When Good Birthdays go Dreadfully Well

Now that I have already gotten over the whole "turning 40" bit, birthdays are really fun for me again.

Wednesday was my birthday, and it was honestly one of the best. Right now I can't be sure whether it was because the week and a half or so before my birthday was emotionally trying for a variety of reasons, or whether it just really was that good. I think it was both.

For one thing, I was having a horrific day on Tuesday, mostly internal stress, not external (hello, anxiety attacks, nice to see you again -- NOT!). So in the middle of my angst, I was at the post office mailing something overseas, when I looked out and saw that I was being given a parking ticket. I had banked on being able to run in and out of the post office. After all, what post office has metered parking, seriously? Well, my luck had run out, and given the way my day was going, I was not a lick surprised. But when I opened the ticket, it said $0 owed. I just stared at the little orange ticket in awe and then, given the tension in my head that had been building up like a tornadic low pressure system, I almost cried. I mean, after all, what are the odds of having a crap day and then getting a not-ticket? So I took it as a sign that my luck was turning around. I was right. Within minutes, my oldest childhood friend called. I knew she had recently moved from California to only about two hours away from me. But imagine my surprise when she said, "Happy early birthday, when can I see you?" She was in town! Minutes away. I could see her that very night. On a day I really needed to see a good friend, she happened to be there and she took me out to dinner and it was awesome.

THEN, the day of my real birthday arrived. Not only did I get tons of greetings from my online writer friends (from a specific forum), but I ate cake for breakfast. When else do I get to eat cake for breakfast? Well, I'm a grown-up. I could eat cake for breakfast every day if I wanted to, but not only would I be as big as a house, but my stomach would make me pay, and believe me, it has ways of making me pay. So cake for breakfast is for birthdays only. And occasional lazy Saturdays. But back to my birthday. My work friends were fun, my students were cute and attentive (one student gave me a homemade card with a random earring taped to it that he had likely found on the ground). I got texts, including an exclusive picture of my two darling nieces. Someone at work brought me homemade brownies. Another person brought me a fish filet sandwich from McDonald's (yes, she had been sweet enough to remember that once a LONG TIME AGO I mentioned that it was the only sandwich from McDonald's that I liked).

That evening I went to write group, and the lovely Pink Audrey made New Mexican enchiladas to die for and the lovely Sequins and Mr. Sequins made a beautiful chocolate cake. After we ate the enchiladas but before we ate cake, we finished taping our hula hoops. Mine is sparkly purple and yellow. I would take a pic, but I am too lazy to go downstairs. That shall be another post. As we taped our hula hoops, Pink Audrey chirped, "Cake?" every so often like a parrot until Mr. Sequins gave in and busted the cake out. I ate until I literally could not swallow another bite of anything. That night, my stomach hurt like a mo'fo', but it was worth it. Oh yes, it was worth it. I'd do it again tomorrow.

The fun continued the next day, and I got to celebrate again at my parents' house the next evening. I had a delicious dinner, opened a few fun presents, and had some German chocolate cake. Over the phone my nearly three-year-old niece informed me that the highlight of her day was not attending music class as her mother wanted her to tell me about, but that she had peed on the floor. Let's face it. Bodily functions trump the arts any day. But she did sing happy birthday to me for the first time.

Now if I want to be really grateful for something, I should note that my birthday was not like one of the movies I review. If my birthday had been in one of the vacation gone wrong movies, a ghostly serial killer called the Corn Stalker would have broken into Sequins and Mr. Sequins's house, bound us all in sparkly hula hoop tape and sequins, and eaten all the cake. The only sound would have been a muffled, "Cake?"

But no, that vision is far too sad to truly contemplate, and that, thankfully, was not our fate.

Instead, my verdict for the last few days? * * * * *

The Lion Sleeps Tonight -- NOT

I really can't resist this one! I figure i might be a bit busy this week with various things, like partying for my birthday (hey, I turn 41 on Wednesday, hear me roar loader than the lions in the movie I'm about to discuss) and work stuff and actually writing (yes, I've been doing that this weekend).

Prey




IMDB says: While working in a dam in Africa, the American hydraulic engineer Tom Newman brings his family to spend a couple of days in the Leopard's Rest Lodge. His fourteen year-old daughter Jessica is having friction with her stepmother Amy since she does not accept the divorce of her parents. On the next morning, Amy, Jessica and her brother David go in a game drive with a ranger while Tom goes to the dam. While driving off-road, David asks the ranger to stop the jeep to go to the "toilet", and unexpectedly they are attacked by a group of starving lions that kill and eat the ranger. Amy, Jessica and David are trapped in the jeep and stalked by the wild lions. When Tom returns to the hotel and finds that his family has not returned from the game, he asks for help to the experienced hunter and guide Crawford and together they seek Tom's family.

There is something just so primal about Man verses Nature. Or shall we say spoiled American teenagers verses hungry lions. I watched this movie a couple years ago, curled up with my cat. My cat and I were both rooting for the lions. There really isn't much else to say about this movie, quite honestly. Especially amusing is the scene when they are barricaded in the car and some people have already been eaten and scavenged by hyenas right in front of them and the stepmother is worried that the kids will tattle to her new husband that she smokes. Um, lady, I think that's the very least of your worries, mayhaps? Of course her lighter is what saves the day in the end, alas. For them. Poor lions.

Vacation Gone Wrong Factor: * * (the family was far scarier than the lions)

Did I Care About the Characters Factor: * (I'd be so mean if I put no stars, wouldln't I? Is this a pity star? I do believe it is...)

Verdict: * * (The lions were pretty cool)

Adventure Run

Sorry, it's been awhile!

It's been a rough week for me, between being sick with a cold at the beginning of the week and then some work drama that was mostly embarrassing and stupid.

So this morning I went on a long run. Well, long for me. Six miles. Yeah, I'm badass. Bow to me. But only after I bow to my friend in Chicago who completed 20 miles in a single run last week. Now the funny thing about today's run is that I was sort of half-assed about the whole thing as I was getting ready for the run. I had slept until eight, which stop the presses -- I can't even tell you what an amazing feat that was because sleep? Some time I need to go into a whole long post about my insomnia. Although come to think of it, that would probably put you all to sleep. But I'd be happy about that because I'd know that at least SOMEONE would be getting some sleep, right? But this isn't about sleep. This is about my run and my state of mind before and during. So I was all proud of my body for letting me go back to sleep after I had awoken at 5 a.m. all wired and ready to go. I woke up at 8 thinking that must be a wild and bizarre dream or a sick joke because my body never lets me sleep that late. You have to understand that 6 a.m. is generally sleeping in for me. A night I can sleep through the whole night? Never happens. So anyway, I had this "eh whatever" feeling when I was getting ready for my run. I could take it or leave it. Maybe I'll run 5 miles or maybe just 5 minutes. It was all the same to me. But all I knew is that I was craving that run.

I figured it would help with this sick, anxious feeling I've had in the pit of my stomach all week. It's a variety of things causing this low-grade anxiety -- some silly, some momentous life-changing type things. I've been thinking a lot for some reason about the era in late 2007 just before my husband (who shall from now on be referred to as Mo in this blog) and I took off for the island of Trinidad. I was teaching, same as I am now, in a research literacy job that I loved. I lived in the city of Jacksonville, a city that while was not perfect for me in every way, was really sort of glamorous for me (Palm trees! Ocean! Great restaurants! Southern hospitality! Warm weather in winter! Alligators sauntering down the sidewalks! Hurricanes!). It was the last time that Mo and I lived together as a real family unit with our two cockatiels and our humble home by the St. Johns River and our daily walks. What triggered this surge of nostalgia you might ask? I recently came upon a notebook that one of my work friends there had given me as a goodbye present. It had a beautiful tropical scene on the front and in the inside she had written,

Wish I could be with you to celebrate your dream sabbatical to a desert island where you can immerse yourself literally in the setting of your book. I'm really going to miss you. It's hard to lose someone I thought of as, I guess like a soul sister. We have a lot in common and see things in the same quirky ways. You're the only one I think I can share my thoughts and ideas with and not have them think I'm a little out there. I hope you love it in Trinidad. Having lived on an island myself for a year, I can only say it's the experience of a lifetime. Enjoy!

Aside from my heart constricting with gratitude for a friend's sweetness followed by my sarcastic thought of, "yeah, THAT worked out really well, didn't it," my other immediate thought was, "YES! I want THAT me back again." I miss that me that can give away all her belongings and fly off into adventures far away, never needing to live that "normal" life that everyone else is relegated to. I fly my freak flag. I'm different because I'm not meant to live a normal life. Not that a normal life is bad. Oh, sometimes a normal, stable life is so comforting I can almost feel the cotton sheets and the down pillow on my cheek. Sometimes I envy people who have lived in the same area all their lives surrounded by the same friends and family. When people have worked at a job for over three years, I marvel at that. How can they not get bored? How can they not go out of their mind wondering what else is out there? How can they not crave adventures? (No, going to a classy resort on a tropical island for vacation is NOT an adventure unless of course, the crocodile eats your friend, your passport is swept away by a massive tsunami that hits the island, and you are abducted by pirates who eat crispy hexagon cereal for breakfast in anticipation of how much they will make off your organs on the black market). Yeah, THEN talk to me about adventure, yo.

These things I thought about as I ran this morning. Along the way I stuck my tongue out at a sign advertising something or other in front of someone's house that said, "Like us on facebook." I happily felt immune as I ran past some thuggish teenagers (nobody mugs runners -- they carry nothing--), I met a twin to my niece Miss Rose (same first name, same birthday month), and I watched people already getting drunk in anticipation of a football game in tailgate parties that must have started by 9 a.m. Are these not adventures, I wondered? Can you not have adventures in your own backyard, however so humble? Last weekend I hula hooped in the park with Saturday Sequins and Mr. Sequins. Mr. Sequins even had his ninja bike with him. Is this not coolness to the extreme of coolness? Yes, I agree that it is! Okay, so you don't really need a tsunami and pirates to have an adventure, although at least they might have made the children at the nearby birthday party stop screeching.

I finished my run an hour and fifteen minutes after I set off and felt like a new person afterwards. I had not set out to do six miles. It had just happened. Just like there were so many things that I did not plan in my life. Things happened, things were set into motion, and life happened. Life is today. Life is now. Every day is an adventure.

Or an opportunity to sleep, so says my Siamese, who is curled at my feet right now.

Stranded

I'm in a bad mood this evening, so it's time to watch some fictitious people suffer. (*my own characters are ALL sighing a big sigh of relief that I'm too tired to write this evening*) So here's a movie for your delight!

Stranded



IMBD says: Bride-to-be Carina decides to do take her four friends to an exotic Caribbean island for a hen party to remember. After arriving at the luxurious resort the women take a boat ride to isolated island where they can bask in sun and sand - and it's there that the nightmare begins. The captain of the boat forgets to pick the girls up, leaving them stranded, forcing them to use a deserted house as a makeshift shelter. Then, one by one, the girls start to vanish. With Carina's big day the last thing on the girls minds they start to wonder whether they will see out the night...

Wow. This movie started with so much potential. What could be more ripe for vacation disaster than a group of carefree women at a bacholerette party partying it up in in some non-descript, unnamed island in the Caribbean? I mean, I LOVED the movie Bridesmaids. This was going to be JUST LIKE THAT only in the Caribbean and without comedy, right? Sadly, I must crush your hopes. But still. Things were just BOUND to go dreadfully wrong when the ladies decided to hire a shady dude with a creaky, tiny boat to take them to some nearby island for a private day trip. When the dude doesn't pick them up as scheduled at the end of the day, things start to go wrong. The ladies start disappearing one by one. Now this would be fine and good. Hurray! Serial killer on the island! Except...THEN the movie, just as things might be getting good and right toward the end, starts trying to do too much. It puts in all these bizarre twists and turns. I won't give away everything in case you're dying to see this, but let's just say that ex-boyfriends, Mafia connections, an island adventure package that everyone but the bride was in on, etc. , were all driving forces in the last er...(maybe?) fifteen minutes of this movie.

Vacation Gone Wrong Factor: * * * (eh, sucks to be the ladies that were kidnapped and knocked off)

Did I Care About the Characters Factor: * (one star ONLY for the friend that was originally not going to come but then showed up only to find her friends missing. . . oh, and for the hot random detective guy who showed up during the last 30 minutes. He was worth it.)

Verdict:: * * This movie COULD have gone places, but tropes and silliness and bad acting and a bad script did so prevent that.

Princess Sparkle

Time management has always been the bane of my existence. If there is anything that I am expert at, it is wasting time. Especially when there is no time to waste. It's almost as if I crave the adrenaline that comes from waiting until the last minute to deal with things that absolutely have to be done.

I also have another truly bad habit. I don't open my mail right away. I've heard that really heinous things can happen to you if you neglect to open important pieces of mail. The problem is, the important stuff looks the same as the sales stuff, and sometimes they all get thrown in the same pile. And then time marches on. If it's money I owe, suddenly late fees and threats come. If it's something I need to take care of, deadlines pass, trouble comes of it. Years ago, I once forgot to pay a traffic ticket until the final hour. They could have suspended my license and made a criminal out of me. All because I'm forgetful and lazy and have poor organizational skills. I have accumulated so many late fees, missed so many deadlines, I can't even tell you. I once had my phone turned off because I forgot to pay a bill. I totally had the money. I totally did not intend to not pay. I just forgot. Now I have solved that problem, at least, by paying bills online. The other thing that almost happened was a complete clusterf*** when I first moved to Florida. I almost lost the financing for my new and necessary car just because I could not be bothered to follow their instructions to get a simple proof of salary to give to my credit union. So stupid. So simple. And yet I kept forgetting every single day until the final threat came.

I don't think I'm a bad person or even an irresponsible person, although I seem to prove time and time again that I am the latter at least.

Honestly, I'm like a princess who would prefer it if someone else wiser and smarter would just take care of me and everything annoying in life so that I could breeze happily through life in a princess sparkle world of writing, relaxation, and fun. Seriously. When I make it big some day, the first thing I will do is hire a personal assistant to take care of all that crap.

Most months, I do just fine as someone who plays the role of a responsible adult, but I'm always just barely hanging on by a thread, barely ahead of the game. Every month something new comes up, whether it's the IRS sending a notice about some inconsistency in my taxes (let's not even get started on how much I abhor having to deal with that) or a medical appointment I have to make or even a hair appointment. Yesterday I realized my hair was completely overgrown. Of course when I called to make an appointment, my stylist was booked for the next month. It turns out she was able to fit me in within a few days after all, but the point is, why did I wait until I just couldn't take it another second? Only the princess-sparkle in me knows.

All that stuff above is understandable. Nobody likes to pay bills or deal with appointments or make irritating phone calls. But how do you explain time management issues when it comes to things you actually enjoy doing? Why is it that I put off doing the things I enjoy most, like watching shows I like or writing. Especially writing. Writing IS hard work, but it's who I am, it's my identity. When I don't write, I am less than human, a shell of myself. And yet I will procrastinate even when it comes to doing the things I enjoy the most and I have no idea why. It could be out of fear, that I will open that page and nothing but writing that looks like a six-year-old with a lobotomy wrote it will come out. Or that I will actually finish a project and feel proud of it, and nobody else will "get it" or like it. Or that I will have to deal with the cold, hard world of publishing where very few new writers get a chance these days. And then the people in my life who know my whole world is writing will see me get rejected again and again and they will soon feel sorry for me because I am not successful at the one thing I'm supposedly best at. Or worse than that, those same people will see that I'm a poser, a phony, that I just call myself a writer, but that I don't actually have talent or success in it. Most likely, it's all of the above.

So my advice to my princess-sparkle self and to all of you who might have similar issues with time management and doing things you love is this. Day by day. One day at a time. Do what you love, love what you do. Write the book YOU want to read. Don't worry about the cold, hard publishing world and how you have to write about sparkling vampires if you want to succeed or that your main character must be a straight, white male or nobody will identify with him. Or that your story must be X length or that it must be in first person or nobody will look at it. Don't worry about any of it. Just immerse yourself in your world, love the process. Define success on your own terms, not on the terms of the publishing world, which is in a dangerous state of flux right now anyway, with the ebook and Kindle industry.

Dance to your own tune and be happy doing it. Life is short.

A vacation gone wrong movie for your pleasure

Since I don't have a lot of time or energy this morning, how about a movie...

Black Water



IMDB says, While on vacation on Northern Australia, Gracie, her husband Adam and her younger sister Lee decide to take the Blackwater Barry tour in the swamp for fishing. Their guide Jim uses a small motor boat and takes the tourist along the river to a remote spot. When they stop, they are attacked by a huge crocodile that capsizes their boat and immediately kills Jim. The three survivors climb a tree and when they realize that help would never come to rescue them, they decide to try to find a way out of their sheltered location. However, in the muddy water, their boat is flipped and the crocodile stalks the trio under the water.

This is an independent Australian movie and the vacation was in the characters' own backyard, so it doesn't have quite the same "exotic vacation trope" as going to a Third World country on vacation might, but it was still awesome. So much joy and fun at the beginning. So much downhill to come. One awesome thing is that they actually used a real saltwater croc for many of the scenes. No special effects. I also really dig movies in which the characters are stuck in some place from which it would be so easy to escape but the thing of horror prevents that. (One of Stephen King's scariest short stories (to me) followed this theme with a group of friends swimming out to a raft-dock in the middle of a lake and then encountering some freakish oil-spill-looking creature who ate anyone who dared get in the water, thus trapping them on this raft-dock thing). In this case, the croc is determined and patient.

Vacation gone wrong factor:* * * * (hey, not everyone died, so it's four stars only this time)

Did I care about the characters factor: * * * * (I liked these people. Was not rooting for the crocodile. There was some whining, of course, but dude, I would be too if I was stuck in some mangroves with a giant croc stalking me)

Verdict: * * * * * (this was a great surprise. I expected it to suck and it totally didn't)

Running Without Being Chased

Whenever I tell someone I am training for a marathon, it sounds ever so much more badass than it actually is. I mean, a marathon is 26.2 miles and thus is indeed badass just by existing. The longest I’ve ever run is a 10K (6.2 miles) and that came with great suffering on my behalf. So in order to finish the marathon, I just have to do that like 4 more times! In the same race. On the same day.

However, at this very moment? I am not in a good training space. I am not into it. A little bit of rain yesterday wimped me out. The other day it was because it was 10 degrees too hot. Sometimes it’s because I’m too lazy to gather my stuff to go to the gym.

This rebellion on my part would be understandable if I were not into it because maybe I was burned out from all the mileage I was putting in, but when you’re only walking and running for 20 to 30 minutes, there is no excuse.

When I was a pre-adolescent, I had a lot of inferiority complexes about a lot of things. One of them was feeling like I was bad at sports in comparison to my friends. To me, running was my thing because let’s face it, I was otherwise no athlete. If a ball was going to hit anyone in the face during gym class, it was going to be me. And don’t get me started on all the traumatic memories surrounding picking teams in gym class.

But at some time in the early 80s when everyone else was prancing around in their aerobics leg warmers and Fame leotards, my dad took up running. He trained almost every day, and his goal was to run in as many 10K races as possible. He trained with a friend who was into marathons and who pushed them to run extraordinary distances (to me, 10 miles seemed, well, crazy talk!). My dad had been quite chubby and within a short period of time, he was a lean, mean, runner living off endorphin highs. Oh, how I longed for my very own endorphin high.
At the time, I was taking ballet lessons, which I did not like. I think I wanted to like ballet, but it was definitely not for me. For one thing, the ballet classes met during the precious few hours of daylight between school and dark when I wanted to be outside playing with my friends (yes, readers, this was before the internet, before video games, before decent television – kids actually played outside in those days!) But more importantly, imagine someone with three legs who had had reached her full, towering height of 5’2” and development at the age of ten being in a class of flat-chested little girls not being the elephant in the room. Impossible, right?

When I started running to imitate my dad and also because my mom told me I didn’t need to take ballet lessons anymore if I took up running for real, something clicked. The endorphins might have clouded my mind a little, but here was a sport I could do. It did not involve balls flying at my head or teammates screaming at me or prancing elephants. As far as pre-adolescent embarrassment, the worst I ever got from running was one obnoxious boy who used to sing the Rocky theme whenever he saw me running by (did I mention it was the 80’s?).

I loved making running challenges for myself. I loved how one week I could say I was only running 1 mile per run, but the next week I could move it up to 2 miles, building up slowly until I was running for an unimaginable 4-5 miles. I loved how fast I could get in shape, how marvelous the endorphins were. Sure, I was suffering while running, cursing every step, every gasp, but afterwards? No other sport since has ever given me the kind of endorphins that running does.

That’s why running is impossible to quit for me. Every year I say I’m going to quit running. It’s bad for my knees, not necessary to keep in shape, and it’s hard on the joints. It’s sweaty and messy. It’s time-consuming. And so every year I make a melodramatic announcement that running is not for me anymore, that tragically I must leave running for the people without knee and back problems, who are ten to fifteen years younger than me. But then that itch comes back, that need to create challenges for myself, that need to suffer until I hit that high.

So today I am training for a marathon. Doesn’t that sound badass to you? I thought so.

Speaking of vacations gone wrong...

No time to blog this morning, as my usual morning writing time was taken up by actually sleeping in a bit today.

But I leave you with this picture. I'm sure most of us have been here, done that at some point, had to put our time in sleeping at the airport because of the latest apocalyptic snowstorm/zombie attack/tornado/whatever:

In praise of "See you next Wednesday!"

The title of this blog is something I have gotten to say almost every Wednesday ever since last December when my writing group started meeting every Wednesday evening. Our group of four began as a series of Nanowrimo write-ins. If you’re a writer, you’ve probably heard of Nanowrimo. If you’re not, let me explain what it is. It’s a month of utter hell in which procrastination is not an option and you write utter garbage just to get 50,000 words of some type of incoherent plot written. Some people call it National Novel Writing Month.

Last year I participated. This novel, which shall never see the light of day, was pretty awesome in its awfulness. I think of it with cringing fondness as one might a visiting toddler nephew with chocolate smeared all over his face who sticks peanut butter on your cat, calls 911 by accident multiple times, and breaks your china yet hugs you and tells you he loves you. Yes you love your nephew, but you’re awfully glad when he leaves and you’re left to deal with the damage. That’s about how I feel about last year’s Nanowrimo project. To tell you the truth, I haven’t even opened that file since the end of November. I have a fuzzy recollection of Australia, saltwater crocodiles, cycads, modern day pirates, and deadly jelly fish (can you just GUESS the theme of that story, can you?).

So there were these write-ins at the public library, and I showed up in a rare state of, “yes, I WILL leave the house and attempt to meet other human beings.” Well, I met these notorious three others, and after Nanowrimo finished, we continued to meet. It’s been almost a year and we still meet. These people are so awesome. Why? First and foremost because writers are different. Let’s face it. We are quirky in wild and wonderful ways, and the normal world doesn’t always quite get us. I can say things that will just get me a strange look among normal people, but among other writers, not only do they get it, but they embellish it. As a silly example, we usually initially meet in the library’s café. Near the café is a mysterious room. Sometimes we watch people go in and out of it. We have developed an entire storyline about it, how there are cryogenic experiments going on there and how the librarians are all in on it. (This bears a striking resemblance to a thing I had going with a friend in high school about how all the German teachers were secret cannibals -- we had songs and everything! Ah, writers!)

But that’s not all. I can be myself, whether I am hyper and bouncy or in a glum hate-the-world mood. And perhaps even more importantly, I feel a part of a community. Like in the way that I might say to myself, “Yeah, I could move back to Florida where it doesn’t snow, but I have family here and my awesome writing group. I moved back to this area because of a traumatic experience, and I’m dealing with the fallout of that decision almost every day since my husband lives and works overseas nine months out of every year. The decision to truly settle here was not easy. And yet this group really helps make that decision not only tolerable, but downright pleasant on Wednesdays (even in the winter).

And by the way, we don’t actually often work on writing when we meet. In fact, I would say it’s rare. Most days we’re chatting about other things or just ideas for writing. They bring me baked goods. We hula hoop together in the park. They appreciate my hummus. They show me pretty beaded projects.

In fact, three of us (the fourth was out of town) went through a tornado together back in May. Okay, so the tornado didn’t tear through town or anything, but the warning sirens went off and we all had to go into the library’s mysterious basement for an hour.

In short, they are awesome (And also I have them to thank for not only a push to start this blog but the idea of the theme behind it).

Early Morning Spiders

I wake up early, and when I say early, I’m not talking about 6:00 a.m. or even 7:00 a.m. (yes, I know that’s early for a lot of people). I mean, my alarm goes off at 4:35 a.m., and believe it or not, I usually don’t wake up to it. I’m usually already awake when it goes off. And this morning, I was wide awake. So wide awake that I was convinced that I had overslept and that it was actually 6:30. Somehow the sky looked lighter than it usually is at 4:15 a.m.

So anyway, I was up and having my coffee with my laptop on lap by 5 a.m.

What should scamper across the floor right in front of me like it owned the place, but a HUGE spider. Yep, big enough to really think it should own the place, I’m sure. I know. September is the season for spiders galore, but it doesn’t make me like it any better. Still, it was no match for my shoe. RIP giant invader spider. May you get to eat small children plenty of bugs in spider heaven. That was my morning procrastination.

Speaking of procrastination, there’s this program called Self Control that I found some time during this past year. It’s a great program, although (edited to add, thank you, healthamateur), it is for Mac Users only. Fear not, as I am SURE there are similar programs out there for non-Mac users! You download the program and then you list a bunch of sites that you’re “black listing.” You pick the period of time that you want to be banned from the internet. It blocks you from all those sites, the sites you are addicted to. You get other stuff done. It’s awesome. It’s sort of like running, though. You have to actually get out the door for it to happen and in this case, you have to actually open the program. I done good today, though. I stayed off the internet until now.

Okay, for your daily dose of Vacations Gone Dreadfully Wrong, I bring you this true story:

Croc Kills Woman Years After Her Sister's Death

So, if you don’t want to click on the link, this woman got eaten by a crocodile while on holiday in India (while her boyfriend filmed it apparently) only a few short years after her sister had died in another freak accident while on a DIFFERENT holiday (of the mountain climbing variety). Now, not to make light of this since this family has got to be in some major unimaginable pain, but what are the odds? Seriously. What are the odds of two separate vacations in the same family going so terribly wrong?

When Good Vacations Go Dreadfully Wrong

So...you may see a bit of a theme on this blog at times. I tend to gravitate toward stories of vacation misadventures as a rule. Whether I'm writing the story (yes, I'm a writer!) or someone else is, it's that theme I seek out again and again. This could have to do with a very bad vacation in the Caribbean that changed my life forever over three years ago. Or maybe I just like watching other people go through the worst possible vacations from the safety of my own armchair. (Sidenote: I don't actually have an armchair. I sit in bed or on the couch most of the time while on the computer.)

So today I'm going to discuss a movie (based on a book by Scott Smith) that goes along with this theme, just to warm us up.

The Ruins



From IMDB: A group of friends whose leisurely Mexican holiday takes a turn for the worse when they, along with a fellow tourist embark on a remote archaeological dig in the jungle, where something evil lives among the ruins.

This movie does not disappoint in that it follows a very common horror movie trope. When Americans (and sometimes British or Australian, sometimes European, sometimes a mixed batch) travel outside their resort comfort zone and dreadful things happen. These movies tend to uphold an age old cautionary tale. Don't leave your borders, don't travel too far outside the box, never be too comfortable with your privilege. In this movie, two American couples and a German (My memory is a little hazy because i in the book a guy from Greece also joins them) leave their very comfortable Cancun resort to help the German man look for his missing brother. They end up imprisoned on some Mayan ruins. And then things really go downhill. I won't reveal any more, aside from it makes Audrey from Little Shop of Horrors look like a fluffy kitten in comparison.


Vacation gone wrong factor: * * * * * (can't have a suckier vacation than being eaten by an evil plant)

Did I care about the characters factor: * * (not really, they were spoiled and annoying most of the time)

Verdict: * * * (Book was way better (and darker)).

Welcome to Eccentric Auntie

I've been wanting to set up a new bloggie thing with a theme of some sort for quite some time, and I have been drawing a blank. I think I felt self-conscious about putting myself out there again. Well, thanks to some fellow bloggers and friends, I've decided to give this a crack again.

What you will find in this blog will likely be a mish-mash of things. In general, this is about me and my life a bit outside the usual box. I will likely mostly talk about: my marathon training and that elusive goal to lose a few vanity pounds, eat cleaner, and yet still enjoy my cake and wine; the theme of good vacations gone wrong (movies, books, personal tales); writing and other hobbies (hey, hey, NANOWRIMO's comin' up!); and I will be bragging about my nieces and lynx point siamese cat.