The Moment You've Been Waiting For...(I Hope)

It is done! Our first video from our PAX East 2012 footage is up and available for viewing on my YouTube Channel.

Behold!

O is for Oarless and Ocarinas

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Do you ever feel oarless in life? Metaphorically, I mean.  You are in your boat and you can see off on the horizon where you want to be, but you look around and you can't find the oars to paddle in that direction, or worse you can see the oars but they are floating away from you in unknown waters and you're too unsure or afraid to jump in the water to try to get an oar.  That's how I feel today.  Fear holds me back today.  Fear that words won't go on the page right.  Fear that the words will eventually dry up and never flow again. Fear that even if the words continue to flow, I will continue spewing them out into the void where they will dance for a moment and fade away into nothingness, never having touched anyone or made the world better.

Then I think about playing a video game, and I feel cold, and that's when I know that the little Doom Cloud is trying to rear its ugly head again.

Boyfriend bought me Harvest Moon The Tale of Two Towns for my birthday last week and I'm really enjoying it, but for some reason today I've been craving a replay of Ocarina of Time today.  I have the 3DS special Zelda Edition which came with Ocarina of Time in 3D. Having never gotten a chance to play the original on N64-only watching my friends play in college-but loving Windwaker, I wasn't certain of what to expect.  Windwaker will probably always be my favorite in the Zelda franchise, but I thoroughly enjoy Ocarina of Time. The 3D element isn't necessary to the game play but it adds a little extra magic to it. 

And those are my thoughts today.  They may not be much, but after watching/helping Boyfriend edit our PAX East videos, I'm sick of hearing my own voice, especially the one in my head.
Humble brag?  Meh.  It happens.


 P.S Oarless is too a word, spellchecker!!!

N is for Nescience and New Logo?

Nescience (NESH-ee-ence) — absence of knowledge or awareness; ignorance 

I know I've harped on Draw Something already, but this needs to be said:

It's called DRAW  Something, not write-down-a-bunch-of-words-semi-related-to-the-word-I'm-supposed-to-be-guessing, THAT game is called $100,000 Pyramid. Am I the only one who runs into this issue?  I've been playing with this kid(?) who not only sucks at drawing (when he/she does actually draw) but his/her "clues" he/she chooses to write instead of draw don't make any sense.  

Example 1: 

This is my generous recreation of a "drawing" made by said genius I was playing with.  What was the word I was supposed to be guessing, you ask? Mozart.  In case your classical music knowledge is rusty, Für Elise is the more common name for Bagatelle No. 25 in A Minor one of the most popular songs composed by BEETHOVEN.  So, not only did this person violate the very basics of this game by writing words (a disqualification in Pictionary) he/she didn't give me the correct written clue. *sigh*

After this little debacle, I rolled my eyes, screamed at him/her through my iPod and moved on.  Then, I got really irate in the next round.

Example 2:

 

Again, another generous recreation on my part showing this player's ineptitude and/or laziness. If you're not going honor the spirit of the game, then don't play with me!  

The word was Depp, by the way.

The part that really boggles my mind though, is in Draw Something you aren't just stuck with a word, you have 3 options and you choose the word you want to draw.  Some words are harder and worth more points. But why choose a difficult word and not have a plan?! This is why I don't usually play online with others, I get all cranky.

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On a more pleasant topic, Boyfriend has been making amazing progress on our videos from PAX EAST and we should have the first one up this week! Also, our dear friend, Tom Phillips took my simple logo I had designed for the blog and created a masterpiece of...well, just look:

Original logo Copyright: Jessica Ayers

New logo? Copyright Tom Phillips

He sent it over last night and we all had a good chuckle, but no, this did not get the old stamp of approval from me. This will not be my new logo. However, Tom and I have no qualms putting it on a t-shirt.  As soon as it's in my Zazzle store, anyone can buy it.

You're welcome.

M is for My Sister, Megan

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My sister's birthday is tomorrow. Growing up, I never minded sharing my birthday week with Megs, I always thought it was fun because it usually meant 2 parties in one week even if one of them wasn't all about me. My mom was always trying to come up with creative theme parties for us, which I remember being super fun.  One year Meg had a ballet themed party and we all wore tutus and ballet shoes and listened to the Nutcracker on a loop for hours (which I bet drove my mom nuts) and danced around and it was great. Another year, we had a 50's diner themed party where everyone wore poodle-skirts, and we listened to the Grease and Mermaids soundtracks on a loop for hours (which I bet drove mom nuts.) I loved that party because I got to be the "waitress" (oh life imitating art) for everyone and mom even let me where my Rollerblades in the house like it was a drive-in.

My favorite memories with my sister through the years have been: 

-Playing "Dogs" (the name we gave to incorporate all the games we made up playing with our dollhouses and figurines as kids) 

-Having perfume fights in our bathroom

-Jumping on our neighbors' trampoline with the sprinklers on

-Getting asked if we were twins by strangers and then laughing at them (we're not twins)

-Pretending we were twins 

-All those times we leaned on one other on those days when you just needed your sister

We live several states away from each other now, and I wish I could see her more.  I don't call or text or e-mail as much as I should and every now and then I feel super guilty for all the times I was less than "sisterly" to her.  I wish I could go back in time and undo all the times I was mean to her for no reason or gave her any reason to fear or not look up to her older sister.  I'm sorry I had to go away to college and leave her at home for 2 years without a sister even though I'm sure using my room as her walk-in closet helped ease the pain of me not being there.  I'm sorry I couldn't always really be there during those years when she was really sick. I love my sister very much and I am so proud of the person she's grown into and I wish her nothing but happiness.

I love you, Poodle! Thanks for being my sissy. Happy Birthday!

L is for Lollygagging with Letters, More Open Letters to the World: Or Phoning it In

Dear Birds Outside My Window,
SHUT UP BEFORE 7AM!!
Thanks.
Dear Work,
I don't feel like doing you today.  Maybe I won't.
So there.

Dear Cranky Old Hag in My Office,
Yes, you. No one likes you.  No one cares about your bat-shit-crazy opinions. And thanks for the backhanded birthday wish yesterday.
P.S You're kind of a bitch, you might want to work on that.

Dear Brain,
Please just stay sane enough to get through this day and then we can go home and play video games until we pass out from exhaustion.

Dear Pottermore,
Why do you make me addicted to you so? I feel like a total prat.

Dear Space Shuttle Enterprise,
I want to watch you travel up the Hudson and get loaded onto a ship by a ginormous crane, it will be so cool!  But I can't because apparently watching history happen doesn't constitute as an office holiday.

Dear Time,
WHY ARE YOU GOING SO SLOWLY?!?!?!?

Dear Co-workers,
If you're not going to actually do any work, will you at least sit at your desk and pretend to work like the rest of us? God forbid I have to ask you a goddamn question and can't find you because you're off doing fuck-all somewhere for 30 minutes. It's fine, I enjoy doing 3 times the work I should have to be doing because you won't, while getting paid the same amount of money you do.

Dear Woman on Hold,
Yes, you are going to sit on hold while I write a poor-excuse-for-a-blog-post until you get tired of holding and hang up, or until you decide to pull your head out of your ass and realize the reason you're calling is not because our system is broken but really because you're an idiot.  Why?  Because you're being a nasty bitch. That's why.  You don't have time to deal with your computer problems that are not my fault but you think I should magically be able to fix and do all of your work for you?  Well, I don't have time to listen to you bitch and moan and act indignant and insult me when you can't follow simple instructions over the phone so I can do my job to determine the actual problem.
I take that back, I figured out the problem: You're a self-absorbed barnacle on the scut of life, it's Friday afternoon, and I no longer give a rat's ass-I am not your punching bag to yell at because you hate yourself. You can call back all you want, but now we know your number and have the power to push the "ignore" button on the phone.  Good day.


I said GOOD DAY
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Dear Reader(s),
Yes I realize this isn't really a post.
Sorry.
I promise to do better tomorrow.



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K is for Katzenjammer



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 Did I mention that it was my birthday yesterday? It was a pretty darn good birthday. My sister sent me some really nice lotion (plus a mystery gift that has not arrived yet,) Boyfriend got me a new game and a movie, and my dad came into town on a business trip so he took us out to dinner. I love going out to dinner with my dad, and not just because it's a free meal. We always go some place fun and eat delicious food until we're stuffed and there is always plenty of wine. Oh the wine...


Ketzenjammer is a German word that literally translates to cat wailing but it basically means "hangover" and the cat wail that is the Mariah Carey song that's playing on the radio at work right now is not helping me!


The Calvados was what really did us in last night, though. It's very similar to Grappa-a beverage I refuse to touch-which is a drink that my father refers to as "Wine's afterbirth." Gross. But he has a point, it feels like you're imbibing jet fuel. Which is why last night I tweeted this:

Sorry this isn't a real post, but now you know why. I'll have better and more interesting things to say tomorrow.  But how about that new vocab word, eh?
You're welcome.

J is for Jessica

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It's my birthday, bitches!
OK, that's the last I will mention it.  I'm not really one of those people that screams for attention by constantly reminding everyone that it's their birthday (I honestly can't stand those people.) I dance on the edge of the knife that is I-want-people-to-remember-that-it's-my-birthday-without-me-reminding-them-but-I-don't-want-everyone-to-make-a-big-deal-out-of-it. I'm more than happy with someone just wishing me a very simple and sincere "happy birthday," I don't ask for much.

Today on my way into work (yeah, going to work/school on your birthday blows) I got that feeling of dread that I get every year thinking, "What if no one remembers?" Then, that thought is quickly over-ridden by the fear that they didn't forget and they'll do something over-the-top and a bunch of people I don't know/like at the office will stare at me and wish me the empty and hollow "oh, happy birthday." 
Welcome to Boyfriend's hell.  The man is a saint to put up with my neuroses (even if he occasionally can't remember when my birthday actually is...)

So, enough about my birthday...sort of.  Before I was born, my mom was certain I was a boy and she planned on naming me Michael. But, one day my mom was sitting in the waiting room at her optometrist's office and there was a little girl in the waiting room who was crying because she had to get glasses.  Her mother was trying to console and called her "Jessica." My mom thought it was such a pretty name and one she hadn't heard a lot, so when it turned out I was a girl, my mom decided it was a fitting name for me. Little did any of us know that "Jessica" would be in the top 10 baby girl names in the U.S for the next 20 years, and it remains in the top 30 today. I was surrounded by Jessicas growing up. There were 3 other Jessicas in my preschool, 4 Jessicas in my elementary school, one of my best friends in middle school was Jessica, my bff in high school was/is Jessica, my roommate in college was Jessica.  I couldn't escape.

Growing up surrounded by other Jessicas, I started to hate my name. I felt like a misfit and often wished I had been born a boy instead (yes, because "Michael" was far less common.) However, my attitude towards my name changed thanks to the best Jessica: Jessica Rabbit.



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I never saw Who Framed Roger Rabbit (1988) in the theatres, but a couple of years after it was released, the Disney Channel used to play it at night quite often. I was addicted. I loved Christopher Lloyd in Back to the Future and from watching Taxi on Nick at Nite with my mom. He never scared me in WFRR until (spoiler?) he turned into the psychotic toon with the scary red eyes at the end. But, I completely fell in love with Jessica Rabbit. She had a strong dry wit and didn't take crap from anyone. She was everything I thought a Jessica should be, not like the boring or bratty little girls I went to school with who thought boys had cooties. From that day on, I was determined to be an awesome example of Jessicas. It wasn't until I was older that I realized most people only liked Jessica Rabbit because of her enormous...erm...talents, but I didn't care. She was a beautiful character with attitude that I looked up to, and surprisingly Jessica Rabbit did not give me body image issues (that honor goes to the ads in Seventeen magazine, and the girls in school who nicknamed me "beanpole" and "pipe cleaner," thanks.)

After Jessica Rabbit sort of wained in popularity, I became obsessed with Jessica Wakefield and her wacky adventures, but mostly, I really just liked seeing my name written in a book. But when the one-hit-wonder song Jessie came out, I wanted to change my name to Jessie for a hot minute, until everyone else in middle school was going by the same nickname (now if you even think about calling me "Jessie" or start singing Jesse's Girl to me, stabbing will ensue.)  With rise of Jessica Simpson, Jessica Biel, and Jessica Alba, I started getting self-conscious about my name again, I considered going by my middle name for a short while because I was tired of introducing myself and having people say, "Oh, like Jessica (Simpson/Biel/Alba) I love her! Don't you love her? Were you named after her?" Really?!?! If you want to get all technical, then yes, I guess I was named "after" them because they are all a teensy bit older than me, but did my parents decide to name me because of any of those particular girls? Don't be daft.  I was born long before any of them were famous. Now I just go by Jess.  Just Jess. However, I have been known to answer to "Excuse me" in the serving industry.

Well, I think that's enough narcissism for today? Don't you?

Did you know that Jessica is derived from the Hebrew name Yiskah?

The name Jessica first appeared as its now common spelling in The Merchant of Venice By William Shakespeare.

The name Jessica means foresighted, God's Grace, and/or Wealthy.

Did I mention today is my birthday?

Are you sick of my name yet? 'Cause I sure am.

I is for Illustration

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I know I'm a little late to the party that is Draw Something, but when I read an entire article about the game in the New York Times yesterday, I knew that I really missed the boat. Much like CNN, I don't necessarily think of the  New York Times when I think "breaking video game news" but the article about Draw Something, I have to say, made the game sound more appealing than I originally thought. For the uninitiated (like myself up until recently) Draw Something is essentially an app game like Pictionary.

I always liked playing Pictionary at home with my sister and my mom, but at school, the stakes always got a little higher.  I'm pretty competitive.  Not to say that I'm a "sore loser" or a boasting winner, but  I do get really into a competition and let's just say that I have to stifle my reaction to my win/loss of a game to conform with "acceptable" social standards.  So, in school we would usually have "Library Time" a couple times a week.  I always like this.  Sometimes it was structured into a literary lesson or learning the (hah) Dewey decimal system and sometimes it was quiet reading time when I could roam the stacks and discover new worlds, new adventures, and new words. But, sometimes we would play library games. My favorite was Dictionary Pictionary until one incident (I'll get to it later.)


Dictionary Pictionary was a fairly ingenious educational game, I think. The class was divided into small teams each team had a dry erase board, a couple of markers, and a dictionary at their respective team table. One person from each team would be the "drawer/artist" and all the artists would go get the secret word from the librarian, like "horse" for example. Then all the artists would go back to their teams and when the librarian told everyone to start all the artists would draw and there teams would have to guess as quickly and quietly as possible so that the other teams wouldn't overhear. Then, once the word was guessed the team would have to look the secret word up in the dictionary and raise there hand when they found it.  The librarian would come over and check it and if it was right, the team got a point. Whichever team had the most points at the end of the half hour won a special prize.  I don't remember what the special prizes were, mostly because I don't ever remember being on a winning team.

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Despite never winning the top prize of the day, I loved playing.  It involved 2 different things my nerdy little brain loved: being creative (drawing) and words.  Plus, whenever it was my turn to draw, I got to be the center of attention for a minute.  But then something changed.  I don't remember it happening all at once, it was probably a gradual progression, but slowly my "friends" in my class abandoned me and then eventually turned on me and suddenly everything I did or said was cause for ridicule.  It made team games not so much fun anymore.

One particular incident playing Dictionary Pictionary made me want to cry. It was my turn to draw the picture and the secret word was "cocoa."  In my mind I would draw a picture of someone drinking a cup of hot chocolate/cocoa.  Apparently I was the only one who'd ever heard of hot cocoa.  My team was the last one to figure it out and of course blamed me while all the other teams giggled and stared at us.  I tried to shake it off when the next round came and I passed off the drawing title to someone else.  I may have overcompensated in the second round because I was so sure that I knew the word that it burst our of me like a Triple Crown pony out of the gate.  I was right! But the 3 other teams heard me and flipped through their dictionaries and beat us again. Death glares from my team mates followed immediately. 

Finally, in the last round, it was my turn to be the keeper of the dictionary, I was totally going to make up points for my team now.  I love words. I was probably the only 7 year-old who loved her Oxford Picture Dictionary and considered it "light reading" for when she was bored or procrastinating doing homework.  I don't remember the secret word or why I had so much trouble finding it in the dictionary that day, but I'm sure the fact that I had 4 judgemental 3rd graders breathing down my neck sighing and gasping and clucking their teeth at me the longer I took didn't help at all.  From that day on, I became more aware of my classmates barbed jokes and teasing. I also noticed that in every group activity or team-building exercise our teachers forced upon us all of the disappointed sighs and eye-rolls became more prevalent from the other kids when I would join the team. I started to really enjoy free-time and silent reading time in the library more and more at that point.

So maybe it's the demons in my inner child's closet that made me snub Draw Something for so long. Maybe not.  Maybe I live under a rock, I mean, I still don't understand the world's obsession with Angry Birds. But, when something becomes popular enough that the "main stream media" starts talking about it, I will at least give it a second look.  So, I find Draw Something to be a useful way to pass the time when you're bored at work on the train. But I find Drawception to be much more to my liking.  It's like Telephone meets Pictionary. It's addicting and allows you 2 different ways to be creative. Plus, it's good for a laugh once the game is complete.

So go out and draw something!

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H is for Happy Birthday!

"If we didn’t have birthdays, you wouldn’t be you. If you’d never been born, well then what would you do? If you’d never been born, well then what would you be? You might be a fish! Or a toad in a tree! You might be a doorknob! Or three baked potatoes! You might be a bag full of hard green tomatoes."

"Or worse than all that…Why, you might be a WASN’T! A Wasn’t has no fun at all. No, he doesn’t. A Wasn’t just isn’t. He just isn’t present. But you…You ARE YOU! And, now isn’t that pleasant!" "Today you are you! That is truer than true! There is no one alive...

...who is you-er than you! Shout loud, “I am lucky to be what I am! Thank goodness I’m not just a clam or a ham Or a dusty old jar of sour gooseberry jam! I am what I am! That’s a great thing to be! If I say so myself, HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME!” -Dr. Seuss

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Ok, so today isn't really my birthday, it's a couple days away, but I don't care, I want to talk about it today! I've mentioned before that I've had some really good birthdays in the past. It's easy to get excited about your birthday as a kid; there's always cake and ice cream and lots of shiny presents and everyone generally makes a big deal about you for a whole day, but that all kind of dies down the older you get.  I think my 21st birthday may have been the last birthday that was really a "big deal" and, honestly, I don't remember what I did on that particular birthday...which was probably the point at the time.

As an adult, I've had mostly quiet birthdays but part of me wants to have a ridiculous balls-to-the-wall-crazy-time party again as I did in my youth. But, then my anxiety kicks in and I sit and think, "What if no one shows up and I'm stuck getting pitying glances from the venue staff all night? What if lots of people I don't like show up out of no where and I'm stuck making awkward conversation with them all night? I can't throw them out because then I would be a birthday bitch shunning the only people who bothered to be at my party." And then I remember that I no longer enjoy planning parties due to the many parties that I put effort into planning over the years and then no one showed up (20-somethings are impossible to get a commitment from.) And then those thoughts spiral out of control and I think about the time in 3rd grade when I was purposely invited to a sleepover party on the night after the actual party, and all the girls in school had a good laugh about it behind my back for a few weeks. And then I start remembering my dead pets, because, oh yeah, one of my pets died on my birthday 2 years ago. Man, depression is an asshole.

Whoa.  I'm going to stop right there.  This post is getting out of control. It's my birthday (soon) dammit! And no one can ruin it! Not even my own brain! Subject change:

My mom and step-dad sent me a new coffee maker last week for my b-day and it's awesome! I spent all day yesterday cleaning it with vinegar to keep it roach-free for as long as possible in our shit-hole of a kitchen. It's a sweet machine with a single-serving side and a carafe side.  I'm in love, it is the coolest coffee machine I have ever owned.

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So, I probably shouldn't put this next part in here...but I'm gonna, because I can. This is a conversation I had with Boyfriend yesterday:

Boyfriend: (After receiving a text from his friend) Ooo! Holy Ghost Tent Revival (a kick-ass band made up of his friends from college, who are really cool and you should totally check them out) is in town and playing in Brooklyn on Wednesday! We can go to that!

Me: This Wednesday or next Wednesday?

Boyfriend: This Wednesday.

Me: Well...we can't really go on Wednesday because you know what else is happening that day..?

Boyfriend: Oh are we going to see A Girl Wrote it? (A series of short plays written by female playwrights put on by a theatre company started by some of my friends from college, which was amazing last year and you should totally go.)

Me: Nooooo...but something else is happening that day that will prevent us from going to Brooklyn...

Boyfriend: (Staring blankly at his Google calendar, then stares blankly at me) Hmmmm...

Me: Seriously?!

Boyfriend: *sigh* What else is on Wednesday?

Me: Oh, just my birthday.

Boyfriend: What?! No it's not! Your birthday is on Tuesday!

Me: No it's not! It's on Wednesday, the 25th as it is every year. I can't believe you forgot when my birthday was! I always remember your birthday!

Boyfriend: Well, mine is easy to remember!

Me: How is yours any easier to remember than mine?! Our birthdays are exactly 4 weeks apart! Your birthday is on a Wednesday this year too! (I count on the calendar to show him.)

Boyfriend: Huh. *sigh* I'm sorry, honey.  I got confused.

Me: (making a pouty face)

Boyfriend: Welp, now I have to change all the plans I made for Tuesday night. (pretends to type things on his keyboard)

Me: No you don't! You didn't have any plans made! (we're super poor after paying taxes and renewing our apartment lease, I doubt either of us had plans because plans involve money)

Boyfriend: (stares at me in his most convincing "serious face" he can muster) Yeah ok. I'm sorry.  DON'T TELL ANYONE ABOUT THIS! I'm a better boyfriend than this! (He is)

Me: Oh, I'm tweeting this right now! (I didn't)

Boyfriend: NO!!!

Me: This is so going in my blog. (it is)

So this year was one of what I'm sure will be many more years of forgotten birthdays  quirky relationship bliss with Boyfriend, and I forgive him for his silliness. At least he thought my birthday was the day before and not the day after my actual birthday.  Then he'd really be in trouble.  But, still he better get me a really nice video game or a puppy to make up for this one.  Oh wait, we're poor right now. Crap.

Well then, no coffee for him this week! So there. Boom! Punished.

I feel like this blog post is missing something...



Yup. that was it.

G is for Green (the Concept, Not the Color)

Today is Earth Day. In my school days every year we would have to watch The Lorax (the nightmare-inducing cartoon from 1972 not the sugar-coated children-can't-possibly-enjoy-this-without-fart-jokes atrocity that is the current Universal Animation Studios incarnation.) Strangely, I don't ever remember being taught the point or even the history behind Earth Day in school.  Either my conservative school district had a rule in their charter about never mentioning hippies inside the classroom, or I was so scarred after watching The Lorax year after year (and the subsequent teasing that occurred after the lights came on and everyone saw that I was crying because of a cartoon we'd all seen a 100 times) that I blocked it from my memory.  All I understood about Earth Day was that people were evil and destroying the planet so much that when I grew up there would be no more trees or cute animals if I personally didn't do something about it like recycle my soda cans, and all the dolphins and seals of the world would strangle to death and go extinct if I personally didn't make sure that every known soda can yoke was cut up properly. I highly doubt that that was the message my teachers were trying to instill, but what do you expect to happen when you show a cartoon made in the 70s to a young impressionable girl who suffers from undiagnosed mental health issues?

Well, it turns out that we celebrate Earth Day because it is the anniversary of the birth of the environmental movement.  The end.  That's what it is.  It's not National Make-Jess-Feel-Like-A-Bad-Person Day that I long suspected it was as a child. Call me a "bleeding heart liberal" or a "tree-hugger" or whatever, but I do care about the environment. I always had an interest in animals and nature even before the annual mental scarring that came with the many viewings of The Lorax. We recycle, we use vinegar to clean instead of bleach or other chemicals.  If we had the room and easier outdoor access, Boyfriend would have us compost (seriously) otherwise it's too difficult to do in NYC without yard access. If Boyfriend had his way, we would have our own solar array and collect rain water and have an herb garden, these things are tough to have in such an urban environment.  It's one of the many reasons we're considering moving to Los Angeles this year.  I don't know if it will happen this year, but if it does, we can drive around in our hybrid or electric vehicle eating our food we grew ourselves. Just as exciting, we can be that much closer to what I like to call "Nerd Mecca" and maybe I could get a job at Sony or Naughty Dog or Pixar or somewhere amazing like that.  

Wow.  I sort of got off topic a bit there. Um, so to sum up: 
The Lorax destroyed my psyche as a child.
California houses Nerd Mecca.
Happy Earth Day!



Boom! Childhood ruined.
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(And you thought I would do "G is For Gaming" ha!  Crap that would've been better, huh? *sigh*)

F is for Falderal: or That Other F Word (Yes, it's in Here Too)

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So, remember how I promised yesterday that today my blog post would be less depressing?  Yeah.  I got nothing. I feel like it's cheating in this A-Z challenge if I just sort of phone it in, but that may be something I just have to live with.  Since yesterday afternoon, I've been on a desperate quest through my mental labyrinth (or "kicking the old peanut around" as Boyfriend puts it) to think of an interesting title or a subject starting with the letter F. Unfortunately everything I could think of were things like "Fucking job" "Fucking Roaches" "Fucking Fuck" and that just seemed too easy.  Really, you can put "fucking" in front of anything and suddenly it sounds interesting starts with the letter F. Problem solved. So, instead of going the easy route, I decided to put real thought and creativity into this post.  Here are my ideas thus far:

  

Falling asleep while chewing gum?! Really?

(My co-worker whom I suspect may have a sleeping disorder literally dozed off at her desk while not only chewing gum, but in the middle of blowing a damn bubble.  I so wish I was joking.  I think her paycheck is bigger than mine too.  I hate my job.)

Flapdoodle

(How awesome is this word?!Yes it is too a real word spellcheck! Psh.  You think you're so smart.  You don't even think spellcheck is a real word.)

Foofaraw

(A fancy word, perhaps too fancy for my blog. This is also a real word spellcheck!!!)

Aaaaaand that's all I got. But, if you're a word nerd like me, you'll find the title and content of this post apropos and hilarious. You're welcome.

Looking for the perfect F word? Try here. 


Well, this post kind of sucks, but since it's already 12 hours later than I normally post and I have nothing left in my creative juice carton, I'm just going to chalk it up to "they can't all be winners" and just go play Fable III.  Fable starts with F.  *sigh* Fuck.

E is for Easing the Painful Memories



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Today is April 20th. For most people, it's just another day.  For Deadheads, it's a day of "celebrating" the joys of cannabis (420, man!) Unfortunately, for me and many other Coloradans the day holds a darker connotation, an anniversary that hovers over the day like the threat of storm clouds on a trip to the beach. I'm referring to the Columbine High School killings of April 20, 1999.

I won't sit here and complain that I have PTSD to garner sympathy or attention, nor will I allude that I was there that day, because I wasn't. I was miles away, safe on my couch recovering from spinal surgery, watching the horror unfold live on my local CBS affiliate news station. I didn't know anyone there personally, I knew people who knew people who were there. I was not even a student at Columbine. The school was in the "sister"county adjacent to my own. Yet, sitting on the couch watching the tragedy happen before my scared freshman eyes, crying and shaking as more details became available, I felt like I was there.
 
Watching the field reporters  on live TV break down into crying fits as they reportedly the grisly details, I'm sure they thought about their own children at home and in school. I watched as the professionals' hearts broke for the unknown number of dead inside the school.  I cried too, when I witnessed hordes of teenagers finally sprinted from the building to the safety of the nearby neighborhood to be frisked by the cops and reunited with their loved ones. I cried when the cameras surrounded one of the first escapees as she rattled off her story hysterically to all who would listen.  She wailed as tears soaked her face, she spat out the words as if screaming them out loud would make them not real.  Oh how badly we all wanted it to not be real. Her voice and the images that are undoubtedly playing on every Colorado news station all day-as they are every year-haunt me on this day.

I weep for the kids who had to live through that day.  I weep for the ones who didn't live and for their families.  I weep because I can't help them.  I can't comfort them.  I don't know how. I weep about how angry the 2 boys who were responsible for this day make me.  I weep for how sorry I feel for them too.  I know what it's like to feel like an outcast.  I weep because I think Michael Moore makes gratuitous propaganda movies, and has shady film-making practices but I have mixed feelings about Bowling For Columbine-a movie I own, but never plan to watch again. I don't want to sit here and write this blog post about this today, but it's the only thing I can think about that will make the words flow.

I always feel conflicted on this day. I'm glad that CNN (it's always on in my office, the remote is under lock and key-I'm not even joking) is playing the George Zimmerman hearing all day instead of replaying images from the horrible day.  But then I'm mad that they aren't even acknowledging it. I'm angry that no one made me turn off the news 13 years ago so I wouldn't be haunted by witnessing the events as they happened.  I'm mad at myself for not having the strength to turn it off and just watch cartoons. I'm angry at the fear-mongering media for making adults afraid of trench coats and video games. I'm mad at my school administration for over-reacting and making us do "lock-down" drills every week for years afterwards, perpetuating our fear and probably allowing our young minds to be more susceptible to PTSD (our therpists' wallets thank you, Colorado school districts.) I'm mad that everyone around me is oblivious to the pain that this day brings to so many people. I'm mad that I can't find the humor today, that it somehow feels wrong. I want so badly to bring humor to this day, but I don't know how.

There is hope. I read an article this morning about a former Columbine student who is now a filmmaker and is currently making a documentary to benefit former Columbine students. Now I feel like I can help a little bit by spreading the word to help him tell their story and hopefully help change the battle for mental illness assistance for the better. I only wish I could do more.
(You can donate to Samuel's film fund here.)




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P.S I feel a little cleansed after that depressing-ass post, but I thought maybe I could do some netterwebs research for something lighthearted and happy that also happened today and talk about that.  Hmmm...anniversaries of natural disasters, Hitler's birthday...So nothing good.

Oh wait, Alan Reed, the voice of Fred Flintstone was born today.
George Takei's birthday is today too! Happy day of birth, Mr. Sulu! (Oh my!)
According to History Orb, no one famous was born on April 20th after 1987 apparently...
And "sex robots" are trending on Yahoo! right now.
I promise to be funny again funnier less depressing tomorrow.

D is for Damn You Writer's Block: or Not Quite a Real Blog Post

Still riding my high from getting to meet The Bloggess the other day, I've now raised the mental bar for the level of quality I think all of my blogs should be from now on.  And now I'm stuck wracking my brain for something interesting to write about.  Poop.  Last night as I was drifting off to sleep, I thought to myself,
"What starts with D that I can write about tomorrow? Oh, D is for IDEA REDACTED. It will be the coolest blog ever!"  

Now I can't for the life of me remember what I thought was such a brilliant idea for a blog post late last night.  Curse you sleepy brain!!!  I've scoured the Internet for tips for overcoming writer's block, or searching for something that will jog my memory to no avail.

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I've tried Free Writing but any time I write my stream of consciousness, I read over it afterwards and realize that I need to immediately burn it.  Should someone read that shit, I would be taken in for a 72-hour psychiatric watch/evaluation.
OK, actually I just Googled "if people knew what you were thinking they'd put you in a mental hospital" just to see what would come up.  I'm scared now. There are some scary sad people out there. Traumatized.

Now that I think about it, this blog post has sort of turned into a stream-of-consciousness post hasn't it?  Hmm...gotta remember to turn on the ol' brain filter for the rest of the day. (I swear I'm not high today.  I took an anti-anxiety pill Tuesday because I was nervous about meeting Jenny, and then I fell asleep in the park and then snored myself awake just in time to get back to the office before anyone noticed my lunch break may or may not have been longer than 1 hour, so I'm cutting myself off for the week unless something really scary or terrible or traumatic happens.)

What was I even talking about?  Oh, writer's block, right. Does this count as a blog post?

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C is for Confidently Colliding with a Cyberspace Cynosure

You know how you look up to someone, you admire their work, you strive to emulate them and to fight harder to be stronger and be a better person because of them, and then you get a chance to meet them, and they are just as amazing in person as you dreamed they would be? That. Just. Happened.

My pre-ordered copy of Let's Pretend This Never Happened (A Mostly True Memoir) came as it was supposed to, brightening my day as I ripped open the box like a kid on Christmas. I held that book and just caressed its smooth slate cover with the shiny image of Hamlet Von Schitzel smiling up at me.

TheBloggess.com

It came just in time too, for Jenny (The Bloggess) was holding her first book signing to kick off her book tour not 3 miles from where I stood admiring my new book that I had patiently waited months to possess. The morning that started off with a cold shower and only decaf coffee available at the office again was now full of hope and excitement and anxiousness.  After the initial excitement lessened, I started getting antsy and then started to feel the creepy fluttery "burnies" that begin in my tummy and spread through my chest and then to my extremities. Oh the irony of having a minor anxiety attack thinking about meeting your hero who encouraged you to seek help for your anxiety attacks. Irony's a bitch sometimes, isn't it?

After I left my office, I hauled ass up to the Barnes & Noble on 86th and Lexington hoping that there wouldn't be a huge line 1 hour before the signing started. On the train ride to the Upper East Side I was having mini bursts of anxiety burnies all over, thinking, "What if I'm not there early enough and the line is too long?  What if I'm the only one there and they cancel it? What if I'm the first person there and then everyone stares at me for being the creepy over-eager girl?" I was getting all sweaty on the highly-air-conditioned train car and I thought to my self, "Well, I know what I'm talking about in therapy this week..."

I got to the B&N and meandered my way downstairs to the events room where I was both pleasantly surprised and ever-so-slightly disappointed that I was not the first one there. (I know my conflicting emotions were weirding me out too.) I sat down in the second row and fidgeted the minutes away reminding myself to breathe. One of Jenny's "entourage" of friends who were there for emotional support brought out Copernicus and Juanita Weasel to set on the signing table and a collective gasp/squeal rushed through the ever-growing audience.  It was amazing. I got chills seeing how excited everyone else was to be there.

When Jenny finally walked out from wherever she was hiding, the warmest applause I've ever heard erupted and went on for minutes.  Jenny, flushed and anxious as she was, looked radiant and teared up as we all clapped for her.  Seeing how touched and excited and nervous she was to be there mixed with my own stew of emotions, I got a little misty.  She read a piece of the introduction and she read a short chapter from the book which made all of us howl with laughter.

 When it was finally my turn to get my book signed and to actually talk to Jenny, the words got stuck in my throat, but I was determined to push past it (I didn't want it to turn into the time I got to meet Matt from The Oatmeal at Comic Con...oh wait, I never told that story. Long story short: I met Matt Inman at NYCC and bought some BobCat pins and was so excited, I just stood there smiling at him and swaying slightly like a grinning idiot.  Boyfriend and Matt looked at me expectantly and it got reeeeeally uncomfortable real quick. Finally, Boyfriend nudged me and said, "Are you going to tell him how much you like The Oatmeal..?" Then, overcome by self-consciousness, my brain started working in overdrive suddenly and a rush of random phrases came out of my mouth like when you pinch off a garden hose for a minute and then let it go. Yeah, it was just as awesome as it sounds.)

Shockingly, he didn't tweet back.

I was determined to not have another debacle like that.  But, right off the bat, Jenny told me how pretty my favorite yellow dress was and that helped avoid the Oatmeal-Garden-Hose-Brain effect. I took a deep breath, thanked her for the compliment and thanked her for being so honest in her writing because she has really helped me tackle some of my own demons and helped me through some hard times, and at this point I don't remember what else I said because I was trying so hard not to cry and I got all hot and flustered. Jenny smiled sweetly and genuinely at me with tears in her own eyes and told me it was ok if I cried because she would cry and we would cry together. It was amazing. Then I made the strange request of asking her to sign my anti-anxiety medication bottle. She excitedly snatched it from my shaking hand and said,

"I would LOVE to sign your medication bottle.  And no it does not sound strange at all." 

I knew she would understand. She and her friends were so tickled that they asked to take a picture of Jenny signing my pill bottle! I was truly filled with with so much emotion, it was in danger of spilling out violently. We took a picture together and I thanked Jenny profusely and then darted out of the room into the puzzle/game section of the store where my tears flowed freely.

Jenny Lawson, you are truly wonderful!

Short-story-long: I met The Bloggess and it was amazing! Thank you, Jenny for making me laugh through my tears, giving me courage to push through another day and for sharing your Neil Gaiman mantra with us: "Pretend you're good at it." You don't need to pretend, Jenny, we all think you're spectacular!

My trophyovercoming fear