Because if there’s one thing we need more of in my neighborhood, it’s fire.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” said the nice looking man wearing a yellow construction jacket at my door step.  “We’re just going house to house to let everyone know that the city will be doing work on your block for the next few months so you might see blockades and construction.  We’re having to work on the underground fire-lines in this neighborhood.”

“I…wait…what?” I asked, (extremely articulately).

“Apparently the fire lines in your neighborhood are extremely low in pressure and so we’re going to have to dig up the pipes to fix that.   I know it’s a hassle, but it’s a safety precaution,” he explained.

I stared at him.  “I appreciate the concern, but why in the world would we want bigger pipes filled with fire under our houses?   That seems the opposite of safe.

He paused for a second.  “Oh.  No.  Fire lines are just the water lines that lead to your fire hydrants.  I just call them fire lines because they’re used to put out fires.”

Oh.  Well, in that case, shouldn’t they be called anti-fire lines?”

He considered it for a moment and then pointed out that we call fire hydrants “fire hydrants” even though they don’t shoot out fire and that by my logic we’d have to call them “anti-fire hydrants”.

I conceded the argument to him, but then he handed me the work notice notification and I pointed out that the subject line was “Neighborhood Fire Flow Improvement Project” and that that implied that they were improving the flow of fire through my neighborhood.  Then he looked at the paper again and said, “Ma’am, I just work here.”  And I apologized because I know he’s only following orders, and he said not to apologize because it was the most interesting conversation he’d had all morning and that he’d bring it up with the fire department, as he was sure they’d enjoy my points just as much as he did.

I suspect he meant that he’d have a “You guys won’t believe what this crazy-ass lady I met this morning said” kind of conversation, but who knows?  Maybe it’ll start a whole “anti-fire hydrant” movement.  Although that sound more like a movement to destroy all fire-hydrants, rather than a conscious choice to use descriptives more appropriately.  Which is maybe why they named them fire-hydrants to begin with.  Dammit.  I think I just proved myself wrong and I don’t even know how.

Either I’m getting stupider or movies are getting more complicated. It could be both.

I am a giant fan of psychological terror, which is weird because  you’d think someone with anxiety disorder wouldn’t be able to watch it.  I actually really enjoy it, although I absolutely cannot watch dramas because they freak my shit out.  I suspect it’s because I know that zombies and ghosts and demonic chainsaws aren’t something I’m necessarily going to have to worry about in real life so it lets me purge some of that nervous energy in a way that I can separate from my real worries.  Put something on tv about kidnapping or guns or cops or terrible things that might actually happen in real life and I run for the Xanax.  I even had a massive unexpected trigger from the second season of Sherlock, which was so bad I can’t bring myself to watch the latest season even though I adore that damn show.  It makes no sense, but it is what it is and I adore a good horror flick that makes me think.  Or even a bad horror flick that makes me think.

Last week I watched WE ARE WHAT WE ARE and I was so confused at the end I had to go on Facebook to find someone to talk through the symbolism with me.  Turns out, no one really had a full understanding but it was fascinating to see all the different perspectives, including one I hadn’t even considered but which I now think might be entirely right.  You can go here to read the thread if you’ve seen the movie.

A lot of people said that they too were the only ones in their house who would watch horror and many suggested we start a horror discussion group where we all watch a movie (preferably on Netflix since most of us have it) at the same time and then discuss it.  I thought that was a very good idea for people who were more organized than me, but then this weekend I watched Devil’s Pass and ended up all over the internet looking for more information and then today I took a break from writing to watch what I thought was going to be a simple zombie movie but ended with me having to research quantum theory (Thanks, Pontypool).  In all three situations I ended with one simple question…”BUT WHAT DOES IT MEAN?”

Also, I don’t have a ton of time to devote to watching horror so I’d love it if people who liked the same kind of horror as I do could give me recommendations because it sucks to waste the two hours a week you might have alone on a shitty movie.  This is why I think this needs to happen.  We need to have a “BUT WHAT DOES IT MEAN?” club.  Supernatural horror, twist endings, scary movies you have to watch twice to get all the meanings, cannibal movies that I’m probably reading too much into, foreign horror that you don’t quite understand, remade horror that never should have been remade, and classics that withstood time or should that be burned immediately.

Come play with us.

Come play with us.

I totally want to do this.  But I’m also really busy with my book so I need to find a good way of doing it.  We could do it on  twitter and live-tweet while we watch, but that really puts a lot of spoilers out there.  We could do it here and people could comment if it isn’t too massive (which it probably wouldn’t be since it’s a really specific genre lots of people hate).  Or we could do it on my Facebook page and that way you can vote up good comments.  Or I could just shut up and watch this shit myself and remember that IT’S JUST A DAMN MOVIE AND DOESN’T HAVE TO MEAN ANYTHING (as Victor so often reminds me).  Thoughts?  Suggestions for good horror that leaves you thinking about it for days afterward?

(UPDATED: March 4th ~ WE ARE NOT ALONE.  A few hundred people are in, so I think this needs to happen.  But I don’t know how at the moment because I’m working under deadline so I’ll get my shit finished and then figure out the best way to do it.  I love you people.  Never change.)

Day = made

I kept getting strange emails and tweets from people who said they’d seen me at Emerald City Comic Con yesterday but were too shy to say hi.  And that’s weird because I’m usually the shy one, and also because I’m not at Emerald City Comic Con.  And I wondered if my evil doppleganger had appeared, or if I was accidentally  astral-projecting.

Turns out, I was not.  But?  Next best thing:

bloggess cosplayer

The red dress.  The curlers.  The obsession with Doctor Who.  This woman is possibly more me that I am.

Never change, internets.

I’m not even sure who the enemy is anymore.

Yesterday I was an hour late for an appointment because Victor changed the time on my clocks to be correct, even though he knows I intentionally refuse to “spring forward” during Daylight Savings Time because that’s the way I silently protest having to wake up earlier than ever.  I realize it’s a silent protest that affects no one, but I just can’t bring myself to re-set my clocks, because that would be like admitting that Daylight Savings Time is right.  Instead I keep my clocks the same and just remember that it’s an hour off, and then a half-year later when time changes back I’m like, “That’s right, asshole.  I waited you out and YOU changed.  I didn’t.  I WIN AND YOU LOSE.  AGAIN.”  And then I laugh maniacally and Victor shakes his head because he doesn’t understand the importance of celebrating victories against inanimate objects or ideas.  And that’s probably why he got so defensive when I yelled at him for reseting my car clock without telling me and making me late, and he was like “It’s my fault because I fixed something that was broken?” and I yelled, “YOU CAVED TO THE MAN, VICTOR” and he said “YOU CAN’T FIGHT TIME MOVING FORWARD BY SIMPLY IGNORING CLOCKS.”  And he might have a point (one deeper than I care to admit at the moment) but it doesn’t change the fact that I’m still exhausted from the time change and that I don’t understand why Daylight Savings Time is still relevant in today’s world.  If anything, I think we should have Daylight Savings Week, where we set the calendar back a week every six months so that everyone can catch up on TV and get a one week extension on all deadlines.  Victor pointed out that this would totally fuck up the calendar, but I countered that we could just fast-forward through September each year because most people hate September anyway.  If I was President this would totally happen.  And also I’d give tax breaks to people who are kind to animals, or who use their blinkers correctly.  Double tax breaks for people who take dogs for car rides just for fun, or who gently shake the world for the better, or who invent new kinds of cake.

Victor says if I was President the world would turn into anarchy in the first year.

I think Victor is seriously underestimating me.


And in other news, it’s Sunday, which means it’s time for the weekly wrap-up:

Painting courtesy of @fattieart (J Rose)

What you missed in my shop (Named “Eight pounds of uncut cocaine” so that your credit card bill will be more interesting.):

What you missed on the internets:

This week on shit-I-didn’t-come-up-with-but-wish-I-did-because-it’s-kind-of-awesome:

This week’s wrap-up is brought to you by SilkWords, which is like a choose-your-own-adventure story, but with less death and more adult erotica.  Today you can check out a new story for free.  It’s quite fascinating, but I can’t help but think that most of my real choices would be “Stay home and eat a bag of tator tots” or “Laugh inappropriately during the 0rgy.”  This is probably why fantasy stories are better.  Speaking of which, when I first saw the banner for this story I was like “Is that dude vacuuming?  Wow.  That is kinda sexy” but then I looked closer and turns out it’s a whip.  I like the vacuuming idea though.  “Make the shirtless man vacuum while you eat Doritos.”  I would totally choose that every time.   

Thank you.

I’m incredibly lucky to have an amazing group of people in this tribe who are so supportive and lovely and wonderful to me and to each other.  Even when I get critical comments or emails they’re mostly things like,

“I like you a lot, but you’re sort of stupid.  But I still like you.  And maybe you know you’re stupid and that makes you smart and I’m stupid for not getting it.  You’ve given me a headache.  Hugs.”


“You are very funny, but if you don’t stop putting two spaces at the end of each sentence I will hunt you down and set fire to your cats.  Have a blessed day.”


“Women like you should be forcibly stoned.”

I agree with the last one, but I might be misunderstanding the intent.  On the second, I can’t stop with the two spaces after a sentence.  I wrote on an old-fashioned type-writer (the kind that has its own suitcase) for years before word processors became popular and I’m stuck in my old ways.  At this point you’re lucky I don’t use white-out to correct my posts.  The first critique is very flattering, as Edith Bunker and Gracie Allen are great heroes of mine and I do try to emulate them at times, and it’s also nice because when I unintentionally say something incredibly stupid (quite often) people just dismiss it as being part of my satirical hyperbole instead of me actually being stupid.  Do not be fooled.  I’m actually very stupid.  But I’m aware of it and I think that’s what makes me vaguely entertaining.  I can say illogical, ridiculous things and people will laugh at me (and with me) because most people are just as illogical and ridiculous as I am, but they try to hide it in the real world and they find great relief in finding like-minded, happy and self-aware stupid people here on this blog.  Some are doctors, engineers, astronomers, even a large number of rocket scientists, and they are all happily stupid.  Which is lovely because the wisest people you’ll ever meet are those who know that they know nothing.  Someone said that once.  I’m pretty sure it was Edith Bunker.

I don’t have good way to end this.  I just wanted to say thanks.  This last month has been difficult.  I had a cancer scare, found out I was sicker than I thought, had to go on narcolepsy meds, missed out on a family trip to Japan because my anxiety flared up, and spent much of the last 6 weeks helping with Victor’s meemaw, who hasn’t left the hospital since February.  The good news is that I don’t have cancer, I got meds for my sickness (more on that when I feel like I can talk about it), Victor and Hailey went to Japan together and had fabulous bonding time, and meemaw was moved to rehab today and looks 100% better and we might get to bring her back home in another week.

Things are looking up.  Thanks for looking out for me when they were down, even if you didn’t know about it.  It makes a difference.  You make a difference.  I love your stupid faces.

Choosing life insurance is like gambling, but you never know if you win because you’re dead.

A few weeks ago I started the process of getting life insurance.  I work for myself and so I don’t have a company to take care of this crap for me so an insurance woman showed up with a lot of needles to draw blood, an EKG machine and a shitload of questions.  I did fine except for when she asked what caused my clinical depression and I explained that it was just chemical and she explained that that wasn’t an answer and that depression had to be caused by a situation. Then I blinked and pointed out that if that were true, this very situation would be one that would give me depression.

Then yesterday I heard back and found out that I’m too much of a risk for good life insurance, which is sort of ridiculous because I’m pretty much guaranteed to die.  It’s a fairly common side-effect of life.  Regardless, the insurance salesman told me I could get still get insurance, but that I just wasn’t a “preferred customer”.  Which sort of sounded okay actually because if you’re a “preferred life insurance customer” I think that means they’d prefer it if you died.  Victor says that’s not what it means at all, but I think he’s just saying that because he qualified as “preferred” and he’s rubbing my nose in it.  Regardless, I got a few policy offers even though they cost way more than any of Victor’s quotes and it sort of sucks because basically they’re charging me more to die, and it seems like that ought to be one of the few things I get to do for free.

Frankly, I can’t even tell if that’s insulting or if it’s just their way of encouraging me to outlive Victor just out of spite.

Pimp out your shit. Not literally though. Unless you’re selling feces. Then you might have a problem.

Just a quick thank you.  The cost to keep this blog up are stupid expensive but I’m incredibly lucky that so many people support the blog by buying space in the sidebars.  Lots of them are writers and bloggers themselves and you should totally do yourself a favor and check them out because they’re lovely, and also because they are better than chocolate tacos.  Chocotacos. Great.  Now I want a chocotaco.

Also, the people who buy ads here keep me from having to do irritating things like break up posts into several pages, or having pop-up ads, or slide-shows to artificially manipulate page views.  We owe them all a drink.  Or five.

A regular blog post is coming but this morning I just want to say thanks to anyone who has ever supported this blog, either by advertising, by supporting my advertisers, by buying a book or something from my store, or who simply left fabulous comments which vigorously disprove the “DON’T READ THE COMMENTS” law of the internet.  I love you guys.

Also, I realize that lots of you know of or have fascinating shit that you’d probably like to pimp out and so today I’m opening up comments to let you pimp out whatever thing you think needs more attention.  Charities, kick-starters, books you love, etsy shops, your favorite blog post, videos that make you laugh, something you made that you’re really proud of, whatever.   (Try to limit it to less than 3 sentences though because most of us have ADD here.)

And seriously, thank you.  You keep my world going around.  Someone bring me a chocotaco.