Oh, what fresh hell is this?

If you have survived this wonderful, dreadful world long enough to get past the point of life where pooping your pants is socially acceptable, chances are you have seen someone you know go completely yumpy. I'm not talking about drinking too much in Atlantic City (the insanity inherent in going to Atlantic City notwithstanding), and stuffing more than the normal amount of dollar bills in more than the normal amount of strippers' panties. I'm talking totally pants-on-your head, I-know-what-math-tastes-like crazy.

If it was someone you knew well or for a long time, maybe at first you turned a blind eye. You assumed they were just going through a rough patch and it would get better soon.  I mean, you're a good friend so you probably waited on the sidelines, keeping a weather eye on them, ready to jump up and stop them from fucking anything/anyone they shouldn't, or from blowing all their money on that awesome investment they heard about from some guy in a pub called the Untrustworthy Cur or similar. But for the most part, at least at first, you just waited, expecting it to all work itself out with time.

But no doubt there eventually came a moment when they did something so unusual that you went, "Oh shit.  Bitch be trippin'." I've had more than a few of these in my life.

Tonight I had another, but it was different from the one's I've experienced before. I had this experience... with myself.

Now, considering that the world is veritably littered with sharp and shiny ways to do-si-do off the deep end and take everyone you know with you, what I did was pretty mellow and below the radar and I'm thankful for that.  In fact, I think most people wouldn't bat an eyelash at it. No one got hurt, no friendships were ended, I don't even think I hurt anyone's feelings. Really, it was more how I did what I did rather than what I actually did.

But it was so completely out of sorts with my own perception of myself that it made me pause.

See, I spoke out of anger. I rarely do this unless pushed, and I mean really pushed. The person who's talking to me really really has to want me to blow up in their face. :) They learn their lesson about that real quick.  It usually takes a lot to make me angry in the first damn place and when I do, I usually clam up and shut down so that I don't say or do anything I'll regret. Then once I've calmed down, I re-evaluate the situation and decide if I want to say something to the person, which I am then in a position to do calmly and rationally. I usually also decide to say nothing because I'm a pick-my- battles sort of person and I usually deem that it's not worth saying anything, especially when I know that the person didn't do whatever it was intentionally (as was the case here). So the fact that this particular trigger set me off... weird.  It's a signal that something isn't quite right with me.

And sadly, I think it goes back a while. I'm not the person I used to be.  I pride myself on being low-maintenance and easy going. I like being that way. Do I sometimes feel as though people take advantage of that?  Sure. But it comes with the territory.  It's the risk you run anytime you are a certain way: someone will take advantage of it. But you have to go on a case by case basis and take other things into consideration before getting upset.  I usually do. Last night I didn't, and that's really bothering me. And this isn't the first time it's happened.

Things just don't slide off my back like they used to. I get upset easily. I'm snappy, and not in that "quick, witty comeback" kind of way.  There are probably people here at my work who actually think I'm not a very nice person, and that is a hard thing to face.

Because generally, I am a really nice person! I'm positive, upbeat, I hate seeing people in turmoil and try to make them feel better.... And I like me that way!  It's always made me feel really good to be that nice person that (not to toot my own horn here) everyone seems to like. I really don't want to lose that.

The problem is, I don't know what the problem is.  :) I've got some stressors in my life of course; who doesn't? But I've been through worse than right now.  Much worse. The last twelve years have been... not always so great. Death, murder, suicide (not kidding about those), sickness, numerous health problems of my own, losing my job, bad times in marriage and friendships, a move I really didn't want to make, plus all the good stressors: new projects, forming new friendships, changing jobs to one I really enjoy. Comparatively, things right now aren't that bad.

I just don't know, though I have theories. The last few years have been bad in ways that might wind up building up a little, so I feel like my armor's been chipped away some. My reserves of tolerance and happiness have been depleted.  :) Maybe I just need to recharge my batteries or something,  but I think part of that might have to involve a few visits to a therapist... That, now that I think about it, might be long overdue.

I know that this post has been less than positive, and I apologize about that. I try to keep it upbeat here, so if you've gotten this far, thanks.  Here's a funny picture of Queen Elizabeth the First's carton of milk as a reward.

Firefly Panel at Comic Con 2012

Okay, so I know a lot of you have been waiting for these details, and I'm sorry it's taken so long. I needed a vacation from my vacation after I got back and it's been go go go! ever since.  Or so it seems over here.

Anyway, first of all I feel like I should guilt you all mercilessly inform you all, guilt trip free, that I walked probably a mile through the San Diego Convention Center and stood in line for 5 hours and sat through a panel I had no interest in to get to this one. 

AND IT WAS WORTH EVERY MINUTE.

Even standing in line was worth it because they were filming extra bits for the Firefly Ten Year Reunion DVD, and someone who shall remain nameless (BUT IT WAS ME ME ME ME ME!) was filmed not once but twice for said DVD.  No guaruntee my footage will make it on there, but my fingers are crossed (I think the Browncoat costume might have tipped them off as to what panel I was standing in line for).

Yes, folks, just sitting in the same room with those people was amazing.  The grueling horrible details of what I went through to get into this panel will be detailed in a more realistic but slightly less effervescent post on the whole con experience.

Anyway, to start off, it was not the whole cast.  I was kinda sad about that to be honest. The panel consisted of Jose Molina, Tim Minear, Alan Tudyk, Nathan Fillion, Summer Glau, Sean Maher, Adam Baldwin and of course, Joss Whedon. At the very beginning the moderator said something along the lines of, "I had a whole long speech prepared about the importance of Firefly but I think you know it (at which point everyone cheered like nuts)... so let's just get on with it."

He introduced Molina and Minear without a lot of fanfare, but then said, "This actor wanted to be introduced as bounty hunter and sandwich maker, but you know him better as 'a leaf on the wind.'"  And the crowd went wild.  :)  Kelly Blackler, I screamed extra special loud to cover both of us!  For those who might not know, I have a super huge little girl crush on Alan Tudyk.  He's cuter than a monkey with a puppy. I actually can't remember how Fillion was introduced but I think it might have been as Captain Tightpants. Summer Glau didn't get a funny tagline, Sean Maher was introduced as "a good doctor, a better brother."  Then the moderator said, "This is the audience participation part of the panel:  The hero of Canton, the man they call....." And of course we all shrieked out, "JAYNE!" Then, once the prodigious screaming had at least slowed down a bit, they introduced the man himself, Joss Whedon who took a seat between Summer and Nathan.

Then there was another long pause while they waited for the screaming to stop once again. Eventually the moderator said, "Okay, sit down we have stuff to do!" At which point the entire panel got up and made to walk offstage.  Laughter naturally ensued!

On the first question, the moderator asked Joss Whedon what it meant to be here on the tenth anniversary of this show.  He made a couple jokes at first, then went on to say that they knew from the very beginning that they were doing everything right.  He said he had the best cast he'd ever worked with... "and we also had Alan."  :)  Then he said something I thought was really amazing. I don't think I have it down exactly, but the gist was, "This goes beyond vindication, that came long ago. This goes to a place of transcendance that I can't describe without crying like a girlie man."

The moderator then asks Nathan Fillion the same thing, and he said that if he managed to get through it without crying it would look a lot cooler.  He went on to describe how Joss Whedon was the only one who'd take a chance on him playing a leading role and launching his career.

They talk about the episode with the heist on Ariel and call Simon "the Danny Ocean of Imperial hospital heists."

The next question was one of my favorite moments.The moderator goes on a bit about how much fun they were obviously having and asks Nathan what it was like while filming episodes. Nathan starts a little and says, clearly startled, "Oh who me?  Um... I'm glad you asked that.... I can't help but think... I should have been paying more attention to the question." Alan Tudyk then fields the question for him as he had been paying attention.  He tells a story about how when filming first began Nathan came up to a big bunch of people and said, "Okay we're learning everyone names.  You're Alan, you're Tim, you're Brian.  It's a game and I'm winning." Then walked off.  So it did become a game and apparently solidified everyone and even helped to eliminate the natural splitting off of cast from crew. I'm not very Grinch-like but my heart grew three sizes that day. :)

Next they showed the clip of Jayne getting that insanely wonderful hat from his mother and they asked about how much input Adam Baldwin had in that. He worked a lot with the props people he said and then went on to describe the hat as a "goldmine" and a "birthday cake in a wasteland." It was fun to see a man who usually plays such reticent characters get all excited about his hat and that he'd contributed to that part of the history. He then asked a trivia question that I can't remember and offered the hat he had on stage with him as the prize.  :)  Awesome prize...

The next question they ask Joss is regarding casting. Summer turns to him and says, "You can't change your mind now, I already did it." Joss replied that he could if George Lucas could and Summer laughed and gave him an appalled look.  He shrugged and said, "I'm not saying we've had a meeting about it or anything...."

Joss also said that while he was grateful to have there the people who were there, it broke his heart that some of the cast couldn't be there.  And not just so they could experience the reunion but also beacuse he missed them so much.  He said Jewel Stait made him cry and Gina Torres was the most badass woman he'd ever met. 

The moderator asked why Nathan Fillion was the perfect captain for Serenity. He revealed that there was never a time when he didn't consider Nathan the Captain.

During the fan questions, someone asked what their favorite piece of fan art or fiction was.  Not sure this actually counts, but Joss said that his favorite was a picture that Alan Tudyk commissioned from his sister. It was when they found out that Firefly was being cancelled, and he asked his sister to paint a picture of Joss protecting a real firefly in a jar from "evil Fox executives" who were apparently just a bunch of hanging suits.

Another fan asked (and I thought this was a great question), "Do you all feel just proud of what you did or do you sometimes think 'where were all these screaming fans ten years ago?'" Joss said that he loved it when people apologized to him for not watching Firefly until it was out on DVD.  His response is, "You're apologizing because you didn't see it until I got paid for it? You had to buy it from me?  GODDAMN YOU." Then went on to say that the 27 people who saw it when it aired loved it. 

And now we come to probably my favorite moment in the whole panel. I can't remember it exactly but Nathan said that when Firefly "died" he thought it was the worst thing that could have happened.  But now, looking out at all the fans at the reunion, he realized that the worst thing would be if it had stayed dead. Joss asked the audience to please Tweet that he said that.  :)

The next fan asked if they had ever camped out all night for anything and what it was.  Joss replied, "Camping." I love that man's sense of humor.

There were a lot of good fan questions, but I think this was the best: "If you'd known there'd only be one season of Firefly, how would the ending of the show have differed from Serenity?" One of the things he said was that he wouldn't have killed anyone.  Alan Tudyk raised his arms triumphantly.  :)

Now things were beginning to wind down on the panel and the moderator asked one final question:  "Joss, the phrase 'we're still flying' has become a mantra for the fans. What do the fans mean to you?" There's a long pause and a few sighs while he chokes up and tries to gather himself.  Then there's a huge wave of fans (myself included) screaming out, "We love you, Joss!" which I suspect did nothing for his composure.  Then came the standing ovation, first from the audience, then from the cast and crew members on stage. Once he is able to speak, his response (paraphrased of course) is to say that the way the fans have inhabited the world he created makes it real and when he gets with the fans, he doesn't think he's part of the show... he doesn't think there's a show, it feels real.

I think the thing I loved best about this panel was that in all felt very genuine. There was no one there who appeared to be not having fun, or gave the impression they were there only under obligation.  In every panel it always feels like there's one who just isn't feeling it, and that was not the case here. It was all very warm and sincere, just as you might hope it'd be.  :)  Whenever I do something like this I'm always afraid that I'm going to walk away with my wide-eyed idealism shattered, but this time, there was no heartbreak in sight.  It was absolutely a delight and well worth the time I put into it. 

There are bits I've left out I'm sure, because I forgot. Can't remember everything I'm afraid, and I was a bit far away so I didn't get as many good pics as I might have liked. But here's one of the good ones.

July- A whole year of shit crammed into one month.

We've been talking about this for over a year.  We've been planning it for about half a year.  We've had our badges for a few months, our hotel reservations for a couple months as well... But only now is it really sinking in that I am GOING TO MOTHERFUCKING SAN DIEGO COMIC CON!!!!!  HOLY SHIT!!!

Okay, now that that's out of my system, I need to make sure you read that right.  I, DELEVA G. STANLEY AM GOING TO COMIC CON!  Did you get that?  Do I need to say it again?  I AM GOING TO COMIC CON!

Not trying to rub that in, but I've worked really hard to make this happen. Even though I've worked myself into the ground for it I still feel very blessed.  If nothing else, I feel lucky just to have gotten my badge, because the person I'm going with is a freaking awesome ninja who jumped straight into the queue and bought them for us while I was still trying to log in.  :)  I'm still working OT like nuts to make sure I have plenty of fun money.  But this is going to be the trip of a lifetime and it will SOOOOOO be worth it.  I'm checking the website every day to see if there are any updates about guests who are going. 

AND I just found out that through the mojo of friendship and this guy named Eric I am going to probably get a tour of Blizzard while I'm there also.

I'm also going to Westercon the weekend before.  Never been to a Westercon before so I'm looking forward to that, although it's going to be at the same hotel as Norwescon so I imagine it's going to be pretty similar.  :).  I'm doing the Writer's Workshop there so that oughta be exciting in the same way that it always is when you have stone cold writing pros critiquing your work.

AND my best friend Darla is going to be joining us for Comic-Con on Saturday, and then we are going to hang out together in So Cal for a few days, including another trip to Disneyland.  HOPEFULLY if I go in the middle of the touristy season I will be able to do Pirates of the Caribbean and the Haunted Mansion, which I totally didn't the last time.  We might even venture across the courtyard and check out more California Adventures, because we also didn't do that last time.  If I can talk her into it, I'm hoping for a stop by Camp Pendleton although hopefully this time there will be no catastrophic events that knock out the electricity for most of So Cal, leaving us with less than a 1/4 tank of gas and much further from home than that would get us.  :)

AND THEN, I am going to come back, work one day (probably, because I'm a masochist) and then hop a train to Portland for the weekend with my hubby and a few other friends. 

July is going to be very busy.  Part of it is going to be very hot because, yeah:  San Diego in July= hot as hell. 

But man, I am so looking forward to it.  And my gods, Facebook users beware.  I am going to be one picture posting bitch.  :)

My Happy Place

Generally speaking, I am a very sociable person. I like hanging out with my friends and as far as I'm concerned, the more the merrier.  I like big parties.  I also like being the center of attention at said parties because I'm an attention whore.

But there are times... times like now... when my happy place looks like this: 

It's a ramshackle cabin.  It's nice on the inside, because I don't want to live in a dump, but from the outside, it looks very uninviting.  Like, Last House on the Left uninviting.   It sits on the edge of a dark and scary forest.  There is a sign on the outside warning of land mines, volatile indigenous wildlife, and mentally unstable landowners with large, probably illegal automatic weapons.  It sits on the inhospitable side of a large ravine with a rickety bridge as the only means of crossing.  The ravine, if I have my druthers, is named something like, "Never Found the Body Ravine" or "Only One In Twenty Makes It Ravine" or "Did You Win the Not Dying A Screaming Death Lottery Today, Because If Not I Wouldn't Try It Ravine." 

There is a river below.   A big, deep, terrifying one that was, preferably, featured on the show "River Monsters."  I'm flexible on whether or not there are actually river monsters in the river, but if there are, I would like them to be large and visible and kind of prehistoric looking.  And obviously aggressive.  If I can, I will arrange for a troll under the bridge that pops up and demands a completely unreasonable toll like Hitler's mustache hair, or a feather from a velociraptor (not that kind of velociraptor, the other kind... ) or the vas deferens from the ball sack of a leprechaun or something.

In my happy place, Klingon cloaking technology is readily available, and I will have that available to me as a last resort. 

The point is, no one can get to me.  No one can reach me.  I have my Kindle, my laptop to write on (but not access the internet) and a large stash of coffee and beer.

And that's it. 

Be careful what you ask for...

.... because you might get it. And I really mean 'get it.'

So... I have recently been told that I need to be more assertive.

This... is a problem for me, but not because I'm meek. In fact, the problem is quite the opposite. It's very easy for me to start out being "assertive" and wind up being "dictatorial fuckdonkey."

I have tried very very hard to not be that person. I don't really like me when I'm that person, but I have to smash the urges to be that way almost every day. Everytime someone says something even vaguely complimentary, like "Hey Del, good job", I want to stand on top of a mountain and scream, "THAT'S RIGHT WORLD! SUCK ON MY AWESOMENESS! I WIN ALWAYS!" Seriously. Not really kidding about that.

This is why I rarely say anything nice about myself without putting a caveat on it. This is mostly for my own benefit so that I remind myself that while I do have good traits, they are mitigated by a lot of bad ones too. No more so, I don't think, than anyone else, but if I let myself get carried away I will start thinking I have fewer than everyone else.

This is why I will take control of a situation, but only after everyone else has been given a chance and has failed to do so, even though my first instinct is to jump on, grab the reins and steer the bucking bronco of responsibility where I want it to go.

This is why I make a concerted effort to not "get too big for my britches" as Grandma used to say. I recently set up a new Facebook author page for myself, and instead of putting "writer and editor" I put "aspiring writer and editor" out of force of habit.

It's a dangerous road to head down, telling me to be more assertive. I'm like Jekyll and Hyde. On the outside I am confident and capable, but quietly so. On the inside I am a despotic inferno of domineering, vainglorious self-indulgence. On the inside, I am so cocky my hair struts. Do not hand me the world, because I will take it.

Having someone else encourage me to be more assertive gives me one more reason to let myself off the leash, to finally let loose the autocratic, selfish tzarina that lives inside me, Hyde-like, just waiting to come out and thwack someone with her scepter (which I picture as being encrusted with jewels and the fossilized self-esteem of lesser mortals).

But... the person telling me this is not wrong. I do need to be more assertive, and I need to be more out in the world. See, I want to try to get my writing career going and I'm not going to do that by hiding my inner princess. But she does still need to be moderated or I could get carried away (and by carried away, I mean on a palanquin with silk cushions, carried by scantily clad clones of Steve Vai, sipping chilled ambrosia while my Rottweiler, named "Precious" or "JuJu" or something, eats the most recent people who have displeased me).

Okay, it's not really that bad, but honestly, I do need to watch my ego. It will be very easy for me to start thinking wayyyyyyyy too much of myself.

The Frog That Broke the Camel's Back

I am a resilient person. I can take a lot before I break, and when I break, it's usually just in a sort of silly way. Like a pinata: I might be broken but I'm spilling candy and goodies all over the world, so it's kind of okay.

Right?

The point is that there is always some sort of catalyst that pushes me over the edge, some very little thing that just shoves my brain from "tired but still more or less cognizant of reality" to completely pants on my head crazy.

This time, it was this:

This last Tuesday, as I was climbing the stairs that lead up to our driveway, I spied this in the foliage out of the corner of my eye. I had never seen it before.

In a more rational state, I would have just assumed that my mother or father-in-law had placed it there as garden decoration. Which is, I should state, a perfectly reasonable thing to assume as it is in fact garden decoration.

My brain, however, was in absolutely no condition to process reason or, apparently, the fact that local frogs do not come in "coral." Or in the size of a Rottweiler puppy.

It was huge and pink. And to my frazzled brain, it also looked very real. I stared at it for several minutes, completely transfixed like a frightened gazelle. Would it move? If it moved, was it going to come at me? Was it an angry pink frog? Because (and yes, I really thought this) if I got stuck being a frog and pink I would be wicked pissed at life.

I was still undecided as to a course of action when I saw that there was another one.

HOLY SHIT. It was like some sort of pink frog apocalypse. I freaked a little. It didn't help that the other one was more concealed and kind of behind me so it looked a bit like I was being flanked.

At some point, the voice of reason (which had been sleeping on the job for some time, because SOME part of me had to sleep) perked up and said, "Oh my god, are you really worried about this? They're fake. They haven't moved a muscle and they are Pepto Bismal pink."

Still unconvinced, but beginning to acknowledge the point, I resorted to the only possible course of action to determine if they were real: The Poke It With A Stick method. When it "clinked" instead of "squished" and failed to either hop away indignantly or attack me with some sort of amphibian breath weapon or something, I began to laugh at myself. Here, reason came awake fully and naturally I decided that they had been placed there by my in-laws (which is not to say that there wasn't still a voice in my head telling me that the only two other options were some of sort creepy frog-leaving stalker, or terrifyingly sentient raccoons trying to fuck with us).

The rest of the week has been a bit of a blur of uncontrolled giggles, giddy happiness over absolutely nothing, and... well, there's a Rooster in there too somewhere but that's a whole different blog post.

Today: More completely F***ed up since... well, midnight by definition I guess...

Okay, so I know that I swore a couple of blogs back to be more positive. When I blog about something negative (PMS/ frustrating goalies) I try to at least make it funny. But even though I'm about to catalog a really rough night, and probably not in a funny way, there is no fucking way I can not blog about this, because it is just too fucking weird.

So. Yesterday morning was a really rough morning; hard to get out of bed. So I decided to go out of my way to sleep in a little this (Thursday)morning, something I do not usually do. I've been working a lot of OT, getting a couple hours in before my regular shift every day, but today I was going to fore go that and get some shut eye.

To paraphrase someone from sometime with regards to something (I'm fuzzy on the details, but I'm fuzzy on everything right now... we'll get to that later), plans are great until first contact with the enemy. Well, I have seen the enemy and it is me. I went to bed a little after ten. I was tired, physically and mentally, and the last couple of months I've been falling asleep as soon as my head hits the pillow (barring a couple week bout with insomnia a bit ago). So I should not have had a problem falling asleep.

And yet I did. I slept for maybe a half an hour, but kept getting woken up. This... frustrated me. I was really looking forward to a more than full nights' sleep and not getting up early, and there I was, not able to sleep at all.

Fuck.

Finally around midnight I got back up, checked my email, did a full edit on a page of the story Rob and I are working on, and read a bit. The night was still salvageable, though I was still angry that it hadn't gone as planned. Around one a.m., my eyes were starting to blur and I was starting to get very tired again. Yay! I thought, I can sleep now! So I went back to bed, curled under the covers and-

*eyes pop wide open*

Fuck.

I toss and turn for another couple hours. I think I might have snuck in another twenty minutes or so, maybe. Finally, I realize that my frustration is making me sigh, toss and turn, and grumble, which is only going to keep Aaron up, and that's not going to make anyone happy. So... back out of bed I get at 3 a.m. This time, I don't bother trying to make myself sleepy so I can go back to bed. Nope. I just curled up on the couch and tried to go to sleep. It worked. For about 45 minutes. Then something woke me, who knows what, and I lay there, feeling irritated.

Fuuuuuckk.

By this time, I'm sleep deprived, irrational, temperamental and generally speaking kind of a soul sucking harpy. I'm really glad none of you had to see it. I might have fewer friends if you had. Anyway, in a futile attempt to maybe, juuuuuuuuust maybe get enough shut eye that I can function at work today, I decide I'll skip washing my hair this morning (something that takes a long time for me, when you factor in drying it) and do that tonight. That way, maybe I can sleep in until 9 or so. That would get me about 5 hours at this point, and I know I'm capable of functioning on that. I do it all the time. So I close my eyes and start to drift off a teensy little bit.... and then Rosco (the cat) starts yowling at the door. I mean really yowling.

FUCKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK.

I take a deep breath, remind myself that I oppose animal abuse, and call him over for some attention, which works to shut him up... for a minute. Right about this time, I get a bit frustrated. When the attention doesn't work and he just keeps it up, I have to break out the spray bottle, which I do. I chase him around with it for a couple of minutes... which is when I learn that one of the cats has thrown up on the floor... because I stepped in it.

FUCKFUCKFUCKDOUBLEFUCK.

At this point, I completely lose my shit. I mean seriously. I am at my wits end. I lose my temper TOTALLY and slam the water bottle down on the table. The plastic water bottle. On the hard tile table. It shatters, water goes everywhere.

GODDAMNED,MOTHERBONING, SQUIRREL BUGGERING, GOAT SHAGGING FUCK ALL.

At this point, I realize it is hopeless. It has all been for naught. I am not going to sleep and I'll be a flea fucking termite if I'm going to work (none of that made sense; I'm a little delirious).

So I sit up and read. I check Facebook. I do some other stuff. Then when I deem it a reasonable hour to do so, I call my boss and tell him I won't be in today. If there's a vacation day on the calendar I'll take it so I don't get dinged for attendance, but if not, I'm not worried about it. So the boss goes to check the calendar, and he says, "What day is it today, the first?"

Those words shock me down to the soles of my feet. Yes, it's March 1st, I tell him, completely flabbergasted. I get off the phone with him, and sit down to write this blog.

For you see, the last time I was up for almost 24 hours straight, was exactly nine years ago, down to the day. How could I possibly remember that, you ask? How could I possibly forget? Exactly nine years ago, early in the morning of March 1st, 2003, Aaron and I received a call saying his grandmother had been attacked and was being taken to the hospital. We came out to her house immediately (which was next door to Aaron's dad's house and his aunt's house). We received word a while later that she hadn't made it, and we stayed with the family until 8 or 9 that morning.

As this is something I try really hard not to dwell on, it having been a horrible, emotional, violent night, I haven't really been thinking about it so I'm not sure I think these two sleepless nights are directly related, even subconsciously. But it is really odd, don't you think? I mean... weird, right?

On the plus side, Aaron just got up and I told him all about it, and he was able to make me laugh by dubbing me Deleva, called Housewaresbane. :)

Four Reasons Why I Hate PMS

I am preaching to the choir. I know this. I don't have to tell you about PMS; it doesn't matter if you're male or female. You already know, at a damned near molecular level, why you should hate PMS. It's part of the collective unconscious of our society why you should hate PMS.

But I'm going to tell you anyway. What's that you say? The horse is dead? I'M BEATING IT ANYWAY. Deal with it or YOU'RE NEXT.

1. It's sneaky. I am an absent minded person. I can barely remember what I had for breakfast this morning. I'm so absent minded that I say that I can't remember what I had for breakfast this morning when the simple fact is that I probably didn't have breakfast this morning at all. BECAUSE I FORGOT. That's how I roll. So to say that I don't really pay attention to the calendar to dog when the Red Tide is coming in would be like saying that Hitler didn't hug a Jew today: it goes without saying (because he's dead but also because of the other thing). So no matter what, it always catches me by surprise. I always log when it does get here, so I have that... but when the next one is coming doesn't stay in the forefront of my mind. Which sort of leads into...

2. It's insidious. For me, PMS is almost subtle (almost). It doesn't make me completely irrational or send me into spontaneous crying fits for no reason. It takes my perfectly normal, socially acceptable feelings and just amplifies them a little. Say I'm irritated. On a normal, non-rampaging hormones day, I would grit my teeth and roll my eyes. On a hormonal wingding day, I start threatening to punch rainbows until they bleed those smugly happy colors all over that leprechaun and the bullshit pot of gold he rode in on. Normally I am aware enough to avoid shedding innocent blood but if I'm already stressed out about something else and then the PMS hits, some lambs are going to the slaughter.

3. It's a little like being on nitrous. Here's how I describe being on nitrous: there's a part of you that is perfectly conscious and aware and rational. Then there's the part of you that's in control of your mouth and all your motor functions. That part of you is tripping balls and wants to make sure that you are at some point court ordered to remain at least fifty yards from schools and holy ground at all times. Everytime I overreact while I'm PMSing there's this little voice in the back of my mind going, "You know, normally you're more resilient than this. Also not a joy-devouring she-rat wallowing in the sewer of others' suffering. Have you considered that something might be amiss?" Eventually this voice of reason will penetrate the cacophony of horribleness created by my misanthropic alter-ego. But for a least a while, that voice is lost in the din of someone's innocence dying after doing nothing worse than asking me to pass the sugar at Starbucks. All of which leads to...

4. On the bright side I wind up losing weight because my entire diet consists of colloquial CROW. As mentioned above, at some point, that voice of reason yells loud enough that I finally hear it. Then I look at the calendar on my external brain (phone) and swear loudly and proficiently, but for the first time that day, not at someone whose greatest crime was being on the same continent with me. This time I am swearing at the calendar because 1. I realize that I have forgotten to pay something important (see above re: absentmindedness) and 2. I realize that I have been a total douche canoe all day for no better reason than that my body is producing an excess of Hell Hath No Fury juice that is filtering through my system like that filthy chocolate fountain at Golden Corral. My need to be responsible for my actions and fess up when I mess up (I just made that up. Feel free to use it. You're welcome) then begins a bitter war with my absolute loathing of admitting I'm wrong or apologizing. Now that I'm aware of what's happening, I calm down a little and make concerted efforts to keep the acid breath-weapon that is my hatred of mankind from burning any more holes in my social life or sense of self worth. Eventually I do the right thing and apologize to anyone I've seriously wronged or greivously injured, but I'm still hormonal and I just wind up feeling resentful that I've had to debase myself thusly. Serioulsy, you'd think I'd been made to strip naked, dance the Macarena and play Achey Breaky Heart on a vuvuzela before a jury of my peers.

And so, in closing, fuck you.

*checks calendar*

Goddamn it. Sorry. :)

The Fun That Can Be Had By Candlelight With a Random Name Generator

Thanatos Horiuchi.

Thanatos Horiuchi.

Let that one bang around in your head for a second.

Thanatos.

Horiuchi.

Last night, at my usual write night, my writing buddy introduced me to the random name generator on Scrivener. Even after the power went out, we giggled for probably an hour at least at the things it threw at us. He denies it but I'm pretty sure he unknowingly had his on some sort of Retarded Polish preset or something because every first name was unpronouncable and the last names all ended with "-sky." But there were also names like Modest Murphy (he was the most humble of Irishmen....) and Farewell Copper ("You'll never take me alive, copper!")

But mine threw out my favorite, the one that made my imagination go nuts.

Thanatos Horiuchi.

I immediately began conjuring reasons any sane person would give a child a name like that, what incredibly bizarre, interracial circumstances would lead anyone to name their obviously Japanese child after the Greek incarnation of Death. And what sort of person he would be.

Right now, all I can come up with is this:

Thanatos Horiuchi: Death Rides a Pale Suburu.

Stayed tuned for developments. :)

Also, was challenged to write a ghost story featuring a chicken, a New York cabbie, ABC gum, and fifty feet of rope (with a bonus cookie for including a Girl Scout, pun intended!) . Might work on that too. :)

A Letter to My Goalie

Dear Lou,

I know that, even among Canucks' fans, it's kinda popular to hate you. But I don't. I love you. Always have. I haven't forgotten that there were times that everyone was convinced that you were the only thing giving the 'Nucks any wins. And that people thought that for a damned good reason. You've got me in your corner. Or... your trapezoid.... or... whatever, I'm on your side man.

That said... regarding the shootout last night against the Kings? .... the fuck?!

Look at all that space between you and the net! JUST LOOK AT IT, LOU. What were you thinking?!

You are brilliant at what you do. You really are. But you have never been good at being a forward goalie. Stay in the net. You cannot MIND THE NET (as per being a NETMINDER) if you are not IN THE FUCKING NET.

This is where you live.

Not here.

Here.

Now I'm not a hockey player. I know it's always a judgement call. Maybe you knew something about that Kings' forward that I don't know. Maybe you know that if the opposing goalie comes out and meets him MOTHERFUCKING HALFWAY that he irrationally freaks out and runs in the opposite direction like an elephant confronted with a mouse. But he didn't, did he? No. No he didn't. He scored on you, putting the puck in the wide open net. Hell, Lou, he couldn't NOT score. You came forward and left the whole expanse of a FUCKING ARCTIC TUNDRA behind you.

But I still love you. I do. Just... stay in the net okay? That's where you're best.

Love,

Me

Tea...

So, healthwise, the last week has been... less than lovely. And I was planning on writing a whole blog about it, giving the horrible details of what I've been through, with a special emphasis on Friday and Saturday, throughout which I felt like there was a rabid wolverine trying to tear my lungs out through my throat.

But I'm not. I'm not going to do it. I have made a vow to be more uplifting. I'm not planning on becoming some sort of middle-aged Pollyanna or something (because, boy, is THAT not in my nature) but when something negative happens I'm trying not to spew it all over the world. And nowadays, with the internet and Facebook and this blog and Twitter, it is SOOOOOOOOO easy to spew negativity all over the place like doleful vomit.

So instead, I dedicate this blog to... tea. Yes, you read that right, tea. My love of coffee is well known and documented, I suspect. Less well known is my love of tea.

There is a... simplicity to tea that I appreciate. It has an effortlessness to it that says, "I'm delicious without a lot of effort; it's just how I am." Tea never tries too hard; it's very zen. It just is. It's like the easy embrace of an old friend, or a warm bowl of soup on a cold day, or my own bed after a long time away: comforting in a way that is almost impossible to put into words but reaches directly into my heart and mind to soothe the very thing that is eating at me. If nothing is eating at me, it is a perfect companion for a good couple of hours of sitting and reading.

I prefer the dark breakfast teas. English is good, but a little weak for me. I like a tea that holds up well to sugar or honey and some milk. I like the flavor those things give to tea, but I still want to actually taste the tea. My favorites are Irish and Scottish Breakfast, with an emphasis on the Scottish. I love that oaky, woody flavor that it has, but it's difficult to find in loose leaf.

And when I'm sick? Oh my. You can't tear me away from a cup of tea. I still get my coffee in the morning, but quickly switch to tea. Hell, I'm drinking tea right now. Finishing up a cup and have the kettle on already to brew another in its place.

So in short, while it's been a bit of rough week of coughing and cancelled plans, there is always a light in the darkness, sunlight filtered through a cup of brown joy...

THE PLAN (bum bum BUMMMMMMMMM!)

1. Edit a few things that I have already completed.
2. Send a few things that I have already completed to beta readers.
3. Send a couple things out into the world to start gathering rejection letters and, possibly, infamy.
4. Decide on a couple of things to put up on Amazon that probably only my friends will buy, but you just never know.
5. Put rejected items on Amazon.
6. Edit full novels I have completed and start getting those ready to be shopped around or possibly published on Amazon.
7. ??????
8. Profit!

Excluding the smartass additions of steps 7 and 8, that's pretty much my plan for beginning my writing career. I mean, I do hope there's profit eventually, but I'm certainly hoping there's more than just a bunch of question marks as to how it happened.

Well... I did it.

Sounds ominous, right? WELL IT'S NOT. It's fucking awesome, is what it is! Well, for me anyway; it might be the downfall of civilization once it's unleashed upon an unsuspecting public but for now... oh, you want me to tell you what I'm talking about? Yeah, probably not a bad idea.

MY FUCKING NOVEL, that's what! I finally finished it, and though it needs a ton more work, that's a huge step. The novel has a beginning, a middle, and an end and while that probably seems like pretty standard stuff, it's a big thing for me.

See, I'm never short on ideas. Writer's block? Don't even believe it exists (editor's block is a different story, but that's beside the point; I have a secret weapon against that too). I have dictionaries, thesauri, and brilliant friends to tap for inspiration if I get stuck on something. I don't lack for resources, in short. What I do lack is staying power. I'm a little ADHD when it comes to writing. I'll get an awesome idea, write on it for a while, then think of something else and write on it for a while... meanwhile, nothing ever gets finished. My "stories in progress" file is enormous, while the "completed" file is... well, less enormous. In fact it's not enormous at all. My "in progress file" is to my "completed" file as a T-Rex is to a mosquito. But now the mosquito has gorged on the blood of the T-Rex and is one project fatter! Now to encase it in amber for future generations and.... I think I need a better analogy....

So, anyway it's something I've been working on. It was my goal for NaNoWriMo to actually finish not only the 50k, but the whole story as well, which I did. And now, many sleep deprived nights later, I've finished another novel I was working on. And quite frankly, it feels awesome. More than awesome. It feels unbelievable. I cannot even express how proud of myself I am, and how pleased I am to have seen this one to the end. It's probably too early to tell but there just might be hope for me after all.

New Year, new blog

This is something I've been meaning to do for a while, and I decided that since it's a new year, this would be a good time to get cracking on it. I've had a Livejournal account for many many years, but the design of it just bothers me nowadays. I haven't posted there in months. Maybe longer. So I decided that since I already had an account here for other things, I'd give this a try.

So far 2012 has been quite satisfactory. 2011 ended quite badly in some ways though (had to say goodbye to an awesome coffee shop that I had just discovered and was run by an old school friend, and also learned that a friend is very sick) and some of that is bound to spill over into 2012, but I am trying very hard not to let the fear of that get in the way of the rest of the exciting things I have planned for the rest of the year (hopefully Comic Con, Disneyland, Norwescon, FaerieCon West, and with luck a writing workshop). I've had a rough couple of years leading up to now (although 2011 wasn't too bad) and so I'm trying to take things as they come and not make it worse by dreading things that might not even happen. I like to think of myself as a realist with optimistic tendencies. :)

So though I did nothing to literally ring in the new year at midnight, I spent the whole day today drinking beer and eating pizza in the company of most excellent friends. So cautiously, I'm feeling good.

Welcome to the world 2012, and may we all be alive this time next year.