Sometimes Memes Are Just Nice

So the other day, someone posted on of those memes, you know the ones we all used to love to do in emails: “86 things you would never guess about me except for the fact that you might because I am so fucking predictable” or something like that. I’ve always been kind of fond of those things, but only if they’re done properly.

It takes me a long time to do these memes, because well. So really, I only get through about 8 questions before I get bored. So.

Eleven Questions that are answered in such a way that you will never want to read the other eleventy billion (part 1 of question mark)

When you looked in the mirror this morning what was the first thing you thought?

My kid better be getting out of bed.

 

You can press a button that will make any one person explode. Who would you blow up?

Who the fuck wrote this meme? Seriously?

Okay okay, aside from Hitler, because duh, that’s everyone’s go-to answer FOR OBVIOUS REASONS (and you know, like Idi Amin or Pol Pot, etc. etc., I don’t think I can safely say that there is anyone I would “blow up” or otherwise kill in any way.

It’s because I watched Star Wars the other day (drunk, as you may recall), and they blew up Alderaan.

I want to start this thing with the caveat that I am not trying to convince anyone to see my position as right or wrong. I’m not interested in a debate over whether or not my reasoning is solid. I don’t want any “moralsplaining” in the comments. Mostly because I’m working on this on my own, and I am okay if you have your own beliefs, but there’s a point in which the starting point determines the following point, and I suspect that anyone who has a different following point doesn’t always have the same starting point.

So I have seen this movie like a billionty times. I am a geek (not like a walking Wookiepedia or anything, but I know some shit. I can also rap MC Chris’s Fett’s Vette pretty much in real time, so I am fun at parties. If…you know….that was something you wanted to do at a party.) It’s sad what happens to Alderaan. They blow up Leia’s home world. They kill a bunch of people. Man, that Empire sucks. And then the story moves on, and while the books often deal with Leia’s issues over losing Alderaan, they’re her issues, how it makes her feel. She lost family and millions of people died, but it’s almost too much to process.

And the joker who made it all happen?

This jackanape right here.

So for the first time in my life it occurred to me that when Alderaan blew up, it meant that millions of people died, not unlike blowing up a smaller earth (or a larger Earth, as I don’t actually know how big Alderaan was. You know, because we’re talking about a real planet that totally happened. You wouldn’t know about it. IT WAS A LONG TIME AG IN A GALAXY FAR FAR AWAY). That those were people (they weren’t. I know this is fantasy), and that they just ceased to be, with all their issues.

If someone blew up earth right now, all the shit we’re embroiled in—our own lives, the political struggles, the race issues and terrorism etc. etc.—it would just be gone.

In the end, what it really made me do was stare at Tarkin with a kind of mute horror. It’s not that I am desensitized to the death aspect of it, because in some ways you have to be, but that I never considered just what a monster that makes Tarkin. I was always like, “Well duh, he’s a bad guy”, and bad guys do these things.

Conversely, I have grown up in a culture in which we endorse shooting and killing the bad guys. Sometimes we shoot them in the chest with a revolver. Sometimes they fall off a building in slow motion. Sometimes we just inject them with a chemical that until recently we were pretty sure was painless and quick.

I don’t know now about all that. Maybe I can still go for the heat of the moment killing, because it needs to be done. Maybe I can still go for state execution, because of Reasons that are too long to list here. But what I DO know is that I don’t feel comfortable anymore arbitrarily referring to violent deaths as part of a fantasy such as “who would you blow up?” when referring to real people. I have no issue killing those bloody puppets n Devil May Cry. They’re Bloody Puppets. But asking me to pick a real person, even if it’s someone who deserves it, makes me wonder when I decided that it was okay for me, personally, to pronounce death on someone just because I am a “good guy” and they are a “bad guy”.

I dunno. Moff Tarkin totally made me think about all this.

But you know if I had to, then yeah, Hitler. Totally Hitler.

 

Who would you really like to just punch in the face?

Okay, so I admit that while I wouldn’t blow anyone up, there are quite a few people whose inverted faces I think about. Most of them are people I don’t know personally, which I guess is what makes it acceptable. And if I were ever to meet any of these people I would never punch them. Unless they punched me first, which, I can see how they might, if they were trapped in a bar with me and I was playing Thin Lizzy’s “The Boys Are Back In Town” about fifty times in a row.

And then I guess I would be asking for it.

BUT, all that said, I guess I’d like to punch a few politicians, and a few religious leaders, and a few celebrities who act like they are either one of those. And if we are talking fictional characters, I really just want to punch Delores Umbridge, for OBVIOUS REASONS.

Also, Hitler.

 

If anyone could be your slave for a day, who would it be and what would they have to do?

For reasons that I outlined (or may not have outlined) two questions ago, I don’t think this is a fair question to ask, and suggesting that we still think slavery, even in jest or figuratively as something we can toss about (I used to joke about slave labor re: my child, because hey, but now I don’t. You evolve through language, like how I no longer joke about selling her the gypsies. We can all learn something about language editing, and it’s not oppression to suggest you do so.). ANYWAY, What I would like, is money to hire someone to clean my house.

Like, seriously, how much would it cost to hire about five people to come to my house and scrub it from top to bottom? I also want them to totally organize every drawer in the kitchen and bedrooms and totally organize my basement with shelving and stuff. I think it would take weeks if one person did it, so I need like fifteen people to do it in one day. How much would that cost? I could NEVER afford it. I want that money.

 

You can erase any horrible experience from your past. What will it be?

You would think I would go for my husband’s death, but I have made peace with that. Instead, let’s go back about 3 years.

I hosted a party in which MUCH drinking was taking place. Aside from the designated drivers, everyone who could drink had been downing beer all night, and I am sure it is safe to say that there were no buzzed people there, only Zuul. Eventually, I called it quits and told everyone to lock up as they left. Later I learned the following: 2 very drunk individuals had an altercation in which one groped the other in a highly suggestive way. Well, you know, less suggestive and more groped. The gropee called me the next day about it, as they were unfamiliar with the groper. I asked if ze wanted me to say something to the groper and was told no, and that it was just “weird” because they didn’t know the groper well. Also, not gonna lie, mitigating circumstances about the scenario made me take this admission at face value.

I know, I should have seen something there, but I didn’t.

I consulted with friends of the groper and they were mystified, too. We let the matter drop, because I was not instructed to take it further.

The thing is, the gropee was triggered by events that night and reacted badly once ze got home. Ze’s partner saw this and said nothing. Four months later the groper becomes involved with another friend. They are married now and groper is a permanent fixture in my circle of friends. Gropee’s partner waits months before unleashing a rail against me for protecting a rapist.

I am not gonna lie—I wish I had pulled groper aside after this and said, “I know you were fucking plastered, but what you did was SO NOT OKAY, and something needs to be done,” but I didn’t see it. The one person who did know the extent of the issue (aside from gropee, who understandably, may not have wanted to say anything, and I totes get that) didn’t say anything until months and months later. No one who was there (the gropee’s partner was not at the party) was aware of the extent of the issue.

In the end, it cost me the friendship of the gropee and ze’s extremely irate partner, and the groper is still here. I don’t even know if ze’s even aware that it was this big a deal to this day, but it’s been 3 years, and I lost two good friends for someone I just consider an acquaintance. Mutual friends between the three of us have had to pick a side. One of the friends who chose me said recently that she knew where she would go in the divorce. At this point, even our friends who stayed with me pretty much lost 2 friends too, and it makes me sick.

So yeah, if I could go back and erase anything, it would ever be going up to bed that night. For everyone’s sake.

 

The Celestial Gates of Beyond have opened, much to your surprise because you didn’t think such a thing existed. Death appears. As it turns out, Death is actually a pretty cool entity, and happens to be in a fantastic mood. Death offers to return the friend/family-member/person/etc. of your choice to the living world. Who will you bring back?

These questions are always painfully obvious in my scenario. So instead I want to talk about that fucking Adam Sandler movie about the fucking remote control and Buffy the Vampire Slayer, seasons 5 and 6.

Click was released in June of 2006, and my husband died in April of the same year. I was watching a lot of TV, and so it was impossible to miss the trailers.

I have never seen Click, so I don’t know if it is good (according to Rotten tomatoes, it’s not very), but the tagline was irresistible to me: “What would you do if you had a universal remote that controlled your universe?”

As you can tell, it made quite an impression on me.

The thing is, the last things you want to be thinking about when you are contemplating losing a loved one to a violent death or an accident, something that is not a disease or old age, something that is kind of preventable, say, is fantasy things that can never ever exist, because in your dreams, you already play it over and over again.

I am not blaming the movie. It’s just a movie, and its presence in my universe has more to do with the fact that the universe doesn’t revolve around the events in my life, a lesson that I wish more people were acutely aware of on a daily basis (re: themselves). But the suggestion that one could go back and forth in time, change things, is obviously appealing even if you don’t have a tragic death in your life (see last question and answer).

And a year later, when I rewatched Buffy, you all know where I am gonna go here. They bring Buffy back from the dead. And at a great price, and I took a lot of time to think about that, too. Because it’s right there on the screen in front of me, as fantastical as it is, and you just Can’t Stop Thinking About It.

But then see, Buffy talks about the bad things that happen when you bring someone back from the dead (they do it when Joyce died, too), but even then, no biggie, it’s a nether creature the gang tales care of.

Then you have to consider the Monkey’s Paw, or any number of other books and stories out there that posit what happens when you return people from the dead. And in the end, you have to actually, non-hypothetically (because you are seriously in mourning for a dead person) shut the door on fantasy, not because it’s not possible, but because even in your fantasies in which it is possible to raise the dead, you shouldn’t. There’s a system to death, a place that it has in existence, and while I am not religious, I honestly believe that dealing with loss is just as important as any other thing in life, and in the end, you start to make peace with loss by putting away the fantasy of raising the dead.

So my answer is Hitler. So we could kill him again.

 

What was your last dream about?

Every night I have a variation of three dreams. Each one involves the last two question and answer scenarios.

 

Are you a good….[insert anything you’d like here]?

Panda bear? You said “insert anything”.

No. I would say that I am not, in fact, a good panda bear. Well, okay, Maybe it depends on what we mean by “good”. Do you mean “am I a reasonable example of what a panda should be?” Then no. Am I, should I be a panda bear, a morally upright one? Like the opposite of “bad” or “evil”? Well then, I guess, since I am not a panda bear, I can’t very well be a good or bad one, but even if I was, I am probably not a very good anything most of the time, so no on that too.

Well, okay. I don’t set puppies on fire. I try my best. I’m okay. I’m an okay panda bear.

Except for, you know, not being a panda bear.

Your questions suck.

 

Have you ever been admitted to the hospital?

Several times! Obviously to have a baby (#notallbirthingscenarios), but even more exciting is the story of that one time I had a horrible brain tumor named Mearl, and consequently decided not to sue a former doctor even though I totally could have because that is not how litigation is supposed to work in an ethical society.

But I have told that story so many times that it’s super boring to relate. Instead I could tell you about how I was an otherwise healthy 25 year old who had a serious medical issue that required over 50K of medical costs, but because I had insurance coverage it didn’t pretty much ruin my life like that would have if I had been uninsured.

I could do one of those sidebar things I like to do about how it’s important to have insurance even when you are young and healthy, because you never know what’s lurking in your innards, or when that Guinness truck is gonna decide to hump your Volvo at 60 MPH on the interstate. I would mention that while I got my insurance from my employer of the time, I now have insurance through the exchange, and that I feel comforted knowing that I can actually afford to pay for insurance that I never know if and when I might need, because having a scar like that down the back of your skull is a constant reminder of how fragile your body really can be.

But in the end, I would probably just tell you about the moral of the story, which is actually that if you have a scar that looks like a zipper down the back of your neck, and your tell your 5 year old daughter that it’s a zipper so you can unzip your skin, take it off and put it in the washing machine when it gets dirty, she will freak the fuck out.

But years later, you will have a great story to tell when you answer a meme that says, “HAVE U EVER BEEN IN THE HOSPITAL ANSWER YES OR NO CHECK ONE” and then draws three little boxes like kids’ love notes in grade school, one for “yes” one for ” no”, and one for “maybe” despite that the instructions tell you to check yes or no, because that is how first graders roll in the relationship game, people.

So maybe. Maybe I have been in the hospital.

 

Have you ever built a snowman?

Fuck you, Olaf.

 

What is the color of your socks?

How is this supposed to tell you anything about another person? This question is the busywork of memes.

Am I supposed to feel better about sharing myself with the internet? Is this question akin to instagramming my food when I only have a following of like three people, and two of them are my parents and the other one is that creeper whose avatar is a horsehead and who keeps asking me about foot pictures?

Red. My socks are red, creeper man. Stop asking for toe pics.

There you have it. Some day when I am starved for more material I’ll think of something else.

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Apparently, no meaning CAN be found, my padawan learners.

Last week’s “unpopular opinions” was such a smash hit that I decided to whine about more shit, this time pissing off a lot of authors. HAVE FUN!

I LITERALLY HAVE NOTHING MORE TO SAY TODAY.

LITERALLY.

FIGURATIVELY. WE NEED A WORD THAT MEANS SORT OF LITERALLY, SORT OF FIGURATIVELY. FIGURALLY.

I FIGURALLY HAVE NOTHING MORE TO SAY.

MAYBE.

1. DUBSTEP IS AWESOME AND IF I COULD MAKE IT MY LIFE SOUNDTRACK I WOULD. When I watch mimes doing their routines, I automatically think they are playing dubstep in their heads.

2. I would have thought by now that all religious groups would have given up on insisting that there’s a Gay Agenda. This is an unpopular opinion because not only have they not given up on it, but no one I know is surprised that they’re still pushing it. I guess it’s just my optimistic goddamn view of humanity that they might learn just how fucking silly they sound then they say it. Like calling a bagel “baaaa-gil”. Recently when talking about how professed “progressives” still fail, as a large percentage to get understand how intersectionality works or why it might be a good idea, I referred to myself as Charlie Brown, always, ALWAYS believing that Lucy’s gonna hold that football in place, but of course, no.

3. The more I am exposed to any conversation about genres, the more I want to roll my eyes. I am so fucking sick of genre fiction discussions. Like that we had to create YA for another set of life makes me lol even more. And don’t get me wrong, it has nothing to do with the quality of the books that makes me sigh. It’s the way we as a whole society of people make smaller and smaller labels for things. And then we talk about the labels for those things and then we argue about who is allowed to call what what and etc etc, and what qualifies, and then here comes the person who scoffs at people who read said genre labeled X and then we get a flurry of people defending X. It is ridiculous. And if you are upset and say, “Well then don’t read these posts/discussion/genres!” Then I direct you to 1. I don’t. But I see it on my twitter feed enough that I have formed this opinion.

And here’s a good example.

4. I don’t think we should EVER want another season of Firefly. Aside from the fact that it’s been, like 13 fucking years or something, I don’t think it could ever live up to what fandom wants without being a horrible referencing sad piece of crap. Stop arguing that you want it, because you really effing don’t. And if after all that thought, you still want it, then I, like Nina Garcia, fashion director of Marie Claire, question your taste level.

I could get behind a Firefly Holiday Jamboree Special, though. And the holiday is like, Arbor Day.

5. I am getting really sick of people saying “the reason is because”. NO, THE REASON IS THAT. THAT. THE REASON IS THAT. JESUS. AND STOP PUTTING THE SHIT IN THE COFFEE.


An article about me.

6. It has never occurred to me to not read something because it is in a certain tense or POV. I mean, seriously? You’re looking at that? I get that people have “preferences” meaning they have things that are either less difficult or more pleasurable for them to read, but all these authors who complain about low readership? Maybe people are just passing on your book because they have decided not to give it a chance because it’s in the “wrong” tense. And I mean that when I sit down to read a book, I register the tense that it is in at the start as, “Oh, okay, first person present.” ::popcorn::

Reading has never been for me something in which I have to be catered to (unless it’s guilty pleasure reading, and then my standards are sometimes so low that poorly done tense/POV hardly matters—two octopus men are fucking and fighting crime while eating Pringles, and the author still cannot keep from switching back and forth between past and present. IT IS GLORIOUS. Shut up). To me, a book is a set table that I come to, not a table that sets itself for my convenience, like some fucking magical Disney castle.

An author picks a tense for myriad reasons, same with POV. Some do it arbitrarily, and some do it for specific reasons, from immediacy, to narrative tone etc. etc. blah. And the fact of the matter is, one POV or tense actually isn’t better than another one—rather it’s about how that technique is created. Is Baroque any better than Cubism? Probably not. That’s not precisely an even parallel. Is acrylic any better than tempura? Not really. But I have seen some shitty tempura works and some great acrylic works. I have been disappointed by the artists who use tempura, so I either prefer NOT to look at tempura based art (which, okay), or I get on a very high horse and decide to declare that tempura works kind of suck.

To me, there’s a big difference in between saying “oh, I have been disappointed by tempura works so I prefer not to go to exhibits of them” and “tempura works suck”. One is an opinion and the other is…what? Still an opinion? Someone discovering fact? I don’t know what the fuck that is. People have been debating for years what it means when a person takes the “I think that” sentiment out of their statements. Are they assuming that listeners will know it’s their opinion? Are they trying to convince someone to believe like them by asserting opinion as fact?

To me, when I see these statements from writers (and I am going somewhere stupid with this so hang on there), I see a closing of doors. In communities in which younger writers listen to older writers, etc., I see people saying “oh, first person is horrible. I never read it.” Or “second person is the worst tense ever” (I happen to love it, but I am glad so many people hate it, because it is so hard to do well, that I don’t want to have to see it mangled more often. Thanks, haters!). I wonder if this isn’t where we help to perpetuate or create grammar rules that go from opinion to solid fact that writers them whine about (*cough* adverbhate *cough*).

We’re writers. We’re supposed to be a little more aware of words and how to use them. I am sick of writers who declare one tense to just be plan horrible, no-good bad. How about saying “I prefer to read XYZ, because the ZYX is better for me, because” AND THEN GIVE A FUCKING REASON.

I have, as an editor, asked writers to change the tense of a whole story. I am not so flexible that I will send a book out the door when the tense is incredibly wrong for the narrative (and in one case, the tense used was used so badly, that a “remedial” tense was needed. I am not perfect, and sometimes I have to just patch up the inner tube instead of—doing some other things that would complete this comparison. Let’s just say that I was obligated to work on something that I don’t think was publishable. Sorry, unpublishable person. Your day will come. Keep writing!)

Where was I going? Oh yeah, ALL THE WAY BACK to the place where I don’t get people who won’t read a tense or POV. You get the book, you read the blurb, you select it. Then you sit down and open it (or press play or do wherever it is that you young people do to turn on your electronic book thingys) and you start to read. You don’t say “oh, look, first POV” and close it (hit stop or do whatever it is you young people do to turn off your electronic reader thingys) without giving it a while.

If the book actually does suck, then go with god my friends. It’s probably the writing. Or maybe, like me and that Erik Larson book I tried to read, it’s just REALLY BORING THIS TIME (witness that I loved his three other books), then just close it (or hit stop or do that electronic thingamajigger doodad. Incidentally, my googlefu was inconclusive about whether or not “thingamajigger” had racist origins, but if someone else knows, please feel free to enlighten me because I love how the word sounds, but it looks a little….”has a scary past”-ish. ). I apologize that you have just experienced a poor reading adventure. Please pick up the next book in your pile (I know you have like eight of them in your house, plus a box in the basement labelled “unread”) and try again.

But if you come on a writer’s forum and say something like “I hate first person” or “First person present is a bad POV to use”, you better back that shit up with a list of fucking reasons, or your writer card will be pulled from The Book of Amanda, and I will cross out your name in all the copies of your books I have, and just put “Thingamajigger Mc Douchenozzle”.

Sike. I will just sigh.

16. I love me some slang. I am one of those people who when I see an article titled “words people have to top using” and it’s a list of slang like “totes” and “adorbs”, I roll my eyes and laugh at people who I pretty much consider soulless beings who have to learn to not let everything in the world permeate them, like dropping pumice into a vat of sriracha.

Which is why when I say that “hangry” is the most fuckcravat word in the universe, you know that my opinion has weight (what kind of weight remains debatable). I love every slang word. “On fleek” is amazing. Technically “hangry” is a hybrid word and not precisely slang yet, but it is horrible. First of all, you are angry because you are hungry. Whatevs. Snickers pretty much pointed this out to us. I am getting bored, so let me move on.

Basically, you are all ruining the real word to use, which is, HONGRY, and which you say like the chicken lady from Kids in the Hall. And if you don’t get that reference, just say “I am hungry.” Don’t be ruining it for the rest of us. RUINING IT.

Hangry. What the fuck.

Just in case you missed my portrait from earlier.

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In Which I Search For Meaning

Recently I have started brainstorming for content for this blog, because I have to write. And I have started writing, oh yes indeedily do. But not fiction. THINGS.

Back in the day when we all thought the internet was a lovely place free of—well, we never thought that but we might have been a little more open about ourselves. Or maybe that’s now. I dunno. BACK THEN, I had a livejournal, and I wrote about myself and fandom and my day and things I felt/thought/heard/tasted/shot in the face a great deal. Then I fell away from lj and blogging in general. There were Things.

But I started this as a writer blog, hoping to share short stories, promo my many novels, and pretty much not have anything to do with fandom, which makes me nuts.

Problem is, I strongly dislike talking about writing. I have said it over and over again that I do not discuss my process. The few times I have tried to talk about what I do have illuminated precisely why I shouldn’t. I will discuss YOUR process, but I don’t discuss mine. Also, I don’t actually like HEARING others talk about their process. It’s excruciatingly boring to me, and since I would never reciprocate, I feel that making me listen to you talk about your muses and shit is an unfair burden on me that you can never repay.

I am digressing (newsflash—that is ALL THIS ENTRY IS. IT IS ALL MY BLOG WILL EVER BE.)

So in private, meaning off the net, in word files, I have been writing reams of Things that are not fiction. My fiction is stalled, but I have five pages of funny observations on Kanye (No I don’t. It’s like three lines long.).

So if that is what I am writing, I am going to use it. I am going to post this as my craft, because apparently I no longer actually care about telling stories that I make up, but would rather write the funniest nonfiction that I can write in the universe. And this paragraph right here is the closest I will ever get to talking about my process aside from my VERY UNPOPULAR HYSTERICAL SCREAMING AT PEOPLE THAT CHARACTERS ARE TOOLS. YOUR CHARACTER IS NOT A PERSON, MAN, HE’S A HAMMER OR A SCREWDRIVER. STOP TALKING ABOUT HIM AS A PERSON. Ahem.

So It’s time to stop scraping old LJ entries for stories about my possessed Tom Tom, or filling in half-finished entries and post something new. Something that will get me yelled at. Something that will make half of the people who read it think I am talking about them and get all side eye and then ignore me at the next event we attend together.

I am not burning bridges here. But I might be throwing an unlit matchbook at a hot metal bridge and screaming “SO THERE!” with all the petulant wail of a four year old upset at her parents because they won’t let her lick the electrical socket. You know, that kind of thing. Actually, no, it’s not about people I know specifically, and if you know me and feel that you can point to a certain thing in these entries and say, “THAT’S ME!” I apologize and assure you that I am not really thinking about it. I need that Law & Order thing—

There we go. DUN DUN.

So I started an entry called UNPOPULAR OPINIONS.

And then I had two thoughts:

1. How do I know my opinions are unpopular? Just because I don’t see other people professing the same views as myself in the small circle of the world in which I roam? That seems to be kind of presumptuous of me.

2. SPEAKING OF PRESUMPTUOUS, making a dirty laundry list of UNPOPULAR OPINIONS, sometimes, when I read other people’s lists of them (and I have done a few myself on livejournal, back when I was young and carefree and didn’t understand anything about anything. I am pretty much the same now, but I know how to use a spring form pan, so I can’t complain about worldly ignorance), it always seem to me that a. they want to somehow show off some “Emperor’s Got No Clothes” attitude that they have that proves them superior and/or special or b. they really just want to complain about a bunch of popular thing that they hate.

SIDEBAR: And it is totes okay not to like something. It’s even okay to hate something, as long as we’re talking about tomatoes or The Walking Dead, or The Bachelorette, or John Fowles’ The Magus. Once we get into other areas, I get a little more skeptical about what the word hate means and its appropriateness for anything. In fact, I am pretty skeptical about saying that one might “hate” anything, because come on. Hate results in genocide, homophobia, racism, classism, rape, etc. what you probably mean to say is that you dislike something. And the things a lot of people I see complaining about that they HATE are things like “the confusing Starbucks menu” or “commercials about Erectile Dysfunction” or “capers”.

A Canadian friend of mine reminded me of a great phrase that I have tried to teach my daughter to use that makes things clearer: “I do not care for.”

I do not care for this winter.
I do not care for gravy on my mashed potatoes.
I do not care for this tobacconist, it is scratched.

That last one, no so much. If you can say “I do not care for X” and it doesn’t sound horribly understated (EX: “I do not care for police brutality.”), then that’s probably something you might want to rethink “hating”.

I also want to stress that this is all my opinion, because you start bitching about hyperbole and me not telling you what to do before you slam your bedroom door and crank the Shakira. Because then I have to get the screwdriver and the hammer and unlock the door and confiscate the radio and use the hammer to pull the door out of its hinges, because I TOLD YOU ALL AT THE BEGINNING that I would remove the door if you kept slamming it.

It’s just my thinking. I try to reserve my hate for things that really deserve it. Because hate can be pretty internally damaging, emotionally—like that hot sauce they make you sign a legal release to buy, you want to use it in very small amounts. And if you keep using it all willy nilly, your intestines are gonna fuck with you eventually. Also, it’s gonna change the taste of everything it’s not in.

I just made a horribly fragile hate is like hot sauce analogy. The world is my oyster.

Endgame: I don’t like to say that I actually hate anything when I am stating formal opinions about things that I dislike. /SIDEBAR

Back to the thing about unpopular opinions (because that is what this was about all along). Sometimes I wonder about the point of POINTING OUT OOOOH, THESE ARE UNPOPULAR. Is it the hipster version of blogging about things? Are you giving people a heads up that readers might see some things commonly praised as being trashed or vice versa? I don’t know.

I any case, I thought it was really snotty and uninformed to say UNPOPULAR OPINIONS, as if that makes them more special and points out how nonconformist I am.

Instead, let’s just call them:

THINGS I HAVE BEEN THINKING ABOUT LATELY BASED ON HOW THEY HAVE COME UP IN MY LIFE ON THE INTERWEBS (UNPOPULAR OPINIONS WAS WAY BETTER. I GET IT NOW.).

CAVEAT: Please, take these with a grain of salt. They’re flash pan ideas. And they’re my thoughts, so if you don’t agree, I actually don’t care. As you were.

1. I like Combos. I like the pizzeria pretzel ones. Why is this an Unpopular Opinion? Because apparently EVERYONE ON MY TWITTER FEED DISLIKES THEM, OR SAYS, “MAN, I ATE THOSE IN COLLEGE LOL THEY ARE SOO BAD FOR YOU” implying that they would never eat them now because horrible. Eff you. I fucking love Combos. Combos are gonna cure my cancer. I bet if I threw enough money at Mercola, I could convince every nonvaxxer to start ramming them up their asses to prevent scurvy. But that would probably limit Combo availability, so no.

2. Sometimes I think that liking all the Agent Carter stuff in the past in the MCU is like enjoying Marauder era stuff from Harry Potter. In both cases it’s past stuff that is slowly filled out (more in Carter’s case, because hello TV), but I just don’t Care. I mean, I don’t even wish I cared. And the only reason I even said anything is that everyone I know is watching Agent Carter, and they LOVE IT. WHICH IS GREAT. We need more good TV, but like, I can’t even believe I mustered the energy to write this about it.

See that melting clock just halfway over that….animal looking thing? That is me just thinking about maybe watching CA2 or IM3 or Agents of Shield.

Do you know how hard it would be to give anyone directions in a Dali painting? I cannot be the first person to riff on this.

3. I love me some social justice, but every time I see someone call themselves a “social justice warrior” I cringe. It’s the warrior part. It reminds me of the first time I saw “warrior” used for anything other than a wounded veteran charity or a reference to the Spartans or a high school football mascot, and that was when evangelicals started to form groups called “prayer warriors”. Prayer. Warriors. It gives me the motts. Applesauce, baby.

Like I said, like the movement, hate the last bit of the name.

4. All you people who make faces when I say I eat liver and tripe and sweetbreads? Bite me.

5. I don’t get the love of Chipotle. I mean, I get that they have tasty food, though I doubt it’s tasty enough to stand in THAT line for (and that goes along with my disdain for standing in any line for a food product, even grocery store lines), and I get that they have locally sourced meat and they offer tofu and all that shit. At their current rate of expansion, I mean, I kind of wonder just how “humane” etc. their meat really is. And I don’t care about GMOs or “organic certified” or antibiotics, but Mother Jones covers what I feel in numbers 2 and 3 here.

Also, they don’t have chalupas, so.

On the other hand, just like the idea that you limit your carbon footprint and cut down on mass farmed meat that you buy etc. etc., eating at Chipotle is just another way to do that, but you know, ZOMG SO MUCH BETTER. Maybe. Meh. It’s a burrito. Also, it kept repeating on me, which, as an Ernest Hemingway-esque macho woman of the nineties, I refuse to believe has anything to do with my digestion and has everything to do with Chipotle. SHUT UP AND BRING ME A SIX TOED CAT, YOU SAUCY WOMAN.

6. What up with Magic Mike? I get that they’re naked, but. Was there a plot? Was it an actual plot, or just something so they had to make words come out of their mouths to make screen time longer than five minutes?

That said, I’ll Netflix it. I bet after I watch it I’ll write like a 111/? Part fanfic in which they all life together in happy polygamous domesticity and ship it like burning, so don’t get upset, people. But if you DO get upset, see number 7.

7. More people need to catch on to the fact that criticizing something, especially media-related, doesn’t mean that you can’t like or love it. Things I love that are problematic for me: The Boondocks, some rap music, Joss Whedon’s oeuvre(esp. Firefly), Community, Harry Dresden. None of these are deal breakers for me. But they all have problems, as far as I am concerned. It does not detract from their enjoyment, especially the quotability of most of them. Likewise, criticizing something non media related, is NOT a super attack on you as a liker of that thing. You like the pope? That’s great. I have issues with things he says. Saying that, and describing them in detail, does not mean that I am bashing Catholics, and to say that it is means that you need to go back to “Civil Discussions 101″.

8. Recently my daughter had a crisis of whatever in which she stated that she’s different from her classmates and apparently that might be bothering her? It’s unclear. BUT I posted our discussion a forum and got lots of advice, back patting, just general nice comments about people’s personal experiences in being weird and how it gets better (which may or may not be true, but hey.), and that was great. BUT sooner or later someone brought up the concept that Bill Gates mentioned many years ago in a graduation speech (It wasn’t actually him, it’s from Charles J. Sykes, author of the 1996 book Dumbing Down Our Kids: Why American Children Feel Good About Themselves But Can’t Read, Write, Or Add.): “Rule No. 11: Be nice to nerds. You may end up working for them. We all could.” I remember when that came out in the 2000s, everyone was like, “Aw yeah! Vindication! All those people who picked on me in high school are gonna be in for it.” People also like to refer to its nonparallel female equivalent, the Pretty Woman moment, but that’s not really valid, actually, as part of this bullying discussion.

I like the IDEA of this much more than I like any of the actual things that come along with it: it’s fantasy—this bitch kicked me in the butt, literally, all the way home from school once, (I’m looking at you, N**** D*******) and I would like to console myself with thoughts of her failing out of college and forced to go to nail school and then scraping out a living working at WalMart with a shitty husband and five kids. She’s dumb, watches inane TV every night like a zombie, and thinks 50 Shades of Grey is great.

But see, what bothers me is that in my head all of these things I associate with her are bad, and the fact is that lots of people fail out of school for a lot of reasons, and lots of people go to nail school, and lots of people work at WalMart, and by associating those things with life failure, I am pretty much judging a whole group of people. It’s part classist, of course, but it’s also part intellectual..ist(?). There’s a natural smugness that a lot of people with “good jobs” feel but don’t voice, towards the woman who has a full time job at Denny’s, that sense of othering that we give the votech kids. I used to be one of those people. I used to say, “well, the world needs ditch diggers, too” (though we really do. I would say that the world needs more ditch diggers though, than it needs me-s.).

And it’s because we mis-value the education we have. It was hard /easy for us, but we did it. That THESE people didn’t MUST mean that they suck. Fuck them.

But I had votech kids on my class who couldn’t write an essay to save their lives and didn’t care. It was not the end of their world. They weren’t good at that. Some day they might be cosmetologists or welders or even end up being a manager at your local WalMart, and that’s not bad. They might work full time at McDonalds. They don’t know who Neil DeGrasse-Tyson is, and they don’t care. Why the fuck not? It’s not something to scoff at. Saying “I hope that girl who teases me is a failure, and then quantifying that with certain characteristics of the working class, even (not that my list even described the working class, but the stereotype of it) is absolutely horrible. And EVEN IF all of those things happened to her, or EVEN IF they didn’t. OR EVEN IF SHE WAS STILL THE HORRIBLE SHITTY PERSON THAT SHE WAS IN 8TH GRADE (you know, because your 13 year old self is such a great indicator of what you will be when you’re 38), the point is, wishing her a shitty life to comfort myself is pretty shitty too. I am going to appropriate Audre Lorde’s speech, and though it was about feminism and racism, this holds true for other applications:

the master’s tools will never dismantle the master’s house. They may allow us temporarily to beat him at his own game, but they will never enable us to bring about genuine change.

We have repeatedly seen how “nerds”, in the Bill Gates sense, who have run the world, can be just as big of assholes as the people who once bullied them. All you have to do is look at the situation of women in tech, of PUA forums in which men who would describe themselves as “nerds” or “geeks” can’t get the hot woman they deserve, or by the very way they act online, treat woman as accessories for boob squeezing, ass slapping, dick sucking/fucking or apparently sandwich making afterwards. (I am not providing links, for they are myriad, and I am not arguing with ANYONE about this.). These guys are just doing their version of what was done to them now that they’re “in charge” (or at least, adults). Others suffer. BUT hey, at least those people who teased them work at the Jiffy Lube for 8.25/hr, right? Serves these assholes right for fucking with those sweet nerdy cherubs

The nature of the revenge aspect is the problem for me. What we see as “life punishment”. This person was an asshole in HIGH SCHOOL, as “life punishment” they obviously must have something happen to them that means they are a. saddled with children b. haggard c. have a minimum wage job/no job. What makes these things punishments? Why do we go there? Is it our idea that money=success? Money=good? Why, when we insist that the rich Koch brother are COMPLETE JACKASS BASTARDS do we still look down on people who don’t have money? There’s a lot of talk about minimum wage and the way we view the poor around lately, so I’ll not expand, but—

BACK TO THE ENDGAME OF MY OPINION: I don’t feel comfortable saying to my kid, “All those people who pick on you in school now, they’re going to have worthless lives, and let me provide a few classist examples of how.” Because it doesn’t solve the problem, and it reinforces the prejudice she’s already gonna get a handful of. Also, It doesn’t address the things that you really, ultimately want: You want the other person to a. realize just how wrong what they are doing is and b. TO STOP DOING IT. An apology would also be nice, but possibly a bridge too far. I get that it’s spiteful satisfaction, I really really do. But I think in the end, the lessons we teach underneath that aren’t worth the secondary comfort, and we have to find other ways to comfort our bullied children than spiteful wishful thinking full of stereotypes.

9. These new energy efficient light bulbs suck balls. I am glad I am killing the planet and all of us a little less, but I am also killing my eyeballs. So I’ll be able to breathe and shit, but I’ll be blind. I guess I’ll have a tree to make a walking cane out of.

So there we are.

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I am grateful, now fuck off.

Originally posted on Mama Said:

It was some time between midnight and 3am. I was dead asleep. I’d fed the littliest at midnight so it was after that, and it was before he woke up for a feed at 3am. This hardly matters, because that time of night is Hell unless you’re pashing, happy drunk, smoking in a bar, dancing, or on drugs – y’know, generally having a fulfilling life that doesn’t involve milk dripping out of your breasts or playing the fart or shit game.

So, I’m asleep and I feel this tiny hand on my face and then there’s a kiss on my forehead. And for a second I’m confused like – did the tiny one do that? He’s only four-weeks-old? Is he a mutant? That would be amazing.

And then I realise it’s my big baby and I pull him into my arms while still asleep and think “oh he’s delicious”. But…

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Star Wars: The Legand Continues In Little China PART FIVE: THE UNDISCOVERED COUNTRY

Years ago, when I first started drinking gin and keeping this blog, two things that aren’t related except insofar as they pertain to this particular post, I made a list of topics that I might write about, and taped the post-it to the dining room wall. I crossed off some of them long ago, and others I started but never got round to. The list is as follows:

COMPLETED:

1. The story of Dalek Tom Tom (last week)
2. Book Meme (done and done!)
3. Christmas in Pics (yawn)

UNFINISHED:

1. Viola’s camera (this is a camera I gave her when she was 4, and the pictures she took are surreal, but as she is 8 now, this is hardly interesting)
2. What I know about Merlin summed up in Post It Notes (I have done several of these about other shows, but Merlin was a request, and I just never got round to it. What I know about Merlin and can be summed up as “It’s very gay. Maybe. I dunno. My friends seem to think so.”)
3. Drunk Star Wars Art.

BINGO.

Let me explain. My mother buys used books from the library for me all the time. Library book sales are pretty great places, and if you need to get a bunch of books you have never heard of and will probably never read for at least 25 cents apiece, the local library is your best bet.

What my mother gave me years ago was this:

I am the world’s worst artist. I try to fight it, but I suck at this kind of stuff. All my friends are of varying degrees of good. For years, I went to the art store with them and bought expensive paper, and charcoal, and pencils, and those erasers that look like balls of gum, and vials of virgin unicorn blood. But the fact remains that my ability to draw is down there with my ability to hold my breath underwater: sure I might be able to get minutely better, but I’d have to work very hard, and at the end of the day anyone looking at my carefully rendered portrait of a turkey would just squint and say, “Is that James Caan?”

So, when I get books like this I am filled with two emotions:

1. Gratitude for the person who bought it for me.

No wait, that’s three emotions. Lemme start over.

So, when I get books like this I am filled with three emotions:

1. Gratitude: thanks mom, person who birthed and raised me!
2. Excitement: Imma draw me some fucking tie fighters!
3. Anger: Who are you kidding? You couldn’t draw a Sarlacc pit from the inside. (I realize that’s not a very good comparison, as it’s dark inside the Sarlacc pit, but just believe me when I couldn’t find a good Star Wars permutation of what I was trying to say. Just go with it and get off my back.)

I thought about actually trying to draw Star Wars characters, but that seemed like a pretty boring idea. Plus, there was no way this was going to end well.

There was only one way to do this.

CHALLENGE ACCEPTED

So two years ago, my mother took my kid overnight, and I sat down with a boatload of alcohol, paper, pencils, erasers that look like chewed up gum, and set about schooling myself in the ways of the drunken force. There was no try. There was only get shitfaced and see what falls out of the tree when I slam my x-Wing into it.

That night was apparently magical. Took a lot of pictures of certain pages that I seemed to think were very funny:

Yes, I need several.

And I think I might have set up some mood music.

I was so hard core.

And so on and so on. Who knows if I regretted anything in the morning. I am particularly resistive to hangovers these days, so I am sure that any post-Death Star malaise was probably the fault of those pizza rolls.

But I never wrote it up, because as we all know, I am a lazy sod. So when I restarted this blog and was thinking about entries, I thought about this one. But it was so long ago! I don’t even KNOW what I was thinking when I drew Jar Jar! HOW TO RECAPTURE THE MAGIC.

There was only one way: get drunk and write the blog post, WHILE WATCHING STAR WARS.

So, one night when my kid was asleep, I poured my first gin and tonic of 2015, queued A New Hope, and pre-coded this entry so that I couldn’t mess up the HTML. I am sure I did anyway. What follows is uncorrected and non-spellchecked, to properly preserve the pickled flavor of my brain as I watched a movie and tried to remember the time when I and Eddie Murphy were in ancient Egypt and being harassed by Michael Jackson. Drawing Star Wars.

Again, this section was recorded in real time drinking Star Wars Viewing action. It was very hard to drink and type, because I just wanted to watch the movie.

A LONG TIME AGO, IN A LIVING ROOM FAR FAR AWAY…

We used to have this drinking game, that we would take a shot whenever you could reasonably tack, “and then I cut off his arms and legs and set him on fire” to any of Alec Guinness’ dialogue from the first movie. (And you know it’s the first one, so shut up).

Obi-wan: Come here little one, don’t be afraid.
ME: UNTIL I CUT OFF YOUR ARMS AND LEGS AND SET YOU ON FIRE.
Obi-wan: (at luke) Oh him? He’ll be all right.
ME: UNTIL I CUT OFF HIS ARMS AND LEGS AND SET HIM ON FIRE.

Oh no, 3po, don’t wave at the Jawa transport.

On the other hand, this is the time to confess my great love of Mark Hamill. Like I am not even joking. I am in deep crush on Mark Hamill. I think this is my second gin and tonic. Sry.

OMG STAND IN FRONT OF THE TWIN MOONS WITH THAT MUSIC I WILL SOOTHE YOU, LUKE. I HAVE RED AHIR, LIKE MARA JADE.

So, back when I tried to draw star wars, there were lots of instructions and things that make you giggle when you’re drunk.

I got nothing.

But when you try to incorporate this move into your yoga routine,
you jyst end up killing yoursekf by accident.

Two more emotions than Padme displayed in three films. Too soon?

*sporfle*

TK-421, WHY AREN’T YOU AT YOUR POST?

LOL.

Ermagerd this is boring, look at my drawing, people. I am fucking Picasso.

LOOK AT THAT STRUCTURE.

WANNA SEE WHAT HAPPENS WHEN I TRY TO LIKE DRAW LINeS LIK THEY TEACH?

Okay.

Looking good…

Okay, that was good. Let’s try some other things, like step by step shading.

How hard could tis be?

THIS. THIS HARD.

DRAW ME LIKE ONE OF YOUR TWI’LEK GIRLS, BOBA.

Now it’s just silly.

NAILED IT.

No, Warwick Davis, don’t lick that wire!

STOP THE PRESS. THAT IS IN SERIOUSLY POOR TASTE.

Newsflash: when you stop trying to be funny, things actually get less funny.

Omg I should look up the guy who played Boba Fett. I remember that dude. It was so disappointing seeing who played him. You want Boba to be badass, but he was like…Ron Jeremy. Boba where are you?

Oh, man.

“We counted thirty rebel ships milord, but they’re so amll they’re evading our turbolasers.”

Well then, deploy the quad lasers!

Okay, this is a solid start.

You would think I wasn’t even trying. BUT I WAS. LOOK AT HOW HARD I WAS TRYING.

THIS IS SOME DRAMATIC SHIT UP IN HERE.
Spoilers for a movie that’s probably older than like, ugh.

Oh my god, dod they name the chubby x-wing guy Porkins? No seriously, how did I miss that?

And then I had to stop the film and go to bed, because I am old.

***

So, there you have it. My drunken post about me drunkenly trying to draw Star Wars characters, typed while watching the first movie (you know, the good one).

Post drunk, bright and early in the morning, sober!me notes a few follow up things.

At some point in time, apparently, I started to write an essay about Tarkin, and then about Alderaan, but ended up drawing this instead:

I am sure that this, like all high school poetry, was going to save the world when I wrote it.

By the way, this is what I am drinking out of this morning:

I think that my original hypothesis was correct: I am a horrible artist, because 1. I lack the gift, and b. I lack the interest, aside from the kind of fleeting fancy that strikes one at times of observing others’ talent, not unlike watching the Winter Games and saying, “I bet if I tried really hard I could do a triple lutz. No. No you can’t. At least drawing stick figures is safer and less spiral fracture-inducing than pretending to be Michelle Kwan. Also, drunk ice skating sounds like something that would be the first line of my obituary.

And here to take us out, the best one I did. Imma put it on the fridge, next to my kid’s drawings of how she traps all her people inside caves in Minecraft “because they run away” (that disturbing thought is a story for another day).

FIN

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People Who Talk About Social Media the Most

Amanda Ching:

Lol times 1000. Accurate!

Originally posted on Peas and Cougars:

I don’t know if this chart exists yet, but I just realized it and it needs to exist.

Social Media

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The Story of Dalek Tom-Tom

So back in 2011, I and Vstroyer drove to Kansas from our home in Pittsburgh for Thanksgiving, a trip that we now make every year BECAUSE IT IS ACTUALLY CHEAPER TO DRIVE TWO DAYS ACROSS THE COUNTRY THAN TAKING A PLANE. I guess I could have made it in one long ass day, but I am one of those people who stops at every dumbass place (OZARKLAND? HOME MADE FUDGE! BIGGEST BALL OF TWINE? FAMILY DONKEY SHOW?!), so I decided to take it easy on me and Vstroyer and take two days.

It was a howl. I had directions from google that were spot on, and just so I didn’t get lonely, I took the Tom Tom which was bequeathed to me by The French Girls who trekked down south in a rental IN 2010 (Thanks, Laure!). I have loaded a special voice in, one of those free fan-made ones, which is supposed to sound like a Dalek voice . Mine is a little lower than this one. Also it has a glitch so that whenever you get where you are going it says the following:

SCANNERS INDICATE YOU HAVE REACHED YOUR DESTINATION. YOU WILL PARK YOUR TRANSPORT. YOU WILL EXIT THE VEHICLE. OBEY OBEY OR YOU WILL BE EXTERMINATED.

Which is fine in and of itself, if it didn’t then follow up with:

YOU WILL TAKE THE MOTORWAY. TAKE THE SECOND LEFT. TAKE THE SECOND RIGHT. TURN LEFT.

Oh Dalek Tom-Tom, you are lol.

The thing is, when it comes to actual directions, Dalek Tom-Tom MIGHT be evil, or he might just be a victim of the false Supreme Dalek god, otherwise known as user-updated maps. I’m not an idiot. I understand the urge to troll user-updated maps by adding Starbucks where there aren’t any, and the like. One time, whilst following directions to a rather large mall that I rarely frequent, Dalek Tom-Tom took me to the middle of a rather dodgy residential area of town and told me to EXIT THE VEHICLE. It wasn’t his fault. The Crucible Punk’d him.

SO, back to the heart of the matter—whilst the google map I had got me to and from Kansas, any unscheduled stops had to be dictated by Dalek Tom-Tom.

All was well, until on the way home I was passing through Sweet Springs, Missouri, and I saw a sign on the side of the road that read:

THE CHEESE SHOP

Me: CHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEESE, GROMIT.

Usually, when there’s a big ass honking sign on the side of the road for a place to stop, when you get off the highway (I-70, in this case), it’s either RIGHT THE FUCK THERE, or there is a giant sign pointing to the direction one should go. In this case, neither was true. There was a big ass gas station/casino/convenience store/all-night hooker stand. So I pulled up to that, compulsively gassed up, and searched for the cheese shop on the phone. I plugged the addy into Dalek Tom-Tom, who said that it was .2 miles away. So far, so good. I bought coffee and asked the lady behind the counter where I might find SOME CHEESY COMESTIBLES. FETCH HITHER THE FROMAGE DE LA BELLE FRANCE.

″Oh, just go out to the blacktop and turn left.″

See, the thing about Dalek Tom Tom is that sometimes he doesn’t get a signal right away. I have found that he will stall FOREVER unless I get moving, so as I waited for the sulky Dalek to warm up, I turned out on the black top and surveyed two left turns in two different directions. Hrm. Eventually, I took the one that seemed like it was a more decent road and less of an alley, and set off.

Dalek Tom-Tom: TURN AROUND.
Me: Sonofabitch.
Vstroyer: Don’t say that word.

Good point. As I was looking for a place to turn around, Dalek Tom-Tom recalculated and told me that if I kept going forward, I could make a series of left turns that would take me back around and I could get to the cheese shop in 2 miles. Well, sure, I’ll just do that. ADVENTUR!

So far, so good. The road was running parallel to I-70. The first left turn took me onto gravel. Well, this was farm country. La la la, gravel. Little pings on the car.

Vstroyer: ARE THOSE ROCKS?

The second left turn took me to more gravel. There were fallow fields all over the place. A lone farmhouse in the distance. I am setting the scene.

The last left turn took me to a dirt road. Not just any dirt road, but one of those roads that is only made because two tire tracks have worn down the grass. Have I mentioned it’d been raining for three days? I hesitated, and then drove bravely on. I HAD COME TOO FAR NOW.

Me: This better be some incredible fucking cheese.
Vstroyer: Don’t say that word.

The going was perilous, because the tire ruts were deep in places and the ground was muddy. The fields had ended, and we were entering wooded area. I continued slaloming forward, hands glued to ten and two, looking for a place to turn around and every once in a while glancing at Dalek Tom-Tom for salvation. In a few places I worried that I might get stuck in the mud, and then I figured that I didn’t want to turn around because then I’d have to go through all those mud wells again. We hit the puddles with such force that the muddy water was sloshing against the windows.

Finally, we were about .4 miles from our destination, and I saw trees ahead of me; the road must veer to the right or left a little. Dalek Tom-Tom’s little road map was straight as an arrow. I came to a stop in a thicket, with nothing but what might be an ATV trail off to the left, overgrown with branches.

Me: What the–

Obviously, Dalek Tom-Tom was a FILTHY LIAR. I did a billionty point turn and headed back the way I came. At least it was easy to get back where I started.

Dalek Tom-Tom: TURN AROUND. TURN AROUND
Me: Oh hell no.
Dalek Tom-Tom: TURN AROUND OR YOU WILL BE EXTERMINATED.
Me: Fine, exterminate me.
Vstroyer: OBEY. OBEY.

Eventually we got back to the big ass gas station/casino/convenience store/all night hooker stand. I took the OTHER left turn that looked suspicious before and go .2 miles to the Cheese Shop. My car looked like it’d been catapulted with dirt bombs.

But there was cheese, so I suppose it was all okay. There’s not a lot that cheese can’t cure. Except maybe like, cancer or something.

Dalek Tom-Tom, I shall never trust you again, you marvelous bastard.

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