palmerpink

Bless the little dear, but she can be  such  a pain. See, Parker and I live down in the basement, and, not unwillingly, take care of my family's cats who pretty much reside down here too. There's Marcel, who is basically super cat/my feline boyfriend; he's an orange cat (aka "marmalade" mmm), who's affectionate but not insistent--loving without the pushiness some cats possess. There is also Cali, a gorgeous little calico; she's the "Little Girl" of the house and the princess in residence. Marcel, of course, is perfect and only brings us joy and amusement. Cali, on the other hand, can be a raging bitch. Of course, she's on the counter. Goddamnit. Cali has had, and will likely continue to have, problems with hairballs. That was the start of this trouble. Puking. Lots of puking. We dubbed her "The Puke-Monster" and would say she was "full of puke". She's had these hairball issues for a long while, years off

So, lots of strange things abounding all about the place the last week or so. Work weirdness that indicates how (much) cool(er) our store (secretly?) is. Writing opportunities pursued. Possible job awesomeness. I'm actually a little surprised how "down'n'drifty" and sleepy I've been, so much going on, so much to cheer up over. So the Wheaton American Eagle used to be kinda the joke of the district/region/company. Tiny and shit results. Since our new managers took over last October, we've muchly reversed that. We kinda kick ass numbers-wise, relatively speaking. We may not make as  much money as say Montgomery or Tyson's Corner, but in given our traffic, size, and overall transactions, we've not infrequently kicked their asses. At the least, we're doing way better than we did before the old managers. Meanwhile, we got called in to help out an ailing store the other day. It's a big, high-volume store. It makes 4x as much money a year as

After about a week of real (?) writing, I've been slacking off the last week. I feel a little guilty, naturally. All the same, I'm actually actively thinking about my writing. I'm even all but settling down and doing it. That's a pretty tasty bit of progress, frankly. I used to be so bad about even remembering I'm supposed to be a writer, and feel shamed and exposed when I did. Now I've actually got a plan, prospects, a project not only worth working on, but *workable*. I just need to work on it, and I'm pretty sure I can if I gave myself a moment to. It's a nice feeling, and a nice change of pace. I hope I can learn to feel that way about other projects in my life--at the least, learn to move past the abject terror, dread, and certainty of failure that's so often hung me up before. Anyway, I'm pretty upbeat about the story. That is to say--only worrying a *little*. This Friday, I'm meeting with my cousin to discuss a literary opp

The thinking. It's always fleeting itself away right when I think I have it. It's terribly irksome. Might as well watch more cartoons or read more comix. You read me. Comix. Fuck, this hand is still acting up? My "checkup" is thursday and my borked hand still aches. I mean, I should prolly be laying off any strain--like work or typing--but I really just can't. It's all too tempting/easy to forget what's good for me. And that's pretty much been true for me my whole life. So I've resumed my life's goal of reading all of the underground comic Cerebus . It ran from 1977 to about 2004, and was produced by Dave Sim, who over the course of the comic's 6000 page run, as I've just found out, became some kind of raving nutter/crack genius. Either way, I started the damn thing about a year ago (?) and never really got around to finishing...I'd sworn then I'd finish all 300 issues by the end of last year. 3 months after that

So Freddy called me out last night on my use of gay/ghey. We're loosely scheduled to have a talk about it. In growing up, apparently, and being a grown up, it's important to learn when to admit one has been wrong. To "own it, claim it, and let it go". It's been a tough lesson for me, so prideful & shame-filled. So let's try it. In this particular case, that Wanda Sykes PSA got me thinking. Partly because, for lack of any reason not to, I generally respect Wanda Sykes and also because it had a point. It can be hurtful. You should think before you speak. It's like the war against cliché's except, less cute/amusing. (The PSA also made me laugh. That always helps.) Maybe that's why I'm so willing to back down on my own self-righteous pride. I was already half (re)thinking about it by the time Freddy called me out on it. Generally, I don't declare things (negatively) "gay"--or as I usually spell it in writing, "gh

So our monthly shows were this weekend . It was good times. I was kinda zonkered/out of it Friday night, but last night....whoa nelly. I had a blast. It was the kinda show that reminds me why I love doing this month after month. This weekend, I discovered a fiendish love for running the light board. Friday and Saturday night were only my 2nd and 3rd times doing it, but goddaaaaammn it was fun getting a bit creative with it. (Yeah, I found the blackout buttons. I'm so cool.) See, I already loved doing lights. More, perhaps, than actually performing. See, part of what I love about Rocky is doing call-lines. I mean, that's how I watch my bad movies for Bad Movie Mondays-- heckling , I call that. And really no other job on the cast provides as much opportunity to be loud and proud and dumb and blunt as lights folk. Tech/prop guys have to run back and forth--on and off stage. Performers/shadow actors have to (mostly) stay in character. Lights peeps, on the other hand, stand out

Those guys over at bestfunnyblog.com have appreciated my the posts I've contributed and have generously offered me a free t-shirt from their online tshirt store Polly & Crackers . That's pretty awesome, guys. My only trouble is I'm not sure which one to pick XD I've narrowed it down to three so far: There are, of course, other shirts for guys , but I can only get one! therefore! this requires narrowing my choices! Sadface.

So, despite that positive, proactive mood I mentioned the other day , I gave into some rude urges to be irresponsible last night. My Rocky Horror cast was having a meeting, and I'd even told them I'd be there. And then I didn't go. It started as just "going in late" and ended up "not going at all". This usually means something's up in my head. It's straight up avoidance, my favorite coping mechanism. Evasive action! There's usually some chain reaction of worry leading up to this kind of behavior. Sometimes big things, sometimes little, but essentially I'm trying to avoid having to feel anxious about something . I'm not sure what it was this time. I mean, I have a couple strong suspicions that I'm reluctant to admit to. There's the ever worrying money situation. Haven't moved forward with that loan consolidation in weeks. What's weird though is yesterday I actually did make some progress with it. Maybe that m

I loved yesterday's Penny Arcade comic, Pokémorality . Naturally, I haven't played anything of Pokémon White or Black , but I did used to be a raging PokéNerd in middle and even a bit in high school. I always used to scoffed--and even still do sometimes--at Professor Oak's lil poké-speech he'd give after you beat the Elite Four and RivalFace. He'd go on and on and on  about how RivalFace had lost because he didn't love his pokémon; he'd used them as a means to an end, they were, to him, a means of winning and had not earned their love and trust. As for me, Oak would go on to say, I had won because of the love and care I had raised my pokés with. That was a pile of raging pokéshit, and we all knew it. Much like Gabe in this Penny Arcade comic, we taught our pokés to hate, we taught them to win!!! As with almost any game character--especially such replaceable, interchangeable, undying game sprites as these buggers--our compassion and morality

This is part of why I love twitter: finding random, super awesome stuff. @ maudnewton  shared this orgasmic Map of Science Fiction . (Click that link "History of Science Fiction"; apparently it goes by both.) It's huge. And thick. And a thing of beauty. It's got Doctor Who, which is already a win in my book, but there's more. So much more. I want this as a poster on my wall.   It's got L. Ron Hubbard turning into scientology and his Battlefield Earth turning into a "Bad Movie". It's got "Counter Enlightenment" exploding off into "Romantic Era" and the resulting "Gothic Novel" and all that fun supernatural horror and stuff like Edgar Allen Poe (Fun note: it's even got Oscar Wilde's  Dorian Gray ). It's got Battlestar Galactica . Both of them. :) It's got Penny Dreadfuls and Pulp Magazines. It's got "Future War Novels" abruptly ending with World War I (lawl). It's got

Yes, my babies, I am still alive. I kinda half killed my computer--let's go with  put it in a coma--temporarily, of course! --but it's all better now. Runs better than ever. I feel so bold and grown up now--using real Debian instead of Ubuntu. Because Debian's really *that* much harder. Obviously. </false sense of accomplishment>

You know, I go to all this trouble to crash my bike and break something, and I still don't have a cast to show for it. See, in all my 24 years I've never broken a bone. The closest I've come is 3 stress fractures in my left foot senior year, but I refuse to acknowledge those as "proper" broken bones. So when the doctor from the clinic called me up and said "actually, our radiologist *has* found a fracture." I was duely excited. Paltry a wound, though it may be, I'd finally gained entry to that elite group of Bone Breakers and Cast Wearers! Or so I thought. The ortho-whatsit guy looked at the X-rays and found there was a fracture. A really teeny, hard to see line of darkerness at the end of a metacarpal. Verdict? A nondisplacement hairline fracture. No cast. Goddamnit. And just to add insult to injury, I left the cd copy of my X-rays there at the doctors' office. God-diddly-damnit! >.< Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry

Today's big find. Goddamned lovely. Also, a good song ;D Meanwhile imma'bout to get off my lazy ass and record (or try) this week's bad movie monday review for Microwave Massacre . Somewhere between now and then, though, I imagine some Brendan Maclean stalking is in order....muahahahahaha