I just posted a most profound status update (Come on, let me have this.) It read as follows: 

"I have said it, and will continue to do so. It all works out the way it's supposed to. It's just... sometimes you have to take a step back and go through the full sequence of events to see how yesterday's negative is actually today's positive. To remember all those things and people you thought you'd never get through, and realize they're the past, just as this will be."

And I thought, that's an easy thing to say. Not everyone has seen what I've seen. Proof. They need proof. I have proof that the worst day of your life can turn out to be the best thing that ever happened to you. This story isn't "happy" per se. And if you know me, you already know it. But, should you choose to read it, think of the implications. It's not about what happened. It's the why of it all that gets me.

When I was 11 years old, my mother sent me to visit the father I had only ever visited twice in my life. She never took me back. You... can not imagine how that felt, to be called by your mother, the only person you've ever known, loved, and trusted your entire life, and be told you won't be coming home to her. But she'd call. Over time, the phone calls became more and more infrequent. Weeks turned to months, turned to a few times a year. my father would say things like, "She should just stay gone." I hated him for saying that, thinking it, for years. She was my mother! 14-18 went by in complete radio silence. Theories were tossed around. I was told she might have died. I was told she'd never call again.

When I was 18, she called. I went back ... for 2 months. And in those months I saw where I would have been. She'd been homeless for my high school years, become an addict, and was still with the man who would steal my wallet and empty my bank account. Which was ridiculous because, had she asked, I would have given her all of what little I had. Her response to this was to cry and ask me what I thought she should do. Her recently robbed teenage daughter. The last shred of respect I had for her evaporated in that moment. And when she disappeared again, she died to me. Well before my grandmother ritualistically unpacked and disposed of her belongings left behind, I had completed my mourning.

I learned that fateful summer that it wasn't a matter of her never asking for me, but my father never sending me back.

And I thanked him.

I suddenly understood why he got mad when she called. Because it upset me. Depressed me. A little glimpse of that suicidal (yeah) child came back every time, and it pissed him off. It pissed me off too, in retrospect. She should have stayed gone. I'd had... a life between the phone calls. I'd had birthday parties and best friends, a house and plenty of food (some would argue too much lol). I had a car when I was 16 and a horrible first job. I'd graduated high school. I was on my way to college.

I never so much as smoked a cigarette. Can I say it would have been the same had I stayed with her? I somehow doubt it. When I was there, upset about my wallet being stolen, she offered me a drink. That was her fix. That was how she made things better. How many drinks would I have drunk before I wanted something more, and how long before she gave it to me? How many parties would she have before I was molested or worse? Or maybe I would have been good. Naive. Malleable. What would I have stolen, sold, or bartered because she'd asked me to? I'll never know. But I do know I wouldn't be where I am if she hadn't sent me away. If my father hadn't refused to send me back. And I know that where I am is far better than where I could have been. Would have been.

I am a (relatively) healthy adult. I didn't finish college, but I'm not stupid. I work for a good company in a job I like (most days). I've written a book. I've written a song (that I actually got to hear performed, at least in part, by my favorite musical artist). I go to concerts. I'm saving for London. I have friends and a family I can count on. I own furniture and am a generally likeable person (although I have my moments). I don't have all my shit together--though I'm not sure anyone ever really does--but I have a good start. A good life. I'm still standing, although at one point I thought I never wanted to again.

It's going to be okay.

I've tried to publish my book with no success. I entered a contest. I didn't do well. But, guess what? I got great insight into my own writing. Improved my manuscript and will continue to do so with a renewed sense of motivation. I also saved hundreds (possibly thousand) of dollars it would have taken to follow through on the commitment if I had done well. Money I can use to relocate now that I have so suddenly found myself homeless yet again. I'll be relocating with a co-worker and soon to be friend who is currently in his own bind, wanting to move, but unable to do so on his own. He's sick of living with men and, if you've talked to me anytime in the past year, you know how I feel about living with another woman. Although the sudden nature of this change has left me at a bit of a financial disadvantage, the timing is altogether serendipitous.

It's going to get worse before it gets better. That's just how my life works. I'm going to contemplate giving up, digging a hole and never coming out.

But deep down I know: I'm going to be okay. It's all going to work out. It has to. It will. I have proof.

I have faith.

So sometimes, when I'm clicking random things on the internets, I come across some article that makes me cringe. Not because it's it's inappropriate or un-pc but because it's TOO pc. It's TOO focused on what's "right" for me and in flouting societal norms. No matter what mindset you have, if you grew up thinking that way, you're wrong.

If I don't like one thing about my body, I'm just one of the brainwashed masses who needs help.

If I don't want to juggle the weight of the world on my shoulders, I'm turning my back on hard-fought women's rights.

If I use a certain word, I'm a bully.

If I laugh at an inappropriate joke, I'm part of the problem.

If a woman is naked, I should want her to cover up. (If a man is naked, I should think it's fine as long as he's in underwear.)

If I make a generalization about women, I'm anti-feminist. (Men: sexist.)

When did the world get so black and white? Why is it not okay to think what you want? When did it become common practice to shame people out of their beliefs, all in the name of love and respect? Shame on you for telling me what I "should" do. You can't tell me I should have a career any more than a man can tell me I should stay at home. You can't tell me I shouldn't think women are inherently crazy and men inherently stupid. As far as I'm concerned, it's a genetic fact! And speaking of facts, it may have escaped your notice, but women aren't the only one being objectified. "Oh my god! You can almost see everything, that poor girl!" Meanwhile, nobody's starting a rally for Calvin Klein underwear models.

I get it. Women have it worse because of things like "slut-shaming" and people with the attitude of, "Oh my God! You can almost see everything, what a whore!" Men just don't seem to get a lot of that in public. And those sentiments are to be contradicted... but by victimizing them? Swinging it entirely the other direction? You want know what people really think of things, go to a strip club. Two, actually. Look at the different mindsets of men and women in action. We're actually quite terrifying.

This worldview is supposed to be about appreciating what's different and natural about people.

Except sex. You can be sexual, but no one else is supposed to see you that way.

And body image. I shouldn't actively combat body hair because it's a natural part of me, and doing so conforms to current societal illness.

And opinions. I shouldn't think one thing or another about men, women, children, people in general. I should meet every one first.

Or language. I should definitely not believe that using words America has deemed unspeakable in a casual way takes power away from them. Whenever someone says "pussy" in a movie, I should cringe and write an angry letter. Certainly not laugh.

No, don't ever laugh.

Shame on me.

Shame on me for being the most natural thing of all: Human.

Chapter One (Take... I dunno... 45)

Completed new Chapter One (subject to revision, of course) The copy/paste didn't go smoothly, but you'll live. I promise.

___________________________________________________________

Chapter One

Liz felt the weight of at least three sets of eyes upon her, the sensation as unnerving as it was tedious at this point.

“Are they looking?” Her roommate and sometimes best friend asked, taking another lick of her ice cream. Liz didn’t know why. It would have been easier for everyone if Sam just took one—or both—of the gawking males by the hand and led them behind a barn somewhere. Wasn’t that some sort of rite at a fair?

“Well?”

“Of course they’re looking, Sam. They’re always looking at you.”

“They’re looking at you, too.” Sam thrust the ice cream into Liz’s face. “Lick and see what happens.”

“I’d rather not.” Liz pushed the cone away, but it sprang back immediately.

“Just lick it. They’ll love it. Watch.”

“No, thank you.” Liz was getting more than a little impatient now and knew it showed, but couldn’t find it in her to care. “They’re already arguing over who gets stuck with me.”

“I’m sure that’s not-” Before Sam could finish, they’d started a three count with their hands.

Paper beats Rock, Liz thought.

Rock wanted a rematch, but Paper had already begun a triumphant swagger toward their bench. Sam took a break from sucking an invisible droplet from the point of her cone to ask about him before he could overhear.

“Is he okay? Should I go with him or the other one?”

Liz shrugged and scrutinized the approaching pair. Neither of them sparked any strong feelings. Typical guys. Paper reached them first and, like any well-trained scam artist, greeted the friend first.

“Good evening,” he said to Liz, hands conspicuously shoved into his pants pockets. “I’m Mark and this is my friend.” Rock grimaced and muttered a name they didn’t quite catch. Sam nudged Liz with the pointiest part of her elbow; she’d missed her cue.

“I’m Elizabeth, and this is Samantha.” She held her hand out for Paper Mark. He eyed it for a full three seconds before recognizing the commonplace gesture. He gulped as he offered his own, as though anticipating the contact to be painful. Liz rolled her eyes and grabbed his hand anyway, accustomed to this type of response. His marked sigh of relief amused her to no end.

Emboldened by his friend’s success, Rock offered his own hand with only a wary flinch, then quickly withdrew to introduce himself to Sam with a stronger, more appropriately timed handshake. Rock and Liz stood awkwardly while their friends met one another, each laying it on pretty thick.

“Pleasure,” Sam said with a giggle and blush.

“It’s all mine,” he responded. Somehow, Liz managed not to gag.

Instead, she gathered their trash: some napkins and a mostly untouched ice cream that had already served its purpose. Sam quirked an eyebrow over her next ex-boyfriend’s shoulder as though to ask, Well?

“Triple A,” Liz answered aloud. The boys glanced between them, then literally shrugged it off.

Satisfied with Liz’s assessment, Sam leaned in to her partner, capturing his attention and leaving poor Rock on his own. When Liz suggested they go and play some games, the look on his face made her anxious. Paper Mark shot him a warning glare, urging him to do his duty as wing-man, while Sam continued to prattle on, oblivious.

Rock manned up eventually, extended his hand then took it back. Offered his arm but let it fall. Sam took pity and pretended not to notice his struggle, setting out for the closest booth on her own. He caught up quickly and pulled money out for both of them before Liz had the chance. She frowned, but inwardly commended his chivalry.

“Look, Rock,” she said as she pulled out a five, “you really don’t have to impress me.”

“Rock?”

Crap! What was his real name? She couldn’t remember, so she just continued her thought, hoping he wouldn’t get offended.

“You don’t have to worry about keeping me busy. As long as he doesn’t hurt her, I’ll leave Sam and Paper Mark alone. She’s a big girl, she can handle it.”

Rock blanched. “Paper Mark? You, um... You saw that?”

Liz turned her head to the side and gave him the best Duh look she could muster. Did he really think women didn’t notice things like that? Then she thought of Sam and thought that maybe most of them didn’t. Instead of getting defensive, as Liz had learned could happen when calling a man on his bullshit, Rock seemed properly embarrassed by their game.

“It’s not that-” he tried. “I didn’t- I mean, you’re not-” He gestured to Liz’s body and shrugged his shoulders as though it explained everything. Oddly enough, it was the closest thing Liz had gotten to a compliment in a while.

“Come win me something,” she said. “It’s been a long time since Sam got me a gentleman.”

In the time it took him to win her two overstuffed dragons and a framed print of Marvin Martian, Liz learned that Rock’s real name was Brent, he still lived with his parents, and he’d just gotten out of a volatile relationship. From what Liz could tell of the details—that were really none of her business—Rock’s ex was a tad irrational, but he may or may not have driven her to it.

Rock never stood too close or indicated he wanted more than a friendly sounding board, but Liz was used to that. She jumped in surprise when he patted her shoulder awkwardly and thanked her for listening as they approached Sam’s previously appointed meeting place.

Liz smiled genuinely in response. “No problem. Thank you for the prizes. And thanks for not ditching me.”

Rock bristled and Liz took it as a cue to explain herself.

“Most guys do. Paper Mike would have.” Rock continued to stare, as though expecting her to continue, so she did. “I mean, he’s a solid Triple A, and you’re not. But those guys usually stick together, and-”

“What the hell is a Triple A?”

“Oh, uh, Average American Asshole?” Liz tried to soften the blow by quickly qualifying, “But you’re not one. Obviously you hang out with them, but there’s hope for you. Just stop picking dates from across the room, and I think you’ll be fine.”

Rock, who had grown steadily more red as Liz spoke, clenched his fists a few times. “You don’t know me. You don’t know my friends, and you have no room to make judgments about us. I mean, you left your friend alone with some guy you called Triple A after two words and a handshake. What kind of person does that make you?”

An adult, Liz wanted to say, but held herself in check. Ignoring his flinch, she grabbed Rock by the shoulders and looked into his eyes. She saw anger at what she’d said. Anxiety for what she’d do. But under all of that, beneath a dozen shaky layers of bravado and insecurity, she saw heart.

With unapologetic confidence she said, “You’ll be a good man someday, Rock” and continued on her way.

“I’m twenty-four,” he called once he’d shaken off the confusion. Liz smiled to herself but didn’t look back. It amazed her how little people understood about themselves. What did a number prove anyway?

Sam approached and stormed past in a huff, neither greeting nor turning to see if Liz had followed.

“Triple A?” she asked as they climbed into the car.

“Shut up, Liz.”

Liz turned on the radio, drowning out Sam’s dramatic Please ask me what happened even though I claim not to want to talk about it sighs. Being friends with a woman could be so tiring. Liz spared a moment to fondly remember the old days. In high school she’d had a drama-free male best friend, only one failed attempt at dating, and no one at home really knew or cared what she got up to.

She’d had freedom, once upon a time. Now, she had Sam.

The radio clicked off about halfway home, cutting Liz off mid-lyric as she sang along.

“That guy was a creep,” said Sam. Liz shrugged; she’d as figured as much. Sam wasn’t really looking for input anyway. “We’re up in the ferris wheel, right, and we’re talking about a band-”

“Which band?”

“I don’t know, that one you listen to with the song I like. Anyway, we start making out-”

“Because of the song you like?”

“It has that part about electric kisses and I wondered if they were real.” Sam batted her eyes coyly, indicating she’d played the unsuspecting idiot well. “Now stop interrupting. So we’re making out and he puts my hand right there. Like, there, you know? And I’m like, what does he expect me to do right here in public? As soon as we got on the ground, I walked away. He can call me when he has some respect.”

“Did you tell him that?”

“Yes.” She said it forcefully. She would not be budged on this.

“So you seduced him, he took further than you expected, you told him he was a jerk, then gave him your number.” Liz tried, in vain, to see the logic. Sam chose not to understand her confusion.

“Think he’ll call?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Liz looked at her friend—beautiful, blond, blue-eyed Sam—and gave her the honest answer: “I have no idea.”

Sam squirmed for a moment, uncomfortable under Liz’s judgmental gaze, before turning the radio up. Neither of them spoke on the short drive home, although Sam’s phone did alert them to several text messages.

“You’ll miss this,” said Sam as they pulled into the drive. “Admit it. Next week we graduate, and the week after that we fly home … to the real world. Just two weeks. Try and have some fun. Oh, I know!” She perked up and clapped excitedly. “We can go the concert tomorrow! Didn’t you recognize the band on the flier?”

“We don’t have tickets, Sam.”

“Oh, I got tickets.” Sam adjusted her cleavage. “Just try and play along for once.”

“Did you have to wear that shirt?”

Liz looked down at her faded favorite and nodded. “It’s comfy.” It’s also the band we’re seeing, she added in her head. “Look at this way, you’ll be super hot standing next to me.” Sam hit Liz with her bag but smiled as they made their way to the ticket agent. Poor man didn’t stand a chance.

Two General Admission wristbands later, Sam and Liz had an hour to kill.

“Bumper cars?”

“We’re not twelve, Liz.”

“Ferris wheel? I promise not to get handsy.”

“Haha. Too funny.”

“So, same thing we do every night, Pinkie?”

“One man at a time.”

Liz felt his stare before she saw him. At the very center of the closest seating area, beckoning them forward with his eyes, sat the destroyer of her peaceful evening. He wore a blue collared dress shirt and black suit jacket, ridiculously overdressed for a night dodging cow poo. An inch or so of shiny black hair stuck out in ways that hinted at indifference, but Liz knew better. Every aspect of his haphazard look had been meticulously engineered to seem so.

As a general rule, Sam let the men come to her, but one look at GQ’s electric blue eyes and Liz knew he’d be an exception.

She was right. Of course.

Liz saw nothing special about him, good or bad, so her vague warning of “Be careful” had little conviction to it, though she remained on her guard. He stood as they approached and shook hands with Sam, but not Liz. Liz respected that, though not enough to leave them alone just yet. She couldn’t pinpoint it exactly, but something about the guy made her uneasy.

Sam cleared her throat and Liz made the usual introductions. “I’m Elizabeth and this is Samantha.”

“Samantha Browning, but you can call me Sam.”

“Jonathan,” he said, turning Sam’s hand to kiss it. “Truly a pleasure … Samantha.”

Sam flushed and shuddered. He was British. She was done for.

“Shall we, then?” He motioned to the other seats at the table, offering Sam the chair closest to him. Liz plopped down directly across from him, dedicated to becoming the roadblock every man feared she’d be.

“I love your accent,” said Sam. “Where are you from?”

“Caught that, did you? I’m from a small village near London. Ever been?” Liz had always wanted to go to London, wanted to go lots of places, but the damp, rolling greens of the UK in particular had always called to her. She didn’t tell Jonathan that, just smiled and shook her head.

“So what brings you to our town?” Sam asked, fingering the charm on her necklace. To his credit, Jonathan didn’t even glance downward.

“Seems we have something in common,” he said, holding up his arm to show his neon yellow wristband.

“You don’t strike me as the General Admission type,” said Liz.

“What do you mean?” He seemed genuinely bewildered.

Liz motioned to his tie, knotted just loosely enough to appear casual. “Little formal for standing room only, don’t you think?”

“Oh this? Nothing wrong with looking your best, eh Samantha?”

Sam giggled flirtatiously but glared daggers at her friend. Liz took it as her cue to butt out.

Over the course of the evening, they learned many things about Jonathan. He was twenty-five, single and had recently acquired his Master’s in Cultural Anthropology from a nearby university. Recently, his life consisted mostly of traveling the world, looking for different cultures to study and trying to decide how best to write his dissertation. Thus far, he’d been through most of Asia and parts of South America.

Sam just couldn’t hear enough of his exploits. She listened intently to each word that he said, Ooo-ing and Ahh-ing in all the right places, her eyes following the motion of his lips as he spoke. Anytime he paused for breath, Sam found five questions to ask him. She seemed intent on learning an entire world’s worth of knowledge in one night.

Liz, on the other hand, was bored stiff. The way he talked about each country and its people was all too reminiscent of a history lesson for her. She felt as if she were back in her old living room, trying to tune out one of her father’s shows.

“So what’s been your favorite country so far?”

“Easily, that would have to be Peru. The fascinating thing about Peruvians …”

Liz tuned out then, and after twenty minutes of monotonous droning, she was convinced she did not like Jonathan. She had no idea know why; there was nothing not to like about him. His smile was charming. His dimples were cute. When Sam spoke, he made eye contact and repeated key phrases—a clear indication of perception. Something just wasn’t right.

“If you’ll please excuse me.” Jonathan’s propriety interrupted her thoughts.

“Isn’t he wonderful?” Sam squealed as he disappeared behind the snack stand.

“He’s interesting,” Liz lied.

“He’s absolutely fascinating! Did you hear all the amazing things he’s done? All of the exotic places he’s been?”

“And I’m sure this has nothing to do with dark hair, blue eyes, and a charming English accent?”

“Of course not!” Sam tried to look offended. “But while we’re on that subject, isn’t he adorable? His smile just makes me melt!”

“I don’t like him,” Liz confessed.

“What? Why? What did he do?”

“He didn’t do anything. He just gives me a bad feeling.”

Sam was completely nonplussed. “Is he dangerous? Crazy? Controlling?”

“It’s nothing serious. I just don’t trust him.”

“So it might be a personal problem then? Maybe you’re seeing that you wouldn’t like him. That’s fine with me, you can’t have him anywa-”

“He’s lying to us, Sam!” Liz hadn’t thought the words until they’d escaped but knew them to be true.

“Lying? Why would he-”

“Refreshments, ladies?” Jonathan had returned with a tray laden with snacks and beverages. “I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I picked something from every food group. I hope you don’t mind.”

It wasn’t unheard of for one of Sam’s nicer or more desperate dates to try and ply her meddling friend with free food or alcohol, but Liz’s dislike for Jonathan grew exponentially when he placed the heavy tray directly in front of her. Sam snatched the lemonade, leaving Liz with the rest. Jonathan seemed pleased by this.

“What will you be having?” Liz asked, pushing the tray slightly away from herself.

“None of that, unfortunately. I have a strict diet to adhere to. Nevertheless, I am positively famished.” He reached into his jacket and pulled a small plastic bag from the inside pocket. As if in response to their yet unasked questions, Jonathan continued to speak. “Trail mix is actually very good for you. I’m able to keep it as part of my diet because it is rich in protein and other essential nutrients. It also contains the proper amount of carbohydrates. It really keeps my energy up!”

Jonathan laid out the mixture in carefully measured portions on his own empty tray, then picked through it to find exactly the right combination of pieces per bite. Liz couldn’t quite unravel his formula, but noticed he favored pretzels, rationed peanuts, and seemed to be avoiding fruits altogether. He spent an inordinate amount of time chewing and swallowing, seeming to savor every morsel, grinding it to a fine paste before passing it on to his stomach. Finally, Jonathan followed every bite with a gulp from one of the water bottles.

Liz knew it was impolite to stare, but his meticulousness was something to behold. Never in her life had she seen such care taken with a snack. She wondered if he’d had a bad experience with choking as a child.

Or maybe he was just an anal retentive freak.

Eventually he finished eating, and so the show was over. He rolled the remaining pieces, mostly raisins, up into a napkin and brought his tray to the trash. Draining the last of his bottled water, he pulled a small notebook from his pocket and scribbled down a few lines before looking up.

“How’s the corn dog, Lizzie?” He smiled in her direction.

“Fabulous, Johnny,” she answered thickly, mouth still full. “Little dry though. Needs mustard.”

He laughed politely as if he saw nothing wrong with her manners. Sam, however, looked fit to kill.

Jonathan plowed through, oblivious. “How long have you two known each other?”

“Almost seven years.”

“Seven years, you say? And…do you know everything about one another?”

“Umm…yeah. I’d say so. Pretty close anyway.” Liz looked to Sam for confirmation, but she just stared at Jonathan. Or rather, she sat facing him, but seemed to be concentrating very hard on something just out of reach.

“Hmm… And how old are the two of you?”

Sam’s brows were furrowed with effort. Her face began to turn red and her eyes were narrowed in on an invisible target. Liz had the sneaking suspicion that she had stopped breathing.

“Twenty-one and twenty-two.”

“When Samantha stopped eating, did she tell you why?”

Liz wasn’t sure what surprised her more: the unexpected question or Sam’s bizarre response. As soon as the words escaped from his mouth, Sam yelped and jumped out of her seat.

“I- I’m sorry. Thought I saw a spider.” Slowly, she lowered back into her seat, staring blankly ahead as though afraid to make eye contact.

“Are you okay?” Concern for her friend took precedence over Liz’s astonishment.

“What? Oh yeah. It’s just . . . I hate spiders. You know that.” She chuckled feebly in an attempt to dismiss her outburst, but the damage had been done. Liz’s mind was instantly abuzz.

What is going on here? How does he know she’s stopped eating around me? Why did she freak out when he mentioned it?

The tension in the air was thick enough to cut, but Jonathan seemed perfectly at ease with this mysterious new development as he scribbled in his notepad. For several minutes the only sound was that of a pen scratching on paper and the excited laughter of nearby children.

Liz looked to Sam, seeking confirmation before grabbing her bag and preparing to leave. Finally.

“Elizabeth, please, before you go, I would like to offer an explanation to the both of you.”

Liz sighed, but lowered into her seat, knowing Sam would want to listen. He was just too pretty to walk away from.

“I’d noticed Samantha wasn’t eating, and it piqued my academic interests. I’m particularly interested in that sort of thing. I suppose you could say it’s my specialty. I travel the world studying the rituals and conduct behind food in various cultures. You may have noticed that I have some peculiar eating habits of my own.”

Liz was unable to disguise a snort at that statement.

He smiled knowingly. “I admit that it is a little silly, but I’m afraid it can’t be helped.” He turned to Sam. “I don’t necessarily like to discuss it though, and I would understand perfectly if you felt the same. I would judge by your reaction that you do. Please pardon my curiosity.”

“No, I don’t like to talk about it,” she said. “It’s sort of embarrassing, maybe some other time.”

Jonathan searched Liz’s face for a reaction. Now too tired to care, she twisted reassurance into her smile and dug out her headphones. Sam could chat as much as she liked, but Liz wasn’t going anywhere.

They had already missed the opening act when Jonathan finally stood to leave, having decided to forgo the concert after all.

“So Elizabeth, Samantha tells me you’re graduating this weekend,” he said as she gathered her things. Only Liz could lose something without ever leaving her seat. “Well, my brother and I were planning an evening out on Friday anyway, and I was hoping you would join us. Samantha has already expressed some interest and assured me you would love to come along.”

Sam’s eyes stated, in no uncertain terms, We will be going!

“Of course…sounds like fun.” Liz’s voice sounded flat but no one seemed to mind.

“Excellent! I’ll ring you later in the week then, shall I?”

Liz gave Jonathan a vast smile as he made for the exit, letting it falter once he’d turned his back. What a load of…

“Oh my God, Liz. I think he’s the one.”

“Fabulous.”

__________________________________________________________________

So... Give me your honest praise. lol JK  Whaddya' really think?


And now I'm thinking of moving this back to the plane. Sigh 

Had a little chat with The Spill Canvas today...

(If you read this on my FB, there has only been 1 minor update)

Nick Thomas, Spill Canvas frontman, aka the voice in my head, has created a Kickstarter campaign for his upcoming solo album. I was initially just going to donate enough for a t-shirt, but tier $250 caught my eye: a 60 second personalized song.

Figuring I had nothing to lose I said (in much more of a ramble), "Hey, Nick. I wrote a book and one of the characters is a musician. Can we extend the 60 seconds? If I gave you the lyrics I wrote, would you make it a song for me? Can I distribute it with my book as a free promotional tool, maybe even for my own Kickstarter to publish? I will also, in all likelihood, get a tattoo of it."

Nick said (to paraphrase), "Writing songs takes a lot of time. How long we talkin' here? If you buy the song, I'll say whatever you want as long as it's not explicit and it's yours. You can do whatever you like with it." After another waffling, gushy response from me he said, "I am sure we could figure something out and create an awesome song!" (That's a direct quote. ... Squee!) And he only quoted me an additional $20--because I requested a t-shirt. What can I say? I got excited about the t-shirt.

So.... dipping into savings because... yeah. NICK FUCKING THOMAS WILL PUT MY WORDS TO MUSIC!!! And I have pledged to at least tell everyone I know, in any way I can, about what he's doing and why they should support it.

If you like The Spill Canvas, donate to him. 

If you liked my book, donate to him.

If you want to see me fulfill my dream of a sheet music tattoo, donate to him.

If you don't know what I'm talking about, Google "The Spill Canvas", then donate to him.

If nothing else, because he's willing to do pretty much whatever it takes for his fans, even though he's successful enough to be 2/3 toward his goal in less than 24 hours.

Mention me in a comment and maybe he'll cut me some slack and put a little extra oomph into my song. Eh? Eh?

This is like 3 dreams coming into fruition, not to mention real motivation to see the whole thing through this time.

The Universe says, "Alexis, look at this. See what can happen if you keep your goals in mind and don't let them fall by the wayside."

And I say, "Okay, okay, I'm up. I'll try. I'll succeed. Even if it's only noticed by a small group of friends, I am going to accomplish something! Before another 3 years go by, and I have nothing but 'someday' to show for them."

The Nick Thomas Solo Album Kickstarter:

http://www.kickstarter.com/projects/nickthomasmusic/nick-thomas-solo-album

My Life Vicarious....

A Ridiculously Long Rant About Nothing

 

So I've given up on both promise and apology, as neither get me anywhere. I work too much to be creative. Some people would say 40 hours isn't all that much, especially without kids to chase, a man to please, or a degree to finish (well, I suppose I technically have that last one, but I'm not actively working on it so...) and all while in a stand there all day and smile at people kind of job. It is a lot for me though. I don't know if it's the standing, the mental/emotional strain (you ever tried to smile at rich people all day?) , or simply the fact that I'm a lazy bitch (although I'm sure the MS doesn't help), but I only see capable of handling exactly as much as I'm required to do to survive. Anything beyond that, and fuck off, I'm in a coma. Seriously, I'll only do something social with the ONE friend I've managed to hold on to if: A) It's my day off AND B) It's not my only day off.

I've been getting ideas lately, my subconscious trying to break through and tell me the things I can do to make my projects better. "Stop procrastinating," it says. "You no longer have the excuse of having no idea what to write." I've decided on a course of action for the novel you may have read. It requires significant changes, not necessarily to the overall storyline/character development, but you may want to hold on to your copy. You'll be one of the few souls to know some of my character's secrets if/when I ever unleash this beast on the world. I've also decided just to self-publish it. Maybe an agent doesn't want it. Maybe I'll never make a living doing what I love. But I'll sure as shit throw a mini-mental party any time someone leaves a positive comment on Amazon or tells me they've told their friends about it. A girl can dream....

But all I do is dream. I thought of all these things, but I'm not actually doing them. Today is Saturday, my first day off, and I did very little of use. It's easy to say, "Tomorrow I'll be better rested. Tomorrow, I'm going to start something." Then a little voice pops up and tells me, "No you won't. You'll be tired. And even if you start something, you know you'll never finish it, so why bother in the first place." The little voice is a jerk and I need it to leave me alone. But then my knees start hurting and my eyes feel heavy and I think, "Well, I am going through a bit of a relapse. Maybe better to hold off anyway." Next thing I know, three years have passed and I'm no closer to my my goal than the day I relented and set it. I do whatever I NEED, including the things I've convinced myself I NEED.

I NEED time to recharge. (Reading, Farmville 2, staring at Twitter because I'm bored until I'm bored...)

I NEED a good story. (Currently reading Black Dagger Brotherhood. John Matthew is breaking my heart. Also fan fiction. Lots of fluffy, meaningless, time-filling fan fiction.)

I NEED to see another human in a non-work capacity at least once a month. (This month I went to Target with Mandi AND we're going to The Hobbit. Also, work is having a Christmas party, but that really doesn't count.)

But then I have a day off. And I think, "Yay! I can do some things I WANT!" Last week I did my dishes (seriously, that's a seldom WANT in my world) because the week before I made a turkey (and it was delicious!). Today I decided to work on something creative. No, nothing lucrative or meaningful, just the third chapter of a fan fiction I've already committed to. The idea here is if I get rid of whatever pressing idea I have, a new, better one will pop up and if/when I get the motivation, the new, better thing will be the one that I work on. It's taken me MONTHS to get two chapters of a fan fiction up, even though I know exactly what happens and feel no pressure for it to be "good", Fanfic doesn't have to be "good", it simply has to exist. Someone out there will like it; it's a virtual guarantee. And yes, I have seriously contemplated changing my characters' names and physical descriptions to Edward and Bella just so people would read it. Don't judge me. I'm needy.

Anyway, when I felt my creativity waning about 1000 characters in, I decided to play The Sims(2). Therein I have created a world the likes of which I can be invested in for a predetermined amount of time. And even though I control it, it seems to me much like watching a movie with "Choose Your Own Adventure" options. No matter how long I leave it, I can always jump straight back in, and every time it's new and fresh and entertaining, and I never have to worry if what I do next fits with what I did last. I don' t have to worry how the outcome will change, because I'm experiencing it as it comes. Not everything will happen exactly as I see it, and that's okay. That's good, because no matter how much time I spend or how invested I get (or how pissed off I am when it suddenly crashes and I've lost hours of progress), I can walk away, give it time, go back, and it's like starting over from exactly where they are. No worries, just living in the moment vicariously through my Sims.

(If you've never played the Sims, what follows will likely make very little sense to you. Sorry.)

That's not to say I didn't have plans, for my Sims that is. I created a household with two unrelated teenagers (one of whom may or may not resemble a celebrity) with two completely different star signs (one of which may or may not be Pisces). I intended for them to fall in love, simply because I wanted to play them together. A one person household is boring without a relationship, and the Romance aspiration is really not for me. I mean, really? Fears: "Get Married", "Be Caught Cheating". Wants: "Have Three Loves at the Same Time", "Woohoo with 5 Sims","Woohoo in Public"... okay, that last one's not so bad.  But how can they Woohoo in public? No seriously, when does that option pop up? Maybe in a hot tub. Is there a public hot tub? Wait, what was I saying?

Ah yes, so no Romance aspiration for me. And Popularity is way too hard. Even in the virtual world I can't juggle eight friends, let alone enough for a Popularity Sim's life Aspiration. I can't even throw a good party for crying out loud. I don't think I've gotten a party score any higher than "Snoozer" in The Sims 2. But ask me about my Date scores, they always come out perfect. Although, really those aren't difficult, you just fulfill their simple wants of "Talk, Make Out, Slow Dance" until the bar is full and you're done. In the end they want to fu..err... Woohoo, and it's smooth sailing from there. And Sims always fall in love once they get to Woohoo. As long as your Sim isn't all about the Romance you can take your Happily Ever After from there.

So no Romance, no Popularity, and a big N-O to the added Pleasure aspiration. I thought it might be a good, free-spirited aspiration where the Sim does what makes them happy in life without the driving force of my predetermined goals. Upon reading the description it's sorta like that... only more hedonistic. Like the Romance and Popularity Sim had a baby and it didn't give a shit about anything.

I would normally give one or both of my Sims the Family aspiration. I can use cheat codes to get all the money I need, so I don't have to worry about how far they get in their jobs, which they have no desire for if their main goals are to get married and have children. Come to that, I don't have to worry about networking quotas either, so they don't need to have any friends.As long as a Family Sim has a mate and some babies, it's all you have to worry about. But I didn't want to worry about that. Kids are a pain in the a--. Even virtual ones. Your Sims don't sleep and they miss work and you have to teach the kid how to walk, talk, and potty while somehow keeping the parents alive, happy, and working. Then, when they get older, you have to schmooze the dean, help with homework, and throw birthday parties. The last Sim I had with a Family aspiration had twins and the only Wants she had were to be all up in their business... and to have another baby. Meanwhile, her husband was trying to see aliens through his telescope and make a million simoleons. Omg, it's enough to make you want your virtual tubes tied!

So I gave my guy the Fortune aspiration, planning to make him an actor (musician isn't a career path, and I wanted to like him, so business and politics were out). My girl has the Knowledge aspiration. She really wanted to be a scientist and I was like... no, you want to be into the paranormal. Had to reprogram her for that. Normal scientists never have crazy Goonie adventures.

Anyway, my Sims were two completely different people. Even the game judged their chemistry as low, and when you're going purely by code and program, opposites don't exactly attract. Fortunately, I made them both decent people and they got along. I got them talking first thing and they developed crushes on one another before they even entered the house. I had him ask her to go steady. She said yes, then broke up with him 5 minutes later. I think she was distrustful of commitment (yes, okay, the Sim was modeled after me). They fell in love in like, 12 Sim hours and the guy was ridiculously romantic. Like, when left to their own devices his Free Will would generate things like "Caress" and "Admire" whereas hers were "Play Chess" and "Paint"... even after they were solidly going steady. Bless her. I had them go to college together, where I was able to choose their turn ons/offs, which made them totally, sickeningly solid. They both wanted to get engaged after that. He was still way more into relationship, picked a couple fights on her behalf whereas she was all study, homework, chess.

They graduated and moved in together with nary a hitch, I cheated their way to a dream house, and got them both jobs in their chosen fields. They rarely had any interest in each other after that. I mean, if I brought them into proximity, their free will shifted to include one another, but his stuff became about his job and material wants, and hers was all about gaining the next skill level in everything. After they got a dog, that was it. All either of them wanted was to teach the thing tricks. Neither of them ever had marriage or sex in their Wants. Talking, backrubs, the occasional dance, but no real relationship stuff.

Then I had them get married. I'm horrible with parties, and I can never get the ceremony right. I once threw a wedding party and the groom went to work right before it started. The bride got tired and took a nap. For this wedding, I sent them on a date just to give myself something to do other than keep them alive and play with the dog. I had him propose marriage to her and their status changed to married. I basically gave them my real life dream: a spontaneous Vegas wedding. No worries about ceremony, buying decorations, or stressing over timing, just making it official with someone you're going to spend the rest of your life with anyway

After the end of date Woohoo, they both went back to wanting what they want. Money and knowledge...and teaching the dog to sit up. He also has a bird. Fuck birds. Then, randomly, my lady wanted to have a baby. And I was like WTF? You didn't even want to date him, and now you want a baby? Two days later, she changes her Wants, but my guy gets a bug up his butt and one of his six Wants is to flirt with his wife, then dance with her, and so on. Every time I told him to do what his Want was, a new one about her would pop up until suddenly, they both want a damn baby. Part of me is annoyed. This is exactly what I was trying to avoid. Another part of me is like, just fulfill their career needs and when they wake up the next day, they'll change their mind. But the little part of me that's invested, the one that secretly thinks they're real people, is teaming up with the subconscious voice that told me to make the character me and live out a fantasy Happily Ever After kind of life in the first place. And they're saying, "Give them a damn baby! You know you wanna know what their kids look like, and it's what they both want, against all odds and with the process you set in motion with the impromptu marriage, they both want a baby at the same time,"--something I've never had a Fortune Sim have as a Want.

And that, my friends, is my life vicariously through Sims. I have a rich, handsome, romantic husband, a dog who knows how to sit up, a fuckin' bird, and the sudden, unanticipated desire to start a family. I also need to find two more friends for that promotion. Ugh.

I don't know why I felt like telling you all of that. It's really stupid, and not at all real. But I suppose it has some deep meaning to my psyche I can hopefully discover in a dream. I have no idea why I find my Sims lives so interesting or poignant. They're just pictures and code. But I love them. They're so special. Also, I had nothing better to do and this is where my brain took me when I decided to write a blog.

Yay me!

If you've such with me this far... you're even more bored than I am. Go read something real. I suggest the Brotherhood series. My favorite is Rhage, followed closely by Vischious. And, as I said, John Matthew seriously tugs at my heart. I suppose we can all identify with him a bit. I never got to liking Phury. He pissed me off but good.  What do you think?

My Job

Well, it's been two months. My only consolation is that no one has been actively waiting for this blog to happen. My life has definitely been happening though, and I thought of this today. So instead of doing something constructive like working on my novel or my FAGE entry, or completely frivolous like Castleville, I'm allowing myself 20 minutes to post a blog. So, let's see... quick, fast, and in a hurry...

I got a job at a hotel by the airport. I'm not telling you which one, not because I'm not proud to work there, but because I might inadvertently say something to make them not so proud of me. I'm the front desk person, that girl that smiles, checks you in, and gives you directions to the closest restaurant. I have to wear a suit and do my hair and makeup every day.

I'll let that sink in for a moment.

Yeah I do that stuff every day... I am, quite literally, in my pajamas all the rest of the time, but if you know me personally, you are confused. I don't blame you. The suit is a uniform though, so its not as though I have an extensive professional wardrobe, just two pairs of steel wool pants and a jacket I leave at work usually. I work nights (most of the time) and I absolutely love what I do. Okay, not so much what I actually do, but I love meeting people and chatting with them.

I meet a lot of older business people. My dad theorizes that some of them are actually very important in their world, I'm just not aware of it. That is... quite possible. We did have one "high profile" guest a little while ago, and while the buzz of it was exciting, the person himself was of no interest to me, and he really just created a lot more stress and discord than I'm used to.

My favorite thing is to meet the normal people (at least, I think so... I don't know people. The truth is, my favorite band could walk in and I wouldn't know it unless they started playing.) I like meeting old men with corny ass jokes and profound knowledge. I like telling people some story about somesuch and getting three in return. I like it when someone walks in tired and angry at the world (or their airline) and walks out with a smile. I genuinely enjoy these things. If I didn't have to be standing all night and wearing sandpaper to do it, I'd like it even better.

My 20 minutes are up, and all I did was talk about my job--which I now have to go get ready for. There will be more shortly... like in a few days as opposed to months, as there are many more interesting and creative things going for me than this. But I really can't put this off. I have 45 minutes to turn "just woke up after having taken a shower last night" into "Welcoming, brand-appropriate person you'd like to talk to".

Hope you weren't holding your breath

SO it's been about a month. One long ass month in Alexis-land. Just sayin'. I moved back to Colorado from New Jersey last week, had a car waiting for me that I now have to insure... except I don't have an actual address, which is proving problematic. Contemplating moving to either Oregon or Arkansas by next month -- I'll tell you about that if it works out. But in the meantime I'm catching up with friends, finishing a future take for my fic that I promised about a year ago, and finally.. FINALLY sitting down to write my original stuff for solid chunks of time.  Here's a little piece of what I wrote today. It made me laugh almost-out-loud in the middle of a library, so I like it. Then again, things never translate as well as I want them to the first time around, so excuse me if you find it a waste of your time.

"
Before he left for London, JD gave Alyssa one more surprise gift. It was much less expensive than a platinum necklace, but infinitely more valuable.

"I've always... wanted... a puppy," Alyssa said around the tiny Jack Russel assaulting her face.

"Cats don't make very good company," said JD. "Anyway, he's house-trained, so no accidents, but you can teach him tricks and take him for walks and... stuff. Or..."  -his voice shifted to a high-pitched lisp -- "we can get you one of those adorable little pink dog purses."

"Daddy's funny," she told the dog. "He's a silly boy, isn't he? Just like my Teddy. Right, baby?"

The dog responded with more feverish licking.

"Who's Teddy?"

Instead of answering JD directly, Alyssa once again spoke to the animal in her lap. "You're Teddy, aren't you? Do you like that name? Do you?"

Teddy barked his approval and turned his attention to the hair band on Alyssa's wrist. Clearly, it had to die.

Teddy held Alyssa's interest exclusively for almost two hours. JD honestly became jealous of a dog for some time. Alyssa was sure to make it up to him later, once Teddy was down for his nap.

"

I don't know why... but that bit about the scrunchie...cracked my shit up when I first wrote  it down.

Have a wonderful week,
Lex