isn't going because he wants to hang out with his crazy aunt that nobody really likes, so we're just going to have our own damn Thanksgiving. We're seriously breaking a lot of traditions and molds this year, so let's all hope that at least the food is good. In the mean time, enjoy some ecards, from me to you.

Writing It Rough

Those are my legs by the way.

Anyway, I get these...letters...from the neighbor. I feel like one of the reasons that this woman has been placed in my path is so I can write about her. I pushed my story past the 40K mark and all the way to almost the 45K mark and counting. 50,000 words in 30 days seems like a lot, and it is, and the only way I've been able to do it is for one, I'm not going back and reading anything, and for two, I live next to Mustang Sally, who sends me letters like this:

last nite i slept less that 2 hours maybe... T was all over me..and he is heavy...my back hurt and on top of all that he was snoring like a pig..i was keep pushing him...but not much succes...and then his alarm went off at 6.30...and that was it...cuz my pijama came off and next thing u know...half sleepy half horny ..i was having sex...and got choked.....not that im complaining...just conversation...........so are u gona let me help out with the porn scene in ur book?

I have a porn scene in my book that's coming up. I've written them before, some were bad but I've turned out a few good scenes. This one I'm going to be writing is...different. Think Mustang Sally style. Hair pulling and swearing. And it's not a rape scene, it's just a very um...well passionate isn't the right word. I'm not sure what to call it. Rough I guess.

Beth, my girl, hasn't gotten laid once throughout the 45,000 words I've written. There has been a cougar party and some serious marital hoo-hah, among the prison and cop stories and the plot line with the creepy biker church cult, but in all of that the sexy Romanian chick never gets it until now. And it's not going to be unlike the types of emails she sends me.

She tells me the other day that back in Romania she was a massage therapist for a time. She worked at some gym. Anyway, this mafia dude comes in and requests her specifically, and she says "As I was doing his back he kept getting harder and harder, and he ask me, 'so what else do you do,' and I said 'dream about it.' Then he turn over and he's got his tent pole sticking up, so I put a towel over it. It was like an umbrella. I said 'why you come with an umbrella, it not raining here.'"

This story has demands that must be met and I have a feeling that it's going to push past the 80k mark just to get it all in. But if I can get 50k of it done by Sunday, then I'll have a good chunk of it finished. I want it to come out after Bombshell. I had another one that I wanted to come out, it's more like young adult though, and it needs a rewrite. I don't know when Golden Dawn's sequel will be written, all I know is it wont have sex scenes in it, and maybe that's why I haven't sat down to write it yet. I think I've become one of those writers.

And if I'm not then I'm glad I live next door to one of those writers. I wish I knew how to read Romanian, because the two romance novels she wrote are all full of porn.

I swear to god, if I could only tell you guys half of the shit that comes out of this girl's mouth...or goes into it...

It's So Sad

Steppy got here just after 6:00 this morning. I told him I'd be ready to go and I was. I wanted to get out there early because I figured it would be the safest time to go. I explained to him that I couldn't very well have David escort me, since we'd have to take the kids along and there is no way I'd want them out there like that. Plus, Steppy has a gun, and as I fear that it would come in handy by going to a place like that, it might also be a good thing to have on hand.

Today I needed to do some research.

It's way out in the canyon where the body was found. It's down a ways so I wore actual shoes, a pair of Sketchers that the neighbor gave me. Things were pretty quiet on the drive, I was pretty tired still and he was just doing me a favor.

Driving the back way to Redlands through the canyon, you get no cell phone service. You see houses though, and you wonder what made people want to live out there. Maybe the quiet. Maybe. I had a friend who lived out there once, she built a tree house and the next day train-hopping bums had taken up residence in it. There are a lot of ranch type houses out there, horse property and such. Every time I drive by this one house I always look in the dirt by their driveway where I once drew a game of tic-tac-toe for me and my brother to play when my dad's truck broke down and we were stranded for a while. It's gone of course, but I still look.

You drive along the rail road tracks and cross them, but you can still hear the trains off in the distance because the sound reverberates off of the canyon walls. Steppy's car smells like newish plastic and baby barf and his wife's jacket is tied around the seat I'm in. He said she's been ignoring him lately except for when people are around.

Finally we arrive at the scene of the crime. I had my camera with me, but I took the pictures for my own personal use, and I wont be uploading them to the internet because the last thing I want is for this girl's family to somehow come across them and just be reminded of it all over again. I did a thorough search for pictures of this place and I found nothing, and there is probably a reason for that. For google purposes, I wont even mention her name.

We got out of the car and he helped me step down a steep embankment. Ghost town. Burned houses, trash, and creepy, creepy vibes. They say that she was here once before with her friends and it scared the shit out of her so bad that she would never go back, that is until...well. He walked around with me a bit and we looked at the memorial, words written on rocks promising Jesus would save. He showed me where the shallow grave was dug, but he didn't say much, he just kind of stepped back and let me take my pictures and notes. It gave me kind of a weird anxiety to be there, but knowing he was there behind me and that I wasn't there alone gave me a hollow feeling in my stomach. It reminded me of the few times that adults like my older brother or my foster parents would take me to see my dad's grave out at the cemetery. Being a kid in a cemetery gives you a weird sinking feeling but you're not alone, so you cant freak out. They stay a few rows of graves behind so you can have your alone time or whatever, but all you want to do is run back to them because you feel like you might just piss yourself right there. Not from fear, but from the weird things that it does to your stomach.

I walked around. I had my Canon hanging from my neck as I wrote down little quotes that were written on the memorial and the color of the sky at six-something in the morning in the fall. Some kind of wildlife moved around in the bushes and I jumped, but Steppy said it was just a bunny. He must have sensed that I was on edge. I gathered my information and took in as much as I could, including the shapes of the crevices in the sides of the wash and realized that I was seeing what she saw last. My breathing was doing this weird thing where for every one breath I took in it separated into two. Maybe because my heart was jumping out of my neck at the time. I didn't even know this girl. Our schools went to the same marching band competitions but her school competed in a class above ours.

Not only was that fact a hard connection to reason with, but also I am killing a character here. I've never killed a beloved character before. I waste antagonists like the shits that they are, but I am connected to this character. She's in my head and she has a voice and she tells me what she wants to do next. She's not Marina the Bombshell, by the way. I am cruel to my characters, I like to pulverize them and then poke them with a stick when they're down, but I never kill them.

But then again this was about more than just the fate of a fictional character, this was about a real place where a real person died. Real blood and bone fragments in the dirt. Real shoddy motives. Real people's lives changed. Real trees.

My legs tensed up and I started walking back toward him really fast. I was freaked. Freaked but numb. He helped me up the hill and he asked if I was okay, and I told him that I didn't expect it to be like that. It was like what happened there was burned into the atmosphere and left permanent feelings of fear, anxiety, and depression and it can be picked up by anyone who goes there. I said I was done, I had my notes and I was done. So we got back in the car really quickly and we drove out of the canyon at high speeds.

We got back into town and he asked me if I wanted some McDonnalds, and I said no, there was no way I could eat anything without either throwing it up or shitting it out in liquid form right there in his car. So instead when we got back to my house, he got out and he hugged me. He said I'd be all right and that it happens to everyone. I told him that I needed to do it for my research and I think that if nothing else it gave me more insight into true fear. My teeth were chattering and it wasn't from the cold.

It had a weird affect on my body, but I think I'm ready to push my story past the 40,000 mark. Even though it's not at that part yet, it's going to help me realize just how evil and sadistic the characters who do this to her are. I got back inside and I threw up. Then I wrote. Then I just went on with my day.

Thank You For Being A Friend

The photo challenge this week was "weather." How's the weather where we are?

Clear blue skies, a few wispy clouds, and 80-90 degree heat. The past few days have been like 70 but I still wore shorts. Don't get me wrong, I love "Sunny So-Cal," but this is the week of Thanksgiving, okay? I should not be wearing flip flops this late in the year, but here we are, I guess. And that's all I have to offer you.

Since nobody from the internet wanted to drop everything and fly out on Monday for Thanksgiving dinner here, and because I forgot that David works Mondays now, we switched it to Sunday and invited Sally.

Now truly, any housewife who prides themselves in being a housewife...which I don't anymore since I now just claim my occupation as author...should know how to cook a big turkey feast from scratch, or at least very close to scratch. No buying everything frozen or pre-cooked at the deli, is what I mean by scratch. I have mastered this meal and I pride myself on the fact that I can whip up a turkey, real whipped potatoes, gravy, stuffing, home made cranberry sauce, almond green beans, yams, hot cranberry-apple cyder, plus the rolls and the corn and the little extra delights all by myself. Well, David helps by tasting and cleaning up my messes, but I buy those green beans fresh and snap the ends off all by myself (and we're talking like four pounds of those fuckers.)

It's the ultimate homage to too large of portions and being thankful for them, and thankful for our friends and families too...and maybe also our possessions, but in order to not be a jerk you should try to limit your possessions to be thankful for to one.

Of course I ask Romanian Sally what she does for Thanksgiving in her country, and she politely reminds me that it is an American holiday. *facepalm* So because we like her, and she does nice things for us and she's always cooking us things even when they're fucking chicken livers and she gets offended when we don't eat them, we invited her over for dinner.

I've been at this since about 1:00, cutting shit and stirring shit and mixing shit and cooking shit, and my feet are sore (woe is me, /wrists.) This is the epitome of slaving over a hot stove all day for your ungrateful ass, right? Sort of like how the Indians slaved over making our America nice for us, then we killed them all and took America as a kind gesture. Waste not want not.

Yeah it's kind of an effed up holiday, but hooray for turkey!!!!!!!!!!1!!!!

So we invite Sally over, and what ends up happening? She emails me and tells me that one of her internet boyfriends is coming over and "I'm going to get laid!!!" Well, good for her, whatever, so I invited the guy to come to dinner too. Now this guy is literally just a lay for her, nothing more, and she's said this a million times, and of course she asked him if he wanted to have dinner with us and he said no, because that would be weird. And I agree, I might not want to do that either, you know, hang out with the neighbors when you're supposed to be there for booty call.

So what's her date gonna do, sit there in her apartment while she's here eating turkey and green beans? Of course not, if he's not going then she's not going. So yeah, Sally's ditching us for booty call.

Only she says no, she's still coming, but could we maybe eat at her house? No. I'm staying on my half of the box, and if your booty call doesn't like that then that's his fault. I've offered to make a plate for him and her, but somehow she says she's still coming...somehow...some way, I don't really know. If the dinner isn't done before he gets here, and he's coming from San Diego, I don't see her dragging him over if all she wants to do is the boom boom in her room room.

Thank you for being a friend.

We got our revenge though. Booty call ended up coming over for dinner and he ate too much to fuck. I love it. Nice fella.

Oh Sally, Sally And Her Phone Sex Mens.

Sally motions for me to look at her as I'm sitting across the room on the other couch. I catch her hand signal with the corner of my eye and I turn away from the TV to look. She motions with her hand an obscene gesture, the universal sign for jacking off, and then she points to the phone that she is holding up to her face. She must have seen the question mark pop up over my head, because she muted the television and fiddled with her phone until she got it to go on speaker.

"I want to...slide my hand down your thigh...and then--"

I dont know what else he said because I ran out to the front porch to laugh. I'm sorry, but it was funny in the same way that calling dirty 1-900 numbers was in high school just to hear the nasty recordings you get to listen to before they ask for your credit card number. And funnier still was that his voice sounds exactly like the distorted voice that they use on FOX news when the person wants to remain anonymous.

Sally scolded me for laughing and turned off speaker. She just said things like "Yeah. Maybe. I dont know, a little. Uh huh..."

I dont even know who she was talking to, was the thing.

She giggles a few times dismissively, and basically just says yeah, okay, uh huh over and over again as the guy is saying god knows what to her.

"Are you...are you wet right now? Can you feel my hand touching your body? Caressing you slowly and making your juices--"

Again I had to leave because of laughter. Sally told him to go to bed, and told him goodnight and hung up.

"Sally, do you get these kind of phone calls all day?"

"Pretty much. I should leave you the phone some time, you could get your fake make fun of Sally accent going and trick them into telling you their jacking off imagines."

"It's obvious that I wouldn't be able to do that with a straight face."

"It's easy, just say 'yeah, maybe, I dont know, a little, and uh huh.' They squeeze it while you talk then boom, they buy you flowers in the next day."

She hangs up with him and not more than 10 minutes later she starts getting text messages from a different guy, one she met briefly the other day when she was interviewing for a job. "I want to finger u while u suck my cock. I want to go from behind, I want to spank that ass." She tells me that this guy is "so really desperate" and called him pathetic.

I showed her a little something something that I bought, a black lacey nasty little thing with the thigh highs and everything. It has little pink ribbons and I know those boob cups are going to be way too small so I'm going to have ultra mega cleavage, but that's kind of the point. So she gives me a set of glow in the dark sex dice. To borrow, she said.

Good lord.

"I used to play them with D under the covers."

They're kind of lame, they're not dirty enough. It's just like blow, suck, tickle, neck, breast, and "anywhere." There's no fuck, there's no penis/vagina, I mean they're like for angsty teenagers or something. Every time I sat there alone in the dark rolling them because David didn't come home from work until late, they kept coming up as "blow breast" and "suck lips." I think I will invent my own sex dice to sell on the market that are just like these only I'll throw in the words "rape," "asshole" and "danger zone."

Rape neck.

Blow asshole.

Pound danger zone.

Maybe I could make them like those crazy Dungeons and Dragons dice with like 40 sides. All using phrases from Sally's weird phone sex guys.

I just love how mean she is to them.

Caterpillars

When I first saw them pop up in Stacey's Flickrstream, I was annoyed. What in the hell are poppets, and why are you taking so many damn pictures of them? The thing is though, if I saw a poppet in the thumbnail of one of her pictures, I would click on the picture and then scoff. But it wasn't like I could stop looking at them. I mean, it's a really strange curiosity. Why not just skip over those pictures?

Because I had to see what the poppets were doing. It makes me sick to admit that.

Recently I visited poppetplanet.com and gasped at the prices for one of these little things. I was pissed for days, but then I remembered that I too have sold handmade items at high prices simply because they were handmade, and I got the fuck over it.

And Stacey's colleting never slowed, in fact her collection got bigger and bigger until I finally said "Fine! I'll buy one of the little fuckwits!" just to see what it was all about. Like when they come out with a new twist on your old favorite candy bars. You wouldn't have bought Reeces cups that day if they weren't made of white chocolate/inside out/filled with caramel. I placed an order for the cheapest one ($16!) so I could prove to myself how fucking stupid they were.

The bubble mailer arrived, shipped direct from right down the street in Palm Springs. I do admit that I was pushed into spending $16 on a poppet partially because the creator lives only miles away. Inside the package were a series of little cards and pictures of poppets, poppet pins, and other random little scraps. Finally I pulled out the little red mesh bag, and inside was a wad of eyelash yarn wrapped around, yes, the poppet.

I examined it. I looked at its beedie little eyes. I admired its ruffled little neck thing. Okay so it was a little cute.

Then I found myself doing something strange. I took it over to one of my bookshelves and I started positioning it and turning it in different ways to make it "look" at things. I wanted to see the best angle for the poppet to be able to look like he was looking at something. He, she, Stacey says they're she, I don't really know. It's in a dress but so is Darth Vader kinda.

I finally realized, in feng shui-ing the poppet, what the appeal was. Poppets are small little figurines, not unlike the small little Duck Tales figurines I used to play with for hours as a kid about Ty's age. I was the kid that if you drained the tub I'd still be in there naked and playing with my set of plastic zoo animals. I never played with Barbies, but anything about army man size would provide hours upon hours of imaginative play. I played with little figurines like that until I was 12 or 13, in fact I used to play with my collection of Lion King figurines with the girl I wrote Bombshell about.

I think I did that because I had stories in my head and I didn't know how to get them out. Now I write those stories, but back then I just used my figurines to put on my own kind of theater that kept me quiet long enough for my parents to do drugs or whatever the hell they were up to most of the time.

Something else the poppets remind me of is caterpillars. Every spring I had a jar on my desk full of leaves and grass and there would be three or four wooly bear caterpillars in there munching away at everything and pooping out little turds all over the bottom of the jar. I used to take them out and let them crawl all over my hand with their suction cup feet, and I would look at their eyes. They have beedie little eyes and I wonder what they see, and what they are thinking when they look at things.

So I guess you could say that by deciding to fall for the poppet-mania I'm just falling back in to old habits. I don't have the money to be buying the $95 police officer poppet, though if I had an extra hundred lying around you know I would, but I'm not buying much yarn these days so indulging in a funny little twenty-some-odd-dollar figurine, meh, it's something I might do once a month or something.

But is it sad that I fear my poppet may be lonely?

I could seriously see this turning into a Faberge egg sort of thing for some people. Not me because I cant justify spending a weeks worth of groceries on a little goober, but I can see how the poppet could be like those rare $600 Beanie Babies that everyone clamored to get only to find out now that they're not worth the hill of beans that they're stuffed with.

No, poppets wont go up in value, nor are they at all like collecting rare coins or fucked up stamps, but they're neat, and kind of fun to photograph to be honest.

Hey, at least it's not crack!

Rate it even if you hate it!

Straight 4's

Parent teacher conference today, and guess what? Ty got straight 4's. If you're wondering what that means, I was too. Schools are retarded nowadays and they screw up the grading systems by trying to reinvent them. It's stupid, because an A should be an A. Apparently they don't go back to the letter system until jr high, and until then it's a series of numbers and check marks. I don't know if Beaumont does this, but in Yucaipa they eliminated the D, making it essentially C or fail, which changed oh so much for me. I once or twice got credits for classes with a D-, and they took that away.

So what the numbering system here means is 1 = you should have learned this a long time ago and you are severely behind. 2 = you don't know it but you're attempting to learn, and all hope is not lost. 3 = you got it, you're level with the class, you're right where you should be. And a 4? 4 = mastery, and what mastery means is they had to start testing you on second and third trimester stuff because you blew first trimester out of the water, furthermore your scores with the second and third trimester stuff are very impressive.

Compared to the letter system, the 4 is like an A+.

She says she's going to start him and one other boy who can read well on this reading program where they go to the library and read these certain books and then answer comprehension questions on the computer. She says it's a huge competition between the kids up through third grade, but there are 4th and 5th graders who get really into it as well.

His penmanship is impressive. Yes, the S is backwards sometimes, and yes that is Grandma's dog Presley pooping and peeing in the picture. He can count to 59 (they only have to count to 30) and he's reading words that they aren't tested on until they're going into first grade. He has mastered anything letter or number related.

So I gave him $25 for the book fair, but I told him that he could only buy books with it, not toys. I'm not really sure about how I feel on paying for grades, so I figured giving him book fair money was a fair way to do it, since books are important and the money goes to the school.

The thing is this, at this point he's not really doing work, he's just being smart. Kindergarten does have homework and such, but his grade is dependant on his testing. So it's not really rewarding hard work, it's rewarding smarts. Or is it just encouraging smarts? See, that's why I thought that giving him a lot of book fair money would be the right reward for the right reasons. Rewarding him with a toy wouldn't have the same effect. Does that make sense?

I told the teacher that he just got a whole bunch of Dr Seuss books from my sister, and we haven't read a single one to him because he's been reading them all to us. For Christmas I wanted to expand his library, the kids have their own book case that is relatively empty at this point, just with a basket of sight word books, a Dr Seuss collection, and some of my juvenile fiction books off of my shelf. So $25 to spend on books is reasonable, right?

HA!

He comes running to me after school. "Mom! Look what I bought!!!"

He bought one book, a poster with a race car on it, and a $10 fucking giga-pet thing, that might I add, he had no idea how to use or even had a clue as to what it was other than it being a toy. I marched him straight back to the book fair, because fuck that shit, and I returned the poster and the toy. The book is a tracing book that teaches you how to draw "speed machines" like Apache helicopters, Lamborghini's, Mustangs, and get this...a Honda Civic. Swear to Jesus, a Honda Civic. It's right next to the Mclaren F1. I let him keep that book, because it's actually kind of cool, and it's certainly more functional than a poster and a pointless toy that will get lost.

In exchange, we got My Dog Buddy by David Milgrim, Scardey Squirrel by Melanie Watt, The Twelve Days of Winter by Deborah Lee Rose, and Christmas Tree! by Wendell and Florence Minor. He picked them all himself.

I don't really understand how that happened though, since he had a list with him that he made earlier in the week. He says a big kid helped him buy stuff, so it doesn't surprise me that he ended up with what he did if that's the case, but luckily they were nice and I was able to return stuff.

But damn, I was pissed for a minute there. $25 and he only got one freakin' book! Yeah, glad that's settled.

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Musical Crap

Well, after all this work, it's still not done. The carpet came earlier than the 20th as we were first told, so the kid's room is only half painted, and now because the new carpet is shorter than the old stuff we have to redo parts of the trim in the hall and living room. Plus our bedroom needs some touching up. There was so much to do with moving things around that I haven't had the time or energy to do any more painting. Plus I've lost my menfolk that would help me since David's working an extra night at the Pizza Place and Steppy's back to working nights.

I had Sally folk though. Sort of. She said she would help me move things back but she kept getting phone calls. She ended up helping me move a couch and a night stand and that's it. What she mainly did was clean, like vacuum the new carpet because the carpet guy didn't to a very good job, and dust the tables. She also swept, and that's all helpful. She even started implementing new house rules, shooing the kids with a broom as she told them to take off their shoes at the door. "No more shoes in the carpet area," she said. She even yelled at David when he came home from work and dared to take a step into his own home. "SHOES OFF!"

David has promised to help me put everything all back together and finish painting this weekend. He said I've done enough. All that's really left is reassembling the kid's beds, I pretty much got the rest on my own. My novel writing progress has slowed but I'm still where I should be with my word count, and I accomplished a bunch of moving and I won at a rousing game of Musical Crap as I shuffled everything back to their places.

So the result so far? Tan instead of grey, clean instead of old and dingy. Oh and my house smells like formaldehyde or whatever they make carpets smell like. Some chemical. It has already improved the look of our house by at least 40%, combined with the paint and covering up those ugly fucking couches, this place looks 100% better.

I am also going around the house replacing the more commonly used lights with those funny looking bulbs. I am all about improvement. Expect a video tour eventually.

Elsewhere in my life, I have a parent-teacher conference Thursday morning and I expect Mrs. McBeaver to tell me that she's impressed with Ty's reading and writing skills. And maybe some other things, I really don't know what to expect to hear, but I hope it's good.

Wade is potty trained for good now and wakes up dry, says the word "boobies" a lot, understands the humor in fart and poop jokes, and is in love with the neighbor.

The neighbor wants to pay $1,500 to some guy who claims that he can go to all three credit companies and erase anything that's on your credit. She doesn't understand that this is a scam. Sally? Has fallen for two Nigerian 419 scams, had her identity stolen, and had her bank account phished this year. She was also considering a response to her ad for a room mate on Craigslist from a person in the UK who wanted a room in "your city" and wanted to know if a "cashiers cheque" would be all right to pay with. She doesn't always listen to reason. She doesn't always listen to me.

David is about where he was last time we checked in on him. He's anticipating the meeting with his investigator next month and running in the mornings. He's got two miles down pat but he cant get anymore down right now because he's working on speed. He needs to run nine minute miles and right now he's at about 10 or 11. But gal dernit, he's getting there.

Steppy is, from what I hear, trying to reconnect with his wife without actually having to go to church, which I hear is quite a pickle but I commend him for his efforts.

Oh and you're all invited to Thanksgiving at my house on Monday night. RSVP via email if you'd like to come. I make my own cranberry sauce. Fly out if you've got nowhere to be, you can sleep on my couch! You can sleep on my couch even if you live in Yucaipa, I don't give a shit. There might be Romanian booze here, she said something about red wine that they heat up and cook with spices, and this other one that is made from plums called ţuică. Now THAT shit will kill you twice before you hit the ground.

Come step on my carpet, it's squishy.

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ER

I moved nearly everything we own into the bathroom, kitchen, and onto the balcony in preparation for the new carpet. Even the heavy dresser. All by myself. All David did was move the beds this morning and clean out our bedroom closet because I had no desire to. That closet contains such goodies as an Apple 2E that has a bunch of reading and math programs installed on it for Ty to use when he can be responsible and not break things, a chiongsiam from Singapore that I don't think I could squeeze into if I tried, and a toy chest that David built in wood shop.

He works Monday's now at the Pizza Place, trying to bring in extra money for Christmas, otherwise I would have had his help. He got home late, not too late, and we sat on lawn chairs since the couches are stacked on top of each other in the kitchen.

Then around midnight Ty started coughing. Coughing isn't the right word, it was more like barking and wheezing. He was sucking in small amounts of air so hard that his whole chest was caving in just trying to get a breath. We're thinking asthma, because we don't know nothing about nothing. Breathing problems = something horrific. So we drove to the ER in the middle of the night, all four of us, to go take care of Ty.

I'm not going to stretch this out and force you to keep reading to find out if Ty was okay, I'll tell you right now that it turns out that he has croup and he's going to be just fine. He's got some medicine for it, it's just something that kids get sometimes and it goes away within a few days. It's all good.

But what I am going to stretch this out into is the whole middle of the night ER experience, which turned out to be absolutely fascinating and bloggable because of two people.

This lady was there with her kid, probably not too much of a smart lady (no I don't mean me.) The doctor comes out and calls a woman, and her husband walks with her into the room. The lady with the kid flips the fuck out and starts going off on the doctor.

"This is fucking bullshit!" she yells. "How are you guys taking all these damn adults when we got babies in here who need to see the doctor? I'm fucking pissed! I ought to go to another hospital!"

Doctor guy peeks his head back out. "Ma'am, no one is stopping you, you can go to another hospital--"

"Why in the fuck did you call that adult before these babies in here? We have babies in here who are sick! I can read the sign on the wall!"

"Ma'am this is not a restaurant, it is not first come first serve, we go by the severity of the complaint."

"Oh so some adult has something that's more severe than a three year old with a fever for three days? That's it, I'm outta here."

"And you're welcome to leave," he concluded before going back with his patient. The rest of us just shook our heads and thought why wait three days and complain about slow service anyway?

I was still checking in when this was happening, and the lady behind the glass taking my paperwork was craning her neck around to see who was complaining. Before leaving to go find another hospital, she bitched out the reception people. Personally what I think happened was she embarrassed herself because she done got told by that doctor. He was not taking her shit. Honestly, even when you're scared for your child or whoever you're at the ER with, you just cant lose your cool like that, and the doctors don't deserve that anyway. Don't be a dick, seriously.

I sat and watched the news for quite a while, which I haven't done since...wow, it's been a year since I got rid of my television. 80% of the newscast was about the fires, about the trailer park that went up in flames, about Christopher Lloyd's house, about the guide dogs and the water shortage and the air quality. David had gone back with Ty and had been gone for forever, and the doc wasn't giving me any updates. Wade played with a blanket and looked at a book about traveling in Canada, but only because it was full of boats and trains.

Eventually David came out and invited me to go sit with him so I didn't have to deal with Wade out there anymore, even though he was behaving fine, certainly better than that lady. I go back there and he's got a little thing clipped to his thumb, and he's complaining that he's bored. He tells me they had him breathe salt water and he took some yucky medicine so they gave him juice. He's looking at his heart monitor and asking if he can just go walk around.

Then this guy comes in.

This guy's face is covered in blood. It's surreal, it's not like TV because it's right there and the guy is really bleeding, but because of TV we're desensitized to it. Ty stares at him wide eyed. An older gentleman doctor looks at Ty and notices that yeah, he's looking at the bloody guy. Now, the bloody guy is mostly deaf, so asking him questions sometimes gets answers that weren't asked for. He seems like he's maybe transient. He's also not too smart of a fellow but doing rather well for the position that he's in.

"What happened to you?" a doctor asks, and then asks again. And once more.

"I was carjacked," he said. He then went into the story of how it happened. "These guys asked me to give 'em a ride, so I did, and we gets to this house and they want money. They want twenty dollars, and I says I don't have twenty dollars. So next thing I know, they pull me out my truck, I'm on the ground, and the next thing I know I'm gettin' plowed."

"You're getting what?"

"Plowed! I was gettin' plowed, see!"

"Okay, did they pistol whip you?"

"I never worked on a ship."

"NO, did they pistol whip you?"

"I says to you that I was PLOWED! There aint no ands, there aint no BUTS. I coulln't even tell you if they put a bullet in my brain right now I just don't know what's what."

"Okay, do you know who did this to you?"

"Not by name, but I know 'em by face."

The doctors proceed to clean him up. "Can you get me something to worsh up with?" he asks.

"We're cleaning you up right now," a doctor replies. A few minutes later the man says "Well hell if you're going there you might as well give me a bath!"

They were waiting for Banning PD to show up so they could take the report, and he says "How'my gonna walk home without my sneakers?"

"We have your sneakers sir, but you're not walking anywhere."

This was my favorite one, he then says in all seriousness, "All I know is..." and he pauses, "...do not stick me front of a mirra', cuz I just aint ready to know that yet."

And without missing a beat the doctor replies "Don't worry sir, you're still ugly."

Eventually they discharged Ty with some medicine and we went home and proceeded to get something like three hours of sleep. And three hours of sleep after moving everything you own and before moving everything you own back to their places, let's just say I'm ready for bed now. But I had to share this with you.

Stay tuned or follow the Flickr for carpet related mishaps and adventures.

Falling Over You

Photoblog today. I have to move every lick of furniture I own because the carpet comes tomorrow, plus there's a little bit of painting still and I have a novel to write. The goal is 30,000 words by bedtime Wednesday, so I've got to get on that. I'm almost there though.

Today we went to visit some cemeteries. I didn't go there for graving purposes, but for autumn purposes. We don't have much of an autumn here but I still got some nice shots. We went to Desert Lawn and Mountain View.

Obligatory hot car in cemetery picture <3 Veruka





My dad's tree

The Heavy Set Lady With The Buzz Cut In The Paint Department

The photo challenge this week was "low lighting," and I thought that nothing made for better low lighting than candles. I love the way the way that the glow illuminates off of my yellow walls in my living room, which is why I've put up as many sconces as possible. Our goal is to start lighting our house only by candles whenever possible to save energy and also to seem romantic and possibly elitist...or...something. I don't know what the word is.

So I set up my tripod and set my camera to night snapshot mode, and actually found more vibrant glowing colors with foliage mode. I liked this picture because of the way the lamp lights up and how big the candle flame looks even though it isn't nearly that size. I also like the way the shadow hits the wall. Plus this is my perfect little corner and it looks really cool lit only by my jar candle.

I'm so glad, we're almost done painting. We have half of our bedroom painted which I will be helping to finish in a few minutes here, and we just got the paint for the kid's room. The people at the Wal Mart paint center know me well. Except that I met a new lady tonight.

This woman was much like a little teapot, but without the handle or spout. She had a shaved head and glasses, and boy did she know a lot about paint. She talked me out of satin, which is what everyone else has recommended to me over the past few weeks, and told me scientifically why semi-gloss is better for bedrooms. She also told me why kitchens and bathrooms should be painted with heavy duty exterior paint. And she called me MAAM. Not ma'am, but MAAM. She invaded my personal space. She was so happy go lucky. She was so talkative and David started getting kind of huffy and started wandering.

This is not a complaint about her, because she seemed like a very nice person and she told me a lot about paint and a lot about the houses that she has painted and all of these details of her life, but I get scared when people act like that because I don't know how to react. I fake my part of the conversation, kind of get my social cues from them, which probably only makes things worse since it's like permission for the other person to keep calling me MAAM and getting in my personal space.

The paint making computer ended up being broken, so we had to wait for her to call her manager. She proceeded to make all kinds of cute jokes, and she reminded me of the type of people who I used to work with when I delivered newspapers. That's not to say that she's the kind of person who should never be seen by humans, but just how uppity they were for such an hour. I mean she was so damn cheerful and like WAY into her job at the paint counter.

I kind of commend her for that.

Linky Dump

I often bookmark things in my browser. You do too?

Most often I bookmark research for my books, or maybe just something that tickles my fancy at the moment. Today I will be cleaning out my bookmarks folder, so instead of letting them go quietly into the night I will be leaving them here so that if you want them, you can just take them. For free. I wont even charge you. Hey, what can I say? I'm feeling generous tonight.

So have a look through these beauties and tell me if there's anything you'll be taking with you to your bookmarks folder.

Royalty free music- Free to download and use in your videos or what have you.
How to make bath bombs- because you never know, it might come up.
Overcoming masturbation- Step 1: never touch the intimate parts of your body unless you're washing them in the bathroom. I think every 13 year old boy knows THAT trick already.
Golden Era Productions- dead link, Scientology must have removed it because of the raids. This is the base by my house.
Project Chanology- brought to you by Encyclopedia Dramatica
Carolyn's Kitchen- Cute fucking vintage aprons to get fucked in at some point or possibly make a pie.
The Xenu story- in case you want to know what Scientologists pay upwards of $300,000 to hear.
Guitar tabs for Beatles songs- back when David thought he could jam
Nob Hill- a pattern for an ugly shrug on Knitty
The Fight for Golden Dawn on Goodreads- yay!
How to grow a pineapple top indoors- yes it is true.
How to conjure spirits- for a book I'm writing
The Wild Rose Press- a romance e-novel site that you can only submit to if you only write about men and women having sex with each other in the missionary position for the sole purpose of procreation. Seriously, check out their guidelines.
Knitting Scouts- check it out if you're a knitter
3wishes- where Sally buys her sex gear
Knitpro web app- turn pictures into knitting charts.
The bogus Sarah Palin banned book list- ya rilly
How to take high dynamic range photographs- something I'd still like to try
Recent earthquake map for California and Nevada- I live where the most amount of dots are.
The Fight for Golden Dawn on Anobii- woo hoo!
Directions on how to get to the nudist bridge- *shrugs*
How to make soy pillar candles- might be fun to try.
How to make chocolate cake in three minutes- using a coffee mug and your microwave. DANGEROUS!
Email this to your mother RIGHT NOW!- do it!
Get car dealers to bend to your will- it works well, I tried it.
Lending Club- strangers lending money to strangers. Seems like fun.
Yoder's Fine Foods- dandelion jelly made by Amish people and sold online at rock bottom prices.
Write or Die- a program that reminds you too keep writing or else it gets violent with you, like it might start deleting your shit or yelling at you constantly.
Jungle Crazy- shows all of the Amazon listings that are 70% off or more.
Willie L Bollinger- a memorial on Find A Grave with quite a story.
Joyce Claire Miller Kershaw- another Find A Grave memorial with a very sad epitaph: "We were only going out for a gallon of milk."
Sex Shop Etiquette- from the point of view of a sex shop worker, research of course
Cult Education Forum- more research
Cord, classic car history- research I need for a character's name

And finally, the Astonishing History of Vibrators. You'll never guess who invented them and why.

Tell me if you found anything useful here, or link me to some shit. I'm open to suggestions.

And The Trees Are All Kept Equal By Hatchet, Axe, And Saw

In California you read a lot about hippies who chain themselves to hundred year old trees in order to stop developers from cutting them down to make room for more tract housing. There was a guy in LA County several years back who lived in this giant oak for several months before, well, I don't know what happened to him. LAPD probably took his ass down with a taser.

I just wonder where he pooped. Because if I were him? Wait, nevermind, I wont finish that thought.

Yesterday I looked out at the tree that grows below my balcony, the same tree that I love in the spring time when it is covered in soft pink blooms for whatever type of plum it produces in the summer. I noticed, oddly, that the tree was shaking violently. A few weeks after I moved in I saw the same thing, and it turned out to be a couple of dumb fools hanging on one of the branches which ended up snapping, leaving me with half a tree. The tree next door, Sally's tree, is full and tall and conceals her entire balcony which she claims to have had sex on many times in the summer when the leaves are oh so much like a curtain.

I go out and the landscaping dudes are gathered around it and kicking it. "Hey! What are you guys doing?" I ask.

"It's got to come down," one answers.

"What? You're kidding, right?"

"No. The tree is dead, we have to remove it."

"Dead? No it isn't! It still produces fruit! It's not dead."

"Take it up with management, sorry."

So I called the office and asked if those guys were really cutting down my tree or if they were just shitting me. As it turns out, they were serious, and my tree was scheduled to come down.

"It produces fruit in the summer!" I say.

"Well there are plenty more trees on the property that you can pick fruit from," the lady tells me.

"That's not the point! I mean that the tree isn't dead because it's still alive! Dead trees do not produce fruit!!"

"Okay, well I'm sorry but Jose says there's nothing we can do about it."

"You could call off your chainsaws," I suggest.

"Sorry Mrs. Terwilliger."

"Well...but...but...okay, but I'm just going to officially voice my upset with you guys. I don't like this one bit because that tree is alive and furthermore you're taking my shade, man!"

"Again, we're sorry."

Now David cant walk around in his man panties at night when he gets off of work. We could close the blinds but the point is that the tree is gone. I feel so exposed. Now the dopey fellah across the way is going to peep at me when I'm on the couch even more. It's bad enough as it is, and now we're just giving him more viewing access.

The good news, if there is any, is that I can string Christmas lights along my entire balcony. I can see the playground better from here now. I'll have a better view of the sunsets. And...that's about it as far as the up sides to the tree being gone. Now I have nowhere to hide when the cops come to bust down people's doors and I want to watch. Damn. I've been here four years and that tree has always been my favorite aspect of this apartment. In the summer I used to sit on the balcony and pick the plums and toss them down to the little girl who used to live down stairs. The neighborhood boys would say "Don't eat the poisoned cherries!" and I'd tell them they weren't poisoned and to eat more of them. The little girl sure appreciated it, she loved them and kept asking for more.

Maybe it symbolizes something. Like maybe this is our last year here because David will be hired on.

Or maybe those bastards just took down my fucking tree because they hate mother nature.

In other news, I'm getting my new carpet next Tuesday, so I'm not entirely sure how this will work out as far as moving furniture goes. We'll have to move most of it on Monday night and then move the beds in the morning, I guess. But it also means that I need to up the ante on the painting and get that shit done fast. All I have left is hallway trim and the two bedrooms. My plan was to have it done before the new carpet came because of the problem I have with occasionally slopping paint all over the place and I didnt want to ruin the new carpet. The old carpet has all kinds of weird colors spilled on it now, and little white footprints in the hallway because the boys knocked over a quart of paint one morning while making cereal. "Uh oh! Paint on the floor!" It spilled on the linoleum but Wade tracked it as he ran from the scene of the crime.

The paint I got for our bedroom is like a forest green color, and I'm recycling the rest of the hot cocoa from the kitchen and hallway for the trim. I bought brown microfleece sheets for $15 yesterday at Ross, and I am so very excited to use them, except that it's so gaddam haat! It's supposed to be 90 this weekend!

Well, at least I can put off finishing David's wool gloves for the time being since it seems that he wont be needing them any time soon. NaNoWriMo + painting the house + cleaning + knitting = NaNoWriMo + painting - cleaning - knitting. Oh but all the writing does = + vanilla chai tea lattes, I've discovered the perfect recipe for them. Good Earth makes a vanilla chai that is perfect with almond milk and a little too much sugar. I haven't gone completely useless. I also intend to make a turkey with all the fixin's next week or whenever fucking Thanksgiving is around.

This is what happens when you are not gainfully employed. You start writing novels and painting bathrooms in blinding colors. Hey hey, my kindergartner can read by the way.

I love to work at nothing all day.

PS. I need some extras to be in a scene or two in the novel I'm working on right now. Go here for the details if you'd like to participate.

Mysterious Donuts And Calming The Foreigner

I stepped out of the shower and towel dried my hair, then got into my cute little jammies which are red flannel shorts with a black ribbon and a spaghetti strap black tank top. I come out of the shower and there are donuts on the table. I did not put them there. The front door is locked.

"He-hello?" I say as I walk through the house. I go back into my bedroom expecting to find David, but he's not there. Perhaps he will jump out of the closet at me? But he never does.

Someone snuck into my house while I was showering and left me donuts. Thoughtful but creepy. And the Homer Simpson in me is like "Mmmmm...unexplained random donuts," but the other part of me wonders if they're poisoned, like someone set a trap. Leave poisoned donuts out in order to kill me because most likely I wouldn't question them, right? Furthermore, I left the slider unlocked. It's not easy to get onto my balcony without being noticed because it's so loud and quite a feat, but it's doable.

I tried to call David, but his phone was off. I double checked the front door to see if the neighbor had done it but just as I suspected, it was still locked. I called Steppy, he was at work. I said, "So someone broke into my house and left donuts on the table, was it you?"

"Why would I do that?"

"Cuz yer a cop, I thought it was a calling card."

"Okay one, no I did not break into your house and leave you donuts, two, I don't even like donuts, and three, maybe you bought them and just forgot about them."

"It's not possible that I would forget donuts if I bought them. I'll talk to you later."

Just as I am trying to figure out the mystery of the donuts, the neighbor comes pounding on the door.

"Oh my god," she says, "where are you parking your car tonight? Not by trees, right?"

"Um...same place we always park, right by you in the parking structure," I say.

"No no no! There's going to be an earthquake tomorrow morning at 10! THE BIG ONE!" she says. "They predict it 7.something, I'm going to go move my car to where there is no trees."

"Kay...Sally? It's not a real earthquake, okay? It's a drill, which means we pretend that there's an earthquake so the emergency crews can practice what to do. It's hypothetical."

"Hypothetical, what that mean?"

"It means...like, this isn't true but let's pretend it is for the sake of argument, or in this case, for the sake of having a drill. Didn't you have fire drills back in Romania?"

"They're saying on the news right now, is going to be big earthquake."

"Sally, there will not be an earthquake. Science cannot predict earthquakes at this point in time, okay? Man cannot predict earthquakes, it's never been done."

"I'm going to go move my car," she says. "There's supposed to be a 12 foot deep crack in...somewhere."

"See? You don't even have all of your information for your paranoid shit-rambles. It's fine Sally, there will be no earthquake."

"So what is safe to do in your earthquake? We drive around in the car so we cant feel it?"

"First of all, you cant predict earthquakes, so you wouldn't be able to plan that out anyway. Second of all, what if a 12 foot deep crack opens up in the road and you fall in and go to China?" She gives a thumbs up. "No Sally, there's liquid hot MAG-MUH *Dr Evil voice* blocking your way, you'd be melted at best. There is not going to be a real earthquake tomorrow, it is a drill. I will bet you $100 that there wont be an earthquake tomorrow."

"I go move my car."

Ugh.

So the donuts ended up being from David, which makes the most sense. "I just came out of the shower and there were these donuts there, it was disturbing, you know? Because someone came in while I was showering and left donuts."

"Was that creepy? I'm sorry, I didnt mean for it to be like that. But why haven't you eaten any yet?"

"Because I thought they might be poisoned. Why do you have donuts anyway?"

"Mr. Cho at the Magic Donut is my friend."

"So the donuts aren't poisoned, just magical."

"And stale. But cream filled!"

Looks like we all win today.

David's Wish List (! = unrealistic expectations)

Nearly every note that David writes me, be it short little love message, poem, character notes, or reminder, is written on canary yellow legal pad paper. This is because he gets it free at work. Sometimes he takes notes of catch phrases and gives them to me, like "Stoked, Killer, Forget that, Aw hell naw."

Today, he handed me a folded piece of paper as we were saying goodbye. "So this is my wish list," he tells me. "I separated it into wants vs. needs to make it easier on you." The whole thing is written in all caps because that's how cops are supposed to write, so he's been practicing this for several months now.

This is what I found on the folded paper:

NEED

SIZE 36 PANTS/SHORTS (1 PAIR EACH) FOR HOME
SIZE 36 SHORTS/PANTS (2 PAIRS EACH) FOR WORK
SIZE 13 EE SHOES (1 PAIR RUNNING, 1 PAIR REGULAR)
THOSE REALLY NICE SOCKS THAT YOU ALWAYS BUY ME
MAN PANTIES

WANT

SOME NEW SHIRTS WITH DOUCHY SAYINGS ON THEM THAT WILL MAKE MY MOM REALLY EMBARRASSED
LAZER TAG HELICOPTERS (AIR HOGS ONLY!)
AIR HOGS TWIN THUNDER HELICOPTER
GLOVES, WOOL SOCKS, AND HATS HAND MADE AND KNIT W/LOVE
A NICE ELECTRIC SHAVER, PREFERABLY ONE THAT SHOOTS GOO ON YOUR FACE WHILE YOU DO IT
(something crossed out)
!FALCONER'S GLOVE AND INSTRUCTIONAL DVD
!A PEREGRINE FALCON
!A ROUND OF DISK GOLF ON THE BEACH AT SUNSET
!A LONG ISLAND ICED TEA WITH TWO LITTLE UMBRELLAS IN IT
A NICE BEDROOM TO FUCK YOU IN
FUN TIMES AT THE SKEET & TRAP SHOOTING RANGE
FUN WITH THE KIDS' TOYS CHRISTMAS MORNING
FUN WITH THE KIDS

LEGEND: ! = UNREALISTIC EXPECTATIONS

Death To Life Touch

I think I shall forever be known for my photographs as a writer. Irony isn't the right word, but it's the first word that comes to mind.

There's certainly more money in photography, but there's more freedom in writing. I'm pushing myself along the 50,000 word goal for NaNoWriMo, currently sitting in the mid-teen-thousands. The story is bumbling along awkwardly as first drafts often do.

The opening line?

"I bet it's like fucking a jar of mayonnaise," said the gritty and stubble covered man to his friend sitting next to him at the table.

Perhaps this is why I am better known as a photographer.

There's a story that goes with it, but unfortunately I wont be sharing much of this book or the third book which was formally known as Chelsea's Demon but is now known as The Princess of Denial, at least not until Bombshell has been out for a while.

My sister raided my Flickr account and printed out a bunch of pictures of the family to put in a frame in her hallway. And I was surprised to see at the very bottom of the frame that there was a picture of me posing with The Fight for Golden Dawn. Acknowledgement for the win.

I was surprised to receive an email from a woman in San Diego who wants to hire David and I to photograph her husband's homecoming from Iraq at Camp Pendleton. It's our first stranger client, one who we aren't related to somehow or one that we didn't pass a business card to. She found us through our Myspace. She says she likes how our pictures look so natural, and she wants all of the "firsts" to have the look that we give our photos, like when he first gets off the bus, when they first kiss, when he first bonds with his son, that kind of thing. I'm actually pretty excited to do this one, it's somewhat historical and I'm pretty stoked that she sought us out for the look of our stuff.

It's the real deal. Contracts and all that. I haven't signed a contract for any of my books but that's by choice. I chose not to seek out a mainstream publisher, because I hate the crap out of the idea that technically someone else would hold my work. Concerning writing, anyway. I love to share my pictures, which is why I license them all under Creative Commons so that everyone can use and enjoy them. The way I see it is people will steal your shit on the interwebs anyway, you might as well avoid the butt hurt by making it okay for them to. My pictures have been featured on Wikipedia articles, but also on well known blogs such as Wisebread.com and Lifehacker.com. I like that. I like having my pictures used.

Ty's school picture came back a while ago. It was taken by Life Touch, and it is terrible. First of all the background is purple when I clearly marked the grey box. Second of all, who seriously snaps a picture when the kid is obviously making a ridiculous face. Not that my kid isn't to blame here, but then he's a kid. The photographer should have known better, or maybe they did and they knew that I would hit them up a second time on Make Up day.

I cant post the picture because it is copyrighted, but basically Ty's doing the t-rex face. He's bearing his teeth so that his gums are showing, and there are veins popping out of his neck. He of course thinks that he's smiling, but he's not. He's all raged out and that's not how I'd like to remember my kindergartener. These are my thoughts on pictures like this:

• As I understand that you're photographing a school full of kids, I am paying you money to take a decent photograph.
• And since you are photographing a school full of kids, you should be REALLY GOOD at taking these pictures because you do it all day long.
• Why in the hell did you snap the picture when he was doing that?
• Are you retarded?
• If you couldn't get the picture done right the first time, what makes you think I'd pay your company to take another crack at it?

It's all very assembly line factory made kind of stuff, those studio portraits are. This is why I wanted to start something different, not that I'm the first to do that, not by any means. I copied a number of my business ideas from other photographers on the web and there are a ton of people out there who are more talented than I am, but I do love this so and that's something that the woman who is hiring me said. She said that it's clear how passionate I am about my work, and she appreciated that she was able to talk to me like a person and ask questions without being bombarded with pressure to book.

I don't know. I'm more passionate about my writing than my photography but I don't know that anyone sees that. Maybe that doesn't even matter.

Gone And Done It

Now I gone and done it. Now I reeeeeeeally gone and done it.

Hai guise, gess wut culur i paynted mah bafroom?

I waited until nobody was around to do it. I also went on a solo mission to go buy it. This is because I would have been talked out of it for sure. I was going to go with a nice sky blue but then I just fucking went for it and ordered a gallon of "green banana." And now, nobody will ever take a nice relaxing shit in my bathroom again.

I cant decide if I want to call it the "oh my god" room or the "green means go" room.

This is what it looks like after two coats. Is nice, huh? I still need to touch up in there and get in with a small brush. Oh and I'm leaving the trim white. I wouldn't want to cause anyone to have a seizure in my bathroom, though there is an equally as bright orange sample that I seriously looked at.

It reminds me of Nickelodeon Gak. If you're a child of the 90's, you'll remember this stuff. I'm not entirely sure what its purpose was other than it was gross feeling and you could squish it in the little cup it came in and it would make farting noises. That's how me and the real Bombshell met back in 3rd grade. I had some Gak and so we went off to a lonesome corner of the school to huddle around its lime green farty noise goodness.

The hallway and kitchen are sort of done except for the trim. The hallway trim will be white and the walls will be covered in family pictures, and we decided to paint the green trim in the kitchen a nice burgundy color instead.

I also put up some sconces that hold jar candles by the dumpster art.

It looks nice in there I think. And the burgundy/mahogany color makes more sense in there I think. Total spent to redecorate the kitchen? $25 in paint (because of the re-do,) $14 in candle sconces, and $5 for new mits and towels and such. I will also replace the dishes at some unknown time in the future. Possibly Thursday.

So what do you think of my interior decorating skills? Do you love this? Can you not WAIT to see the bedroom when I do it?

Or am I totally batshit crazy? I'm batshit, aren't I?

Come take a crap at my house some time, you'll love it. I swear.

Robot Jessie Isn't Good At Writing About Feelings

I've realized one of my weaknesses as a writer, or rather I was given this criticism and I realized that it was right. I can't really write about feelings. This is possibly because I tend to ignore my own emotions at times because I feel I don't have time for them. I didn't do that when I was a teenager though, back then I wrote gawdawful poetry that wasn't so bad when I wrote it. I haven't written poetry in years, that part of me shut off after I had kids. That's sad, really. I think.

I can create stories. Storytelling is a craft and if you don't believe that it's probably because you've never read a good book before. I connect to my characters, and yet I am so mean to them sometimes. You should see the horrible shit I've done to Officer Green, but then Officer Green truly is the best character I've ever created only because I connect with him so well. Partially because he's me. He's more me than the me character in Golden Dawn ever was, and that is just flippin' odd.

David says it's because I'm not emo enough. I never cut in high school, I never cry about things, and I'm too damn sarcastic about life most of the time that I've just learned to deflect anything that hurts. He says it's because I don't understand my own body sometimes and what it's trying to tell me, like how I have difficulty bonding with my fetuses during pregnancy and how I don't cry when people die. Like I'm somehow defective.

Liz in Seattle says I'm too emotionally healthy. Something about artists on lithium never being able to paint very well or something. The bi polar crowd being some of the most creative individuals alive.

Steppy says it's because I don't hug people. He says that I radiate good feelings off of me, but I wont let anyone close enough to enjoy the warmth. He really said that, about radiation and warmth. I thought it was a little clever.

Sometimes I need help when writing a scene, like to gather information about technical stuff or how something works, but I never seem to research what something feels like, how that situation affected people emotionally. And now that I think about it, I might feel slightly pathetic spying on other people's feelings so that I can somehow squeeze them into my plot lines to make YOU, the reader, connect to my characters more.

That's not to say that I don't write about moods and how things affect the characters at all, because I do, I just don't do it well enough I guess you could say.

Liz in Seattle told me to rewrite my first sex scene in Bombshell, and after a few days to think about it I agreed. I made the scene kind of awkward and I did that sort of on purpose because Marina is sort of a stand-offish person, but I made it too awkward.

But you know what else? I've never, as an adult, had sex with another sexually experienced adult for the first time. I could talk to you about teenagers screwing, about all that young love kind of stuff, and marital sex, but when it comes to consenting adults- for their first time anyway- I just cant seem to get it right. That's why the second scene turned out so much better. I do lack experience though, and it's the price that I pay for not being a slut.

There's another thing. This book, Bombshell, is the closest thing I'll ever write to a mushy love story, because I'm not good at them. I mean it's not a romance novel because it's got too many god damned strippers in it and the main theme isn't the love story, but it's in there, and the parts that are in there I did try to refrain from making them into what they call "purple prose," for example lines like he pollinated her delicate flower or his stiff as a brick ram-rod. But as sort of an inside joke to myself I did do one romance novel classic move, and that was to make Graham's member unbelievably large. This is why I asked a long time ago if anyone has ever had sex with a man with an unbelievably large penis.

Now I didn't do this because it's "every girl's dream" or anything like that, I did it as sort of a play on...a tongue-in-cheek sort of...if you want a romance novel, here's your damn romance novel, and it's 11 1/2 inches long. I thought about taking it out, because I wasn't sure if people would get it. My first two test readers were male, and males reading love stories have different reactions than girls do. David's reaction to the King Cock was "wow, that's awesome and kind of funny." Steppy said it was the best part of the whole damn book because he said he saw right through it to what I was trying to do, which was of course exaggerate the scene a little as, like I said, an inside joke. It works on so many levels because some women will swoon, the people who read the "oh so cheesy romance novel" genre for the lulz will get their lulz, and men will like it on some level too in that it's not about hand holding and butterfly kisses and it's not about unrealistic porno sex. If a man wants to read a porn he picks up a magazine, not a book. The sex scenes in my book are meant to be the icing on the cake.

Oh, and Steppy's wife's reaction to El Grande Miembro Viril? "Eeeeeew! Gross! That's not real that people have them like that, is it?"

I get around writing about feelings by playing all of these little jokes and games with my stories and abusing my characters. I get around it by adding detail about color and smell and where someone's hands are. The problem, is that feelings are really important in a story, and sometimes I feel like I'm a robot trying to imitate what humans feel.

And I have to get better at it, for the sake of you, and for the sake of me.

They drove well over the speed limit as he took the turns of the mountain sometimes on two wheels, and she was a little bit scared at first, but she knew that Graham could handle a car at high speeds. She trusted his training, she trusted him. The cold wind blew on her and her skin burned and stung at first, but then just went numb as he drove faster. He didn’t say a word to her the entire time, but abruptly he pulled over and stopped on the side of the road in a turn out. He got out of the car and sat on the hood.

Carefully she got out and sat next to him, the metal hot and stinging beneath her freezing cold skin.

“Graham─”

“I loved you!” he yelled, and the sound echoed off of the hillsides. “God, I've never loved anyone the way that I loved you. I would have given you everything I had, every ounce of my soul and every fucking heartbeat if you had only let me in a little.” He trembled, whether it was from the cold or something else Marina wasn’t sure.

“I made a really big mistake Graham, and there isn't a second that went by since I made it that I didn’t regret it. I should have trusted you, I had no reason not to trust you, and I am sorry,” she said soulfully. “I realized when I left that I was leaving the best thing, the best person, to ever happen to me. I love you Graham, I love you!”

He said nothing as he stared at the ground, the random sticks and leaves that covered it, the shadows of them that the headlights cast.

“Do you still love me?” she asked softly.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I've been focusing so hard on nursing a hurt that I think it just felt better to hate you than to love you.”

Marina drew back from him.

“But I couldn’t hate you,” he continued. “So instead I sat and mourned you. I mourned you, Marina. I couldn’t wish that you and I had never happened because we did, and that week that we spent at my cabin was the happiest week of my life. I've never felt that before and I convinced myself that I would never feel it again. Then you called. Just when I thought I had pushed you out, you called, and the sound of your breath on the phone just, I don’t know...it just sparked something in me. And for once since you left I felt something other than pain. I think I felt hope. Hope instead of cope. I tore out of my house and drove like a maniac to get to you on pure adrenaline. I took the Eclipse because I knew that the Mazda didn’t go fast enough. To tell you the truth, the Eclipse didn’t even go fast enough, I just wanted to get to you. And as I was driving, it started hurting again, and I thought that maybe I shouldn’t have rushed to come get you after the way that you hurt me. But then I smelled your perfume, and you just took hold of me again.”

Marina shook her head. “I’m not wearing perfume, Graham.”

“Well then you smell really, really good,” he said as he got off of the hood and walked around back to the driver’s side. She followed him, and they stood together in the cold.

“So then what are we going to do?” she asked.

He looked at her standing there in the darkness, it was the first time that he had looked at her face since he picked her up, since he saw the light from the fire dancing on her face the night that she left, but he said nothing.

“What?” she finally asked.

“Your hair. I forgot how it shimmers in the moonlight.”

She reached a hand up to touch his cheek where a tear fell and he grabbed her hand and nuzzled it. Then he pulled her arm violently to bring her body to his, and he wrapped his arms around her tight. She laid her head against his chest and breathed in his scent. It was stronger than the faint smell that she had to inhale to get to on the shirt that he gave her off of his back, the shirt that she was wearing.

“Let’s get you home,” he said and walked around the car to open her door.

***chapter break***

They sat on either side of the couch facing each other, both of them with their knees pulled up under their chins and their arms wrapped around their legs.

“So do we start over?” she asked.

“We can’t. What happened happened and we can’t go back.”

“Then what do you suggest that we do? We can’t pick up where we left off, we left off on a really bad note.” He turned his head and rested it against his knees, looking at the cold dark fire place, which had been without a fire since the night that she left. “We can just be friends for a while,” she said.

“I don’t want that. I don’t want to be your friend,” he said as he stretched his legs out and looked at her again. “Come here.” His arms were open and she immediately crawled to him like a kitten. She pressed against his body and just let him hold her. He rested his chin on the top of her head and just stared silently out the window at the moonlit trees.

“I love you Graham,” she said.

“I love you too.”

The cabin was chilly but she was warm in his arms.

“Where did you go, Marina?” he asked after a long pause. “I didn’t look for you because I thought that you didn’t want to be found, but I never stopped wondering where you went.”

She sat up and looked at him. “I went on tour across the United States with a traveling burlesque group.”

He raised an eyebrow and a grin slowly came across his face. “That’s where you went?”

“This woman came to the club looking for me, the woman who runs the show. And she promised that we would make $500-$1,000 a night, no nudity, just dirty jokes and contortionist stuff. I met a girl who could breathe fire, Graham!”

“Fire breathing stripper, wow, that’s pretty cool,” he sighed. “All this time I thought you went back to your fiancé, and that I would never see you again.” He squeezed her tight.

“I was just stupid was all.”

“No Marina, you weren’t stupid, you were just misled. We need to get to the bottom of how all of this happened, and why that girl said all of those things.”

She looked up at him, “I know why, but can we just…can we just not talk about it tonight?”

“Do you promise to tell me tomorrow?”

“Am I staying the night?”

“Do you want to stay the night?”

“I don’t have my stuff, I left it at the club.”

“You’re wearing my shirt.”

They paused. She looked down at it. It was yellowed and dingy and hadn’t been washed in over a month.

“Is this the part where you ask for your shirt back?”

“Can I have my shirt back?”

She only looked at him as he reached out and lifted the shirt up, a raspberry colored bra covering her well-shaped breasts. He watched her hair fall as he pulled the shirt off of her head, and this time he did drink in her body like the men at the club. The little pistol charm gleamed in the faint light.

She stood up in front of him and turned to the side as he sat on the couch and slowly unbuttoned her short blue jean shorts. She arched her back as she pulled them down over her round ass, revealing that she was wearing a matching raspberry thong. She bent down to bring them to the floor, and touched her legs softly with her fingers as she slowly stood back up and looked at him seductively. Graham sat with his hands at his sides, his lips parted, his breath slow.

Shimmer ran her hands over her hips and up the sides of her thin body and stopped at her breasts. He watched her dainty fingers as they worked the hooks on the front of her bra, loosening them, revealing the beautiful curves that created her cleavage. She whipped the bra off and stood on the couch over him, a foot firmly planted on either side of him. She noticed how much easier that was to do barefoot than when she wore those awful nine inch heels! Shimmer lowered herself down onto his lap, and she felt him suck in his breath. Her hips moved in slow circles, gently rubbing against his pants with her bare skin. She stood again and all he could see was the front of her panties, and he took in her smell. The taste of her lingering in his mind, just as it had been since the last time that he placed his lips there.

She ran her fingertips gently over his shoulders, up his neck, and to his hair. She could feel him quake as she massaged his scalp with her fingernails gently, creating an unbearable tingling sensation.

Her legs were spread wide over him, and all he wanted to do was run his palms up and down the length of them, but for the sake of the no touch rule, he forced his hands to remain on the couch by her feet. She sat down on his lap again and bounced up and down on it, working every muscle in her legs and tilting her head back as she did so. Finally she took his hands and cupped them over her breasts.

“I thought there was a no touching rule,” he growled in elation.

“There is nothing that I wouldn’t let you do to me,” she said, and he grabbed her by the shoulders and forcefully laid her down on the couch next to him. She burned inside as his body covered hers and he kissed her at last.

Mugu

Nigerian scam e-mails, also called "419 scam" e-mails, after the Nigerian penal code reference, are the tl;dr messages you receive now and then from someone in Africa, written in broken but fancy English, telling some bizarre story about being the son of the late dictator, needing your help to get some millions of dollars, of which you can have a big chunk.

There are many variations of the story, all of them ridiculous and preposterous. You will never get your millions, but instead will end up sending the African hundreds or maybe thousands of dollars to pay various fees that always "unexpectedly" arise, while he is trying so hard to make all the arrangements for your mutual benefit. It never fails, and the Africans make a killing, year after year, from the world's borderline-retarded masses.

-Encyclopedia Dramatica

When someone falls victim to one of these and ends up being the scammer's puppet on a lonely money giving string, the scammers consider that someone to be a "mugu," which basically means "fool who takes orders from the master."

I think there are a lot of people who fall mugu to more than just 419 scams, particularly in the ways of love. Sally, who on another note actually DID fall for three or four 419 scams and has had her identity stolen twice since coming to America, has fallen mugu to her ex fiance. I know this, because I once fell mugu to a jerk like that. For nearly three years.

Part of being a woman is being manipulative, and I don't mean that in a bad or slutty way. We bat our eyelashes to get ahead in line at the grocery store, or we say in a sweet little voice "is there anything I can do to get you to give me some extra cups of ranch dressing Mr. Pizza Man?" Not that she's going to suck dick to get it, but the implied sweetness and "oh I want it and I'd do anything to get it" ends in four or five extra ranch cups that for a man would cost 59 cents each. We pout and our husband agrees to spending $200 on those really nice bed sheets. We say "please?" and the guy goes in the back to see if there are any red ones left. And lucky you, there is a red one, and it's just your size. You then might go so far as to call the store later and compliment the guy, rewarding him for his good behavior, and even though all he was doing was what he's supposed to be doing anyway, he swells with pride because a lady was sweet on him.

Men fall mugu to women by nature. Look at the Adam and Eve story.

But then sometimes the bad ones turn it around on us and are manipulative back. It took me almost three years to say goodbye to that asshole I was with, and for some stupid reason when he called up saying he was suicidal and was afraid to be alone I fell mugu to his plan to probably murder me. Because you know, if he couldn't have me then nobody else could either. Of course it started with him trying to hug and kiss me and shit, and I said to knock it off, and then it led to more manipulative "suicidal" bullshit, which in turn ended in me getting stabbed in the thigh with a butterfly knife and driving home with an open wound.

Sally's ex, he tells her he loves her, that he's always loved her. She tries to call him and he doesn't answer for days, weeks even. Then he calls up and asks if she wants to hang out, and he ends up coming over and getting drunk and having his way with her, leaving with a kiss and an "I love you" and then the cycle starts again.

"Sally, you know, you cant keep letting him do this to you," I tell her. She says she knows. Then she says she drove to his house and he apologized for their fight the other night, and he still loves her and wants to see her again when he's not busy with work. Maybe in a few weeks.

They were about to get married, and she caught a flight back to Romania so he could meet her parents, but then he decided not to go last minute and she went alone. She returned with $15,000 to pay for the wedding and everything, and she bought not only the wedding stuff but she bought him a computer, they went on all of these vacations and horseback riding in the mountains and swimming with dolphins...a month later, when the money ran out, he called off the wedding just weeks before the set date.

She? Ironed all of his clothes before helping him pack his trunk.

Mugu.

You guys seem to think that I am falling mugu to some kind of evil Steppy plan. Some of you do anyway. Sometimes I do too. I can assure you that I'm not going to sleep with him or allow anything more than friendship. Yeah the guy probably likes me more than I like him, but I cant end our friendship based on that. Perhaps he has fallen mugu to me in the sense that I know he will do my bidding. Perhaps by doing my bidding he is hoping that I will fall mugu to his plan, whatever it entails.

I defy the notion that Steppy is my mugu. Then again, what are friends but just people who will do things for each other out of love and kindness? What's that saying? About a friend will bail you out of jail, and a best friend will be sitting next to you in jail saying "damn that was fun." We do things because our friends are doing it. We do things because our friends want us to do it. We do things because our friends want help doing it. Because they want to do it and they don't want to do it alone.

Go shopping with me.

Come with me to pick out my wedding dress.

This guy I'm meeting tonight has a brother. We should double.

Steppy's my friend, my partner in crime. But can you believe that he's never listened to The Beatles? I mean yeah he's heard them but he's never really listened. I've been educating him for the past several days, and let me tell you, if you're ever trying to learn a youngin' about The Beatles you should go buy The Love Album. It's a great mix of their best songs and it's trippy as hell. It's a great way to start.

"What is their message?" I ask him. "What is the message of The Beatles?"

"Drop acid?"

"NO! It's love! Nearly every one of their songs is about love! There has to of been a time when you loved your wife Steppy. Listen to George Harrison's 'Something' and think about OMG and tell me that it doesn't affect you, that it doesn't drum up some kind of old forgotten feelings for her."

"...No...not a thing."

"I want you!" I sing. "I want you so ba-ha-ha-had it's driving me mad it's driving me maaad, you cant tell me Steppy that it doesn't work on you."

"Yeah the song is pretty hot but it's not making me want to rush home to my wife."

Right, it makes him want to stay here with me. And maybe that's okay. Is it hurting anything? No. I don't have to do anything on my part except enjoy his company, which I do. It's not hurting my marriage...his marriage on the other hand, well, I'm not a problem and the proof is that his wife gave me a key to their house and the pass code to their security system. I'm not using him, I actually like the fellah. He's grown on me, and he, unlike so many other people, has offered to help me and be my friend.

Which means perhaps he's not my mugu, perhaps he's simply my friend.

Relationship Advice

This is one of my favorite macro pictures I ever took, so I'm submitting it to the photo challenge this week. These are my correcting pens lying on my manuscript. I am obsessed with writing utensils and anything school or office supply related, maybe that's just because the nature of my so called career but pens are awesome, particularly in gel form or anything weird looking or colored. I also love to collect different colored highlighters, but I seem to have lost my good Zazzle brand ones, or the children stole them.

I wanted to use this picture today as well because looking at things related to writing inspires me to get the words flowing. I've got almost 10,000 words written of, here it is, "Social Butterfly," the second book in the Green Series. It focuses on a different character but the same characters from Bombshell are in it, as with the third book. I started off on this one slow, considering I started it a few months ago and then scrapped it because it was crap, but since then I've been inspired and I'm making a new story using this new character who is not unlike my good neighbor.

One of my commenters asked if I'm still mad at my neighbor, if everything is all right between us after she went on that racist rant when Obama won the election. I've just decided to tell her that we cant discuss that sort of thing because we disagree on it strongly and it's not good for our friendship.

Plus she brought me about a square foot of cake that was left over from some party that she went to, and I have a hard time saying no to cake.

Her and Steppy both have been turning to me for relationship advice lately, and I'm not talking about the easy stuff either. Steppy, I don't know how to help him. He left the LDS church with his wife in it and he isn't having sex with her anymore. What in the hell am I supposed to do with that? I just tell him things like "I don't know" and "that sucks." His wife called him when he was here the other night for the first time ever. I don't know what all was said, but his end of the conversation was "Yeah?.....uh huh........okay........I'll look into it......uh huh........okay.........okay Pebbles......okay.....bye."

I'm like "Pebbles? What the shit is that, Bam Bam?"

He was slightly butt hurt. Apparently, not only does he call her Pebbles but she really does call him Bam Bam. They call each other Pebbles and Bam Bam. Have you ever wanted to puke more?

Sad thing is, people I've talked to about Steppy's situation say his marriage cannot go on because that's just how Mormonism is, and that's sad, but maybe somehow they'll figure out a way to work things out.

But Sally's situation, it's harder, and...well...Sally needs some help and I don't know how to fix her. I don't know what to say to her to convince her...well here, you read the email.

I feel like im back to all the bs that happened 2 months ago. Me and D (her ex-fiance) went to my friend from work's house and after watching a movie we start playing cards. Poker and black jack…After more than 12 beers each (D and friends husband)…my friend and I went to the gas station to buy more for them. We start playing again black jack and I was the dealer. Every time D was loosing he was calling me bitch…so I asked him to stop….but he didn’t…well….last time he called me I hit him on his neck…didn’t meant to…I thought he will back off like he did before that when I tried to hit him again..Wasnt my intention to actually hit him…but I did and he got mad and got his jacket and wanted to live….so we tried to stop him and I walked out to his car trying to convince him to stay…I apologized …I even said ill live so he can stay…he was keep yelling at me to live him the fuck alone and stay away from him and all kind of mean words….finally he said he is going back if I live ,…well before that when he said he doesn’t want to have anything to do with me..i told him im 4 days late on my period and he said he doesn’t give a shit….. well he got back in the yard and I went in the house….taking my stuff….and probably I should’ve just live ,,,but I couldn’t so I went to him and my friend's husband and said good night and then I told him…u ruined my life and broke my heart and I didn’t do what u do to me now….and I didn’t meant to hit u and I apologize….well…what he said hurt me so much,,,,he said….i was trying to be nice and hang out with u and be friends even though that wasn’t my plan and I broke my rules that I made when I left….so…he said,,, again stay away from me…im not mood not to talk about this…so I left but he left too….and followed him on the freeway….he was drunk and mad and I was afraid for him….he was going 50 and changing lines without blinking…so I decide to follow him all the way home…one exit before his exit he pulled on this road and stopped,,,,and got off the car and start coming towards me and yelling at me …what the fuck …what u want …so I said..just wanted to make sure u get home ok….so ..he was keep yelling go the fuck home …so I turned around and came home…and im crying…why is this happening….i didn’t mean it…what he wanted to say with breaking the rule he made and he left…what im gona do now…this means I lost him? I didn’t loose him then when was so painfull and he hurt me so much….and im gona loose him now…for nothing? What if he doesn’t want to see me again? What if im pregnant?

Apparently he doesn’t want to know about it…. This is what I deserve for being so naïve and so stupid and love him so much….i should’ve just let him go forever then…when he broke my heart in pieces….hurts now as much as it hurt then….i feel like im loosing him one more time….a second time…I don’t know…its to much…looks like he came in my life just to hurt me….looks like LOVE is the challenge that I picked before I came here…LOVE is something that I can’t get …and I have to figure it out a way to get it so I can complete my mission….if so… I start believing that im looking for LOVE the wrong places…. And maybe its time for me to move on… but im so weak…so weak…I hate it… I have moments..like now…when I wana quit…all this….but I can’t…there are still people loving me….i can’t hurt them like this…I can’t quit….still I don’t know what to do…where to go…

I wana go to his house tomorrow…to talk to him..maybe he will see things differently…maybe not…maybe it will be worse…but I have to see him…I cant live thinking that he hates me and he doesn’t want to see him anymore…I cant live without see him anymore….its just like when he left…I need it to see him….i need it now too….,.

What im gona do??????????????????

For the record, she did get her period after all this so that is no longer an issue thank god, but...like I don't even know where to begin to tell her. I wrote this to her in hopes it would help, but I know I barely scratched the surface.

Listen to me, and I mean really listen, because I'm not just throwing this out there to see if you like it, I am asking you to seriously listen. D is toxic. He might not always been to you, but now he is a poison to you. You do not deserve to be yelled at, to have your feelings hurt and smashed, Sally it is a form of abuse. I went through a relationship like this and I think you said you did too. You cannot let yourself fall into this, he is using you for sex. Furthermore, if you are pregnant do you really want to bring a child around a man who does all the things he does (drugs, heavy drinking, hot temper etc.) This is hard, but you need to let him GO. You thought things were okay because you guys have gone on dates and stuff and he's been all nice, but now you've seen his ugly side. And considering that he likes to drink a lot, it's not like this will ever happen again. D has problems and he's taking them out on you. This isn't love Sally its you trying to nurse a hurt. You have to be strong and put on your big girl panties and just say no to him. You do not need him, you have to understand that if you keep coming back to him then you are basically saying that it's okay for him to treat you that way, and it's not.

Don't hurt yourself over him. Even if you're not actually considering suicide, call the number 1800 SUICIDE and talk to somebody there, I guarantee they'll tell you the same things that I am telling you now. Don't give up. But seek help if you need it.

I cant keep opening my door to her mascara streaked cheeks and puffy eyes. Please internets, what do I say to her to convince her not to go back to him and keep this shit up?

On another note, how do I help Steppy? Is there help for Steppy?

Please dont tell me the answer is getting Steppy and Sally to fuck. If that's the answer, I'll shit my pants live on webcam. Dont make me do it.

Haunting Me And Busting Down My Door

I had my evening planned for the most part. I needed to do a load of laundry, I needed to write my 1,666 words for NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month...hey what is it with the internets and November, how there's like NaBloPoMo for blog posting and NaKniSweMo for knitting a sweater. It can only be one national something a month, damnit.) Plus I told Steppy to call me when he was off work because it's time to start painting the hallway.

Only...I got distracted.

I got a phone call, and this trips me out. I've been contacted by people, or come in contact with people lately, who have everything to do with the books I am writing. I mean I thought it was weird enough that I wrote the real Bombshell out of her situation, my book was written before she left that assholish narcissistic boyfriend of hers and met the love of her life, just like in my book. And it was weird enough that while I'm trying to wrap up the third book in the series I run into a guy whose story inspired the crap out of me enough that I wanted to work it in to Graham's storyline, and he said it was more than okay to write about it. You know, furthermore, I contacted the guy who I based my character's looks and personality on, and now we're like best friends. (Bestest besties!) Weirder still is the third book in the series is based on the story of how my ex friends royally fucked me over, and WHO DECIDED TO EMAIL ME RECENTLY TO BITCH AT ME ABOUT THAT SITUATION REGARDLESS OF THE FACT THAT IT HAPPENED TWO YEARS AGO?

So who called me? I thought this was weird, it was a Marine who wants to be on the bombsquad.

A bit of a stretch, but in Bombshell Marina's goal in life is to be on the bomb squad. Marine...Marina...just kind of blew me away a bit.

It's someone I knew from highschool, he just decided to look me up and all. I'm not hard to find. He said he was in Iraq for a year and he got blowed up on his 21st birthday and now back at home he has the Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Says he's a recovering alcoholic except that he binge drinks on the weekends and throughout most of the week so he's not really sure what he's recovering from considering the fact that he's still drinking. But saying you're a recovering alcoholic beats denial or just saying "I'm an alcoholic, gimme more beer."

"I had $2,000 in the bank," he tells me. "Then I went to this strip club. I got some lap dances...well, a lot of lap dances...special lap dances." I asked him what special means and he said touching and whatever the girl wants to do. I know how that went, just like it always goes.

Guy: Hey how about a BJ

Stripper: How about another dance, then we'll talk.

"By the end of the night, I wasn't sure how much money was left in my account. I used the ATM and it said I was down to $15. Too bad too because I think if I'd of bought another dance I could have had her."

We talked for over two hours. He asked me if I remembered when we put itching powder in Allison Miller's band uniform and she was like "I'm so itchy! I'm itchy all over!" I busted up laughing over the memory. I checked out his Myspace, he's a beautiful writer when he wants to be. He even writes bad poetry sometimes with lines like "I wish that my life was as colorful as my hoodie." There are pictures of him wearing beer boxes on his head that have holes cut into them like masks. There are pictures of him holding various guns in his desert camo, or standing with little Iraqi children with captions like "pesky kids" and "this one wouldn't stop crying." He stands in a few pictures with Iraqi men and he says "This is my new friend Mr. Arab Iraqi!" and the next one will say "This one is my other friend, Mr. Iraqi Arab!"

Suddenly I hear running up the stairs of my apartment. Not the clonking that David usually does when he's home, no, this is running. I stand up to go to the door but before I get halfway there Steppy bursts through in a panic.

"I've been calling you for over an hour and you haven't answered, I came to see if you were all right. What is your door doing unlocked, damnit, it's 9:00 at night!"

I stare at him wide eyed. He totally just busted into my house. "...Joshie I'll have to call you another time, please keep in touch," and I hang up. I'm like "What in the hell are you doing Steppy I was on the phone!"

"I didn't know that! All I know is you're here alone every night and you were expecting me to come by, and I know sometimes you leave to do laundry and I was worried. It is my job to be worried."

"Well thanks for your concern, but anyway, I'm too tired to paint tonight, I'm sorry."

"I'll paint then."

I get the feeling that this dude doesn't like being at home. Do you get that feeling too? Whatever, David's stoked about it because the guy does all the hard work so that he doesn't have to. The kitchen is completely painted now, but I haven't shown it in its entirety because I'm not exactly sure how to finish it, you know, like accent it and all that. It's now kind of a cafe-tea-coffee-hot cocoa theme, only because the mocha color with the greenish trim reminded me of a Starbucks. I pick up a few things here and there for it, like the dumpster art and some new potholders and dish towels. The problem with the dish towels is that as they do say "coffee" on them and have a nice cuppa joe and a little cafe and all, they're brown and red, not brown and green. And the $3 rug I got is like brown, red, and the color that it's in my living room on the walls. The other $3 rug I got is brown, red, and green and I put that one by the front door, though now I'm considering swapping them.

I ask Steppy and he doesn't fucking know, he's not that kind of guy. David IS that kind of guy though so I guess he and I will be going to the dollar store on his days off. On Sunday his dad is driving him out to San Bernardino to pick up a bed that I found on Freecycle. We broke our bed frame (!!!) a while back and we've just got the mattresses on the floor, but it fills in the crater. This new bed we're getting is a full, we currently have a queen and I know it's a bit smaller but we don't need that much room because we sleep all wrapped around each other (aaaaaw...shut up.) I think I want David's help painting and decorating the bedroom, that seems like it should be a project for him and I together. Plus I don't want Steppy rooting through my underwear drawer or something when I'm not looking. I'm fairly certain he'd sniff my panties.

I have to remember to keep my door locked. It is nice though that he came over with his chest all puffed like Mighty Mouse, all "Here I come to save the DAAAAAAAY!!!" It just reminds me of when I had my first apartment and my brother who lives in Kansas now's friends who were Olympic judo champions lived in the next building, and I was told to call them if I ever needed help.

Better luck next time Step.

My Beef With Cold Stone Creamery

To: Coldstone Corporate Headquarters

Regarding: Cold Stone Creamery located in Yucaipa, CA 92399


Hi, I actually signed up to be friends with this store's "Myspace," which is located here.

The problem came when the person running the profile sent out a bulletin that I found to be rather inappropriate considering the fact that they are representing your fine company. The problem is that I feel this sort of message would be fine if it were on a personal profile, but this profile represents your company, and a store that I will never visit again based on the kind of people who work there. This is the bulletin that they posted:

"It is unfortunate that more people did not educate themselves on the issues that Americans are facing today. If they had, this would not have happened. Granted, it was a fun ride to be a part of a cool fad, but now we all must face the consequences of these decisions. Well, at least some of us do. Only those of us that this decision will really affect will have to face it. The rest of you will move on to the next fad totally oblivious of the damage that you have caused. Four years is a long time for us to plow through the fallout of the ignorance of the uneducated masses. But it can be done."

I find this to be not only condescending, but unamerican and wholly inappropriate for a message that I'm fairly certain your business does not entirely endorse. This was my message to them:

"Wow, I'm not entirely sure that a person representing a company should be on myspace saying things like this. This is really more of something that belongs on your personal profile, not representing the place that you work. Bad form, whoever you are."

They replied "Interesting that you would say that. Thank you for your comment."

I dont believe that this person understands the severity of the situation at hand. Do you?

Thank you for your time.

I'm not only doing this to get free ice cream from them, but also to ask you guys, do you see where this person posting that bulletin went wrong? Like I said, on a personal profile that's one thing, but on a profile representing a store?

I wrote back to them and said something to the effect of "hey, did you see Stater's posting gigantic No on 8 signs all over their store? No you didn't! Because they didn't want to run people out of their store! The thing is, unless your headquarters is officially putting out this message, then it means that yes they endorse it and you posting it to your store's Myspace is fine, but as far as I know they aren't, which makes you wrong to put this here." I told them I'd forward this to corporate.

Do you agree with me? Regardless of who you voted for, do you agree with me? What if Starbucks put out a message like this? What if Wal Mart did? Even just one store?

I mean it doesn't surprise me to hear something like this coming out of Yucaipa, but it still shouldn't have happened.

I'm asking for some help today. Now, without harassing the person or sending them porn or anything, if you could kindly send a message to this profile (link's right here) even if you're not from there, just let them know that you read about what they did here at Davidsdoll.com and you're upset about it, that would help out so much. You can also mention this on their corporate website if you're in an angry letter writing mood this afternoon. I sure would appreciate it. Leave a comment here telling me that you let them know how you feel about this.

Thank you my minions. Remember, DO NOT HARASS THESE PEOPLE OR SEND HATE MAIL, just give them a little kick in the bee-hynd to let them know you're not on board with their antics.

Failing that, give ME a little kick in the bee-hynd to let me know you're not on board with MY antics.

The links again are: Yucaipa Cold Stone on Myspace and Report a Problem to Cold Stone

You can also send them directly to this post: Permanant Link

Chip chip cheerio,

JT

The Landslide Will Bring You Down

So who saw that coming? Obama wins by a landslide, and Prop 8 lathers up with some Astroglide in order to squeeze into California law.

Oh, that's right, I saw that coming. I have proof that I called it days before it happened. That last link will lead you to a comment I made over at the Bitches of Eastwick site, something you should consider checking out if you haven't already.

Prop 8 is still too close to call, but I still think it passed. I don't support that measure, but I do know that I at least voted for what I thought was right. People have freedom of religion here and that includes freedom FROM religion. If you think gay marriage goes against what God wants, then don't enter a gay marriage. Don't make that decision for other people, that's unconstitutional.

McCain supporters, you guys voted for your guy, regardless of the fact that he lost, you put your opinion out there. You did your little part to show that you're there and that he's the man you believe in, and we know that because it's not like nobody voted for him. People voted, perhaps YOU voted. Just not enough of YOUS voted, and that's why Obama won.

How's that story go? About the little boy walking along the beach that's covered in over 9,000 starfish and he's throwing them back into the sea, and someone's like "Dude, there's too many, it wont make a difference," and the kid is like "It made a difference to that starfish." If you voted for what you believe in, be proud of yourself.

David is worried that his parents are going to start shit with us, because they're McCain voters and we voted for THAT ONE. "They're going to be pissed at us because we helped, and they're not going to be happy about this."

"Then let them be upset," I tell him. "You're an adult, your vote counted as much as theirs did." No need to walk on egg shells about it, we simply voted for the guy who won and we are happy. Hell, I wasn't happy four years ago when the guy I voted for lost. I started to believe that perhaps my vote didn't count, and I think a lot of people thought that too up until very recently when we saw that yeah, a shit ton of people can get together and make a statement and have it be heard.

We had all we can stands, and we can stands no more, in the words of the great Popeye the sailor man.

One thing to feel good about? Chickens will get bigger cages at egg farms.

Now here's where we get to the part where I talk about the one thing I dislike about Mustang Sally, the one thing that kept me at my apartment last night "cleaning and writing" as I told her to avoid going over there. She says Obama is a fucking nigger and that he's going to get shot. She says that abortions should be outlawed and that women should be given a shot so that they cant have kids till they're 30. Gays should be thrown in jail.

As cool as she is, The Sally has a dark side and I don't enjoy knowing that side of her. It's rude, crude, and says things like "Show me in any part of any bible that says Adam was with Adam." She truly believed, and still does, that Obama is Muslim, was born in Iraq, and that if Prop 8 didn't pass it would mean that they'd start teaching kids how to have gay sex in schools.

For the record, she's not a citizen yet so she didn't vote.

"The world will not good to react to this," she says. "I just think I move back to Romania."

"Go then," I tell her. "If you're honestly this upset about it, go back to Romania. You have that choice."

"You don't understand," she says, "this looks bad on America, the white man has always won and should have won right now!"

"I don't know, I tend to think that maybe it will show people that we have changed and that we are more tolerant of other races and such. Hey, what is America but the big melting pot-dumping ground for minorities to reach the top? Hell, you're here, you're a minority, you should be proud."

"Not for a black," she spits. "The laws here should be based on the bible, where in the bible was there a black person?"

"Uh, I don't know, where do they mention people being white? Wasn't everyone from the Middle East in that story? I mean do you think that Jesus was as white as the paintings portray him as?"

"Well he wasn't no nigger."

I didn't want to go to her house, and this is why. But she kept knocking on my door to tell me more about the news that was coming in. She said things like "I'll listen to the half of him that is white," and "Well it's not like the president has an important job anyway."

Um...it's only like THE most important job in the world, but you know. I sauntered back over to my door and said "Okay well you figure your shit out, just know that you're in a country that allows you to feel that way. See you some other time."

I hate to have to listen to that from my friends, because then it makes me question our friendship. Not the difference of opinion, but the spewing hatred. We aren't talking about pots calling kettles black, or observations, we're talking racist garbage talk.

Ty says "I like Obama because he looks like Zachary." FYI, every black person to him looks like his friend from preschool who was black. Ty is attracted to the black kids for some reason and clings to the black kid this year as well. I think he thinks they look neat or something, I don't know, but it cracks me up.

Steppy called me at like 9:00 or something like that to tell me the news, he said "I know you don't have a TV and I don't know how fast they put these things on the internet." I asked him if I could ask him how he voted, and he said don't tell OMG lady but he voted for Obama. Wifey apparently was pissed. He said that she told him that she's "sad for America." Something about crying on the phone to her family, and he doesn't know how to fix her because he doesn't have anything to be upset about since his candidate won.

"That's tough," I told him. I said I was sending him secret high-five vibes since he couldn't act excited around her. Then I proceeded to text my internet friends, and damn, I wish I had more of your phone numbers. I wanted to wake up the Bitches of Eastwick with the good news. Even Liz in Seattle, who swore that she wouldn't watch the news until the morning, was surprised to hear the news so soon.

I wore my knit Obama hat today, the one that I made, the one that a few of you guys bought replicas of. I wore it when I went to go buy more paint, and the man at the paint counter noticed it. He never actually mentioned anything about it, or about Obama, but he did talk about how bad the economy was. Some employees nearby were fixing a price sign over a stack of fire logs, changing it from $16 to $20.

"This is Wal Mart," he says, "we're supposed to have roll backs, not roll ups. I tell you though, there been very few times that I made that price go down as of lately. The economics is so bad, so bad they say, that this is going to be the worst Christmas shopping in history."

"I don't think we'll see many deals on the day after Thanksgiving this year," I agreed.

"Mervyns," he says, "it's gone now. That Wickes store was here for what, six months before they closed it up? Starbucks is closing a bunch of 'em up."

"Not in Beaumont," I say, "We've got like six Starbux's." Actually it's more like two or three I think. That I've found.

"I just don't understand it," he says, "economy so bad as it is and people still spend $5 on a cup of coffee."

"This is true," I said, "which is why I am buying the cheap brand of paint at Wal Mart instead of the heavy duty good stuff over at Home Depot."

I then proceeded to buy some "autumn harvest" rugs that were on clearance for $3 because at Wal Mart it's Christmas. They're brown and sort of reminiscent of autumn colors, but so is my kitchen, so for $3 a rug I figured I was lucking out. A $3 kitchen rug is hard to come by.

The church with all the Yes on 8 signs out front has a grassy lawn today, like it was a few days before. Their big Yes on 8 banner has been replaced by a banner advertising a Christmas craft fair. I might have gone to that if it weren't for what I saw yesterday. It was what I would call extreme. I wouldn't say that things are back to normal, as there are still a few scattered signs here and there, bloggers are still spattering off their conspiracies and upset, while others are putting stickers and music in their sidebars.

Today Is November 4th, 2008

Today I held a disabled ex-federal Fish and Game agent's hand and asked him if I could write about his inspiring story, and he told me he'd be honored if I did.

Today it was raining when we woke up. The skies were the bluest shade of gray, and instead of running David stayed snuggled in bed.

Today I had to wear my long green scarf, and I bought long pajama pants at Wal Mart anticipating the change in the weather.

Today Wade hugged me with his arms and legs like a little koala bear. Ty read two books to me.

Today I laughed with my father in law when I saw him at Ty's school.

Today I voted for the third time in my life, and I voted for a black president. I voted against retroactively banning same sex marriage, and I voted in hopes of giving some chickens a bit more breathing room.

Today I scoured the live feeds of the local newspapers to see how the election was going across the southland. I told 310 people who visited my blog about my observations on the goings on regarding the election here, and even took pictures of signs outside of a church that I thought were just plain mean, but I did it all with a good sense of humor (or at least I hoped to.)

Today I avoided the free coffee that Starbucks was offering because David said it was burnt and full of coffee grounds.

Today I avoided the neighbor woman because she is prejudice against blacks and made many comments about how badly she wanted Obama to lose because of this.

Today I saw gay marriages retroactively revoked.

Today, I watched as the nation actually went out and voted, and they voted for the first black president of the United States of America, while a disgruntled old man continued with the antics that cost him votes in the first place. He's most likely going to go cry into his lukewarm bowl of oatmeal and then join Ol' W in the hug box.

Today, I am a proud freaking American.

And today, I think that just a little bit of gloating is in order.

Neener neener neener :P

Election Day LIVE From Southern California *Updated at 7:00*

I usually only do updated posts like this when there is a fire, but this is just as important. I'm going to share with you all of the crazy fucking news articles coming out of my area regarding the election and telling you what I see at the polling places. Why am I doing this? So that when I'm 80, I'll remember. This is only the second presidential election I've voted in, and I'd say it's pretty historic. Furthermore, there are hot button issues and a lot of knocked over No on 8 signs.

It is before 9 AM as I am beginning this, and I will update it throughout the day as more news becomes available. I promise that this will be lulzy in part.

I have not yet voted, but in Carlsbad a man punched the shit out of a couple in their 70's for their Yes on 8 sign in their yard. Seems like there had to of been more provocation on the couple's part, its not like he went nuts just because he saw their particular sign as they are everywhere. Still no excuse to go punching people but the point is that I know that this isn't the whole story. Meanwhile, in Wrightwood a 24 year old guy was arrested after they found over 9,000 Yes on 8 signs in his car, indicating that maybe he stole them.

There has been record breaking registration for voting this year in California, and the lines are all very long, which of course = high voter turn out FOR THE WIN!

PS, if you haven't already heard, Starbucks will give you a free coffee if you tell them that you voted. This is on your honor, but we all know what honorable people you are. I hear that Krispy Kreme is also giving away free donuts, but what you should do is just go ask all of your local businesses for free shit. That's what I plan to do. First stop is Zales...

Also, another blogger from my area is voting Obama and here is why.

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Update for the 11:00 hour:

Wade halped...

The line was fairly short, but FILLED WITH FIRE FIGHTERS! Oh my god, and they were wearing their suspenders, HAWT! That might possibly be why I put the sticker on my boob, but you know, it might have also just happened that way. But dude, they came in a truck and everything.

The ballot I used was the kind where they make you connect the broken arrow. I voted electronically last time, and did a punch card my first time. When I worked in one election back in 02 it was punch cards, and we had to tell people not to leave hanging chads.

PS. the free Starbucks coffee is burnt and full of coffee grounds. Drink it anyway for great justice.

In other news, places like Hemet and Temecula are reporting fairly short lines, not like anyone is getting trampled. This could be because 80 Yes on 8 protesters are lining the streets in Temecula. Also Cal State San Bernardino is going to have a watch party starting at 4:00. And at 5:00 this morning, a man in Corona got in line to vote for Obama.

That's all for this update, stay tuned for pictures of the crazy fucking church with over 9000 yes on 8 signs.

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Here's your noon update on Election 08:

Voting here in the San Gorogonio Pass, which is Beaumont and Banning, is going swell. Protesters for and against Prop 8 are standing across the street from each other and shouting in both Ontario and Corona. Also in Corona, people who got to their polling place early were offered chairs to sit on and the voters declined to sit. What they didn't tell you, was that the chairs were covered in Yes on 8 and McCain Palin stickers.

Also, Kristine at Random and Odd wants to see pictures of something showing that you voted. She's in Nor Cal but I feel that we can post this for great justice.

I would also like to state that I am sticking by my predictions from yesterday in that 8 will pass (booo) and Obama will win (yay!)

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A quick 12:30 update...

Voting is steady in Yucaipa, Highgrove (wherever the hell that is,) San Jacinto and Moreno Valley, and speaking of San Jacinto/Hemet, police were preparing for protesters at the Gold Base aka Golden Era Productions, which is owned by Scientology. No protests (duh, none were scheduled) as it is a scheduled polling place. Oh my god, if that would have been my polling place? I'd of voted by mail.

WARNING: Starbucks is giving out very bad free coffee, NOT SCIENTOLOGY! DO NOT DRINK COFFEE FROM SCIENTOLOGISTS! IT IS LACED WITH AT LEAST SOMETHING!

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Update for the 4:00 hour:

Look at what this church did.

They've posted over 9000 Yes on Hate signs in their front yard.

For the record, these pictures were taken at 1:00. At 3:30 when I drove by, a significant number of them were missing. Also, this is a picture of what used to be a Yes on Hate sign in front of our apartment complex, but something happened to it *shifty eyes*

It shall forever remain a mystery.

In other news, Debi who lives around here and is technically related to me voted, so go clap for her. 6th graders in Rialto are voting McCain, parts of Riverside contain NO VOTERS, and in really cool news, the guy on Beaumont City Council who is always threatening to get David fired because he always comes when David's bins are full and he can't take any more cans actually pushed a Prop 8 protester and was placed under citizens arrest. This guy's kid used to work at the Pizza Place until he got too many DUI's. It's a family of douchebags, I hope he gets fucking fired or whatever the hell they do to angry little butt holes like him.

Meanwhile, voting is going strong in San Bernardino, and funny this, but only half of the mail in votes arrived on time in Riverside county. Reminds me of the post card from Post Secret this week that was removed that said "I steamed open the mail-in votes and removed all of the ones that voted Yes on 8." And PS, the inmates are voting too.

I hope to see you guys again soon as this thing closes out. The news stories should get lulzier and lulzier, and that church will have a few less signs. Also, my fellow Flickr peeps, submit pictures of the election to the US Election 2008 group for great justice.

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Your 5:00 update: The Yes on 8 signs are subliminally pornographic, as pointed out by Debi. See figure 1 here:

Okay okay, so the guy who beat up the 70 year old couple turned out to be placing No on 8 signs on THEIR property, and for some reason when they said don't do that he went nuts. I knew more had to be to that story, particularly since it was reported wrong to begin with. Also, it turns out that the h8ful church with the prop 8 signs that disappeared did not have the signs stolen, no, part of them were on city property. Same sort of thing happened in Riverside.

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It's 6:00 and things are starting to calm down and stir up all at once. No more fist fights reported at this hour, but crotchety old people honking at Prop 8 protesters is at an all time high.

I've got sugar cookie flavored tea (yum!) and extremely fuzzy jammy pants, and I am ready to watch this shit go down. Snackage is sure to ensue fairly shortly.

Looking at Google News, Obama is winning. I couldn't be happier, unless maybe if he won for sure, then I'd be happier! I still stand by my predictions, including an Obama presidency and the passing of Prop 8. If Prop 8 loses, then I'll be swig jiggered. And happy. Nothing more to report at this time.

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A SHOCKING turn of events, to say the least.

How David And I Roll On Election Day

After not being able to touch our photos last week, this week we were allowed to go nuts with the editing and shooping for the photo challenge. We had planned to do an HDR photo but I couldn't seem to get any of the programs to work (Vista is not very friendly when it comes to new programs.) Even still, I did end up getting a shot of David's fur-brother Presley that I knew I could use in this challenge.

First of all, photographing a bouncing baby puppy is hard work as I found out when I first tried to get some pictures of this pooch. So to get a clear, non blurry shot is quite a task. Then I got this one today while we were over visiting.

In of its self, it's a nice shot. I was rushed because he finally held still for a moment so it's not like I had time to mess with settings or anything, but I do like how the background was washed out due to overexposure from the sun. I knew I could fix this shot. So I opened it up in Picasa, cropped it a bit, flipped it, turned up the saturation, sharpened it, and turned up the shadows, which I find brings out the colors fairly well in a picture like this. Here's the result...

There. That's much better. I told my mother in law to frame this immediately, I think it's a keeper.

Now, what could be better than a puppy? Yarn!

Liz in Seattle sent me back my manuscript today along with some yarn that she picked up for me. This is exciting. It's all mohair and synthetic mohair type stuff, and very soft. Something beautiful and fuzzy will come from these skeins, I just know. Something striped most likely. Mittens? Perhaps a funky hat? Liz, any suggestions? Liz also sent me some snacks, and I love getting snacks in the mail. It's almost as cool as finding candy on the floor!

Furthermore the manuscript is all fucking scribbled over (not really) and I have a lot of work to do (that part is true.) I need all the help I can get, so the next stop for it is Stacey in Oregon, and along with it I am sending organic tea and organic chocolate and also a knit lobster and some random things. This also means that things are running along smoothly the February release date is still on.

And what's better than yarn and manuscripts? Voting! So here's how I intend to roll at the poll on the morrow.

• President: Jessie votes Obama, David voted Obama
  
• Prop 1A: Authorize the state to sell $9.95 billion in bonds to help fund a $45-billion bullet train between Orange County and the San Francisco Bay Area. Repayment would cost the state $647 million annually for 30 years. Jessie votes NO, David voted NO
• Prop 2: Beginning in 2015, farmers would be required to provide room for egg-laying hens, veal calves and pregnant sows to fully extend their limbs or wings, stand up, turn around and lie down. It would outlaw cages and crates that prevent those movements. Jessie votes YES, David voted YES
• Prop 3: Authorize $980 million in bonds backed by the state to fund construction, refurnishing, expansion and new equipment at five children's hospitals at University of California campuses and eight private, nonprofit children's hospitals. The state would pay the principal and interest, which would cost about $2 billion over 30 years. Annual payments would be about $64 million. Jessie votes YES, David voted NO
• Prop 4: Amend the state Constitution to bar abortions by unemancipated minors until 48 hours after a physician notifies the minor's parent or legal guardian. Permit notification to certain adult relatives if a doctor reports the parent to law enforcement or a child protective services agency. Jessie votes NO, David voted NO
• Prop 5: Allocate $460 million a year in state money, increasing with inflation, for the treatment of those convicted of nonviolent drug-related crimes as an alternative to incarceration. It would give inmates time off their sentences for rehabilitation programs; shorten parole from three years to six months; expand the state parole board; create a secretary for rehabilitation; and add a deputy warden for rehabilitation in each prison. It also would establish state boards overseeing parole and drug treatment. Jessie votes YES, David voted YES
• Prop 6 Increase the annual state funding of state and local criminal justice programs by $365 million to $965 million, adjusting for inflation. It also would boost penalties for gang activity and other crimes and assign the state to pay for satellite tracking of sex offenders and other former state prison inmates. Jessie votes YES, David voted YES
• Prop 7 Require public and private utilities to obtain at least 20% of their electricity from renewable sources by 2010 and 50% by 2025. Jessie votes NO, David votes NO
• Prop 8 Amend the state Constitution to define marriage as only between a man and a woman. Jessie votes NO, David votes NO
• Prop 9 Amend the state Constitution to give new rights to crime victims and restrict early release of inmates. It would allow victims not to cooperate in criminal defendants' preparation for trial; would provide mandatory restitution by an offender if a victim suffers a loss; would increase the maximum period between parole hearings from five to 15 years; and allow an unlimited number of victims' family members to testify at parole hearings. Jessie votes NO, David voted NO
• Prop 10 Borrow $5 billion, most of it to be distributed as rebates to buyers of vehicles fueled by natural gas, hydrogen, electricity and other alternative fuels. Jessie votes NO, David voted NO
• Prop 11 Take away from the Legislature the once-a-decade job of drawing legislative and Board of Equalization districts and give it to a 14-member commission with five Democrats, five Republicans and four others. Jessie votes No, David voted NO
• Prop 12 Issue $900 million in bonds to provide low-cost loans to California veterans for the purchase of farms and homes. It would appropriate money from the state's general fund to pay off bonds if loan payments from participating veterans are insufficient for that purpose. Jessie votes NO, David voted NO

Furthermore, we are voting for Carl Wood for state assemblyman, and Yes on Measure Z which allows for money to be spent in the schools here in Beaumont.

I will only make two predictions, and I don't know how well this will fare. Obama is going to win and 8 is going to pass. Let's sit back and see what goes down. Anyone want to invite me over to watch TV with them so I can see the results? Maybe call me?

Love And Marriage, Love And Marriage, It's An Institute You Can't Disparage

Over on 6th street there's this, I guess...lawyers office or something, I thought it was a tax place but I guess that might not make sense, but anyway they have a sign out front with big bold red letters that says "FAST DIVORCE." It's quite eye catching.

Follow me here, I have a point.

We live in a society where divorce is accepted, where hearing that someone is on their third marriage isn't really that big of a deal. Currently, there is no cap on the amount of times that you can get married, in fact I once read about this dude who had been married 27 times, and he left his last wife because she used his toothbrush. Now that's obviously done for some kind of shock value, but the point is that we have bright red "FAST DIVORCE" signs out in front of businesses, and nobody is standing there protesting them. In fact, I may be the only person in Beaumont who has even thought twice about this sign without then walking into the building to file for said services.

Again, there's a point to this.

So you can just go around marrying and divorcing and it's all good. The going theory these days is "If it doesn't work out we can always get a divorce." And it's not always these young and in love couples who call it quits, there are plenty of people who have been married for a decade or three and they up and call it quits. A friend I went to school with's parents divorced, got remarried, then divorced again. You might read that and say "Wow, that's interesting," or "Wow they're crazy!" but I guarantee if they tried to get back together again, nobody would be standing outside the church or Hall of Records with picket signs. Nor would a woman on her fourth marriage have people chanting and yelling and throwing shit outside on principle.

That's disgusting! How many people are you going to marry? How long is this one going to last? Till death do you part!

I am rare in thinking that marriage should be a one time thing. I mean, yes, there are times where divorce is just something that has to be done and I understand that. But seriously, unless I am somehow tragically widowed, I wouldn't marry another man for the rest of my life, and even then I probably wouldn't. It's hard to think about a life without David, but should that ever occur I could probably date and even get into a serious relationship and have oodles of premarital hoo-haa, but if David's still alive I just couldn't see myself married to someone else, and maybe that's my small minded thinking.

But some of you just read that paragraph and went "Oh but." Oh but what? When it happens I'll sing a different tune, right? I cant see into the future? I wont know till I get there? Well who the hell are you to assume that I would do that anyway? Who are you to assume to know my future hypothetical intentions? Perhaps you're making these assumptions based on what YOU would do in the situation. You're basically telling me that by society's standards, I could and should get married again if David and I ever split. Why? Because it's acceptable. It wasn't always acceptable, but it has become acceptable because people do it.

Okay, get ready for the point now.

I don't believe that in a society where people can just change spouses like flipping a switch, a society where believing that marriage should be a one time thing is rare and maybe even a little bit naeve, we can also decide that if homosexuals get married it will somehow be some kind of threat to marriage and "families." And the reason I think that is if marriage is so damn sacred, then why is there so much adultery, divorces, and adultery via divorce, because remember that if you marry someone while their previous spouse is still alive you're committing the act of adultery according to the bible.

And I only bring up the bible because it seems to be the religious zealots who are SO against gay marriage.

David brought up a good point in response to the "protect families" signs and bumper stickers. I was at The Cans the other day and there was a woman there recycling with a kid. He tells me later that the woman usually comes with her "partner" and they always have the boy with them. He said, "That's a family." He said, "That little boy probably doesn't have anyone else, that's his family." And I understand this sentiment, I came from an untraditional family where I was raised by my sister and my brother in law, and often passed off to my other siblings who never let me stay long.

Hell, I'd of killed to have a couple of lesbian moms, so long as I didn't have to pack up my shit every few months because the "family" I was staying with didn't want to take care of me anymore. I had foster parents once, hopeful adoptive parents actually. They dumped me. Said I was too much trouble because I didn't do my school work. Yeah, those people said things to me like "I don't love you today" and "I wont love you until your room is clean" and one time when I ate some forbidden cookies after school they said "Well if all you want to eat is sweets then you cant go to dinner with us. Stay home and eat this cake."

ya rly.

I was 10.

So here's what I propose. California's Prop. 8 wants to make it so that we no longer recognize gay marriages, and that's fine. If that seriously goes against your beliefs, if you think that dudes marrying dudes is a threat to marriage as we know it, then fine. But in exchange for not recognizing the union between a woman and a woman or a man and a man, the state of California shall also abolish recognition of second, third what have you marriages so long as a person's original (true) spouse is still living.

"Oh but my taxes-" Nope. Sorry.

"Healthcare!" No way.

"But we love each other and it's our right!" Cha, joo know vhat? Uh-uh.

"We'd be living in sin!" Well so are they since you voted yes on 8, maybe you guys can buddy up in hell or something. Besides, we're just protecting you from having to be punished as an adulterer if you get married. You should be saying thank you.

But people don't like to be told what to do, right? Nobody can decide who YOU marry, huh? Your lover happened to be born a man and you just happen to be born a woman so you lucked out and you should be rewarded for not being gay, right?

You don't like to be forced into doing things, do you?

So, then why would you think that a 16 year old girl should be forced to tell her parents that she's having an abortion, and risk being forced into giving birth to that baby if they say no?

Oooooh, because she CHOSE to have sex? She CHOSE to sleep around? Well you chose to marry that douchebag when you were 22 even though he beat the shit out of you and cheated on you four times and makes you cry. You CHOSE to marry someone based on looks, you CHOSE to get drunk that night, you CHOSE to sleep with him and get knocked up, you CHOSE to marry him even though you knew you didn't love him/he wasn't right for you/etc.

People in glass houses, and however else that goes.

So vote no on Props 4 and 8.

I'm Jessie Pearl Terwilliger, and I approve this message.

Rubber Butt Balls

Just as Steppy finished helping me paint in the kitchen the other night, the neighbor woman came over with chicken livers on a plate and told us to eat them.

"This some kind of Voodoo trick Sally?" I ask her.

"No! They're good, try them! We eat them all the time in Romania."

The smell is making me gag. Steppy is staring down at the plate in his hands in fear.

"Try it, it's good, I promise you," she says.

I'm gagging. I'm pretty sure this is a joke, but it's not. She's dead serious. They kind of look like orange chicken from the Chinese food place, only they smell like...chicken liver.

"Well go ahead now Steppy, eat them," I say, and she hands him a fork. I'm gone, I left them standing in the doorway and I went on my balcony to get fresh air. The smell was deplorable. Steppy takes a bite of the mashed potatoes.

"NO! Eat the livers!"

And he does. And he gags and spits it back onto the plate. I lol'd. Sally is offended.

"You don't like my cooking!" she yells at him. He apologizes out of fear, and she yanks the plate from his hands and calls him an asshole. Then she invites us to go see her room. "I just finished it," she said. Her room. My studio.

"I love it," I tell her. The room still smells like paint. For some reason the brand of paint that she used was really fumie, where as my cheap stuff gave off no smell.

"This is...nice..." Steppy goes.

"I love the red, don't you? But it needs something," she says.

"I know what it needs," I say. "You need to put up a rack to hold a few different sized whips, maybe a cat of nine tails."

"Oh...yeah!" she says.

"Some hand cuffs. A video camera on a tri pod. I love the mirrors everywhere, how you've got them up on the ceiling and everything so you can watch yourself fuck from every angle."

Steppy shifts uncomfortably.

"I know what else you can do," I continue. "Hang a bunch of strings of rubber butt balls from the ceiling, all different sizes and lengths."

Mustang Sally laughs. Steppy looks confused.

"Rubber butt balls?" he asks.

"I think they're called beads," Sally interjects.

"Right you are Sally. Look at you, correcting my English."

"Only about sex, because it's all I ever knew about growing up."

"You knew what rubber butt beads were growing up?'

"Well I don't think your friend here even knows what they are now! What's the matter scumpa mea," which is Romanian for my darling, "They don't teach sex ed in America?"

"They do but not about butt balls," he says.

"Also Steppy is Mormon," I tell her. She covers her mouth in shock.

"Ex Mormon!" he says.

"Then how come you don't know what rubber butt balls are?" I ask.

"What are rubber butt balls then?"

"Rubber butt beads," Sally corrects again. "And they're not all rubber, some are other kinds of things. But what matters is the size."

"Size does matter," I say.

"So then what in the fuck are rubber butt beads or butt balls or whatever the hell you guys are talking about?" he asks all frustrated.

I open my mouth to tell him and Sally pulls out a string of them from a drawer in her closet. "These," she says. They swing slightly as she holds them out in front of her.

That shut the both of us up.

"What?" she says nonchalantly. "You poke them in, and then yank them out!" she says ferociously. This thing is more than a foot long and strung with balls about the size you would find in a pin ball machine.

This reminded me of the time in- 10th grade I think it was- when I went to my friend Stephanie's house for the first time. Nobody was home except for us, and she says "Want to see what my mom has?"

We went in her mom's room and she pulled out two long rubber floppy dongs. One in each hand. "Dildos! My mom has thousands of dildos in here!" she yells gleefully, then proceeded to throw them out of the drawer onto the bed behind her like a dog digging for bones. Tee hee. Stephanie sometimes got a little hyper though and things would get carried away. After she had tossed all of these phalluses onto the bed, she rolled around on them singing "Dildos! Dildos! Dildos!" She then proceeded to chase me with a fat rubber dong in each hand saying "I AM THE DILDO QUEEN!" Fuck, I was scared she was going to touch me with those things! I didn't want that! Then suddenly we heard a noise. Stephanie froze in place with her jaw dropped. "MY GRANDMA'S HOME! HURRY! HELP ME HIDE THE DILDOS!" and of course I didn't because there was no way in h-e-double hockey sticks I was going to touch them. She got them all put away before Grandma came in and asked who the boy was that was over. I had short hair but not that short. Crazy bitches.

So Steppy and I are standing there with Sally holding out the butt beads, and I swear I couldn't make this up, DAVID walks in because he came home and had seen that both of our front doors were open and that usually means that I'm at her house.

"What the hell is going on here?" he asks.

"Sally's showing us her butt beads."

David gasps. "What else do you have Sally?" he asked excitedly, and for the next 20 minutes or so the three of us sat on the edge of the bed while Sally pulled toys out of her bag of goodies and explained them. Turned them on. Went through the different speeds. Mr. Rodgers never did a special on this, let me tell YOU.

It was like high school all over again...and that's pretty fucked up.