Oh, holy crap

I missed the one year mark? Holy shizznit on a pogo stick! I thought today was the one year mark but... Well, my memory was never anything awesome to begin with.

So, blog, it's been a year. I started out on December 10th making the decision I would move to California and in with a friend. Since then, I've been in a car accident, was unable to move, was dumped by friend, saw Beth, cleaned my room, was laid off from both jobs, became depressed and poor with unemployment, moved to Northern Virginia, got a job I like, met people I like, and ended up crushing hard on a girl I like.

I didn't end up in northern Cali - I ended up in NoVa. Everyone I knew except for my dad are miles and miles away, I have a job at a place I never even thought I would. It's been crazy. I'm not even sure what to do with myself at this point or what to think.

It almost feels normal. The place we're living in doesn't feel like home but each day I drive to work, confident in my ability to drive to work without a GPS. Someone says, 'it's right off Machen' and I know what they mean. I have a social life, one outside of the internet and with people I met all on my own.

Bills still aren't getting paid on time but I'll get there. The important ones - car insurance, car payment - those are. My student loans are (I think).

I'll be posting every day until January 1st, O Blog. It's time to start kicking this up and finish with a bang.

Aka, I'll start writing actually funny stuff as opposed to things about my day-to-day life. Who knows. Maybe it'll be something worth reading.

Two Reasons

When moving, everyone faces some doubts, right? Is this worth it, what's going to happen, oh, fucking christ, what if I blow it? Things like that. Cold feet, they would call it in the world of marriage. While I often face those doubts, when my mind is made up, I go for it, and usually no one can keep me from going through with it. I'm told it's a very Capricorn trait (along with being a bitch, a prude, money-loving, and domineering).

I almost stayed in Florida for the dojo and had Jordan asked me to stay, I would have never left. The fact makes me sad now because then I would have never met the people I did in Virginia and they're fabulous people but when I went to visit the Dojo Wednesday, Shihan gave me a loaner gi and asked me to go to classes while in town.

Today was the first class available (Thursday night was dinner with mother and sister), a 9am thing with Shihan. I woke up at 7.50 by my own accord (which is odd - my alarm never even went off) and went in a gi that didn't feel like mine and having forgotten half the moves.

Gods, I forgot how much I love that dojo. The minute I walked in, people recognized me. I had been friends with some of the kids and so immediately, a purple belt accosted me. We don't know each others names in the dojo, for he most part, but we knew each other. He was excited to see me and vice versa. Then came the brother and sister duo I am totally apeshit over. They flipped out as well, I went spazztic and basically told them they would see me once a year so they better learn to kick some ass. Cool kids.

Class hurt. I almost passed out near to the end, not to mention the anger felt at realizing I had forgotten my kata. I can handle forgetting moves but my kata?! I'd been so proud to learn red belt kata and I forgot it. Jesus. Ugh.

Either way, earlier, before I moved, I almost stayed to keep going to that dojo. I hated almost everything about my life in SW Florida, had no job until September, late September, no money, no social life outside of two friends, but I had my dojo. Shihan, Sensei, and my sempai's - they were all the best part of my week. I could groan and gripe about going and sweating and becoming disgusting before getting there but the moment I stepped into the springboard dojo ground, all grumpy disappeared. I love it, I love the punching, the kicking, how my muscles scream during, the concentration, the structure, how the teachers just want you to do the best you are able to and not focus on just being the best.

It's hard to find a good dojo and I left them. I almost stayed for them. My goodbye and last class were rough.

Had Jordan asked me to stay, my visit to Virginia would have been just that - a visit. Instead, we drank on my last night, she told me to go, hugged me, told me to go again, to find someone to love, find a job I loved, to be awesome. To not stop writing. She told me that she would try to come over the next morning and bid me a further ado (or text me if she couldn't) but she didn't. I always figured she forgot, which is fine. We'd been drinking, after all.

I'd been reminded of this in coming here. What fail. Jordan and I haven't talked much - just for an hour or so before I had to run to Harry Potter. I think I'm seeing her tomorrow? And Meggie. haven't been able to get a hold of the Megs.

Florida, all in all, has been fun. Packing is to be had on Monday but - whatever. That's Monday. Today is sushi with Ashley, grabbing some boxes, some serious Avatar watching, and then her sisters play afterwards. Today will be a good day even if I have to shove good cheer down someones throat.

Maybe pictures when I get back to Virginia, maybe not. Hopefully another post before I scramble back to the place of Cold As Hell.

Dear lord, this has been way too long

I've actually written this out about ten times before I actually type it out. Sad thing is that I haven't actually written this out by hand - the rest of them are all going to waste. What happened, may you ask?

Unemployment sucks for things to discuss. I did not want to delve into awesome things of the past anymore, nor did I want to talk about what a miserable time I was having at not having a job. But! The very last day of September, I started my current job and things sort of... exploded.

Going from waking up at one in the afternoon and doing absolutely nothing all day to getting up at six am and working forty hours a week is - well, let's just call it 'jarring', to say the very least. Mind you, I rather enjoy my job despite all the pitying looks people give me when I say that.

Yes. I enjoy my job. For the most part, the customers are awesome, the pay doesn't suck, I will get benefits (even if they will take a while), and it's possible that I will get a place to stay if I get promoted. It's no ideal, it is not what I want out of life, and if I stay there for a few years, so what? I'll get my education and I am still planning to go back to Florida to get the certification for editing and publishing. The worst part of the job are those looks, the ones that ask, well, why do you enjoy this? You poor girl, you like this so much. All of those things.

Granted, the job includes old men and delivery guys asking me out on dates or to parties but hey, whatever.

On that note: I am not 'out' at work. That's all I have to say on the subject.

With the social life front, things are fantastic. Not everyone is as thrilled as I am at the turn of events but, hot darn, I have me some friends. I met them through National Novel Writing Month so there's always the chance I may not see them frequently, if at all, after the month is over but I would like to toss my eggs into a basket for a bit. It sounds like a good basket to throw them in.

I'm not really sure if I should use names or pretend names or whatever in this journal. I don't think any of them know about the blog and if they'd appreciate being named in it. It isn't as if I'm about to start flinging mud at anyone but, to be on the safe side, I'm just going to refer to them by things that remind me of them.

There's Synopse, a totally wickedly awesome girl who knits and crochets and doesn't mind me having no clue what it is despite multiple explanations. We get along quite well and tomorrow she is going to (supposed to be) chill out with me for a few hours tomorrow night after the write in. She's quite the awesome cat. There is Herd of Boys, only one of which I can see myself hanging out with on a semi-regular basis. They tend to get very intense while in discussions, to a level I don't even see at most anime conventions. That said, if someone punched me in the throat, they may get a bit upset. There is ML, who is just badass all around and I was going to call 'Handwarmers' but realized I may confuse her with Synopse. ML is perhaps one of the coolest moms I've ever met in my age group, she's funny, super nice, and it takes a LOT to shock her. I dig it. There is Pixie and Pixie 2, two girls who have known each other for years and it shows. They're funny, very cuddly girls. And they drink! I miss drinking. There is Netbook, Science, and Handwrite as well, but I don't see them as often.

I went out to this big town center place on Thursday with Synopse. We wandered around the ice rink, grabbed some food and then chilled out in this French bakery ... place. It had yummy pastries and while we meant to write, we ended up gabbing the entire time. It was fun to just sit around and talk and have fun, get used to the cold and bounce around with it.

Saturday night was the Night of Writing Dangerously - we hit up George Mason U to write for a few hours. Homemade truffles were dispersed, words were written. Synopse and I got into a foot war that ended in a deadlock and at the end of the night, I was running around in jeans, a tank top, arm warmers, and a hat. It was truly awesome.

Tomorrow night is my last write-in here in Virginia and then I fly into Florida on Wednesday to hang out with people, pack up my stuff, and get back up here. My early December paycheck will suck so hard it's ridiculous but I've MISSED those guys. And my pets. And the people there.

I'm horribly excited. The only downside is that it means no more write-ins with the new people. But! I have either their cell numbers or IMs or both so it means our happy butts can keep in touch. Someone suggested during the NWD that we have semi-regular meetups and see what goes down, see if we can keep writing, etc, etc.

Long story/post short? Life is getting better. I'm meeting people, working, paying bills. It means not as much time online as I used to be but - really, that's not a bad thing. People on and offline have been telling me to get a life for years now. I just finally have the opportunity.

I WILL be posting soon, hopefully while in Florida.

Until next time!

New Job, More Thinking About Stuff.

A friend and I were talking about five minutes ago. She just made cupcakes for her roommates birthday tomorrow - I think tomorrow? At some point in the future. I mentioned I'd always wanted a surprise party. It's been brought up once or twice among friends back in Florida and while I don't remember all of the reactions, I do recall Ashley looking at me doubtfully and saying, "Well, Erin, you're the party planner of the group."

I hoped anyway. Maybe that was a clever decoy! Or, you know, that was the way I was told it was never going to happen. I think I'm the only one dumb enough to plan a party over a month and a half in advance - Andi's was almost a year in planning. Party in a van, man. Party in a van. It wasn't disappointing, not really. I had been warned, after all. Still, I brought it up each year near to my birthday (and Christmas but, really, my birthday is cooler than Jesus).

Moral of that weirdly emo story: if anyone had been planning on throwing me on for my 24th, they wouldn't have a choice now. I won't be in Florida for my birthday. Andrea is in Wisconsin. Chances are I won't make (good) enough friends by January 2nd to throw me a birthday party. I see a quiet dinner with Dad and sitting up alone on my computer after he goes to bed at 9pm.

JesusAllahBuddhaLakshmi, that's depressing.

I miss Jordan, I really do. Out of all the friends I've made in my life, she was the one I've connected to the quickest. We met through my ex, Birdie, and at a party. Almost instantly we got along and I would have probably flirted if Birdie hadn't gotten rather intoxicated and done stupid things. We started texting the day after the party (after a delicious brunch with another girl from the party) and on finding out she lived so close, we hung out constantly. Most of our nights together ended with meaningful conversations on her countertop, either eating one dollar microwave pizza or five dollar fresh pizza from the Domino's down the street.

Before my move, Jordan was my saving grace. She gave me something of a life outside of my standard circle, encouraged me to keep writing and be more outgoing, be more me. She always had nice things to say, some so nice I don't feel like writing them down here because of how special they are to me.

I miss her. I need a Virginia-Jordan. I need someone who gets me almost instantly, who will listen to my inane theories and methods and counter them with their own. My stupid tiers were thrown asunder the moment I left Florida.

Work starts October 1st. It sounds as if I will be working with a variety of people (in five locations), which will be fun! I'm rather terrified of starting this new job just, out of the blue, with no one there I've ever met but it will be an adventure. Maybe someone will be around my age or know places I could go to actually meet flesh and blood people. There's always the possibility of making friends if only for the fact I will be getting out of the house and meeting people.

This entire post has been nothing but a huge emofest. My apologies, O Readers! I've been preoccupied with grumpy things and being excited over my mother visiting - I'll be able to see her this weekend! She's going to Washington D.C., and we're meeting up at Union Station. Hopefully we'll be able to stay up late to gab or. Something. I don't know. There will be crying?

Who knows. Until next time!

GNARFUNKLE

JOB INTERVIEW.

TOMORROW.

2PM

WORST UPDATE EVER, JUST SAYIN'.

SO BAD IT ISN"T EVEN GETTING TAGS NOPE DERP DERP

So once, I punched a guy.

I'm not exactly sure what made me think of it but, once, at a club I punched this guy in the chest. He deserved it like no ones business and I was slightly (very) inebriated but I still see it as a personal triumph on my end. As early as eight years old, I was a bully - it lasted until I was fourteen(ish) and I can still scare the ever living guts out of people if I feel the need. It's a very handy skill.

At the time, I was still talking to my ex-girlfriend. We'll call her Birdie for the sake of semi-privacy. Birdie was very into the club scene and I was very into Birdie. We'd had a bad breakup due to severe miscommunication and once we started talking again, the idea was never brought to a light again. She didn't like commitment, I think, and we lived a fair distance away. For her, that was a big deal. I'd had long distance relationships apart and didn't consider an hour too far but I digress.

She asked me to go clubbing with her one night. Saturday night so we were able to get some super cheap drinks. We pre-gamed it in the parking lot. I am a light weight. So two chugged hard lemonades, a few rum and cokes later, I actually agreed to dance. Anyone who knows me knows quite well that I will only dance when severely intoxicated or when alone in my house, dressed in a wife-beater and bandanna with the grungy pants. This dancing fell under stinking ass drunk.

As such, and being with a girl who showed many signs of being interested, the dancing was suggestive. We ended up kissing in the corner by the bar which, in itself, was fabulous. A guy had followed us from the dance floor, I think, as I'd seen his shirt briefly when we'd left it. He walked up to us, interrupting a very nice time, and started spouting stupidity.

"Are you two lesbians?" said the drunk frat-looking boy. Birdie and I looked at each other and started laughing. Birdie reply was something to the affirmative (I was watching her mouth and thus not listening very hard). He made some crude innuendos. I took offense because those words I do tend to hear.

I am a very protective person when sober, going as far to threaten someone if they are going too far and crossing lines. Someone gets in a friends face, I get right back into them. My mentality is that of a pack and when I see something as a threat to aforementioned pack, I'm very aggressive.

"Look, dude, she's here with me. Go away." My speech, admittedly, was littered with a few naughty words in there as well. I pulled Birdie closer. The guy was a creep. His friend urged him to just leave us alone and even tried to pull him away. Go friend!

The guy said something else and all of a sudden I felt a hand grab my chest. As Birdies arms were around my waist and she knows my boundaries. I knew full well that even when drunk, she wouldn't do something as violating as to touch me. A man arm was attached to the hand on me.

I spun around. All I remember was my right hand swinging out and clocking the guy square in the chest. He stumbled back, I pushed Birdie away enough to walk those few steps to him and glare. He was a lot taller than my 5'5" frame, hence the punch to the chest rather than the face.

"Don't you EVER touch me EVER again!" My voice, admittedly, was very loud. He stared down at me with the best expression in the world: utter disbelief. All of a sudden, I see a half circle of huge men with the word 'BOUNCER' written on their shirt. Their eyes weren't on me but the guy I continued to yell at. "If you so much as lay a hand on me OR her EVER again, I will kick your ASS."

The bouncers moved closer. Birdie grabbed my hand and tugged, hard. She said we should leave, her hand wrapped around my wrist tightly. I didn't want to end up getting arrested for assault as, let's be honest, I would have won any fight between him and myself, so we left. The last I saw of the guy was the crescent of bouncers narrowing in on him. The photographer asked for our picture before we left.

I hold that memory as a very fond one. Sometimes I miss being a violent little creature but all it takes to bring me down from that particular road of nostalgia is to remember that I had no friends, no real motivation to be a better person. The club let me know that standing up for myself and the people I am with at the moment is not a bad thing and can be done without being physically cruel. I can silence people with a Look as easily as I can a punch to the face and my weapons now are scathing words, a harsh glare, and the ability to out-think my opponent.

Moral of the story, kiddies? Violence isn't always the right path but don't let that knowledge keep you from protecting you and yours.

Also, clubs would rather punish a possible sexual harassment lawsuit than the two lesbians making out in the corner.

Neglect, neglect, neglect.

Poor journal, I've left you high and dry. You'd think since no life or job exists for me, I'd be able to post more. Thing is - with my life the way it is, there's very little for me to post about until after or before the weekends.

Weekends are when my dad is home all day and we actively go out and do things. No matter what I act like, I actually have a lot of fun. Sometimes during the day after we haven't eaten for a while, my blood sugar absolutely plummets and it leaves me either grumpy. If we're driving past a lot of green things, I stare out the window because, hello, Florida doesn't have green like this place has.

Have I posted pictures of this freaking green? ... No?

GREEN!

It's a rare thing, folks. Not so much here but for a Florida girl? Totally.

I was just told that apples are now in season. I think it's time for me to try to go with that interest I've always had with more extensive baking. Poor Daddio may soon be bombarded by a slew of apple-related deliciousness, especially apple pie. No home made crusts, just yet - the last time was an utter disaster and the money needed to purchase those ingredients just aren't in my pocket book.

That leads into Thanksgiving. It's right around the corner! Last year I was unable to make my fragging pumpkin pie I'd been looking forward to. I had forgotten the condensed milk at home with no way to get to the market. Pie crust and home-smashed pumpkin puree gone to waste. If the summers apple pie turns out to be a success, I may attempt to do that this year as well as the pecan pie as my pies are delicious, thanks, and just put together a smaller portion of sweet potato casserole than I usually do.

I think I've lost weight since coming to Virginia. Sounds odd but things are fitting better, shirts drape nicer than before. I haven't been exercising a lot (read: at all) but maybe not living right next to two gas stations and a neighborhood Wal-Mart may have something to do with my milder eating habits. If this is the case, awesome. I don't mind losing weight/inches if it's because I'm not eating like a candy-starved piglet anymore.

I miss karate.

Hells bells, I miss writing and the ability to draw properly. Being stuck inside because I lack any social graces isn't helping. I'm tempted to invade Dad's campus and just wander, go to the bookstore or library, chill in the cafeteria and eat there, try to write. I write well in public.

Okay. Werewolf story will be finished by the 15th, it is decided. So there.

Until next time, readers!

Hello, September!

I've worked myself into a steady and yet erratic daily schedule. I'm not exactly sure how that happened. It usually involves waking up around nine thirty or ten, stumbling out of bed in order to see if any caffeine has been brewed up. After a cup or two, I reach some semblance of normality and collapse in front of my computer.

E-mail is checked. The next few hours are spent slugging caffeine down my gullet, chatting online with various people, and applying for as many jobs as I can possibly muster. Unfortunately, most of the jobs I've encountered in the last twelve hours require cover letters. That takes up half of my day. It's kind of sucky but like Kelly said - it's can be the difference between death and job.

Daddio comes home around two thirty, three in the afternoon. We either chill around the house doing various things and watching such-and-such shows on the television and I continue to chat online and apply for jobs. It makes my brain hurt. Somedays we go out to explore or eat! It wakes us both up.

Bedtime is usually done around two in the morning and the entire thing starts right back over again. I've began to do Rosetta Stone again (feeling like such a newbie because I've forgotten a few things) and every so often attempt to write or draw but I'm just not feeling it. Maybe it's because I don't want to go outside in case I get accosted by the landlords brother again. Yes. Not son but brother, as in around the same age as my grandfather of a landlord. Gross.

I think I'm going to do Rosetta Stone for an hour every other day and put aside a half an hour (at least) towards editing and writing. Or writing. Who knows? I can get involved in a piece to the point where several hours pass and I run out of ink in order to do anything. My werewolf story isn't anywhere close to being finished and it needs to be. After all, the name of werewolves and sociopaths needs to be redeemed - can't have sparkles and guys in ripped short shorts ruining everything for the genre.

It starts tonight. I'll say it starts at three and I will be offline for at least half an hour while I edit. Rosetta Stone will be tomorrow. Editing/writing is more important than learning Japanese. Besides, people are home and I feel awkward practicing languages with others being able to listen. It's weird.

My expectations for employment have started to lower. I didn't want retail or anything because, well, I hate it. With a passion. A few places non-retail are hiring people with my (lack of) experience. When I expressed anger at being unqualified for the positions I wanted and the fact the only way to get it was unpaid internship (where I would be ineligible for unemployment because I was not available all hours of the day), someone pointed out that I was supposed to work full time to pay the bills while also doing an internship.

So, that's what I suppose I'll do. Get a job first and then a part-time internship. Kelly gave me a very useful site, where there are some internships that are only twenty hours or so a week. That's do-able. Even if I get a full time job, that's only sixty hours. I'd still have time to go out and volunteer at the local library as I wanted to when I first came here to Virginia.

Plan of attack is officially in place. I am excited. Even if the job is something I despise, at least I'll have other 'jobs' that I enjoy. It'll be alright.

Now, I go to edit. Until next time!

Today I found out why straight girls are such jerks to guys.

For the whole of my life, I always thought the girls who were absolute snobs to guys were the Bad Guys. There isn't really any sort of villain in this situation anyway but, heck - if I had known that being nice to a guy meant they were going to hit on you, I'd be a total jerk too. In Florida, we were raised to not be rude to people, no matter their color, sexuality, or where on the salary scale they fell. In the entire time in Florida, I never (to my knowledge) had a guy think I was flirting just because I wasn't being mean to him.

I mean - really? Now my landlords son thinks we're going to go on a date or, or something to the extent where he asked my father if it was okay for us to do that. Really. Really? It's very Southern Gentleman of him as Beth pointed out but JesusAllahBuddha, we talked for five minutes and in that span of time, he mentioned that he and other landlords son go bowling sometimes with friends and, since I knew no one in town, I should come with every so often. That's fine. A little bit awkward (especially after asking my age and telling me I wasn't a snob like the girls in Virginia) but I managed to get myself out of the conversation because I had defrosting mice in my bag and the newest Harvest Moon.

This blog is horribly short. I have more to tell about my first drive around Manassas, alone, and finding a few things around the town, but obligations are calling me away. I just had to express disbelief.

I forgot how much I hate unpacking.

Packing is fine. Packing is almost fun, when you get down to it. You get to crumble newspaper and shove things forcefully into boxes, leaving your room (usually) looking neat and tidy. Not so much with unpacking.

Unpacking involves taking out that fun newspaper, your floor covered with it, open boxes, too much confusion. At least it doesn't have a time frame, right? Right. Otherwise, standing in the middle of the room saying "I don't know. I just don't know what to do" would be a whole lot more stressful. As is, I don't have a job to flock to (that search starts again tomorrow morning) so I can spend the day chugging down coffee, cutting open boxes, putting things away, and, gloriously, setting up my beloved desktop, Fido. Those boxes being open and empty also means I have surfaces in which to put things, as Fido's monitor and Shreds are taking up the only two solid, flat places to put anything of importance. Shreds and the monitor are a hell of a lot more important than setting up my maneki neko collection, I'm sorry to say.

The day will consist of unpacking boxes and putting the room in some semblance of order - the night will have me dragging in the iron and it's board in order to take apart those carefully constructed piles of clothing, ironing everything, and hanging up what absolutely needs to be hung up. My business suits are already hanging but I can see even from my bit of floor that much of it is wrinkled from our cross-country journey and being rolled into an airtight bag.

I have too many jeans. How did I not realize I owned this many jeans??

Lists are being made on the places I need to know about and where, exactly, they are. I need to find out how to get back to that lovely, huge used book store and where I can get the best sushi. The library is crucial, even though I can't get a card due to my lack of state citizen ship. Places accepting employment, where I can print up further resumes. Where's the best local hair salon (is that teaching salon any good?), how do I get back to that 'Giant' sort of food store? Coffee shops? Locally owned ones, with sofa's and cool people, a place where I can sit and meet those around my own age (or mental group, whatever).

Where can I get the best tea?

But that's for later, when my room is set up. Concentrate on the small things first, get in order. Then the big things can be tackled.

Time for me to go finish the days chore, Blog. Until next time!

Holy snapapples in cucumber sauce

It's really odd that driving for a few hours exhausts a person more than wandering around a major city and museums for ten hours. I was asleep by this time last night, out cold in my new room. At that point in time, my knees and feet hurt. A lot. It probably had something to do with the fact I attempted to run on hardwood floor, and turn while running at that! I managed to land on my knees, computer intact, and the third roommate staring at me in horror from the table where she plugged away at her computer.

I, of course, burst into hysterical laughter.

We awoke around seven thirty in the morning for a fun-filled day of Washington DC, our nations capitol and all of that good stuff. My poor sister and father had to put up with me being a horrible cranky-face at them before I had any coffee or tea. They did well, being quite aware of my blood sugar issues, tea addiction, and the fact I hate waking up early.

We rode a train! The roommate gave us free passes both to and from DC, which is AWESOME because it would otherwise be almost nine dollars each person, each way. Talk about sucky, train. Boo to you. It was on the train that I began my list of 'Virginia has...' .

While heading to DC, I saw a suit on the train, playing with a white DS Lite. You heard me. Businessman, briefcase and all, was chilling on the train a few seats down tapping away at a little DS Lite. I had to laugh and immediately whipped out my notepad to write it down.

DC itself is - I don't even know. We were only visiting some of the museums, hitting up a few bits and pieces of it all. On a map, it looks horribly tiny. I've driven through counties bigger than DC! And yet, in person - museums as far as the eye could see!

We arrived just before ten in the morning (it takes about an hour and a half to get there from the house), hitting up the Museum of Native American history right away. I glee'd and frolicked gaily as the history of native tribes is one of the coolest things ever. There were truckloads of young children frolicking just as gaily as ourselves and about ten times louder so, sadly, we didn't stay too horribly long. I look forward to going back at some point and pouring over everything. The contents of that particular museum didn't interest my sister or dad save for the bits about warfare or history that my family had actually participated in.

Next up was the - I think it was called Space and Science Museum? There were airplanes and space crafts. History of flight, computers, all this confusing stuff that was way too advanced for my caffine deprived brain. I puttered around with them and, in return, they let me play around with the games in there probably meant for children but whatever, it was fun.

Third and last came the sisters oh, so uplifting pick of the Holocaust Museum. We didn't get all the way through this one because it was getting late and we'd been walking almost constantly all day, but it was very interesting. I will admit that out of the entire permanent exhibit of "The Holocaust" there were two mentions of homosexuals being taken and killed in those concentration camps - two! Just two. One was a sentence and a picture of a few homosexuals, the other a small sign and another picture. I saw nothing about Tibet in the 'current/recent genocide' section, although my sister claims she saw a sentence or something about it. So, slightly disgruntled. As for the exhibit itself, excellent! Highly recommended.

I was impressed with how they treated the history of the native people of America. They made no bones about how they were hunted down, villages slaughtered, women abused while their men were shot trying to protect them. It came across clearly that they still lived in reservations today, fighting for the rights to have their own government in the midst of all this... crud. Yes.

Guh. Tiredness has hit again. There is more to do, more to say, but tomorrow we're exploring caves and it's nearly midnight.

Until next time!

The hills have... hills.

After a few days of absolutely psycho activity and frantic packing, we managed to make it out of the hometown at 9.50 yesterday morning. And, er. Well. We drove.

Have to admit, Florida, Georgia, and South Carolina all pretty much look the same: flat and with a washed out sort of light pastel green. Both my sister and I were slightly disappointed with the turn of events as, well, we felt as if we were still in Florida and that is just a very Bad Thing. Displeased, we settled down in Florence, South Carolina for the night around eight thirty last night.

Sister and I got along really well, save for about ten minutes when we were lost trying to find the hotel, but otherwise the trip was full of sisterly bonding, giggles, rave dancing in the car, and multiple pictures taken from the windows. We drove in four hour shifts - for each of hers, there was rain or heavy traffic. I got open road and clear (if slightly darkened) skies. Poor girl.

We met up with Daddio around two in the afternoon. We did things.

I will go into further detail maybe tomorrow morning but I am tired and just fell on a hardwood floor.

Virginia Lesson #1: Do not run on a hardwood floor with a computer in your hands. It throws off balance.

Virginia Lesson #2: If you MUST run with a computer in your hands, remember to fall gracefully.

I broke #1, did #2. Rock on.

Smithsonian tomorrow. So even MORE details at some point. But. SLEEP.

T-Minus Three? Days

I am so over packing. So over it. I may never sound more Valley Girl in my life than when I say that, hand flipping included. It may be nullified by the fact I say it in mis-matched knee socks, a bright green tank top, and white bandanna. Vaguely trailer trash? Probably. But it makes me feel all butch and strong and Gods know what else.

The good news of the day is that almost everything that needs to be packed is. We need to get the dishes I plan on bringing all set up, rescue the pots and pans from the storage area, and Shredder's cage has to be scrubbed clean. The cage cleaning happens tomorrow and it's going to be one of the first things put into the car. Shreds will be traveling in his little feeding tank in a pretty pillow case with a brand new shoebox hide! He will be a comfortable customer, freshly fed even so he won't be overly hungry. Well 'freshly fed' means I'm feeding him tonight so he has time to digest and poop before we scurry along. I'm sure he'll be very excited to come into the hotel with us, hitting up the states in style, the lucky little reptile.

My clothes are, once and for all, packed. I have the next few days outfits ready and my necessity bag is looking alright; it will have a few more things than planned in there as my shampoo and conditioner are the squirty types and like to irritate me.

On happier and less moving related notes, breakfast/lunch was had with Mommia, sister, and the grandparents. Granddad was having a good day - he remembered he'd seen Kelsey and Mom in pictures and that there were three of us. Grandma looked like she was going to cry near the end of things. Yeaaaaaaah, I don't blame her, really. The move hasn't hit me, not yet; it's mostly this ball of stress in my life.

Oh yeah. Yesterday. I meant to post about the move but, dear lord. It was not a good day. I wrote a list of what I needed. Lists are awesome. I love them. They're beautiful and when I'm twisted up about something, I make a list in order to sort it out. Hell, it's how I decided months back I wanted to move to Virginia - Pros and Cons, of course. The list for this particular endeavor went to shit and a mini-meltdown went into effect in the late afternoon. I stood in the center of my clustercrud of a bedroom, clutching my stuffed pig and kept repeating, "I just don't know. I don't know. What do I do?"

Fabulous time, that. It ended with Ashley's house and ice cream. We watched Clash of the Titans and Avatar until finally passing out. By the time I got home this morning, I had managed to create a vague plan in my face-place on how to put things together. The major turning point came when I packed up Fido, my desktop.

As of now boxes are taped shut, my book shelf is waiting to be stored away in the trunk of my car, things are sucked up. I'm only bringing my four favorite books ( 1984, The Giver, Enders Game, and Serial Killers) - the rest are stored away in the now-empty dresser. My art supplies are all stowed in my closet along with a good portion of the writing I've done in the entirety of my life. Looking at ones life in a multitude of boxes and PackMate bags is an odd, odd feeling.

My computer break is nearly over. I think I'm going to go start packing the dishes just to get it the hell out of my way. It's been about an hour sooo must be responsible. Loading the car starts tomorrow, after all. ... So not looking forward to it.

Until next time.

T-Minus Five Days

Whoever invented packing sucks. The same person probably invented steam, the jerk. How do people figure this sort of stuff out when they have a severely limited amount of space and places to put things?! I stand here in the middle of my room (that looks like a disaster area due to squeezing two rooms into one) and just stare at all of my belongings. My room in Virginia has no space in which to put my knick-knacks. But I like my knick-knacks and my little decorations scattered over the room.

They range from a stuffed pig to picture frames and Japanese vases, stuff from my DORM ROOM back five years ago, a whole bunch of fairy statuettes... The only ones I know I'm bringing are my Buddha figures and my maneki neko pieces. Photos are a given as I adore you all and that good stuff but. What else? What do I like enough to take with me?

I've already chosen the art supplies I'm bringing. If I have room at the end of all the packing, I'll bring more but as it stands, it's down to some drawing paper, bristol board (smooth for the win), a sketch book or two, and my Wacom Intuos 3 tablet. Books are being limited to the ones I read most often or have been meaning to read for quite a while. My collectable series are being kidnapped off - who wouldn't bring books worth 20$ each because they're no longer in print?

Maybe the most important question is how do I want the new bedroom in a new world (to me) to look? When people walk into the bedroom now, they're hit by a barrage of stuffed animals, pictures from Middle/High school, some almost ten years old. Fairy statues, monster amounts of art supplies, jewelry scattered everywhere. When I say a 'barrage of stuffed animals', I mean it. There are little plushies everywhere in my bedroom, from the shelves to the desk and vanity and, sometimes, my lamps. My art is on the walls although the stuff posted by my desk is for references while I write although one piece is, admittedly, just because I really like Minamoto no Yoshinaka. He is, like, the utter bomb.

I don't think I want my room there to be an echo of the one here. New life, new beginning, yadda yadda. Maybe just the more recent pictures on display, the older ones in the photo albums I am planning on bringing.

Ugh. Time to go stand in the middle of my room again, O Loyal Readers And Friends, and be useless just staring at my packrat ways.

Until next time.

So, I'm moving.

Like, immediately. Screw the list, I now have to prove it as I have until the 18th to get all of my stuff ready, fit into the car, and get myself and my sister to Virginia. Kelsey and her boyfriend of five years are having problems and she's moving in with us. Kelsey needs a roadtrip and she needs to see Dad because what Daddy's girl doesn't need her father when her life has changed in the span of days? Since we're already on our way there, I'm just going to stay there.

The list has gone to hell.

We found out on Saturday, I got a throat infection that made me useless until TODAY. So I have exactly six days to get everything in order and pack. I can totally do it. Clothes are important but easily squished down (can be ironed later) and the needed items are what will take precedence. Like my maneki neko collection. They're pretty damned important IMHO. :3

I'm training at the dojo for the last three classes I'm be around for, work has been informed, I have an extra three months of meds just in case, I've started looking for jobs... I need to notify the banks I'm traveling. Paperwork for the savings bonds deposit will be sent out tomorrow, hotel needs to be set up. Ashley is coming over this weekend to help me pack!

Also, someone needs to throw me a goddamn party. Just sayin'.

I cried earlier today about it. I wrote Sensei about my move and apologized for the short notice. She said to come to the main campus at some point to give me a hug goodbye. After I read that, I started bawling; there are so many people I've come to appreciate at the classes that it hurt to not be able to say farewell to them. Even though most of them are kids (I'm talking about gossiping with a twelve year old here), we've been through three months of kicks, kiyah's, knuckle push ups, and a whole slew of things I never really thought I'd do. When I showed up, only Shihan was there; Sensei Yuki had left for the day, I suppose to set up the other campus for tonights class. He told me I could come to Saturday, Monday, and Tuesday's classes for free, so I could say my goodbyes and leave on a high note. I almost cried again but I can be a stoic warrior. Sometimes.

Either way, I'm on The Meds. No longer infectious. It's a good thing.

Time to pack, O Loyal Readers. I'll be trying to update each day before I leave; who knows when I'll be able to update after I move? I'm unsure what Daddio's connection is like.

Looks like 2010 is the year of exploration after all.

Until next time!

Chica from Wisconsin, ahoy!

For the last two weeks, my best friend has been visiting from Wisconsin. Unlike my other long-distance friends, Andi and I actually met in person, here in Florida. We've been friends since the seventh grade and have known one another since fifth. If not for her (and a few other priceless loves of my life), I wouldn't have made it through that mental breakdown almost five years ago.

Just over a year ago, she moved to Wisconsin for personal reasons. We've all missed her terribly; for about six months I kept adding her to the mental list of people to invite on outings or shopping trips. Thank goodness for the Internet - we managed to keep in contact. I'm not the best person at correspondence (or remembering stuff in general) but, we somehow figured it out.

Either way - she visited. And remembered just why she doesn't want to move back to Florida. Maybe not the best move on her part to visit in the disgusting, humid depths of the summer after chilling in Wisconsin for a year but it didn't mean we were less happy to see her. We didn't get near enough drinking done (Seriously, Wisconsinites? TONE DOWN THE DRINKS. I made the 'whiskey face' each time I had a sip of my rum and coke!) but good times were had and monster amounts of talking as well. It's easier to spill ones guts and express things when not done in text and instead in a car, driving wherever in the early morning and late night.

We went to the Wizarding World of Harry Potter. Sweated like horses - no glowing to be seen. I frolicked gaily under the Suessland semi-waterfall, successfully soaking myself to the bone and making it very difficult for my pants to stay on. Due to the weight of wet jeans, pervs. We devoured butterbeer and (surprisingly good) fish and chips. Ashley got her wands and chocolate frogs.

The castle ride? Holy. Mother. Of. Siddhartha. Seriously! Just waiting in line was awesome: you were able to walk through Prof. Sprouts greenhouse then past the Potions Room, through DADA's room. The pictures of the house founders chatted about (Slytherin, my house and fave, was a complete jerk as expected) with Rowena and the Hufflepuff one being all, gay, and stuff. The ride itself had fantastic graphics and despite the fact I knew it fake, I screamed like a girlscout pissing herself at some parts.

We left contented. They fell asleep on me in the car and I nearly passed out at the wheel as a result. Fun times! There are plenty of pictures I'm hesitant about posting. Oh well. Maybe at some point, O Loyal Readers.

Andi and I talked at great length. She listened to me bitch and in vice versa. It was a lovely time. When she was to fly out of the Tampa airport, I drove her there. We ate lunch at TGIFridays, had some gelato. Two seconds before she went past security, Andi turned to me and said, "It JUST hit me. Just hit me."

Of course, I had to throw my arms around her and say, somewhat loudly, a bit tearfully, "I am going to miss you SO MUCH."

True to form, I think she told me something along the lines of stopping the foolishness - or maybe not. I'm pretty sure I was in tears. What I remember was watching her get on those stupid train things, throwing her a heart hand signal, and then bolting to the nearest bathroom to cry. It sucked.

The drive home helped me calm down. Driving always does. I played music I liked, sang loudly, and didn't get lost once - that's a big deal.

So now she's back in Wisconsin, living it up with her friends there. We all miss her (again) but if those two weeks taught me anything, it was that she is MUCH better off there than she is here. Florida holds nothing but grief and lack of jobs, humidity and hurricanes. Good for her in her escape.

Next post will my schedule for when I get out of here. Padre said, not until Thanksgiving, and I think if I wait that long I'm going to shatter like a glass figurine under a giants foot. I tried to tell him I could be there by the end of this (yes, this very week) with all the things I absolutely need and we can fly to Thanksgiving together. He doesn't think I can drive home from TAMPA let alone to Manassas which is, I hate to say it, total bullshit.

So it will be posted. Maybe I can show it to him and prove it's do-able. I've survived more things than a drive! (Knocking on wood) I think going alone would be a damn BLAST.

Until next time, blog! Hugs.

Japanese 101

It's as if I'm living in the ultimate Middle School fantasy. When in the seventh or eighth grade, all I could think of was anime, manga, and learning to speak Japanese because it was holy crap, so cool. Everything about Japan was epic and amazing but blah blah blah. At thirteen, who could ask for anything cooler?

At twenty-three, the obsession to learn Japanese is now a life-long Elephant In The Room. It's not so much I'm going to be going to Japan anytime soon as much as it is I can just say I learned how to speak it outside of "SUGOI" and "kawaii kawaii neko-chan! >^___^<". It's sort of a goal I've had for ten years - how many other people can say the same thing? The guy in Fever Pitch doesn't count.

My friend finally took pity on my poor ass and purchased me Rosetta Stone. My cousin used it once he entered the military to learn a language and he said it was absolutely excellent, that he'd use it to learn another language if needed. So here my nameless friend comes, with declarations of Japanese and learning it and expensive as holy snap software. What else could I do but go out and buy a microphone?

This was a while back. I'm in Unit 2 now, Greetings and Introductions. Unit 1 made me repeat 'jitensha' to the point where I flew into a near-murderous rage. Yes, Rosetta Stone. Yes, it's a goddamn bicycle. Oh, awesome. It's now a yellow bicycle. Kiiro jitensha. Yes. Yes. Shut the holy hell UP.

To my shame, anime and my former weeaboo status has made Unit 2 ridiculously easy thus far. I started out with a knowledge that "boku wa" and "watashi wa" had appropriate times and places, even knew what those are, and I know the words for various members of the family. Dear lord, I've called people "oneesan" before - quite a few! It's amazing that school can actually help you out at some point.

My favorite word cropped up - tomodachi. Friend, good friend. Some variation of that. I'm trying not to define the words and phrases too much into English as that apparently just messes you up but, yes. Favorite word, if only for the meaning.

It's going well so far. I'm looking forward to continued improvement. Updates later.

Unit then!

Food Om Nom Nom

I'm becoming worried on my eating status. I've started cutting portions and eating better which is, overall, a very good thing. I've gained weight, actually, and can manage to fit into my older jeans - the 6's. It turns out that fat is probably that new ass-muscle that I've been working out, bringing things away from my hips to make me not feel so disgusting.

But, when I'm alone. I don't eat. Most days when I'm alone, I'll eat nothing but granola bars (maybe two) and a lot of tea. That's it. When Mom is home and makes dinner, I'll have some small portions and eat some more the next day, if we have leftovers. I'll eat maybe half of normal restaurant portions, eat the rest the next day, ect. It's not a bad thing. I think. Well, the lack of eating entirely is. I've started eating about an hour and a half, maybe two, before I go to karate. I'd started getting dizzy.

This last weekend, I ate. I went out for sushi, ate lunch with my sister, had pizza with Jordan, things like that. We had food during the 4th of July (a holiday that was much better than expected, actually). That's when I'm with people. Alone, not so much. Without people asking me to eat, I just don't get hungry. It's not something that happens. I get caught up in cleaning or writing, maybe a series I was watching or timing when I can and cannot put my contacts in - Rosetta stone, maybe. Who knows, i just don't think of food.

Today, I had four cups of tea, about two cups of rice + broth, and two slices of toast with a little butter. It was delicious. I drank some water - have more waiting for karate and all that good stuff. I don't think I'm becoming anorexic? I'll eat when asked, I'll eat enough to be full. I take vitamins. Make my own food.

Maybe it's being cloistered up int he house like this. I'm thinking that when I can afford it, I'll fill up my tank, drive as far as I can get on half of it, and park somewhere soft, relaxing, and have my own personal little picnic. Maybe I'll even draw.

I just don't want to keep eating the same deep fried and sugared crap I had been. does this make sense? I'm not quite sure if any of it does.

Either way - I have a swim test for a lifeguard job coming up tomorrow. Tomorrow will be full of light and good for me foods.

Crude. I need to buy a bathing suit.

Hangovers and Relevations

Last night I drank way too much. The next morning after falling asleep at four in the morning, I woke up at nine and dragged my butt to karate. I almost passed out and/or vomited during the forty jumping jacks and the knuckle push ups. Ugh. I can't even imagine.

After coming home, though, I got hit by that big depressive 'what NOW?!' thing as usually after a night of hard drinking I tend to get into a funk and be an overall depressing and depressed person. It's always one of those days where the medication doesn't help, I don't know why. It just doesn't.

But! Today! I decided. I felt very alone, very upset. Ashley came over and helped me with it by sitting here, listening to me rant, and watching Heroes with my lame self. Before she made it over here, I came to the fantastic decision that, screw it, I will be getting to Virginia as soon as I can, even if Daddio is still in a hotel. I need to get out of here.

Now is when I have to talk to him about it, though, as my happy butt can't just drive up there without telling him. It's utter suckage.

This post has no other meaning than to write this out and put my emotions on paper. Rock on, my friends. Rock on.

Gay Boyfriend

After my parents divorced and my mother, sister, and I moved from out house, mom got this boyfriend. I guess he was nice enough although according to stories afterwards he was this total psycho. He wasn't bad to Kelsey and I, from what I remember. He'd buy us stuff, I guess to make sure the kiddies didn't verbally attack him to Mom and get him booted from her life.

It worked when he bought me a punching bag! From what I've heard, I've had violent tendancies and mood swings since I was nine years old. Before that I, apparently, smiled, laughed, played, and otherwise interacted like any kid. That says all sorts of fucked up things about what could've changed that but that's a completely different therapy session. Either way, he bought me a punching bag and set it up for me on the porch. It was one of those heavy duty, thick and black sorts, hung from the ceiling by this hardcore chain. He said it'd be a good way to get out my frustrated energies whenever I felt I needed to.

I never used it much, weirdly enough. If I had it now, totally, but back as a kid I'd get all but scolded for using it. My sister and I got into this big fight once about something completely stupid and I got so mad that I saw red stars infront of my eyes. Now in case no one knows, that's a Bad Thing. It means one is going to do one of two things: pass out or beat the mother-loving crap out of someone. I didn't pass out and luckily for my sister, I had that damned punching bag.

Instead of ending the fight with a fist to my little sisters face (again, something totally dumb, I completely mistreated that poor girl during our childhood and teen years; I'm surprised she forgave me and we became friends. i wouldn't have forgiven me), I went outside to the porch and started whaling on that thing. At fourteen, I had this bag the same style as the one in my dojo the black belts use swinging back and forth, denting a bit. Fourteen was two years after I dented a metal door at school by punching it in order to get in. Strong kid, yeah.

Mom came out and started getting mad because I had been "picturing [my sisters] face" on the punching bag and how it was wrong. Unlike most bad-asses my age, I didn't keep up with the punching but got mad at her instead. The punching bag was there so I could get out my anger! So what if I saw my sisters face - which I hadn't been. I had been seeing this black bag because I was messed up but not a total psychopath. When he'd installed the bag for me, her boyfriend specifically told me he purchased it for me so I would be able to take out my anger on something that would satisfy and help me. Looking back on it, I think he was the only one in my childhood/early teens who actively knew just how messed up my head was. Everyone else assumed it was anger at the divorce (although I had been told I was a freak by not showing any emotion throughout the entire ordeal) and anger problems in general.

Instead of getting in a second fight with my mother, I stormed to my room, closed, and locked the door. She didn't know about the lock-pick at the top of the door frame and pounded for a few minutes while my sister cried in the living room. She always cried a lot, more than I would admit to being something I did to her.

To this day I don't understand why it had been bad to hit that punching bag. Maybe if I hadn't been made to feel bad about getting violent at it, I wouldn't have hidden it all to myself. Maybe someone would have seen it earlier.

There's no grudges! Who wants to know their kid or niece or friend is violent and possibly dangerous? I wouldn't want to. It's hard thing to come to terms with. I still get violent urges to this day although they are, in my belief, well justified. You mess with my friends? You're damn straight I'll get up in your face. You touch my tit while I'm at a club? I will punch you and get those bouncers in your face.

But I have karate now! Also, medication. Not so much therapy but that comes next, when I get the money.

So this is my little story for the day, Blog. I'm not sure where it came from but there it is. Now I'm going to go play housewife, clean, and dance around to Aqua, Lily Allen, and Disney.

Until next time!

Editing

I never realized how many times I use the word 'had' and 'was' in my writing until I began to edit my own pieces. I generally avoid doing so and prefer others to do it for me (such as in workshops). The current short story I'm working on needs some major revisions. I'd written it over a year ago and figured I could take on the challenge of discovering just how much I suck.

Sentences have been cut and surprisingly few words added. I tend to assume that more words equal better works and, well. No. Is it odd that I do exactly what I berate others for when I take pen to their writing? I'm finding the same comma errors and superfluous words in my short stories I tend to threaten other writers with death with! Is it being blind to ones own flaws or thinking certain things are perfect in pieces an author takes pride in?

I'm not sure. Maybe I'll never be sure. All I know is that this particular bit of dyke literature will be better once I'm done ripping it to shreds with my red mighty pen and send it off to be looked at by a friend. It'll be this works - fourth? Fifth? run through the proverbial shredder. Hopefully this time I might be able to consider it 'done' or at least as close as it's going to get.

A lofty (and arrogant) goal, yes, but what am I going to do without them? I do love the piece I'm working on and hopefully others don't think it's some pompous lesbian stereotypical angst. Cliche is cliche for a reason and I'm doing my damnedest to steer away from it.

Back to work. Until next time!

Bull, Horns, Ect,.

A good portion of people think horoscopes are full of bullshit. They're generalized, they don't really work, how can the planets say something about you, personally, etc., and it's come to my attention that I don't give a flying butt on what other people think of them. For myself, I believe in horoscopes, Tarot cards, the whole she-bang. Ninety-nine percent of psychics are fraud but then again, I told a kid someone was dying when his mother had just been diagnosed with terminal cancer in the eighth grade because the cards told me. I had never seen the boy before.

Lately, my horoscopes and Tarot cards have been giving me a rather specific message: get your life together and DO something about it.

On behalf of the Tarot cards, I asked them a while back the typical single-girl question of "Give me the low down on my lack of love life, please?". Usually when I ask things about myself, they like to tell me to go figure out myself, bugger off, and stop asking questions. That particular time, they told me that I am going to be alone for quite a while, go through a time filled with darkness and pain all alone and lost even when surrounded by people, and in the end it would leave me happy with a lot of paths opening up to me. I'm pretty sure this is the time of alone and lost and darkness because, whoo, my brain is not exactly the nicest place in existence but it gives hope that the crap times will end at some point.

The horoscope's have been telling me I've stopped taking control of my life and falling complacent. Too true - being laid off and strung along by the jobs (oh yeah, both of them) threw me into a clusterfuck of 'what now'. The only physical thing in life keeping me grounded right now is karate and when my three paid months come to an end in August, I don't know if I'll be able to afford more. That'll be super fun.

Every sign I'm getting says I have to DO something, CHANGE something. I have to find something to jump at and do it. Problem is that whatever's out there, I totally don't see it. The plan has been to move in with Dad but he doesn't have his own place in Virginia yet and I have about two hundred and fifty dollars in the bank period, with an insurance payment coming out in two weeks and another car payment coming up. Can't move anywhere, there are no job opportunities in this freaking place anywhere. What, exactly, am I supposed to do?

The more I write this the more I realize this is the talk of someone whose worst choices came from within and not from an outside source. So many people don't have choices on what drastic things change in their life, either from being thrown out of their homes, fired without notice, or, hell, shot in the back of the head when things get nasty. My problems have all stemmed from mental illnesses and if not for the support of those around me, I wouldn't be here anymore. There's no background, to me, on what to do or how to say it.

Maybe I'll edit a story of mine, throw it out there to see if anyone in interested. Kelly is ten times more talented than myself but seeing someone I know (and adore dearly, major hearts for Kelly) get published and go out there again is inspiration. Maybe I'll go to Virginia and chill out with Dad in his hotel, find a job there doing something. Maybe Vancouver, although I can't get any jobs out there just yet.

Maybe in learning Japanese, I'll meet a nice person from Japan and be whisked away to Tokyo or a small town or something. Who knows.

Nothing will get done unless I DO something, right? Right. Until next time!

Surviving Work

I need to understand the mindset of people in charge of offices and I need to do it fast. My two previous half-finished rants were written in the heat of anger and discarded as soon as I realized I was being a huge grouch. This particular upset is something that has been a long-time irritation of mine and something I beleive everyone working in the retail business with less than straightlined bosses can identify with.

The key to running a smooth office is akin to keeping up a good relationship: communication. In this case, I am scheduled to be laid off from my office job and have been told my usual summer job at the hardware store won't be needing me. I spoke to Bossman at the office job; in lieu of my root canal, he said to take of Monday (yesterday) and I asked him to call me over this previous weekend to tell me whether or not he wanted me in this upcoming week.

I worked seventeen hours this weekend for the last time at the hardware store. As far as I know, I never received a call or text message from the Bossman or Bosslady, my supervisor who works directly under him. According to her, she called me once yesterday morning and sent a text -asking where I was-. I don't doubt her as I am still getting used to my Droid and have yet to figure out all this notification mumbo-jumbo that's associated with it. So, I set up an interview with an ice cream place and a day of typical jobless relaxation before the panic set in.

Oh. I also signed up for unemployment. While not something I wanted to do, I saw it as a sign of Doing What I Need To In Order To Survive and thus a sign of maturity. My first summer after being laid off I was too proud to go back to the hardware store or sign up for unemployment. If I had done either of those things, my bank account probably wouldn't be in the shambles it is today. It guaranteed me enough to pay for food, gas, car, and cars insurence, which is all I really give two craps about. My other bills are secondary, frankly, mainly because my mother is affected by any lack of payment on aforementioned car.

This morning, another text message. As I was about to head into the dentist to get my temporary filling inspected (part of it sloughed off yesterday, much to my panic), I got another call from my lovely Bosslady. I sent her a text asking what was up and explaining why I didn't call her back just that second. The resulting conversation frustrated me to no end.

In an effort to not explode on her via text message, I sent another to a coworker of mine. We share the same opinion on Bosslady, he's just a wee bit more vocal about it than myself. He suggested I text Bossman, asking if they needed me in that day because he hadn't talked to me about it previously and being me, I was very confused.

According to Bossman, no, they did not need me today. They had two other people coming in. He -did- make a point of asking me if I could come in tomorrow. Fabulous. Twenty-four hour notice is all I ask, really. Luckily for them, I am unemployed (technically) so why yes, I -can- go in tomorrow. How thoughtful to ask instead of calling me at ten in the morning tomorrow and demanding to know where I was and when I was getting my candy ass in to work.

What seems to be lacking in this whole situation? You've got it, folks! What's missing from this is actually -talking- to one another. It's quite the novel concept and in this day in age it's so very hard to get in contact with one another. FaceBook, text messages, instant messages, phone calls, and plain ol' chit-chatting in the office just doesn't cut it, not really. It's all about the slap-and-dash things, demands, and angry phone messages.

This isn't a post about surviving retail although I wish it were. This post and rant is all about surviving bosses and the frustration they bring, especially when on the larger scale of things they aren't the meanest of people. Bossman has his moments of being a dillweed, this I'll be the first to aknowledge. For the rest of it, he's just a bit absent minded (or chooses not to remember) and an overall nice guy with a few repressed issues. Bosslady tends to be the stereotypical Italian Jersey woman and is not very fun to work with.

It's a balance. I've gotten to the point in my working career where I've gotten used to the constant push and pull of emotions. When bossman is angry, you avoid him like the plague. Bosslady gets yelled at, you avoid her or compliment her shoes. It's what goes on in a small office without cubicles or secrets. It sucks.

Once more for the sake of being redundent: communication. Bosses out there - learn it. Employees - don't ever expect it. They're easier to deal with than customers but ultimately last a lot longer.

Until next time.

Absolutely Nothing Worth Talking About.

But I will anyway. This blog is to document things, right? So they'll be documented, whether they're interesting or not.

Ashley and I will be doing a comic based on my short stories. She wants to do an entire series as I have about four of them in my head. One is already finished (The Little Mermaid), another is being written (Little Red Riding Hood), and Beauty and the Beast is entirely written in my brain. Rumplestiltskin is forming as is an original fairy tale. None of them will be NC17 although they'll involve nudity and, for some, dirty thoughts. Especially Riding Hood. Claude (the wolf) is something of a Sick Bastard.

Ashley's art is lovely; I have the upmost faith in her ability to portray the stories correctly. As i will be overseeing production and the stories, this quality will be assured. The short things were never meant for publication so I have no qualms on them being displayed to the public.

Linking will occur when we have it up and running, of course.

That's pretty much the only thing worth talking about. Everything else in life is mundane, right down the continued use of soy milk instead of Milk milk, Daddio enjoying his job, and being able to-

OH. I've been drawing again! Expect pictures. I like them.

Until next time and hopefully a longer post!

Not Counting At This Moment!

The weight loss bit has been going badly but! I've gone to every class I can and most of my nasty eating habits are being weaned away. This is one journey for myself I'm refusing to give up.

My lack of updates isn't an indicator at lack of interest. Let us consider it a sign of me being Super Crazy Busy instead: life has thrown at me a job, lack of job, lack of money, karate, too much karate, not enough sleep, not enough time. No time for updating this blog, especially since I don't want to update with a single line of 'life is nuts, will post later'. Not my style! Heh.

Sensei told me that Shihan (her husband) said I impressed him a lot and that I caught on quickly. She said I was from a Tae Kwon Do background but that was for ten months over ten years ago so I seriously don't count it. My balance is horrible, my pushups are just barely the bending of elbows, my kick isn't straight, my punch is too high, I kick with my toes or heel instead of the balls of my foot.

Oh, well. I will be doing my little exercise DVD on the days I don't have class. Despite my gigantic sweet tooth, my happy butt with conquer! And write! And draw! I've been drawing more, perhaps a thing that's led to less updates. It's been keeping me busy and no less happier for it.

Work is keeping me on for an extra two weeks. Two weeks less of unemployment, two weeks more to find a summer job, and two more weeks of honest to god paychecks. Thank goodness for that as the car payments aren't getting cheaper and the car insurance is going to be coming out soon. Guh! My brain is going to explode with the stress. Knock on wood, though. Knock on wood.

Stories have been running through my face. Let's hope they get down on paper. Until next time!

Karate/Weight Loss: Day 7

My steady winter job ends this week. This typically means I go back to my hardware store job and, luckily, it means I can tell them the times I need off for karate! I'm quite excited about that prospect, especially since I will be running around and lifting things all day with only one opportunity to really eat; Summer time is when I loose my weight. Winter I'm in an office setting, on the phone and typing the entire time.

I'm not sure why I'm getting so excited over the simple things like cleaning, exercise, and eating better. A few years back, I completely mocked these things, counted them as 'hippie' things or someone trying to be too green or preppy. Since then, I've started to use a menstrual cup - what the heck is more hippie and green than THAT!?

Now, I wake up, take my vitamins almost immediately. They include a high dose of B12 complex, two green tea extracts twice a day, and (when I can FIND it again) a once-a-day womans vitamin with some Gaurana mixed in there somewhere. Tea consists of natural sugars and soy milk with pure black teas except on the rare days I feel fancy, then it's hinted with peppermint.

Junk food is more of a habit and convenient food than anything I honestly crave. Sometimes I get hit with the overwhelming need to consume large amounts of Starburst Jellybeans because those things are so good it kills me (literally). everything else is all because of cheap and easy texture, something to eat at night when I cannot have any more tea (caffine content, sadly) and fruits just don't seem right. Other than that, things are okay.

The bad part is that I either misread my scale or I gained six pounds since last week. I'm choosing to believe I misread the scale. :) It's better for us all that way.

Karate is going wonderfully! I'm enjoying my kata and I'm learning the godawful long names. All the sempai are horribly helpful and put up with my clumsy mistakes. Bella has nothing on my butt when it comes to tripping over my own feet in turns and just trying to keep balance. My knuckles are becoming tougher, a surprising fact that pleases me. My right toe still has the blister, it's gotten bigger and has begun to toughen into what i hope is a callous. My left toe though... It's the foot I spin on the most. The blister burst but the skin under is quickly becoming stronger than the previous layer.

HA! My body is beginning to triumph!

I have never felt so motivated to be a part of an activity such as Karate. Tae Kwon Do when I was a kid was fun but that was in the mindset that I was about to go kick some other kids behind with my 'skills'. Karate, at least to me now, is about control of my body and what I tell it to do. It's becoming stronger! An adult! It's living up to my and other peoples expectations - Sensei, Y-Sensei, and the sempai are all trying so hard to help me that if I do badly, I feel I would be letting them down.

They are lovely people. I will NOT let them down! I will do my turns and keep my wrists straight, keep my shoulders squared and legs further apart. I will be able to go into the deep stance, the signature move of my dojo. In the famous words of Queen Victoria: I will be good.

Now, I'm going to do laundry and tidy my room before getting ready for class. I need to iron my gi before class tonight.

Until next time!

Midnight Sun

I'm going to admit it, blog: I read the chapters of "Midnight Sun" Meyer had posted on her website. It had previously been a point of pride that I never read anything by her, nothing of Twilight save for brief excerpts that made me hate her for the horrid grammar and inability to lead a plot line to something interesting. Until two weeks ago it worked out well for me.

My friend purchased the comic version of twilight and in hopes of being able to 'read' it without all of Bella's irritating inner monologues and self doubts that I had been able to absorb even from the small bits I had been able to get my hands on, I actually picked the book up. It kept with all of my assumptions and expectations. Bella still came off as annoying and self centered as I had thought. Edward interested me, however slightly. A few of his lines were quite amusing.

When it came to my attention that there was a version of Twilight from Edward's point of view, I went to her website and dug it up. Even her Authors Note had me twitching: I've read too many internet-only authors who whined the same way she did, emoted and whimpered about losing interest because someone slighted them or their works. Regardless, I spent the next two days and long hours reading the damned thing.

Jasper and Alice came off as slightly badass. Edward read as something slightly less annoying than Bella with much more character development. He's very analytical and, true to claims, horribly masochistic.

I'm not about to bitch and moan about the character development (rather, lack thereof on the part of Bella and how exactly Edward got his feelings for her) but to discuss the writing style in general.

It read like a typical fanfiction. I write fanfiction on the side, I know how easy it is to slip into the cadence of simple writing and quick bursts of plot followed by weak attempts to create rich and inviting characters instead of mixing the two. Every word should move the story forward was not something Meyer seemed to learn in Creative Writing while in high school. She tries to insert large words where shorter, more precise words would have been much more appropriate in an attempt to sound like a 'real writer'. Meyer overcompensates for perceived lacking in her writing - maybe she reads too many critiques online.

If she wrote fiction for the sole purpose of posting it on the internet as opposed to charging people to -read- it, I'm sure she would have been quite popular. A truly fantastic fanfiction writer is Maldoror; if SHE wrote a novel, I would definitely purchase it and immediately. She took Gundam Wing to a believable and fantastic level in 'Freeport' and 'The Arrangement'.

Unfortunately for Meyer, fanfiction writing doesn't translate well into the real world of writing. There is a harsh and sometimes startling difference between writing for a novel with a specific audience and writing fanfiction for a specific audience. In an attempt to not insult the entire fanfiction reading community, I will word this next statement as delicately as possible: if you are writing a fanfiction for a show, series, or movie, most people are just satisfied with decent in-character depictions of already established characters and acceptable writing. It's hard to find a writer worth their salt writing fanfiction so when they do, people jump and latch on as if they were a male angler fish.

Writing for a novel is different. Unless you are writing for the Star Trek or some major fan-based novel series, you don't have a previously created plot line to work from nor do you have characters that people (fans) are automatically familiar of and know how their minds work. Everything you do is from scratch; you can't depend on people inferring everything based on what they already know of the characters of the world.

The Twilight series is written as a fanfiction. Meyer herself has stated that it was originally based on a dream she had - many stories have been, don't get me wrong. The difference between a novel based on a dream and a novel that sounds like a fanfiction based on a dream is that she gets caught up in her 'ideal' characters and refuses to let them grow through her writing. It seems to me that she has decided they are fully grown and will never become anything more, no matter how many thousands of words she may have written with them as an overly pretty backdrop to an equally pretty but poorly written plot.

While Edward's voice is sometimes very amusing (admittedly, I laughed once or twice, out loud), it cannot mask Meyer's voice. When you're reading and get the thought of, "This is actually not bad. I wonder how the original author would have written it. -Oh." there is something wrong.

Long story short, I do not think I'm going to bother with reading any more of Meyer's works. Not only does the underlying idea of systematic abuse, obsessive stalking*, and changing yourself for the 'perfect' guy upset me as a person but her style of writing, her voice, and her grammar simply drives me up the wall.

At least I gave it a chance. I can now honestly say 'It's not for me' and not have people try to shoot me down by asking if I have ever read it. Rock on.

Until next time, bloggers.


*To counter that, Edward -does- tweak a little at acting like a stalker.

Karate/Weight Loss/Lack of Being Fat: Day 2

Sore in places I didn't know existed previously. I had all intents of coming home and practicing my kata last night; on the way home, the languid driving, it sapped me of any and all adrenaline. It was sort of disgusting. On that note: I'm glad I didn't. I'm horribly sore today and still feeling that euphoric post-rush, enough to be cleaning like a maniac.

Skin from my big toe and the top of my foot (top of the underside? Hell if I know) peeled off in the duration of class from the extensive turning. My knuckles are forming callouses - haha, well, big red spots with some skin coming off of there as well. Sensei didn't let me stop leaning on them even when I said it hurt. I understood why, even then, but g'damn, it hurt. Yes, it pained me to the extent where I actually swore in a blog post, something I've been trying not to do. Through the course of the night, two elongated oval blisters swelled up on my big toe, dead center of it. Again, from spinning side to side, thumbs are sore from the tight hold I had to have on my fists.

In short, it's still fantastic. I informed Sensei that until I was free Saturday mornings, I would be attending the classes Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday. He was pleased.

I'm still having problems with the language. Sensei is American born and Caucasian, despite spending most of his adult life in Japan; his wife is also a black belt, Japanese born and raised. But the names!! Forward front steps with a high punch are called something with long, complicated phrases in Japanese. I'm trying to learn but I still can't pronounce them or even hope to remember them all just yet. Even my kata - Shihonensi Kata? I know 'shihonen' is in there somewhere! I will ask again on Monday.

In the meantime, I will be practicing my kata at home along with squaring my shoulders when I punch or kick, a big problem of mine. I don't place my legs far enough apart or bend my knees enough, my wrists are always up too high, I need to straighten them.I'm hoping by next class I will be able to show Sensei Yuki improvement! I want to be a good student. They're traditionally tough teachers. It. Is. Fantastic.

I need to go and clean now. Until next time!

Karate: Day 1

I have another twenty minutes before I have to hit up the dojo so what better time to make a blog post?

My first Karate class was Monday. I'm starting off at a size 8, 141 lbs, 5'5". My goal is to be 130 lbs and be able to get back into my damned size 6 skinny jeans - I had been able to when I was 132.

On the days I'm not at the Dojo, I'm walking the dogs and trying to exercise at home. All soda and junk food's been cut out of my diet, portions have been made smaller. Depressing, right?! I've even switched to soy milk! (At least, at work. Mom just bought a half gallon of 2% and putting that to waste would make me wince.)

I may go to the Dojo three times a week. Ideally, this will be Monday, Wednesday, and Saturday thing - get some in there for every portion of the week! This week is only Monday and Wednesday as I work Saturday morning (when the class takes place) and was frankly in too much pain to go yesterday. I promised Sensei Yuki that I would be in the class today, which makes me face the pain like a woman: with a smile and perfectly done hair. The severely scraped knee helps too but I'm learning to fall gracefully (read: without killing myself) and to do knuckle-push ups.

She says all the names of the moves in fast Japanese. I find it hard to keep up as my Japanese vocabulary is limited to a few words although it thankfully includes 'arigatou' so I can thank her properly. I don't care if that's spelled correctly or not. She says my ki-yah is fantastic; the other students thought I was her while I practiced my blocking in the back. They were doing katas! Haha!

It's already a favorite part of my week. While it's nerve wracking, being the only person there not knowing what's going down, it's also really fun to be taught things. Some of students are only eleven or twelve; one twelve year old girl turned to me before a certain exercise and said, very frankly, "This is going to hurt."

Fabulous.

Here's to weight loss and getting in shape. Updates on the size/weight will be each Wednesday. Let's see what I can get to before July 3rd! That'll be judgement day for sure as sister and I have a bet going down.

Time to get ready, everyone. Until next time!

Writing In Capitol Letters

One more time, blog! Another day, another ten million words. Or a thousand, whichever would be best to describe the way things are going. My mind has lately been plagued by Writing.

Capitol letters indeed! Why the capitol letters, one may ask, as it is very much -not- proper grammar. Has Erin lost her mind? Is she going to start spouting off things in incorrect English, more swear words than she already does? Horror! The Apocalypse! All of these horrid things, etc, etc!

It's capitalized as a title of what's going on through my messed up little brain. For years, the act of putting words to paper or screen while somehow forming a coherent and intelligent story has been the main focus of my life. Most of those words came out to utter crap, a story in the barest sense of the phrase with trite and unrealistic characters akin to glittering vampires and blood mixed with chocolate. Sometimes I knew immediately these things should never see the light of day and the characters should be burnt at the stake of Writing in a tribute and sacrifice to whatever gods actually pay attention to the inane blathering of some fifteen year old girl.

I'm twenty-three. My first story was a coloring book I did in the second grade with the help of a boy in class. It exploded from there. According to my parents I always had an overactive imagination and a glare that could tell even the most oblivious person that I wanted them to eff off and decompose somewhere dank and hot.

At thirteen I wrote a sixty page story about Amazon warriors and a guy with a plot I can't even remember. Fifteen came Ten of Light, a story that introduced a few of my favorite characters to date; this includes but is not limited to do Jacquiline Bardot. She was called Jackiline Barduo at that time and tended towards cross-dressing to fit in at her school due to a larger and more masculine stature. She's had the same personality although the back-story, motivation, appearance and overall story have changed drastically (thank god).

That story was also the last story I wrote that I allowed someone I knew face-to-face to read. When fronted with the only critique I remembered of "They swear a lot", I stopped handing off my pages of chicken scratch. Posting online came about, along with the story "Normal" about a gay 'coming of age' tale that (typically, for me) included swearing, violence, and a small curvy woman and large man combo, along with a bad attempt at historical fiction revolving around one of Jesus' sisters.

Normal, Water Age, Priests Tale, 2081 - all of them came from the smallest ideas and every single one of those stupid stories has infested my brain. They have all had altered plot lines, different side characters and underlying tones.

Text-based role-playing unfortunately hindered my writing for several years. It wasn't until National Novel Writing Month '06 that I actually got back into plotting, writing, trying to develop characters that weren't some distorted version of myself (Hello, Ian, Adali, and Jacqui!). Melosa and Atia flew into my brain, my very first lesbian couple I'd ever written. Their story bombed but Hanami and Ha'Neul came into play. I still intend to finish their story at some point.

Creative Writing kicked me into gear. After a horrible CW teacher back in High School, University had been held to high expectations. My teacher was one of the best I've ever come across before and since. She pushed for students to edit and supported my ruthless and cut throat method of editing, with gashes and insults and demanding changes be made lest I hurl high lighters at them for comma errors and boring paragraphs.

Like all good things, Creative Writing I and II came to an end with each semester. For a long time after, I couldn't even pick up a pen. What was the motivation? I couldn't post these things online for critique, not if I wanted them published at some point in time. The former students of my class, the ones who made a competition of who could receive the least amount of bad reviews from me, were busy and didn't have time to get to everyone. I missed it.

What does all this blathering have to do with anything? It has nothing to do with writing, nothing to do with this blog post, at least, i think so. It's the prologue to what's about to go down, the backdrop and back story to my future career.

In just the last few months, the bug has come back. My brain kicked back into gear and began to thrust stories, words back into my consciousness. The itch in my fingers returned, forcing me to take hold of my pen, write without planning except vague ideas of what would happen. Writing on the computer is rough for me. The words fly so quickly from brain to fingers that I don't have a chance to think about what it is I'm actually writing.

Maybe it's the B12 vitamins I started to take with my typical BPD meds in the morning or the idea of I WILL change my life, which things are finally moving in the order of where I want to be. Virginia is not the place I ever imagined moving to, especially not so close to the big cities, but more and more the idea appeals to me: it's beautiful up there.

Plans are coming together. With that, so are my stories. It seems stress is the key factor to getting writers block for me. Who would've guessed. (Why yes, yes that is sarcasm. Thank you so much for noticing) I've even finished a short story! - Although I have no friggin' idea where the first three pages went to. Currently trying to dig those things up.

Karate starts tomorrow. I have a sinking feeling I will be up all tomorrow night writing; adrenaline rushes and working out always makes me utterly filled with inspiration. I'm starting this weighing 151 lbs, having putting 19 since I 'finished' loosing it, and a size 8/10. My goal is 130, to be in shape, to be able to fit into the clinging purple top and the skinny dark blue jeans I bought as my goal outfit.

This entire process will be filled with writing, work, hopefully some school to get that damned AA. Writing is directly affected by my daily ongoing to life. I -will- write at least a thousand words to day, I will, and I'll win this year’s NaNoWriMo again.

I will I will I will!

Writing is once again going to be a major force in my life. With the pen to paper, the fingers to the keys, the imagination to the over drive. I may never be published, never be polished or witty or interesting enough to be out there, but the writing will be done.

Read on, fellow bloggers! Never let your fear of inadequacy get you down! Go and do what it is your passion falls to, be what you want to be! Believe! Write!

Go and be awesome! I say it is so! Write, write, write!

Till next time!

Jesus, it's May already?!

Talk about being hit with the 'WTF' stick! Ha, I never really expected it to be May so soon. Silly, yes, but who knows how the human mind works.

The absence is due to the fact I've actually been writing lately. It's amazing. Well, the writing isn't as I'm hardly polished and it's all coming out like shining-vampire drivel but it's coming out and will be typed up to be refined. That's all that matters at this point! Mermaid story was finally spat out, currently working on Little Red Riding Hood. Fun times all around.

Mom is out of town for the weekend. I am cleaning in her absence. This is half-due to the fact I realized I liked how clean my room is (one day and one bottle of redline, baby) and the other half is because it makes HER happy, which in turn just makes life rather awesome. Hopefully it'll be somewhat shiny when she returns tomorrow.

Dad is gone to Virginia. That sort of added to the whole not wanting to post about my life bit. It sucks with him gone. My father's never been more than fifteen minutes away, whether or not I appreciated that fact when I was an itty thing. The night before he left, we ate at the local seafood place, watched Avatar at my sisters house, and around nine bid our goodbyes. Sister cried, I did not. I still haven't, a fact I still don't find disturbing. Some others do! I miss him and consider that the only thing that matters.

More projects had flown into my head, one of which is the crazy notion of learning karate. Starting Monday, I'll be signing up for three months worth of classes and working my ass off to excel at it. Discipline is something I lack. I covet it! I will get it! Etc, etc,.

I wish this post had more meat to it than the lame rambles and general on-goings. I'm going to try and document everything going down with karate, maybe with the whole 'gaining discipline' thing I'm hitting up. Either way, it'll be fun. My next post with something at least decent will hopefully be out this week.

Till next time!

Another Dy, Another Dollar

Padre just came over to pick up some things from the garage he had stored here. It was a sad moment, seeing the back of his van packed up with things he was putting into storage just down the block. Bittersweet, as a companion of mine put it. Bittersweet.

I realized yesterday that I have at least two blog posts written down but never typed. They'll probably never see the light of day! The weird thing is that those are the happy, optimistic blog posts - you poor folks are subjected to my utter emo and grump. Sorry about that. The three page rant about how tea is delicious may be typed up either way, very hopefully posted; I rather liked it. A lovely use of words if I'm allowed to be arrogant and proud for a wee moment. It doesn't happen often.

Hopefully a haircut will be done this lovely day. I've been the victim of jaw length hair for about a month now. Luckily for me and my poor hairdresser, I took photos from the back, side and front of the previous haircut so I have full color references of what I want down and how I want it done. Be proud, Beth! I thought ahead.

My former-future roommate talked to me, sort of. She stood up for me when an ex got on my case for wanting short hair; the ex called short hair feminine and insinuated that it meant I would not be lovely and femme without my longer hair. Once the former-future roommate stood up for me, the ex insulted how she looked! Sparks flew. It was epic, amazing and I fell utterly in love all over again with former-future roomie.

I typo'd 'love' into 'loe'. Blogger didn't give me the red line (but did this second time) - a mystery of spell check and Blogger! A conspiracy? I think so.

There was an article in a science magazine I have somewhere in my hell hole of a room in January about blogs and how social communication websites are actually ruining social interactions. According to this article, it made people think they had an actual voice and fresh thoughts, giving them the confidence to write these things online but failing to actually follow through.

Have I written about this before? Possibly. Either way, I think of that article every time I write in any of my blogs. For me blogs aren't so much about having a 'voice' on the internet but they are for getting out what I'm thinking in a coherant, somewhat organized manner. In person or over the internet in regular conversation, I have the tendency to blather about rather random subjects and in great jumbled masses of words. Long words. Exceedingly odd words with supposedly odder pronunciation. (Did you know that 'caramel' is pronounced 'car-mul' instead of 'car-a-mel'? I didn't. I like my version better.)

Voices are overrated. Writing about my travels this year is about me and keeping my family informed about my on goings without having to repeat myself seven times at a time. It means I will be able to look back this Christmas and remember what, exactly, was going down at that time last year. It's an exciting prospect, people! This process is akin to looking back in your high school journals: exceedingly embaressing but completely required for human growth.

Speaking of blathering, the tea has kicked in. Going to go get those silly pictures done, now.

Until next time (and a possible tea rant), peace!

-Erin