On behalf of Lwaxana, Jean-Luc, and all the crews from all the ships, starbases, space stations, outposts, inposts, brigs, cargo bays, and all other reaches of the galaxy, I wish you all a very happy new year. Here’s to the surprises that are still to come.
Yes, this is one of the several containers that my parents have in storage for me. Yes, every single bit of its contents could be tossed tomorrow with no serious repercussions…
…if having part of my soul recycled into dollar store toilet paper falls under the category, “no serious repercussions.”
Honestly, though, WTH am I ever going to do with calendars and TV Guides dating all the way back to 1995? Am I simply biding my time until I cross over into the age range in which it will not only become acceptable but expected for me to start decoupaging EVERYTHING in the house? I’ll just wile away my days, glugging sipping Captain Morgan and Dr. Pepper as I trim out Beverly Crushers and Dana Scullys for that extra special “Titian-Tressed Angels of Asclepius” medicine cabinet decoupage.
Okay, I need to stop, because that actually sounds fun…
To the denizens who have threatened to send out an APB on Sammy and me if I don’t post soon…haha. Of course we made it home in one piece. Sammy is a wonder car. Not even I can change that truth.
The drive home was happily uneventful. Little spits and spurts of rain here and there, but nothing terrible. We arrived back in our neck of the woods to find that most of the snow had melted. I think this is the fastest I’ve ever seen snow of this magnitude disappear so quickly before. Usually, it would take a minimum of a month before we could see the ground again. Ah, that global warming myth…
So Sunday was the day of rest. And errands. And Sims3. I spent a mortifying 2 hours just designing one Sim character. It was around about that point that I realized there was something really off in my universe.
Don’t get me wrong. I love The Sims. I’ve been a huge fan of that game since it debuted almost a decade ago. I can’t even begin to calculate how many hours days I’ve sacrificed to my Sims addiction. Of course, such calculations would then require that I figure how much of my life I have given and continue to willingly give over to video games, be they PC games, PS2 games, or now XBox 360 games (friggin’ Aerosmith Guitar Hero and Mortal Kombat).
As much as I love video games, and as much as they make me feel like I’m still a kid when I’m playing them, the simple truth is, I’m not a kid anymore. Time continues to eke forward, no matter how little mind I pay it. And so I ended up having a bit of an existential freak out as I was trying to settle down and fall asleep last night. Instead, I began running through the list of things that I always thought I would accomplish in this life before shuffling off to whatever universal waiting room there is beyond this.
Truth is, I never really made any plans for leaving a large dent on this plane of existence. I suppose you could say I’m unassuming (or as unassuming as any one with Multiple Internet Personality Disorder can be). I did once have a dream though. Just one.
I wanted to write.
Words, as many of you have no doubt figured out, have always been my passion. I love the beauty of language. How words can be combined to form shear joy or utter despair. Swords of the sharpest edge can’t compare to words wielded by a skilled writer.
Writing is what brought me out of the shadows when I was in school. I was always satisfied with standing out of the spotlight, doing the work that needed to be done, making the grades that my parents would find acceptable. Doing all that I could not to make any waves that would draw attention toward me. But then our 6th grade English teacher introduced us to creative writing. And that was all I needed. I devoured each assignment she gave us with a passion that I don’t remember ever feeling for anything else in my scholastic career.
Even when that section of our coursework was over, I continued writing. Silly little stories, always about my friends, always about imagined adventures taking place at our school. I found those stories a while ago. Oh, were they awful. But at the time, they were like Pulitzer winners to me. After a while, I began branching out, leaving behind the comfort of my familiar friends, and began creating new friends and new places. And the themes grew darker and sometimes more frightening. What else would you expect from a horror fan?
The point, though, was that I was constantly writing. Constantly finding new places to set up residence for however long it took me to weave my latest tale. I spent a month with snow-stranded friends being hunted at a lodge in Vermont. Then I traveled down to a tiny Southern beach community, to spend month with new friends as they unraveled the story behind their mysterious new classmate. Then I was drafted into Starfleet. I spent quite a bit of time stationed on a Galaxy-class vessel, weaving, unraveling, and re-weaving stories there.
That was more than 10 years ago. And what have I done since then? I earned a degree in English, which I used to secure a job writing policy briefs, speeches, and whatever other linguistic minutia my federal agency clients require of me. I’ve heard my words uttered by well-known government officials. Each time that happened, a little spark within me fizzled into darkness.
Loba Disclaimer: I do still love my current job. It’s far different from those early days. Far more computer geeky, and far less gov-speak. But what happened to my dreams of writing? Not even dreams of becoming a famous author…you know, the kind who gets their name printed on their book covers in fonts sometimes triple the size of the actual book title. No, I never dared to dream that large. I just wanted to write.
Now I realize that I spend far more time living in other people’s worlds than I do in my own. Whether it’s The Sims or some other video game, or whether it’s my attempts to read 50 books in a year (which, by the way, I haven’t yet given up on). Always someone else’s worlds. No longer mine.
So take this as an early resolution if you must (although, dammit, I detest resolutions): I will get back to writing. Not only will I get back to writing, but I will complete something by the end of 2010. Hopefully, it won’t take me quite that long, but if it does, it does. I’m not going to let this die within me. I used to love to write. Hell, I still love to write. Why else would I keep coming back to this lair (besides all you lovely denizens, of course)? So time to return to my other worlds. Time to get reacquainted with all my other friends. True, some of them have been occasional traveling companions for some time now. It’s time to give them a more secure home.
Who knows? If I come up with something that doesn’t make my beta readers vomit, maybe I’ll even attempt to be published. But we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it…
I set out tonight, hoping to watch something with the parental units that was as un-Christmasy as you can imagine. Then I realized that TBS was yet again running their “24 Hours of A Christmas Story.”
Oh, how do you resist Ralphie? You simply can’t, can you? I think that A Christmas Story is to my generation what It’s A Wonderful Life was to its generation. Only A Christmas Story is actually enjoyable. 😉 So we watched it twice. And now the SyFy Channel’s Ghost Hunters marathon is playing. And I’m about to refill my wine glass.
Could this be a more perfect start to Christmas?
I wish for you all a wonderful day, regardless of what holiday or beliefs you may hold. In fact, I wish for you wonder and merriment every day. And I hope that 2010 holds amazements unimaginable for each one of you.
And here, before I depart, is a special holiday wish from my favorite dancing doctor. I designed this for two very special ImagiFriendsTM. I hope they don’t mind if I share it with all my denizens…but how can I resist?
Want to hear how I temporarily closed down I-95 South and gave Sammy an early Christmas mud bath?
So today was a good day to travel, I thought. It’s the day before Christmas Eve, which I know is typically the popular travel day for people who travel for Christmas…which, thankfully, are far fewer people than those who travel on Turkey Day. I knew, however, that I should expect some rough riding at least until I was beyond the tenacious and ample mounds of snow that snaked up the I-95 corridor.
Truth. I sat for about 2 hours just trying to get onto I-95, then ended up in sluggish, sometimes stop-n-go traffic from the 495 merge until around about Kings Dominion. For those not in the know, that’s a hella long time. Thank goodness once again for my iPod and awesome podcasts.
Once I hit North Carolina, however, things were smooth as silk. The snow was gone, the temperature was wonderfully warm, and the sun was shining brightly and strongly down on Sammy’s sleek silver and salty frame. I cruised along at the lovely standard speed of 70 MPH (another reason to love NC!), listening to P!nk dissect her marriage and Suzie Plakson explain how she Didnwannadoit. Traffic had broken up and spread out, and I finally found myself all alone on my own personal stretch of the road.
This is probably the most serendipitous moment of my entire journey.
I noticed that a car was getting ready to merge onto the interstate, so I switched from the right lane to the left lane so that they would have a clean shot at the merge. Next thing I know, the driver is rocketing straight from the merge lane into my lane. While I’m right there.
Three things happened simultaneously at this point: I honked, slammed on my brakes, and swerved toward the left to avoid being side-swiped by the driver.
Know what’s kind of cool about I-95? Both north- and southbound lanes have these grooves on each shoulder that, when you run over them, they rattle your car just enough to shake you awake. Apparently, enough people were falling asleep at the wheel that TPTB decided this would be a good way to shock sleepy drivers back awake.
Sammy’s front left wheel hit these grooves as I braked and swerved, which startled me enough that I swerved back toward the right in what I have deduced in retrospect was a rather overcompensating manner, which started Sammy wagging his little tail like an over-zealous puppy. Cute on puppies. Not cute on cars.
The fish-tail motion started to increase and next thing I know I’m spinning. And angry. Not scared. Not panicky. ANGRY. Angry at the stupid driver whose ignorance has left me feeling like I’m trapped in the spin cycle of an industrial washer. Angry enough that I was saying things about said driver that I think would have made my Navy veteran grandparents blush.
Thankfully, my anger kept me focused enough that I did what I knew I needed to do: took my foot off the accelerator, turned into the spin rather than fight it, and started to carefully slow down until I could regain control. A couple of spins later and all was still. And Sammy was parked in the saturated sogginess of the ditch running along the side of the interstate. Facing the wrong way. But safe. As was I.
Of course, safe is a wonderful thing. But so is safe and not sinking into mud. Which I was quickly doing. Not even rocking Sammy back and forth was going to get me out of this. So after several increasingly frustrated attempts, I finally cut the engine and climbed out to assess the mess and call AAA. That’s when the awesome gentleman in the AT&T service truck traveling northbound pulled over and asked me if he could help.
I may not have always depended on the kindness of strangers, but this guy and the winch on the front of his truck were my heroes, fo’ shizzle. He told me to hang on while he went up and turned around so that he could come over onto the southbound side.
That’s about the point when I became the center of some very unexpected attention. While waiting for the service truck to return, I glanced back at the northbound side and realized that two state trooper cruisers with their lights flashing were pulling over across from Sammy. I also noticed that another car had pulled over further up the northbound side, and a Black woman was quickly running over toward me.
I only mention her race because this woman was about as pale as I’ve ever seen a Black person turn. Seriously, she was nearly as White as me…and that’s saying a lot. It wasn’t until she kept repeating “I’m so sorry…are you all right…I’m so sorry” that I realized this was the driver who nearly hit me in the first place. She had turned around at the first exit she found and came back, apparently calling the police as she did so.
I assured both her and the two state troopers that I was fine, just stuck in the mud and waiting for the nice AT&T guy to hook his winch up to Sammy’s bum and yank him free.
[Before any of you ask, of course I didn’t refer to Sammy by his name or his gender. I didn’t really need the added indignity of having the cops giving me a breathalyzer test…]
That’s when the county cruiser, the ambulance, and the two firetrucks arrived, blocking all lanes of traffic as they positioned themselves around my part of the interstate that was becoming increasingly crowded.
And that’s when I wanted to crawl under Sammy and hide.
This was also the point when I realized that, although I was semi-oblivious to the danger at the time inside my anger warp bubble, people around me witnessed something that they translated as “That’s definitely going to have a bad ending.” This woman who called the police must have told them to expect the worst possible scenario. What she saw in her rearview mirror as she drove away obviously left her shaken and afraid…and left me very grateful that I didn’t see what she and others saw.
I spent the next 10 minutes assuring her and all the officers and rescue people that I was fine, that Sammy was fine, and that all I really needed was the nice young man in the AT&T truck to do what he was waiting patiently to do. They quickly dispersed, probably equal parts happy to see that their expertise was not needed and possibly glad to have a little innocent excitement in the middle of their shift.
The AT&T guy and the county cop hooked up my car and pulled me out and helped me do a walk-around to make sure that Sammy was still really in one piece. I thanked them both profusely. I’ve also just finished e-mailing AT&T and letting them know that they hire some damned fine people down here in the Tarheel State. And then I was on my way.
Of course, anyone driving past that part of I-95 after the fact probably stared at the loop-de-loop streaks of rubber along the roadway and the big streaks through the muddy ditch on the side of the road and wondered what the frig happened there. Let me assure you, it was just Sammy leaving his signature across the interstate. Honestly, he’s turned into such a diva.
Seriously, though, thank you to whatever patron saint or universal glitch that’s out there, watching over white wolves and their anthropomorphized cars. Thank you to the stunningly fast response of the EMTs, firefighters, and police officers who, thankfully, were not necessary. Even thank you to the woman who started all of this mess. Thank you for coming back, for apologizing, and for caring, in stark contradiction to the opinion I had of you as I was spinning right round, baby.
And to the drivers who were caught up in all the excitement…believe me, I’m sorry. I know what I would have been saying if I’d been caught in the backup, no matter how short it may have been. So, sorry about that delay. I hope you all got to where you were heading without any further delays. I promise I will do my best to refrain from causing any further interstate altercations on my way home.
As for Sammy? He is almost perfect. Seems that his recent alignment is a little off-kilter now, but other than that, he’s just very dirty. So it’s a power wash for him in the morning, followed by a fresh tank of gas for lunch. As for me? I think I’m going to enjoy the next few days traveling no faster than my two legs can carry me. I’m quite through with my attempts at impersonating a dreidel, thank you very much.
So I griped and complained about the snow all Saturday. Then Sunday came and went, and nothing. Why? Because I spent a large portion of that day, digging out from under all that you see to your right. When all was said and done, we got a little more than 2 feet. That might have just been the final measurements due to drifting, though. The numbers people on the telly were saying more along the lines of 16 inches. My arm muscles disagree…but that’s okay.
When all was said and done, I felt much better once Sammy was no longer being held prisoner by the snow. So Sunday evening was spent relaxing and being in a far more agreeable mood.
Then the news came from WaPo: All federal agencies will be closed on Monday.
I’m not a federal employee, but I help make federal employees look spiffy. So if they’re not there, we’re not really needed. Which meant that my company closed for the day as well. And the silver lining shone through brightly.
So where the heck was I all day? At the movie theater. Watching Dances with Na’vi Avatar. For 3 hours. My butt still hasn’t woken up. Which is why I’m getting ready to go exercise…and maybe even attempt to process how I feel about this movie. I’m still not sure. I did, however, make sure this was available as soon as I got back online. Seriously, Sigourney Weaver as a feline alien must become part of my collection. As soon as possible.
Oh, one more thing. Expect some serious 50BC09 posting in a little while. Maybe not now. But soon. And for the rest of…er…the year?
Okay, all mixed sentiments aside, why won’t it stop? It’s been almost 24 hours since the storm fired up. Not even something enjoyable is good for 24 hours straight. Isn’t it tired? Sore? In need of a smoke? I just don’t get it.
At least someone had a little fun out there today…
Before you even ask, no, that is not me sitting in the snow. The only way my ass is touching snow is if I’m standing in a snowdrift that high. Which, if it doesn’t stop snowing soon, might actually be the case in the morning.
Okay, I’m going back upstairs. It’s now officially time to start adding copious amounts of spiced rum to my coffee.
It started snowing last night at around 9 p.m. It hasn’t stopped since.
The meteorologists finally got this one right. If you live in the D.C. area, you understand precisely what I mean.
Biggest snow storm since Presidents Day weekend, 2003. I remember that storm very vividly. Spent 4 hours on the road, one way, trying to make it to one of the local airports. Don’t ask, because I’m not telling any more than that.
We’re in the band that’s expected to get nearly 2 feet of snow by the time this is all said and done. Not even officially winter yet. This does not bode well for getting out of this next season unscathed.
Even better? This isn’t even something we can blame Canada for! This is a gift straight from the Gulf of Mexico. Yeah, NAFTA!
Yes, before you ask, I’m cranky. Snow doesn’t inspire joy in me. It’s cold. It gets stuck all over your clothes and inside your Docs, then melts and puddles all over your floor, where you’ll inevitably step right into it in your fresh pair of dry socks. It’s heavy to shovel, slippery, makes a mess of an already awful driving situation. I’ve lost the ability to see it with the wonder and joy of a 10-year-old whose sole goal is to get outside and start building snowcats and snowdogs (why on Bajor would I build a boring old snowperson?).
What happened? Having to drive in snow, for one. It sucks. Sammy is a marvel in weather like this, though. I continue to be blown away by his winter weather skillz. However, his skillz do not transmit to the ass clowns on the road with me. I may not have seen fire or rain, but I’ve seen some scary shiznit out there. You really haven’t been a Beltway rat until you’ve watched a car spin out on a diagonal path from one side of the Inner Loop to the other. In slow motion.
Truth? Snow makes me think of Jodie. You should have seen her in the snow, denizens. This beautiful, wonderful dog who hated rain so much that I had to buy an umbrella large enough to cover both of us when she needed to go for a potty walk…but put her in a field of snow, and she was off. Like a bright flash of light. It was then when the Husky side of her completely overpowered the Labrador side.
Snow makes me miss her all the more. It’s been more than 4 years now. I didn’t even mourn the loss of my first dog quite this long. I don’t really know how to explain it. Yes, she gave me love and devotion that I knew I didn’t deserve. But in return, I tried to give her every drop of love and loyalty that she did deserve. She was a wonder of a dog, unlike any I’ve ever known in my lifetime. Unlike any I’ll probably ever be lucky enough to know again. She could even make a curmudgeon like me spring through snowdrifts like a jackrabbit, running to keep up with her, laughing because there was no way I could.
Snow brought her joy, kind of the way everything brought her joy (well, except bath time…and that creepy Oompa Loompa vet back home). So snow should, by proxy, bring me joy as well, shouldn’t it?
Besides, it’s Saturday. I’ve got nowhere I absolutely have to be today. Yeah, I’m still short on holiday shopping. But there’s a pot of split pea soup on the stove, a special blend of caramel dark roast coffee brewing, and a whole lot of time to do with as I please. Is that really a bad thing?
I’ll let you know after lunch… 😉
I haven’t been eating bananas every day like I usually do. That’s the excuse I’m using for what happened.
See, potassium deficiency apparently runs in my family. Lack of potassium has certain side effects, one of which is horrible muscle cramps in your legs.
Like the one that woke me up this morning at 5 a.m. Anyone who knows me well, knows that I can sleep through anything. Almost anything. Having my calf muscle twisted into an Auntie Anne pretzel shape apparently does not fall under the “Almost Anything” category. The pain is excruciating but quick, although the soreness lingers. I can still feel the remnants of that sweet agony in my every limping move today.
It’s days like this that burst my mental image of me still being on the edge of 17 (guess no white-winged doves will be singing for me today, eh, Stevie?).
So I went back to my banana pattern this morning. Want to know a secret though? I hate bananas. Unless they’re barely ripe…skin still a bit green. Firm flesh.
Sorry, I really don’t mean to sound vulgar in my description, but that’s how I like my bananas. If they’re too ripe (what most people would probably consider “normal”), I can’t stand them. I’ll get through maybe half a banana at that stage before I simply can’t go on.
I especially can’t stand listening to another person eat a banana. Nails on a chalkboard? Don’t bother me. The gooey, viscous shlup of someone masticating banana bites? Oh, the humanity! I have left conversations in which someone was eating a banana. It’s either that or trying to explain why I just shattered a molar in an effort to refrain from sucker-punching them.
Is that normal? Of course not. Am I normal? If you can’t already answer that question, you need to spend a little more time perusing the lair. I’ll wait…
…
Done? Good. I suppose I could just start taking potassium tablets. But I hate the thought of taking vitamins. Isn’t it better for you to get your vitamins and minerals from natural sources? I also know that there are lots of other foods out there that are as rich with potassium as bananas. Bananas are, however, the most convenient to eat on a daily basis.
Just as long as they’re young and firm…
[Yeah, I was being unnecessarily dirty just then.]
End of the year. My brain is all over the place. Forgive me, denizens, if I fail to make sense.
Lots of flotsam, pushing at the edges of my noodly noggin, clawing for the chance to see the light of the lair.
If Scooby Doo had a sister, would her name be “Booby Doo”?
See that? That’s the kind of shiznit I would post if I had a Twitter account. Kind of makes you glad I don’t, eh?
My ImagiFriendsTM tweet. They tweet lovely, silly geekery that makes me giggle gloriously while glugging raktajinos spiked with rum. Don’t follow? Don’t worry. Spliff on this tweet:
Most people don’t realize Janeway’s voice is pure molten sex.
Oh HELLS yeah.
Award for most awesomest tweet of the year? Make it so. Even if tweeted in jest, it makes me that much prouder of my Janeway impersonation. Not that I do such a thing. Or would ever record doing such a thing for others to hear.
Heh.
Do any of you ever get the feeling that you’re only getting part of the picture when you come here to the lair? Like it’s a little window that doesn’t show you even half of what’s going on. In the night. In the dark. There’s a whole lot more going on in the shadows…you just have to wait for me to invite you deeper.
I’m not feeling fa-la-la-festive just yet. Where’s Dr. Noel when I need a little injection of holiday cheer? Oh yeah. Kirk found her under the mistletoe. Guess he’s decorating her Jefferies tube now. Where does he store that photon torpedo?
OMG, Trexual innuendo!
I’m usually surly around this time of year. I don’t know why. I suppose I’m an emotional Scrooge in some ways. Mmm, portmanteau: Scrooge = Screw + Gouge. Did I impress anyone with my word nerdery just then? Anyone? Bueller? Bueller?
I used to decorate my door here at work. Truth? I only did it for the Benjamins. Well, the door prize, really. I only won once though. Want to see the sexy that won?
He’s R
