Mitten Tragedy

Artifact: Hipster Mittens, c. 1982

If you don't make your word count goals then your favorite pair of mittens will fall in a muddy puddle. The puddle may or may not be 6 inches deep and contain puddle-dwelling piranhas. Your favorite mittens will be soggy and gross for an unspecified amount of time from said muddy puddle. Get those words down on paper and avoid mitten tragedy!

Did you have "Idiot Mittens" when you were a kid? You know, those mittens with the string attached between the two mittens so you would have to have special talent in order to lose a mitten. Sadly, the string was never long enough and I always ended up trying to play in the snow with awkward T-Rex arms. T-Rex arms are such a disadvantage during a snowball fight.

Please, feel free to leave a comment below suggesting a better title for this post! I'm totally not feeling the "lets make a catchy title!" vibes today.

That Special Sauce

If you don't meet your word count goals a random person's armpit hair will end up in your sandwich tomorrow. Stone-ground whole wheat bread, low-sugar organic blueberry preserves, all natural peanut butter, and the hair from some stranger's unwashed arm pits. So. Get writing!

You don't eat PBJ? Let me know in the comments what kind of sandwich is your favorite!

Time Travel is a Harsh Mistress

"Finally. At last. The moment I've been training for."

Seriously. You don't even want to know what those piranhas are planning to do when they time travel. (I don't think he will become his own grandfather. Just sayin'.) So keep on writing! Whether you're doing NaNoWriMo or you are working at your own pace, keep at it! If you stop, 1) The terrorists win, and 2) Piranhas will gain the secret of time travel (see #1).

What do YOU think piranhas would do if they could travel through time?

a) Eat a bite of every American president?

b) Enjoy the giant, moving smorgasbord known as The Dinosaur Kingdom?

c) Establish an empirical piranha colony on the moon?

d) OTHER! (Leave your guess in the comments section!)

An Appeal to Pathos

No Pressure.

First day of NaNoWriMo! I hope that all of you who are participating have a butt-kicking day slapping words on paper.

My Favorite Food

Reason #1 for Why I Can't Ever Become Vegetarian. Though, I seriously could become a vegetarian who eats only cow and pig. That I could totally do.

Your Mother (Innocence & Experience)

The Internet is the destroyer of innocence. (You heard it here first, folks.) Destroyer of Innocence.

My husband was raised as a NO TV, ultra-conservative, hardcore homeschooler. (I was homeschooled, too, but we watched Star Trek, MacGyver, and the A-Team, so I'm slightly less sheltered.)

After we'd been married for about a year, my innocent husband played this innocent game online and he learned – dare I say it? – the Your Mom joke. I remember the day it happened.

Player 1: “Ur a n00b.”

Player 2: “That's not what your mom said last night.”

And that was it. From then on Your Mom was included in every dinner conversation. Shortly thereafter it progressed and my dear, sweet, wholesome husband became captain of the That's What She Said team.

(It must be said that I am not a complete bystander in this. I enjoy participating in the Your Mom jokes and am very quick to instruct my husband regarding when Your Sister is much more effective than Your Mom.)

Last night, after several rounds of Your Mom's, we reached this point at the dinner table:

Me: “That's not what your mom said last night.” (we laugh) “You know, I never realized your mom was such a whore.”

My Mister: “A what?”

Me: “A whore. W-h-o-r-e. One who makes sex for money.”

My Mister: “Oh, well at least she makes some money with it. Your mom does it for free.”

See what I'm talking about? Innocence destroyed! So, guard your children.

Of course the “Your Mom” in these conversations is always hypothetical since actually suggesting such things about your Mother-In-Law doesn't lead to marital longevity.

Two Ducks On A Pond

Bob & George.

George the duck dived and swam, kicking his webbed feet in the water happily.

"Nothing could be better than this," George quacked loudly while flitting about. "Today is the best day!"

Bob slowly drifted across the water.

"Really, George? I'm barely staying afloat. It was all I could do to get out of the nest this morning."

"Are you kidding? I can't swim through this water fast enough. Let's sing duck songs! And organize the sticks in the dam according to size!"

No duck is that happy at this time of day.

Bob knew the truth: George was on drugs.

* * *

The above is a short example of the sorts of things I feel like writing these days. Usually, it's a tragic-comedy of some sort because after a long, ridiculous day that's what comes out.

Musings Related to Writing

Sewer kitties say, "I KILL U WIF LAZUR EYES."

There are the stories I want to write -- and then there are the stories I "should" write.

I have so little creative energy these days that the only stories I want to write are silly, little short stories about animals. The stories aren't truly suitable for children, but don't exactly seem to be a great fit for adults either. These are the only stories in my "creative bucket" (as I like to call it) right now.

Long term, I would like to be able to sell some of my work. I don't see these little pseudo-children's stories as being a marketable product. What is a marketable product? A full-length novel. I "should" write novels (because that is my long-term desire which happens to be a marketable product) but I haven't had a workable idea for a full-length novel in over a year. Maybe two years. Since I transferred to a university and began full-time studies again I feel like my soul is gone.

There are seasons in life, and I hope this season is nearly done. I am scheduled to graduate in the spring so I look forward to being "done" with school. And yet, I recognize that each season in life has its own difficulties. Graduation from college won't necessarily guarantee my "creative bucket" will begin filling again.

Until then, I will continue writing stories about farm animals with complex life problems.

Lunch Adventures

I make my husband's lunch every day and send him off to work with a grocery bag full of snacks, leftovers, and a drink. He comes home and thanks me for the lunch, often telling a story about about how excited he was for whatever “surprise” was in his lunch bag. Sometimes, I tease him a little by asking what I made him for lunch. I had no idea where this little tease would lead!

“Baby, the lunch you made me today was so good!” said my sweet husband.

“Really? Yay! What did I make you?”

“You made me a sandwich and it was so good I couldn't believe it!”

“. . . . I didn't make you a sandwich.”

“Yeah, you did!”

“No, I made you spaghetti.”

“No, it was a bologna sandwich!”

“Baby, I don't buy bologna. I think you ate someone else's lunch!”

“Well, I don't know what kind of meat it was, but it definitely was my lunch! It was in a grocery bag with that special trail mix you made for me.”

“Oh. Well, I guess it was your lunch, but I can't even remember when the last time I made you a sandwich for lunch. I think that was, like, 3 weeks old.”

“Well, it still tasted good! In fact, it was the best sandwich ever!”

“... ”

Thus began the epic tale of the lunch of indeterminate age.

* * *

I've been looking for a way to tell day-to-day stories that don't quite fit in Twitter, so I may post more stories like this in the future. I'm finding it difficult to write fiction these days, so please accept some reality instead!

Diagnosis: Procrastination; Prognosis: Fatal

Things I want to do:

Make something fattening (like this http://www.lynnskitchenadventures.com/2009/12/easy-peanut-butter-cups.html)

Hot glue something (like this http://eyespydiy.blogspot.com/2011/01/magazine-bowl-tutorial.html)

Paint my Living Room

Pay the bills

Vacuum under the furniture

Clean the toilets

Clean the lint trap in the dryer

Things I don't want to do:

Write my Whitman paper

You won't be jolly after eating a Jolly Roger

High quality art. I do work on commission. Call me!

Jolly Rogers are at best unoriginal – at worst debilitating. "Bursting with Bold Fruit Flavor"? More like bursting with evil. Accidentally bite down on a Jolly Roger and in return it will viciously, violently, voraciously rip your fillings from their comfortable, happy home in your mouth. This one tiny candy will make you choke down bits of dental-grade porcelain, sending you to painful hours in the dentist's chair. Enjoy Sour Apple? Enjoy these sour grapes: The tart acids and sugar will corrode your defenseless, wholesome tooth enamel like battery acid. At 17 calories each, Jolly Rogers might seem like a prudent indulgence, but you are deceived. Jolly Rogers are miscreants – a counterculture confection masquerading as a harmless hard candy while waiting to drag you behind the bushes and ravish your teeth. Don't be fooled. Eat [marshmallows] and keep your teeth.

* * *

Names were changed to protect the innocent. (Innocent = me! Don't sue me, bro.) This is another short writing piece from a rhetoric class. The assignment was to use only 150 words to write an Invective warning about the evil nature of a specific candy. We had to use various rhetorical schemes and tropes. I love Jolly Rogers, but I had to take a shot at somebody. The "evil" of Jolly Rogers was so prevalent in my parents' circles that even those of us who did not have fillings were not allowed to eat Jolly Rogers for fear of our teeth accidentally being pulled out from the roots or some such silliness. Or at least, that's what my 5 year old mind chose to remember. :)

Extra credit super bonus points and bragging rights to anyone who names the rhetorical schemes and tropes!

Serious Consequences.

That is all. Carry on.

Spring Semester Ramblings

This January I started my fourth semester of Mandarin Chinese. It's absolutely mind-blowing to think that I'm still here and still getting A's in this class. The longer I continue, the more apparent the "holes" in my language study are. Because I finished an entire year of Chinese in 10 weeks a lot of information was only sticky-noted into my brain ... in place just long enough to get a decent grade on the test. All of that is definitely catching up to me now. I'm doing my best to go back, review characters, re-memorize grammar concepts, and catch up on some listening practice. I am horrible at listening and understanding -- which is so embarrassing! My test scores are great but my conversational skills are debilitating. (Not to mention a "performance anxiety" I suffer from.) This is the sort of thing that only gets better with practice -- just like public speaking. Time to dig down deep, find my brass ovaries, and stop being a noob.

I miss British Romanticism so very much. I'm taking a Whitman class now because it was the only literature class that fulfilled the requirement this semester. I'm pretty sure that Whitman is more in love with himself than any man, woman, or child could ever be. (I would say that he screams his own name during sex, but I'm trying to keep it clean here, folks.) Maybe Whitman will grow on me, but now I'm seriously regretting an entire semester dedicated solely to Whitman. Guh. Why couldn't they have an entire semester dedicated to Byron, William Wordsworth, or Coleridge??

I have to take a 100 level PE class in order to graduate and since I have horrible arches and am afraid of drowning that leaves only one option for me: Indoor Cycling. I have to be able to bike 10 miles in 20 minutes by the end of the semester or else I am doomed. Also, I need to be able to do 60 super-crazy-uber-particular sit-ups in 2min and 60 super-crazy-uber-particular squats in 2min. SO. That means this semester if I don't work my ever-lovin' tail off I will fail this class and have to take it again. Also, if I don't get skinny from taking this class (and all of the outside of class training I have to do) I will sue my body for criminal neglect.

Batman vs. Superman

The Batman impersonates Bruce Wayne. Like shiny baubles, the playboy false identity distracts from the true persona: Batman. Driven by the murder of his parents, Batman fears nothing. Obsession drives him. Protecting Gotham and fighting crime trumps all. Batman exudes excellence, intellect, intimidation, and an indomitable will. The World's Greatest Detective needs no superpowers. He keeps his body and mind voraciously honed as the ultimate destructive force. His agility, strength, and cunning set him far above other so-called superheroes. An elite martial artist, Batman embodies mind and muscle, brains and brawn – a force that not even Superman can reckon with.

While Batman is the Dark Knight, Superman is only an empty shell. Superman is the false identity, the painted figure that hides the real man: Clark Kent. Superman is merely motivated by the existence of his own powers. Though he has flight, super-speed, super-strength, and laser vision, Superman's greatest selling point is that he’s the "good guy." Big Blue, the ultimate boy scout, always keeps his nose clean. Self-righteous do-gooder. Not a great strategical mastermind, Superman's motto is, “Why investigate when I can simply demolish the place?” He is all brawn and physical power with no room left for brains.

* * *

Behold! A piece of writing from my infamous rhetoric class last semester. The assignment was to write a comparison using two paragraphs of equal length - one paragraph must be in noun-style writing and the other in verb-style. The Batman paragraph is in verb-style and Superman is in noun-style. I used exactly 100 words in each paragraph.

P.S. I like Superman a lot, but somebody had to be the butt of this comparison. Sorry, Big Blue.