The Ties That (Legally) Bind

Okay.  I considered making this post my second Bitch Fest, but as I couldn't decide how to label my target, I chose to just make this my typical rant.

Most of you know that I was very much against Prop 8 here in California, which passed last November.  For those that aren't in the know, it was a proposition to our state constitution which prevents people of the same sex from legally marrying.  It reversed a decision made by California's Supreme Court a few years ago to allow these marriages.

I even wrote a prior blog piece about it - "Why I Think Prop 8 is Wrong."  Feel free to look it up if you're in the mood for more angry tirades.

This topic remains an issue - it went before the Supreme Court a matter of days ago.  And of course, the news outlets covered it...which means they had plenty of "man on the street" type interviews on the subject.

Now, I know people who are against legalizing marriage for same-sex couples.  I don't agree with them, but some of them have arguments that I TRY to understand, although most of the time I simply don't.  I don't see how two people wanting to express their love for one another has anything to do with anyone else.  They're not hurting anyone.  Right?

What I saw that set me off, that drove me to write about this subject once again, was an on-the-street interview with a woman (who I will not name, of course) who said the following (yes, this is a direct quote, I rewound several times to make sure I got it verbatim):  

"Marriage is created for family.  And if you're two men or two women, you can't have family unless you ask someone else to do it for you."

First and foremost, this statement enraged me because she's now taking this beyond an argument over the definition of marriage - she's now making it about the definition of family.  Marriage is created for family?  Really?  Because I'm about to get married, to a man I love with my whole heart, but we're not sure at this point in time if we ever want to have kids.  Therefore, should we not be allowed to wed, if marriage is strictly for FAMILY?

And who is this woman to tell me that my fiance and I aren't a "family" of our own?  Since when do you have to have children in order to be considered a "family?"

And as far as "asking someone else to do it for you" - so, you're telling me, a couple who adopts a child, that's not a real "family?"  It's only truly a family if you have the kids yourself?  What about artificial insemination - does it really make a difference if the woman is gay or straight?  Does one have a family, and the other not?

This line of reasoning was so insensitive, so hideous, that I couldn't help but scream at my television (sorry neighbors).  What gives this woman the right??  Marriage isn't just about family.  The act of marriage is about love, plain and simple.  It shouldn't be bound by any further terms than that.

It's almost as ridiculous as those who rage about preserving the sanctity of marriage whilst signing the papers on their third divorce.

I hope all of their "families" forgive them.

Bitch Fest #1

All right, so I thought about making this a completely separate blog page, but in the end I  decided no one wants to visit two separate pages.  Therefore, I will simply be keeping THIS blog, filled with various life observations and deep thoughts...

...BUT occasionally interrupted by pieces that I'd like to cohesively title "BITCH FEST, or 365 Things I Feel Entitled to Complain About."

Every now and then, I feel the need to rant.  Usually it's about stupid sh*t, stuff that really doesn't mean all that much in the grand scheme of things.  But man oh man, sometimes...sometimes it just wells up within your soul and you just HAVE to let it out, you know what I mean?

And I figure it's safer for everyone if I vent in the written word as opposed to...well, anything else.

So here it is, take it or leave it:  my first installment of Bitch Fest.  Please enjoy the anger.

BITCH FEST #1:

PEDESTRIANS!!!

Okay, perhaps I should amend that to read RUDE pedestrians.  But lately they've all felt the same, they all seem incredibly rude, and therefore I lump them as one large mass.

I've been walking a lot lately.  I always try to walk, considering I have no other athletic activity that I actually enjoy in any way, but lately I've been doing even more of it.  Anything that's within a feasible distance, I hoof it.  The grocery store (as long as I'm not stocking up, that is), the nearest mailbox, the local Quizno's (which has unfathomably been replaced by a Subway, an act which deserves a 'Fest' of its very own, surely.)

Not only is this a health-conscious thing for me to do, it's also environmentally friendly (no car = no excess black crap in the air), and, I thought, less-stressful than dealing with L.A. traffic.

L.A. traffic is the worst traffic.  Ever.  I refuse to believe otherwise.  It's not just the sheer, overwhelming number of cars on the road...it's the utter stupidity out there, the unbelievable jerk-wads who think they have the right to zip in and out of lanes, the abundance of pickup trucks piled high with oodles of construction/repair/furniture odds and ends that I just KNOW are going to come flying out of that truck bed and through my windshield one of these days.

It stresses me out.  Bad.  I try to drive as little as possible.  Hence, more walking.

Where I encounter PEDESTRIANS.

What I have discovered, to my despair, is that just because you've taken the drivers out of their cars, doesn't mean you've made them any less rude and/or moronic.

Perhaps it's just my humble Midwestern sensibility - I go out of my way to step out of an elderly woman's path, I hustle across the intersection if a car is waiting for me, things of that nature.  It's just common courtesy to me.  I can't imagine doing anything else.

It seems that not everyone was brought up with such lofty ideals.  Certainly not the family who continued to walk all four abreast as we approached one another on a narrow strip of sidewalk.  Me with my two overflowing grocery sacks (because, of course, I always get just a liiiiittle bit more than I should, considering I have no motor vehicle with me), them laughing, talking, ignoring the fact that I was coming steadily closer.

You know how this ends.  I moved off the sidewalk.  I was actually forced OFF THE SIDEWALK by these a$$holes who couldn't see fit, not even one of them, to at least drop back.

Unbelievable.  I'm not asking you people to walk in the freaking street, I wanted to shout back at them.  And this happens to me ALL OF THE TIME.  It blows my mind.  It is SO rude.

My mood was only worsened by the pair of giggling teenage girls standing at the next stoplight.  They were there before me, so I assumed that they had already pushed the walk button - silly me!  Now, normally I would push it in any case, never knowing if someone was a forgetful goober or if the system had registered the request or whatever, but in this case the girls were of course standing directly in front of the button.  I didn't ask them if they'd pushed the button, nor did I ask them politely to move aside so that I could do so - after all, that would be rude.

The light changed.  The red hand stayed put.  The girls looked confused.  They pushed each other jokingly.  A car, which had been waiting to make a right-hand turn in front of us, had to pull to a sudden stop as the girls decided, last minute, to simply make a dash for it.  

And me?  I got to wait on the corner through two more light changes.

Is a little courtesy too much to ask here??  The willing stupidity and downright obnoxious behavior that these people are soaking in disgusts me.  People have no respect!!

Oh god, I'm becoming an old person.  Well, put me in a home then - it's gotta be better than the stuff I've gotta deal with out here.

Stop.  Breathe.  Breathe.  Anger dissipating.  Okay...whoo.

Clearly, these walks are going to be the death of me.

Shock and Awe (and a Four-Tiered Cake)

Well, I did it.

No longer can you call me inexperienced or naive, for I have expanded my borders and taken the leap.  What with my impending marriage and all, I thought it was probably about time.

Time...to attend a Bridal Show.

I had found many references to these shows in my newly acquired arsenal of wedding magazines and how-to guides ("Wedding Planning for Dummies" is on my shelf, no lie).  Pictures of beaming brides-to-be tasting wedding cake, winning fabulous prizes, and ogling the latest trends in bridal fashion splayed across the glossy pages like a tantalizing morsel of forbidden fruit - dare I plunge myself into this girly frivolity, shucking away my life-long image of my self as an independent Chick who lives for science fiction and wouldn't be caught dead in Swarovski crystals???

Alas, I dared.

I arranged to meet up with a friend at the show, a fellow soon-to-be-Mrs. who is getting hitched in the fall.  Neither of us has done much planning, and it was a first-time expo experience for both of us.  We went in with high hopes and a sense of excitement - which of us would be winning a chic honeymoon to Fiji??  How many dresses would we need to snap pictures of during the runway show??  And perhaps most importantly, just how many caterers would we get to sample, and could we possibly procure a second helping if necessary??

Sadly, all of my bridal show dreams were crushed, juiced, and sieved into the bottoms of my feet within seconds of leaving the registration table.  The organization behind the show didn't get as much turn-out as they'd hoped - either from attendees OR from vendors - and therefore the show had been moved from a massive ballroom to an oversized conference room, where three aisles of perhaps eight vendors each succeeded in looking rather sparse in even such a small space.

We timidly meandered from stall to stall, collecting a plethora of business cards from vendors we had no interest in and filling out countless forms for services we didn't need, mostly in hopes of winning a promising drawing later in the day.  We slugged our way through hard sell after hard sell until I felt my ears would start to bleed.

This began to feel like a fruitless venture, namely because both my friend and I are getting married out of town, and therefore we wouldn't be using any of these L.A.-based vendors.  But we plugged relentlessly on, in the hopes of maybe getting some fresh ideas for escort cards or floral centerpieces, and all of that chi-chi nonsense.

Finally, we reached the end of our trip through the mini conference hall, wearing matching glazed expressions, toting our plastic bags full of two tons of useless information, which of course was causing the bag handles to cut off the circulation to our fingertips.

And of all the things we had been promised?  There was one cake tasting (not so great), no food whatsoever outside of a single chocolate fountain placed mysteriously behind the stacks of plates and napkins, so that you were forced to drip molten chocolate all over the next person in line's place setting (messy and really not worth the trouble), and the only stall to give away prizes at the show rather than via a drawing sometime next year was a bathing suit company - my friend won a $100 gift certificate (only good on purchases of at least $200 - at a BATHING SUIT store).  And me?  Well I certainly got the big pull of the day - I won the "chance to enter" their trip giveaway.  REALLY??  I won an ENTRY FORM?!?  Unfair.

After this hour and a half of total pain, confusion, and misery, we plunked ourselves into a couple of seats to watch the bridal fashion show.  Finally, something that could live up to the hype!  We would get to see our first wedding gowns close-up in person and perhaps deduce which style would be most flattering on our very different body types!  Just before the show began, I whispered to my friend that I hoped they were using some "real" girls in addition to wafer-thin models, as it would be nice to see how these dresses would look on an actual real-live woman.

Lo and behold, my wishes were granted...and yes it's true: be careful what you wish for.  VERY careful.

These girls were most definitely NOT models.  Fine!  I wanted to see real figures!  However, they also appeared to be plucked off the street without a moment's notice, given no instruction on how to walk or even smile.  One girl was so slow, she would've been dead last in a race against a turtle riding a snail...I mean, painfully slow.  Instead of smiling, one of the girls wore a vacant stare, her mouth gaping open - she must have thought of this look as "chic" as opposed to "slow-witted."

And all of the dresses...all TEN of them (what?!?  That's IT?!?)...were hideous.  Awful.  Ugliest things I'd ever seen.  Not to mention they didn't even bother to find girls that would fit them.  Some of the poor girls were far too short, tripping their way down the runway.  Some of them were too heavy (one of whom even had her sloppily pinned together dress fall off right before exiting stage right).  And some were too thin, the dress wrapping around them nearly twice and therefore giving us approximately zero idea of what it should actually look like.

Once the fashion parade from the seventh circle of hell finally wrapped up, my friend and I looked at one another and said, "Well...I guess we should go."  The emcee was announcing that the bridesmaids' fashion show was about to begin as we swept up our belongings and made a mad dash for the exit...god forbid we have to sit through more of THAT.

We made it to the parking garage in one piece, laughed a little, hugged, and said our goodbyes.  Driving myself home, thinking over what had just happened, I was caught between uncontrollable gales of laughter and an appalled silence.  I felt I had just been through a war, lucky to come out the other side with all appendages intact (in this case, not arms and legs but rather my dignity and self-respect).

Yes, it was a nightmare, but I am proud of myself for getting in those trenches and tackling my inner "I-am-the-anti-bride" demons.  I'm glad I tried something new, something wholly different from my everyday life, way out of my comfort zone...

...but I fear the repercussions of having given out my personal information to soooo many vendors, especially seeing as how I clearly have NOT won any drawings and therefore any correspondence will be of the salesman persuasion.

Thank the gods for caller ID.  I wonder when the next wedding show is?

My Top Six Most Under-Appreciated Actors of the Past Few Years

So this isn't the most personal of blog posts, but it's a subject that's arisen in my mind several times in the past few weeks, so I figured what the hell - I'll hang those thoughts out to dry and see if anyone bad-mouths my laundering skills.

I come at this topic from three viewpoints:  One, as a fellow actor - I admire technique and skill in many actors out there, but am frustrated when I see someone great relegated to secondary and/or mediocre roles...Two, as a writer - many actors can live in a writer's dialogue as if it were their own - they probably wouldn't be working at all if they didn't have that skill - but there are a few out there who can really inject their own unique spin (verbally or otherwise) without overdoing it or simply ad-libbing...Three, as a rabid movie fanatic - sometimes you see a movie, and there's someone in there that you just absolutely love and can't understand why in the name of God they haven't won a major award or graced the cover of Entertainment Weekly.

With all that in mind, here are my nominees for the Top Actors Whose Names You Don't Know But Should (sorry, all you David Tomlinson fans, but I'm staying away from the classics and sticking to more current actors for the sake of the less-obsessive readers)...

6.) Joe Morton.  Take it from someone who saw him on Broadway ('Art') - the man can act the pants off of any role out there.  He's a quiet genius whose 40+ year career has spanned film, TV, and stage - and yet I bet you're thinking, 'Joe Whosit?'  Think back to one of the coolest death scenes of all time, as the scientist who birthed the technology that led to killer robots swarming the Earth sacrifices himself in an attempt at atonement ('Terminator 2: Judgement Day'), and there you have it: Joe Morton, brilliant and totally under-appreciated actor.

MUST WATCH: 'Terminator 2,' 'Speed,' Sci-Fi Channel's 'Eureka'

5.)  Justin Long.  Okay, okay, so it's not like he's hurting for roles, and he's certainly done some high-profile stuff ('Live Free or Die Hard' anyone?), but as he's having trouble making the jump from young adult comedies into more grown-up fare, I had to include him.  I knew the moment I saw him in 'Galaxy Quest' that he could be a huge star - the dude is genuinely funny, and is one of the better physical comedians out there right now (remember him getting knocked out with a wrench in 'Dodgeball?'  I nearly wet myself.).  But for some reason, he seems to be stuck with either teen comedies or small, goofy roles in larger but not necessarily better films.  Maybe a supporting dramatic role in a hefty adult drama could help him make him the household name he deserves to be.  

MUST WATCH: 'Galaxy Quest,' 'Dodgeball,' 'Idiocracy'

4.) John Michael Higgins.  I guarantee you know his face, so why not his name?  An absolutely brilliant comedian who steals every scene he's in (he's the one who sings 'Owner of a Lonely Heart' to Vince Vaughn in 'The Break Up,' remember - it was the highlight of both the trailer AND the film), he certainly deserves better than a supporting role on a critically reviled sitcom ('Kath and Kim').  And anyone who's a fan of the phenomenal Christopher Guest movies can tell you that J.M.H. is one of the funniest human beings alive.

MUST WATCH: 'The Late Shift,' 'Best in Show,' 'A Mighty Wind'

3.) Melanie Lynskey.  Waaay back in 1994, there was a little drama called 'Heavenly Creatures,' starring an unknown actress named Kate Winslet and directed by some dude named Peter Jackson.  But while Kate & Pete went on to uber-success, poor Melanie Lynskey had to fight her way up the Hollywood ladder, playing countless best friends, sisters, and women who would bring their baby to a bar ('Sweet Home Alabama').  And like John Michael Higgins, she's now stuck in humorless sitcom hell ('Two and a Half Men').  Save her, Hollywood!!  She's a wonderful actress who could totally headline a rom-com.

MUST WATCH: 'Heavenly Creatures,' 'Ever After,' 'Sweet Home Alabama'

2.) Nathan Fillion. Even dudes wonder why this guy isn't a movie star.  Sure, he's good looking, sure he's got that Harrison Ford rogue-with-a-heart thing down pat, sure he's a great actor, but he's also one of those guys who looks equally at home in drama ('Saving Private Ryan'), comedy ('Slither'), and even action ('Serenity').  He's got that elusive X Factor that makes guys want to be him and women want to be with him - so why is 'White Noise 2' on his resume???  Someone needs to find this guy his romantic-comedy-action franchise, fast.

MUST WATCH: 'Slither,' 'Waitress,' 'Serenity'

1.) Lizzy Caplan. One of my favorite actresses out there right now, and yet nobody knows who she is.  Which sucks.  As the sarcastic-but-still-a-nice-girl Marlena, she was the best part of 'Cloverfield.' (Remember the line, "I'm, like, feeling something - are you aware of Garfield?"  Brilliant.)  She's not your typical beauty, but that just makes me love her all the more.  She's actually witty, which is why her not getting starring roles when people like Malin Ackerman and Katherine Heigl are being touted as comedic geniuses is totally, totally indicative of the unfairness of the Hollywood machine.  Man up, Hollywood.

MUST WATCH: 'Mean Girls,' 'Cloverfield,' HBO's 'True Blood'

Obey Me, For I am Your (Ticket) Master

Oh, how I wish Pearl Jam had won their case against the evil mega-corporation Ticketmaster all those years ago...

It's funny how there's all sorts of "laws" and "rules" to prevent monopolies from dominating our economy, and yet somehow, Ticketmaster has managed to sidle past them all to become our sole ticket-bearing god.  And what a spiteful and vengeful god it is.

This morning, I eagerly waited for my computer clock to slip from 9:59 to 10:00, credit card in hand, ready to buy tickets to the recently announced Billy Joel/Elton John concert next March.

I consider myself an old pro at this.  In my youth, I was famous for knowing which Ticketmaster locations were the least populated, resulting in the shortest lines and therefore best seats.  With the onset of the internet age, I quickly learned how to prepare for an onsale date like an athlete training for a big race...I get up early so that I'm clear and focused.  I sign into my Ticketmaster account ahead of time to avoid wasted time during the purchasing process.  I have all of my information laid out in front of me, knowing exactly how much I'm willing to spend and where I want my seats to be.

It's all a little excessive.  But it's proven successful many times, resulting in great seats at some awesome concerts - I've never been front row, but I've been lucky enough to avoid the nosebleed/back-of-the-stage/I-can't-see-over-the-6'5"-dude-in-front-of-me seats.

Until today.

I followed my usual routine.  I refreshed the event page precisely at 9:59:59 a.m.  The ticket page appeared, I clicked on my choice of ticket price (the middle selection of only 3 options for this show), and I waited for several minutes while the site told me my wait would be "3 minutes...6 minutes...9 minutes...13 minutes...8 minutes...4 minutes...6 minutes..."  You get the point.

After about 3 1/2 minutes total, the ticket screen came up, offering me.....nothing.  There are no tickets available at this price.  

Huh??  But it's only 10:03!  I was literally one of the first people in line - and you're telling me that an entire third of the seats have already sold out??

So I swallowed my pride and started over, this time choosing the - eek - lowest price option.  I was still hoping for a decent seat - sure, I'd likely be way high up in the rafters, but maybe I could snag front row of the uppers, or at the least an aisle seat.

This wait time was much shorter.  WIthin a matter of seconds, I was taken to the ticket screen, seeing that the search resulted in.....no seats.

Ok.  Now you have to be joking with me.  Two thirds of the seats sold out in less than 4 minutes??  I've never, ever had this happen to me before, not for the most popular shows, and I've seen a few spectacular ones.

And that's when I saw it.  To the right of the somewhat apologetic but somehow snide "no tickets available" box, there was an ad.  An ad to try to purchase my tickets for this show elsewhere, namely, on a ticket broker website.  A broker owned by.....

Ticketmaster.

Seriously.  My jaw dropped open.  I mean, I already knew that there were scores of ticket brokers out there who grab up thousands of tickets in order to re-sell them to us, the innocent public, at ridiculously inflated prices.  But how innately wrong is it for Ticketmaster to own one of them?!?!?

They even had ticket prices listed...at FIVE TIMES the original sale price.  Specific seat numbers.  All within a few short moments of the tickets going "on sale" to the general public. Clearly, Ticketmaster allowed this - ahem - broker to buy up a goodly amount of the tickets before anyone else could even bring up the purchasing page.

I call bullshit.  Big time bullshit.

So here's what happens (it seems to me):  Ticketmaster advertises tickets going on sale for the price agreed upon with the artist and venue, etc etc.  They then leave a minimal amount of those tickets for sale to the public, while scooping up the majority of them to re-sell on their "broker" website at a much higher price.  They make the face value on the original tickets PLUS whatever extra they can tag onto the bloated broker price.  They're effectively cheating both the public AND the artists!!  But because they can skate around arguments by showing that they do indeed sell SOME tickets at face value on the actual Ticketmaster site (mostly the higher end tickets, natch), there's not much anyone can say or do.

It's a scam.  It fucking sucks.  And I'm not going to this concert now because of it.

Isn't there anything we can do about this???  I wish I could band us all together, we could all rise up, march against the evil overlords, and encourage venues to sell tickets themselves, abolishing the massive greedy monopoly that is the Ticketmaster.

But if Pearl Jam couldn't do it, then I doubt that one measly unknown blogger chick can.

So I'll skip the Joel/John concert, albeit in a rather peeved state of being.  And I'll continue to hope that the government or perhaps another popular artist with a conscience will eventually step forward to challenge the Master.

Until then, I'm renting "U2 in 3D."

Ego Bruising and a Serious Lack of Mayonnaise

Mayonnaise.  It's one of those words that, if you say or write it too much, begins to look like imaginary alien language. Please tell me you know what I mean.

Moving on.

Yesterday I was blessed with a temp job at a top cable network.  Before you get too excited, let me assure you that I wasn't doing anything of significance, and also that I use the word "blessed" purely in a financial sense, as in I'm flat broke and desperately needed a gig.

Now that I've made sure you're on the edge of your seat, I'll break the tension and tell you that I was called in yesterday morning to fill in for an executive assistant who threw out his back.  Settle down, folks, I'm not signing autographs...yet.

My favorite part about doing temp work is that it's temporary.  Before you can truly, deeply loathe a job, you stop working there and move on to an entirely new peon position.  Or that's the way I felt when I first began temping.  Now I've found within myself the capability to fully despise a job, any job, about five minutes after I walk in the door.

I partially blame this problem on my age.  I'm 31, for Christ's sake.  I shouldn't be doing this stupid shit anymore - I'm smart, damn it!!! I should've been a doctor, or a lawyer, or a...manager at a Tastee Freeze, I don't know, but something where I'm not drowning in a sea of eager beavers ten years younger than me who just adore being asked to make photocopies for snide execs who have no idea where the copy room is - hell, they probably don't even know the term 'copy room.'  They've never been there.

In these moments, I find myself desperately wishing I hadn't chosen the path of chasing my artistic dreams.  I mean, I could've BEEN one of those assholes!!  I had been on my way, but I set it all aside for the sake of chasing the unfulfilled career goal of sitting in a trailer for days on end.

So.....I was talking about the good part of temping.  Heh.  Now for the bad part.

Some places are really cool.  Sometimes you get to work with awesome people, doing interesting things - once I helped put together packets for volunteers who wanted to help impoverished children learn to read.  It didn't pay well, but it was easy and I felt good about myself and my tiny contribution to the world of literacy.

Most places are nothing like this.  Most places, like yesterday's job, walking in the door is the equivalent of falling off a fun-filled cruise ship into shark-infested waters, nobody saw you go over, and oh yeah, you never took those swimming lessons at the local Y.

Yes, folks.  I was drowning.  And being eaten alive at the same time - just the way I always wanted to go.

So here it is, the worst part of temping - the people you work with somehow expect you to enter their building full of knowledge about what it is you're supposed to be doing.  They think you already know their 20-line phone system.  They assume you can figure out necessary passwords.  They know that you know all that technical jargon that only applies to their particular line of work - so when they yell, "Hey, bring me that 4-ply poly-rhythmic sheetscrob," you not only know what the fuck that is, but where they keep it.

Basically, they expect you to be the person you've replaced.  They think you're possessed with the spirit of the departed, which you can easily exorcise at the end of the workday so that he/she can show up in corporeal form tomorrow.

But while you're there in their place, you're treated to a plethora of eye rolls, exasperated sighs, and sniffs of disapproval, all while trying desperately to figure out why you can only find the 3-ply poly-rhythmic sheetscrob, damn it all to hell.

You're probably thinking about now, "yes, but what about the mayonnaise?  I was promised mayonnaise on this story."  To which my answer is, "See?  I can't please ANYBODY!!!!!"

To add insult to injury, when I ran to get my lunch - a ham & cheese sandwich from the cafe downstairs - I was in such a hurry to get back, I only grabbed one small packet of mayonnaise from the condiment tray before rushing off - and I only grabbed that because I like an unhealthy amount of mayo on my 'wich.  But I had made the gross assumption that no cafe would make a sandwich that didn't already come with a sauce of some sort, only to be rudely awakened when I opened my styrofoam box to find a dry sandwich.  On top of which, it was made with extremely thick, crumbly bread which appeared to be composed of a sawdust-like material.  (Oh, and my side caesar was topped with bean sprouts, which I found interesting, disturbing, and nauseating all at the same time.)

So I squeezed my tiny packet of mayo onto the most moist portion of the sandwich I could find, proceeded to eat those four or five bites, then tossed the remainder in the trash.  And I hate wasting food.

What made my lunch truly satisfying, though, was knowing that twenty minutes later I would be given the opportunity to continue my fruitless search for 4-ply sheetscrob.

The moral of this story?  Be a Boy Scout.  Always be prepared.  Learn every single goddamn computer program and filing system out there, memorize it, keep a notebook or twelve filled with detailed instructions on life, the universe, and everything.  Then you'll never, ever find yourself in need.

In this life, I guess you've gotta be your own condiment stand.

For the Love of Saltwater Taffy - a Novel

So I haven't done much blogging lately.

The month of November was a bit of a doozy for me.  First there was obviously the presidential election, which I was following closely, and then there was the apartment move that took place over the span of about two and a half long weeks.

Oh, and of course there was that little thing called Thanksgiving, along with all the requisite cooking, gorging, and shopping.

To top it all off, I decided to attempt the Nanowrimo program - the National Novel Writing Month - for the first time.  Needless to say, I didn't quite reach the goal of 50,000 words in the month of November.  Heh heh....ah, no.  But it did succeed in taking up any spare time I had, which effectively kept me away from my dearly beloved blog.

So I thought to myself today, you know what?  I should get back at it.  Write a blog.  Let the world know I'm still here, whether or not it cares!

And then I hit a wall.  Wait...what do I write about???  There's no more election coverage to delve into, no more Sarah Palin to gape at - there's not even a horrible landlord to gripe about!!!!  The candidate I ardently supported won the race, I moved into a wonderful new apartment that is everything I hoped for and more - what the hell am I supposed to write about??????

Panic sets in.  Concentration is becoming difficult, and I'm enveloped in a cold sweat.  Cold because the new apartment does tend to get drafty from time to time - hey, nothing can be perfect, ya know.

Then I thought, wait - maybe I shouldn't try to jump right back into blogging, perhaps I should attempt to re-start the ol' novel instead!  Yeah, that'll be SO much easier!!

Or maybe not.

A novel is such a daunting task.  Yeah, I already knew that, but once you really start trying to sit down and write the damn thing, you start to understand just how painstaking it really is.  I thought the words would flow out of me like a river of imagination, that I would just need to focus on keeping my fingers moving as quickly as my mind.  Instead, the process has been somewhat akin to eating taffy (which I hate) - you sort of dig your teeth in, then you pull and you pull, the taffy ever so slowly stretches, then suddenly it snaps, and you have a few short moments of sweet reward before it's gone and you've gotta go back to digging your teeth in once more.

I mean, it is tough, people.  And with all that I had going on during November, I was only able to make it to about 10,000 words - a measly fifth of the way to the nanowrimo goal.

But I'm trying to focus on the positive - hell, I got to 10,000 words!!!  That's 10,000 more than I had before I started.  It may not be a novel, but it's a chapter or two at the very least.  I've got a base.  I've got a platform to dive off of.

So yeah, it's fucking daunting as all get out, but I'm gonna get back at it and try to keep digging my teeth in until the taffy runs out.  I gave myself a little reprieve first - did a few chores around the new place and told myself I could write one little, teeny blog to get the gears turning - oil up the ol' candy factory, so to speak, before I start trying to crank up the big assembly line.

Wish me luck, friends.  And if all turns out well, maybe I'll even let you read the finished novel one day.  Like in 2014.