Monthly Archives: October 2012

As the wind rolls in.

My apologies, dear readers, but I seem to have misplaced a few days.

Actually, Saturday night, I developed a fever, and was in bed for a few days. By the time I finally got out of bed, I’d missed the Orionid meteor shower, and there’s a hurricane heading towards me. Thank you, mother nature.

So, since I spent the past who-knows-how-long in my death bed, I really don’t have anything good for an update. I’m now just waiting for the last remnants of my illness to fade off, so people will stop yelling at me when I step outside.

Ciao for now, lovelies.


I can’t stay away.

Last night, I volunteered at my local haunted house again. I know I said I wouldn’t, but, let’s be honest, that slightly sick pleasure you get from scaring people is kind of addicting.

It was nice seeing some of the people I’d worked with in the past, and I had a chance to meet a few new faces, though I didn’t get a chance to talk with them all. Actually, being short-staffed kind of worked out in our favor. We worked better together; crossing into one-another’s scenes, collaborating for the best scares, and generally having a good time, while providing one for the customers. A girl in the scenes behind me affected a foot fetish and followed people around, begging them for their feet, while the customers shuffled away from her, proving foot fetishes are just as creepy as dead mental patients.

At the end of the night was the usual wrap-up meeting, though I noticed the top scenes were now by house, instead of haunt-wide. Madhouse placed first, of course, and yours truly placed top scene in Madhouse. No one who worked with me last year was surprised. Except for me. I was fully prepared to accept defeat. This time.

All-in-all, I had a great time. A lot of people nudged me towards coming back, though, after today, I’m not sure my body can handle it anymore. When I woke up this morning, my feet hurt so badly, I could barely walk, and my body feels like a weightlifting midget’s been bouncing on it while I slept. I don’t remember it hurting this much last year. I suppose this is what I get for not starting in September.

Once I sound less like a frog has taken control of my vocal cords, I’ll think about returning for another night. I missed watching people run away from teenage girls, especially the big, buff guys.

And the nominations are…

Today, a friend of mine took me to see the new movie Frankenweenie. There was no one else in the theater, so we pretty much had a private showing, and it was lovely. However, this post isn’t about that.

When I came home from the movie, I checked my stats and noticed I had a comment on my blog about bullying. From the looks of the preview, I was mentioned in someone else’s post, which made me kind of giddy. I went ahead and checked it out, and it turns out, my dear readers, a fellow blogger had nominated yours truly for something called The Compassionate Communicator Award.

As I’m so very humble, and I never play up my own achievements, I ‘d originally decided to graciously accept the nomination, and pass it on, as per the rules.

But then I realized something.

For the most part, a lot of the blogs I’ve taken the time to read had the “humor” tag, and it was kind of difficult to look through and find the posts that are what I assume to be fitting. It’s not that I have anything against non-comical bloggers, my attention span just drifts too much if I’m not riveted by what I’m reading.

I’d be a terrible book critic.

However, I will instead offer my sincerest thanks to Ad-libb3d, who nominated me, among others. I’m highly flattered that you enjoyed my post enough to mention it in your press conference.


Also, who was that man in the trench coat that rushed out of the hall? Was he a friend of yours?

I think I might have offended him when I laughed…


I like pretty things.

I’m not ashamed to say that, like almost every other girl alive, I love pretty, shiny things. I guess I share that trait with squirrels, too.

While I get distracted by said pretty things almost constantly, I do have my standards. Unlike a lot of women, I don’t have much use for a lot of expensive metals, or diamonds. I prefer jewelry that is one-of-a-kind, or hand made.

For instance, a friend of mine I met last year at the haunted house makes these lovely adornments that, for lack of a better term, rock.

Vintage, gothy, cute, punky, whatever your fancy, she’s really good at matching styles.

Another favorite is something I’d blogged about before, but I just can’t get enough of. Critters are just too adorable, in the lovely creepy way, to pass up. They’re cuddly, they’re pretty, and they’re the perfect gift for your little Wednesday.

Or, you know, your favorite blogger. Have I mentioned how much my readers mean to me?

There are also some local shops and such that I like going to, like Aphotic Crypt, which you can order things online from, as well. They sell contacts and body jewelry, and a few local artists sell their goods in the shop, as well.

I’m always on the lookout for new shops and new indie creators. I like nifty stuff.

Cats hate vets. Period.

Being a cat person has it’s ups and down. You get a fuzzy companion that loves you as long as it has use for you, and has the inherent ability to sense when you’re upset. However, you also have this fuzzy little bastard that only loves you if it has use for you, and has the inherent ability to do everything that makes you upset. More often than not, a cat will completely ignore you until you’re too busy to pay attention to them. As soon as you’re in the middle of writing a blog, or cooking dinner, or trying to sleep, that’s when they demand that you pet them, and cuddle them, and spend a good two hours fawning over them. Of course, as soon as you set aside time for this, they promptly scamper off to deposit their hair all over your freshly cleaned clothes and/or sheets.

They also like to get sick and not tell you. Baby, aside from being a bit of an idiot, recently had to go to the vet for tapeworms, which, as any cat owner should know, comes from fleas. There’s no telling how long she’s had them, or how in the hell she got fleas when she doesn’t go outside, but I suspect little miss craftypants imported them in with the squirrels that hide in the attic during rain. So, appropriate anti-flea measures have been taken, and we’re watching Styxx’s bedding for signs of worms. Taking him to the vet would be barrels of fun. 

Styxx is one of those cats that, in his deceptively cute way, hates everyone. I don’t know if it’s because he’s old, or because he was brought into the house when my brother and I were very young, but he is one crotchety old bat, and he makes his dislike for most of humanity very clear. Whenever he had to be taken to the vet, he had to be sedated. While that was hilarious to watch when he came home, he’s now too old for that. So, to spare the vets from getting their limbs ripped off in a flurry of kitty fury, we just don’t take him, and do our best to keep him healthy.

Baby’s trip to the vet went smoothly, though she power-shed as soon as we got in the car. By the time we left, the exam table was covered in an inch of her hair, and the vet-nurse person could be seen sweeping the mound into what appeared to be a second cat.

Growing Pain

As I get older, I can’t help but notice how many of my friends and peers from High School are settling into their lives. People are getting married and having kids, moving out of their parents houses, and back in six months later. Some people I knew during school are even well on their way to making a name for themselves.

And here I am, sitting on my couch, writing a blog no one reads.

Honestly, that’s enough to get anyone down, but, somehow, it rarely dampens my spirits. Mostly because I ignore it, I think.

On the other hand, sometimes I’m glad that I’m not settling down into a family I’m not ready for, given my crippling fear of pregnancy and childbirth. Not to mention my fear of being alone with small, volatile children. I have my partially-brain-dead cat, and that’s really all I need as far as incoherent company.

I’ve also noticed that a lot of popular female bloggers are mothers, which leads me to ask:

“How long is it going to be before people start giving me the ‘Why don’t you have kids yet?’ look?”

I don’t mind the idea of having kids, I mind the idea of having babies. To be perfectly honest, I think I’d be just as happy with a house full of cats and a sign in my front lawn that says “Beware of Gnomes”.

And as odd as it sounds, I’m kind of looking forward to The Look, or, for some of the more opinionated pro-morefamilythanyoucanlegallyhandle people, the loudly asked question. “I’ll have children if or when I’m damn well ready. Keep your nose out of my uterus.”

Growing up has always seemed a scary concept for me, and I’ve dedicated a lot of my life to avoiding it as much as possible. The adult world is a harsh place, where the bank always wants to take what you have, and your peers tell you what you have is never enough, and I think I’m well within my rights to postpone growing up until I can figure out a way to make it less frightening.



Let’s take a break from the light-hearted humor of my usual blogs and discuss something deadly serious.

Generally, I don’t share and like facebook pages of teens who’ve killed themselves. I don’t know them, and I don’t know the entirety of the situation they were in. I’m not going to jump to the defense of some kid who killed themselves because they didn’t get the right color prius from their parents. 

I also feel a tiny twinge of bitterness, as bad as this sounds, because no one was there like that when I was being bullied.

However, a new story, one of thousands that happen all too often, has come to the public eye. Fifteen year old Amanda Todd killed herself recently because of incessant bullying. Before her death, she posted a video documenting her story, and received mixed reviews. Her bullies kept up their torment, but no one was really able to help her. She killed herself on October 10th. The people who bullied her are still posting pictures of her, and spreading vile messages on her memorial pages.

Older people pretend that young girls can’t do much damage, and that “kids will be kids” in an attempt to either forget their own bullying experiences, or deny that they ever bullied anyone. Truth is, teenage girls are probably the most vicious of our species, second only to mothers whose children are in danger. The social pressure to fit in and be perfect is so high, it can send teenagers into anxious fits, and leave them emotionally scarred. Contrary to popular belief, it IS hard to be a teenager, a lot harder than most people know, and when you’ve got 15 or 16 of your peers kicking you in the ribs, it’s hard to see the possibility for a bright future.

I hate that we live in a world where bullying isn’t taken as seriously as it needs to be. When I was in middle school, I bullied by people I thought were my friends. For anonymity’s sake, I’ll call them K and T.

I made friends with K earlier in the year, since we were both considered outcasts, and friendship is one of the only things that can make those teenage years bearable. T came in not too long after. Well, I let K be “head bitch” and endured her occasional snide comments and subtle abuse for a while, but when I started to grow a backbone and stand up to her, she and her little guard dog T did away with the subtlety. I remember one instance clearly; standing out on the football field during gym class one day, begging them to stop as T continuously swung a studded belt at me, connecting with my legs and lower abdomen more often than not. K just sat and laughed. My other friends told me time and time again that I shouldn’t be friends with K, and I tried, eventually, to end it, but there’s really no cutting ties with someone you have to see every day. K and T’s abuse, coupled with the constant flood of insults from so many of my classmates made the thought of suicide appealing. Luckily for me, I had Ashley, who I consider a sister, and a handful of people from my chorus class. I’m alive now because I had a few friends that were there for me when I needed them. 

Some people don’t even have that, while others endure so much torment that they feel alone, even among friends. No one deserves to be treated like they’re worthless. Everyone’s entitled to not like someone, but taking it this far is dangerous. To those of my friends and acquaintances that are still in school, stand up for yourself and others. Don’t let anyone abuse you or the people you know. Most importantly, don’t become one of those people that thinks it’s okay to mistreat others. You have no idea how much power you can hold over someone else’s life. Don’t abuse that.


November is slinking around the corner somewhere, and every writer knows what that means. National Novel Writing Month. I’ve decided that this year, I will do everything I can to get 50k words done on my original novel. You know, the one I put aside because I would get irrationally angry every time I opened the document. Even if I only get another chapter done on it, that will be something, and I’ll feel accomplished.

Since I’m not working at a haunted house this Halloween season, I’ve got time to finish the background planning that would probably never end up being explained in the novel itself, and get everything in order for the flurry of words that probably won’t fall out of my fingers as soon as November starts. Every week, I’m going to write a short blog documenting my progress, setbacks, and how much hair I’ve pulled out. I suspect Folgers and the local produce market will be profiting greatly from me next month. (I like to eat apples while I write.)

So, fellow writers, now it’s your turn. Do you have a a story in mind for NaNoWriMo, and what kind of unusual tactics do you use to accomplish your word count? Leave me a comment and let me know.

Until the next interesting update,