Bad Parking Situation.


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Do you ever have those moments, small insignificant moments, that bother you throughout your day? Just something stupid that happened that make you wonder what would have happened if you’d done something differently?

The other day, I was driving through the first floor of a parking garage trying to find a spot (as one does in a parking garage) when traffic got a little held up because about four cars ahead, someone was pulling out of a spot and someone else was waiting to take their place. Proceedings as usual. I know on busy days that how I find my spots; I usually get lucky enough to be about to pass someone who’s ready to leave, but I don’t actually pass the opportunity by, and then cars may end up waiting in line as it takes forever for that person to get out of their parking spot. Anyway, there was nothing I wasn’t already bored with before the situation started.

Then, immediately to the right of the car in front of me, as in perpendicular with that car’s front passenger door, those bright white rear lights sprang to life. As soon as traffic began to move, that should have been my spot, right? The car in front of me clearly can’t make enough space to steal that spot.

He tried anyway.

I kid you not, there’s four (maybe five) feet of space between my front bumper and the back bumper of the car in front of me. You know, it’s that courtesy space you leave when sitting in traffic. I’m not typically an asshole driver that tailgates (not that thing with the barbecue and the alcohol, riding a car’s bumper for absolutely no reason other than your own impatience).

The guy in front of me (and make no mistake, it was a man, unless it was an especially male formed female, because the silhouette I could see through his windows was particularly masculine (this isn’t a slam against male drivers, I swear, this person just happened to be almost surely male, and a jerk)) puts his own car into reverse and starts backing up. Slowly. Inching closer and closer to my car. By this point, I’m yelling at him through my windshield, “I can’t go anywhere!” Because I really couldn’t. By this point, traffic had backed up enough that I had at lease five cars waiting behind me (just another day in an overcrowded parking garage). But did he care? Hell no. He just kept backing up.

As he got even closer, and then closer still, I honked my horn. That’s what that thing is there for, right? Of course, we were in a cavernous (except for all the parked cars) parking garage, so while my car has a significantly louder than average car horn, it was made ten times worse by the echo. There’s no way this guy didn’t hear it, and yet he didn’t even flinch. He just kept backing up slowly. I guess he figured if he did hit me he wouldn’t do any damage, but I would argue that that’s not the point.

I know that if I had been the only person there, and he was going to be dick enough to want to back up to take this spot even though he’d already almost passed it and therefore forfeited the spot (as are the unwritten rules of the parking garage), I would have just backed up and let him have it, because it’s just a parking spot. But that’s just it, it’s just a parking spot, and here this guy was tempting fate and pushing all of these buttons that could result in me having a horrible day. Granted, this already wasn’t making for a great start, but still. And I wasn’t the only person there. He was potentially making the days of every person in the cars behind me, waiting for him to stop being a dick, at least a little unpleasant. Chances were that though I was in no rush, someone else behind me might have been. All because some guy has to have this parking spot on the first floor of the parking garage. Laziness is making people stupid. I’m not going to lie, I’d rather park upstairs near a staircase (not even the elevator) than in the middle of nowhere on the first floor because that’s actually less of a walk for me. My laziness hasn’t made me stupid, yet.

I’ve thought about it, and my storyteller mind can’t help but play through scenarios where I get out and start yelling at the guy, or if I even honked my horn more than once. I don’t generally get any kind of road rage because I don’t feel it’s worth the waste of energy (once again, not a stupid lazy person, but a smart one), but what if I’d given into it just this one time? What if I’d decided to let some energy loose? Would the guy have gotten out of his car and started yelling back at me? Would he have just looked guilty and decided to drive off? Would this have turned into some ridiculous romantic comedy where it turned out this jerk was the love of my life? (I promise, I really wasn’t rooting for that last one)

This is the shit I think about. This is where that potential road rage anger energy goes. I find it to be some much more fun.

In the end, I didn’t yell at him. I got a little angry, but I’d let it all go by the time I was done climbing down the stairs after find a parking spot three floors above. And he got the parking spot, but not before the poor girl in the car had to spend five minutes (no joke, I actually watched those minutes tick by on the clock on my dashboard) backing in and out of the parking spot to maneuver her car into a position in which she could finally drive away. And the windows of her car were a bit more clear, so I could tell she was clearly annoyed with this jerk as well. I like to think we were very much in the same boat at that moment.


Phone Call Etiquette?


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I’m not the kind of person that really calls people. I’ll make phone calls; I’m not scared of the phone. Some people are, but I’m not. How ridiculous is it that we’ve reached a point in history where people can actually have a phobia of talking on the telephone?

I just Googled it. The phobia of talking of the telephone: telephonophobia or telephobia.

Anyway, back to why I don’t make phone calls.

I can make them for business reasons. We’ve also reached an age where making a business phone call is a perfect excuse to make a call at almost anytime of day (business day) and no one will get mad at you for interrupting something (at least not openly). They’ll either put you on hold or tell you to call back and that’s that. No harm, no foul. There’s no guilt.

Calling a friend on the other hand (and I may be the only one who feels this way) carries a certain amount of guilt for interruption. I hate that feeling of calling someone in the middle of the day, especially when I’m not particularly busy, or dare I say bored, and feeling as though I’m interrupting something because everyone else’s lives are busier and more important than my own. As if they’re always going to be in some big meeting or working on something important or standing in the middle of a library somewhere. I also happen to have very little faith in the people I have the potential of calling. Maybe it’s trust issues. Maybe it’s just knowing my friends. We’ve all been somewhere quiet or that calls for attention to something other than our phones, and that one person forgot to silence their damn phone. And it rings. Extra bonus points if it was a Britney Spears ringtone.

I hold a fear of being the person on the other side of that embarrassing phone call. The person making “Hit Me Baby One More Time” play out into the ringing (he he) silence.I don’t even want to know if there’s a phobia for that.

It’s really stupid and arbitrary in the scheme of things. There are wars and famine and death happening every day, and that’s what I’m worried about. But it’s something I think about. It’s a thought that crosses my mind as I’m about to dial those numbers. Or press the numbers neatly typed under their contact info, because honestly, who actually dials a number anymore? I can count on one hand the amount of numbers I have memorized, and that includes 911.

And sure, you can leave a voicemail. That’s not really the problem. The voicemail happens after the fact. The damage is done; it’s only insulting if you don’t bother to leave a message after that. Isn’t that worst? You’ve got a missed call (whether or not it interrupted something) and a voicemail, and once you begin to listen to it, it’s two seconds of nothing? Not even a butt dial’s worth of sound. Just silence.

This is why I prefer texting. Besides loving the written word much more than a chunky phone call (this is a blog after all, and if you’ve made it this far I think it’s safe to assume you at least feel a little of the same), it’s like skipping straight to the voicemail (unless the person forgot to turn off their chewbacca texting tone) and leaving a message that almost can’t be a blank message. Of course there are those stupid text messages where a person will hit the space bar and then send, basically sending an empty bubble, but that’s a whole different issue. A text message sits there and patiently waits to be responded to. The same can’t always be said about the person who sent the text, but I digress (I seem to do that a lot).

So that’s why I don’t call people. Unless I happen to know the person is not busy and I won’t be interrupting them in the middle of something (which is almost never because no one’s lives stand still anymore), I’ll just send a friendly text. And unlike with most people, I don’t demand an instant reply. Unless it’s an emergency text. We all know about those.



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I didn’t get a chance this past weekend to get out and see a film (or do anything else that could be placed under the category of fun either), but I my insanely out of whack schedule has allowed me to have this wonderful (yeah, right) Monday off, so I took the opportunity to get my ass out of bed to go to the matinée. 

Every single person I told I was going to see Her asked me [some variation of], “Isn’t that the one where the guy falls in love with the computer?” Well, yes. Yes it is. Except that it’s so much more than that.

The film takes place in the near future in L.A. and stars Joaquin PhoenixAmy Adams, and Scarlett Johansson. After dealing with the ending of a long-term relationship, Theodore (a professional handwritten note-writer, because who actually writes handwritten notes anymore even now (sadly)) purchases a newly available AI (Artificial Intelligence) OS (Operating System) looking for a friend, and gains so much more. Throughout the film, a real relationship develops between Theodore and Samantha (the AI OS), as his close friend, Amy, goes through her own troubles.

Notice how I said ‘real.’ Everyone believes this to be a story about a guy who falls in love with a computer (it’s more like an app, but I’ll give the not so technologically advanced citizens a break). And it is. I’m not going to deny that. But because of that belief, everyone seems to believe that it’s a cheesy story that they don’t want to waste their time on. The fact that there were three other people in the theater today while I saw the film (granted, it was 2pm on a Monday) screams just that. And this film very easily could have crossed into that horrible land of cheese so many times. But it never did. It was a truly heartfelt story that was nothing but real. I’d venture to say that it was more real than some of the other actually cheesy chick flicks some people love so much.

I believe that was what I loved so much about it. It was very real. None of it was really sugar-coated. It just ran through the span of an actual relationship between a man and a woman. Granted, there were the crazy situations that only having a relationship with a computer program can bring up, but it never strayed from its real roots. Nothing that happened was absurdly outside of the world created within the film, and the film portrays a world very close to the one we know (just, you know, in the future).

I don’t think I could possibly love this film any more. Spike Jonze did a fantastic job writing and directing this film. It’s going on my favorites list for sure (yes, there’s a list).

One thing that did bother me was (and it’s a tiny thing, not even really relevant to the actual plot of the film, but I had a conversation about this with some friends just last week) that Amy Adams’ character’s name was Amy. Her character’s name was said maybe three times (that I noticed, could have been more or less, though I don’t think so), and every single time I was taken out of the story because I know the actress’s name is also Amy. It’s small and arguable stupid, but it still always bugs the shit out of me. He name wasn’t said very often. Her character doesn’t even have a last name. Why couldn’t they just fucking change the character’s name? They knew who was acting in the part, and the name isn’t that important. But there’s one point where Theodore and Amy are standing in the elevator and he exclaims her name before he hugs her, and I had to physically stop myself from going, “Huh?” For a moment, I thought it had been some kind of editing blooper fluke that somehow no one had managed to notice, and Joaquin had accidentally said her actual name instead of her character’s name, and then I realized that he hadn’t messed up. That was her character’s name. It may be stupid, and it may sound as though I’m grasping for something bad to say about the film. I don’t care about it being stupid, and I already said I loved the film. It’s just a pet peeve of mine. Get over it.

But seriously, drop what you’re doing, or wait until the weekend if you have to. Go see this film. Don’t wait for it to come out on Redbox or Netflix. See it on the big screen. It’s absolutely worth it.

Five stars.

Movie Reviews. Philosophy and Execution.


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So, as a filmmaker, I watch movies. I make them, too, but I also watch them. Such a novel concept.

I have opinions on them. Who doesn’t? For most people, it’s a basic “That was a piece of shit,” or a “BEST. MOVIE. EVER.” Or some variation of that. Some people will take it a little further than that. Which is good. Opinions are good, despite popular opinion (just go with it).

Here’s an opinion right now: I think that some film critics are too harsh. I feel like they forget that no one sets out to make a bad film (at least I’ve been on plenty of sets, and that was never the case). No one says, “Hey, let’s get ready to do all of this hard work to create a horrible film.” Make no mistake, filmmaking is a hard business. You don’t work regular hours, and you don’t do regular jobs. Each project has its own specific set of priorities and objectives to get done all in their own unique ways. It’s part of the draw. You’re not stuck behind a desk filling out the same paperwork day after day for 40 years. I feel like that gets lost when a film opens and bombs. Everyone on that set worked hard and set out to make a good film, it just didn’t quite hit the mark. No one is perfect.

That said, when I see a film, I still have opinions on them. I just always keep that in mind when thinking about a film that wasn’t particularly great. Or maybe it just didn’t speak to my particular tastes. Or maybe it did. Whatever it is, that’s how I think. Now that it’s been said, you can take this in and know my thought process when reading about how I felt about a film.

Early Morning Insanity: Are you out there?


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Waking up on a cold December morning knowing that you have to spend the wee hours of the morning walking in the snow does nothing for morale. I get to join the early dog walkers and newspaper delivery boys and snow shovelers, and let’s just say that that’s not exactly a morale booster either. Everyone is grumpy and cold and wants nothing more than to crawl back into their warm beds to hibernate for the rest of winter. At the beginning of December we haven’t even hit the worst of it, or rather, it hasn’t hit us.

The whir of the heater left on all night to keep the room bearable for the likes of me was what lured me to sleep the night before, and it’s what startled me from that same not so restful peace. Cold weather has always given me nightmares. Usually of snow monsters coming to freeze me to death. Doesn’t take Freud.

It had been the first night it was needed, even though the first snow had been a week before. I call that some good insulation. Or it took a week to hit my cold limit. Or maybe my stubbornness. Or laziness. I’m never quite sure how anything you ever need in the attic ends up in the most unreachable places at just the time you need it. Stupid little attic fairies or something. Must be.

Anyway, I’d spent an hour looking for the damn thing, but it was worth it in the end. I took a wonderful hot shower while it began warming up the bedroom, and then buried myself under a thick pile of blankets, head and all. The muffled whirring of the heater was the last thing and first thing I heard. It was at least still muffled, meaning I was still perfectly covered in my cocoon of warmth. But that also meant that I would have to leave it to check the time on the bedside clock. Why couldn’t I be more modern and be one of those technological idiots that falls asleep with their cell phones in their hands? Sue me for not caring about looking at Facebook before I fall asleep. But I have to admit, it’s a bit warmer.

Peeking out like a child looking to see if the monster has left the room or gone back under the bed, I tried to see what time it was as quickly as possible. Cold air (how was that possible?) rushed in as the red light of the clock told me it was 5:35. My alarm was set to go off in ten minutes. What shitty timing. Those ten minutes are so precious. Waking up ten minutes before the alarm is such a waste of good sleeping and warmth time.

I decided to just stay under until the alarm. I may not have been asleep, but I was still warm. Beautifully, wonderfully warm. The kind of warm people take for granted. I don’t take this shit for granted. It’s my bread and butter. How do people continually live through this weather? Why don’t I just move somewhere warmer?

Too many problems that couldn’t be solved that early in the morning.

And there goes the alarm. Shortest ten minutes of my life. Do I dare stick my arm into the cold dark expanse to shut off that annoying beeping? I must. I know I must. So of course I did.

I also knew that I must throw back my cocoon and wander into that cold darkness. Finding a light would only add to the journey. But I did it. I did it all. As is my routine. Complaining an all.

Before I knew it, only slightly cold for my troubles (thankfully), I was dressed to the nines in winter warm clothing and turning off the heater so as not to burn down the only reprieve from the cold outside I have to my name. It’s times like that I’m glad I don’t have a pet. I can only imagine their big watery eyes looking up at me, begging me not to turn that wonderful source off. Or even worse, a puppy that would have to go out into the cold with me, them sharing the knowledge that we have to venture out into that snowy hell whether we really want to or not.

At least a dog would have a good reason. Using the bathroom in the form of the fire hydrant in the front yard for a total of thirty seconds before rushing inside is a pretty damn good reason to brave the cold. In my opinion at least. But me, I actually have to go out there. For a not so great reason. Work.

Added to the checklist that includes moving to a warmer climate: get a car. Also added: get a job that pays well enough to buy a damn car. Maybe get promoted?

It’s only a half an hour walk. That’s what I tell myself. Every damn day I have to tell myself that it’s not that far and it’s worth it. It is far, though, and not really worth it. I still hold small hopes for believing what I tell myself someday, though. What is it they say about hearing something so much you eventually believe it? Do they even say anything about that? Who the hell is they?

This particular morning, though. Man. Just man. There shouldn’t be words, but there are. Obviously.

Having turned off my beloved friend and made sure nothing else could foreseeably ensure my return to a pile of ashes, I took a deep breath and quickly pulled opened the front door to slingshot myself out into the more than brisk chill. No need to let more frigid air inside than needed. There’s also the added bonus of just ripping off the bandage, if that can even be called a bonus. It’s one of those things where you just take what you can get, I suppose.

Outside at 6am, the sky was still absolutely black. No waking up with the sun for me; I always wake up before that son of a bitch (he he). I always leave the house for work first, too. It makes me feel a little better that the sun is even lazier than I am.

Looking around and down the street, maybe two lights are on within houses. Everyone else is still smartly asleep. Wish I could join them. Any of them. In their wonderfully warm beds. I don’t even think I’d be completely opposed to sex, or at least some cuddling. I hate winter.

The only other living things on the street were the little kid on his miserable bike delivering miserable papers to all the sleepy warm houses whose inhabitants will be miserable when they all wake up after the sun has risen and their papers are soggy from the snow, and the man sprinkling salt from an old garbage can on his driveway. He never seems miserable so much as judgmental. Sneaky glances out of the side of his eye, little smirks as you walked by. That sort of shit. Always gave the pacifist in me the urge to smack him.

I began my usual trek down the sidewalk. It may have been cold, but it was familiar. I even knew the exact point I would pass the kid on the bike. Stupid kid always came so close to hitting me, as if he never saw me walking by. Maybe he didn’t. I wasn’t one to say what he did and didn’t see.

But for argument’s sake, let’s say he did see me. That morning, at the same house at the same point in the sidewalk that I always passed by this kid (gosh, we really were creatures of habit), when the paper he was throwing was supposed to whiz right past my face, he threw the paper. I expected it to take its usual course. I’d been walking past this kid throwing his damn papers for that long. There hadn’t been flinching for months. But that morning, that damn paper hit me in the side of the head. Hard. I swear, I’d never known what seeing stars meant until then. I honestly believed that people who said they saw stars after a head blow were full of shit, or maybe it was just an expression that sounded better than “hey, I just got hit upside the head with a fucking newspaper.” Actually, I believe the fucking newspaper one sounds better, but that’s just a matter of opinion I suppose.

There I was, seeing stars on the sidewalk in the snow at 6am, and this kid just kept on delivering papers. Like he didn’t know that I’d been there, or that he’d just hit me in the head, or even that his newspaper hadn’t even made it to his destination.

I did what any sane person would do. I yelled after him.

“Hey! Kid! What the hell was that?!” It sounded so much louder in the silence than I’d expected it to. Even with the snow, it wasn’t very muffled.

Looking back, it was pretty miraculous that he even stopped. And not just that he stopped, but how he stopped. He suddenly skidded to a stop like he’d just finished some BMX race in first place. Only the road was wet with snow. Or maybe there was some black ice. I don’t really know. It doesn’t really matter. The outcome was what it was. The wheels went out from underneath him and he ended up face-planting with the road while the newspapers in all of the baskets connected to his bike went flying, mostly into the snow piles on the side of the road. I suddenly found it weird that I’d never seen the street plower clearing the roads of the snow. It was always already done by the time I was out in the world.

The kid wasn’t moving. He’d face-planted and then nothing. Nada. Finito. Hopefully not finito. Though, if that hadn’t been instant karma, I don’t know what it was. I almost felt like I didn’t need to go check on him. The universe had corrected the wrong. We were even. I could go on guilt free.

But then the light in the house I’d been about to pass went on in one of the front rooms. What if that person came out? What if they saw me standing there looking at a kid not moving caught under his bike on the street in the snow surrounded by quickly soaking newspapers? Or even worse, what if they saw me walking away from that kid? I couldn’t run fast enough to keep either one of those from happening. Means I had to help. Shit.

Resigning myself to staying in the cold longer than I felt I needed to, I walked over to the kid. He was lying flat on road under his bike, face into the ground and all. It was as if he’d hit the ground and then froze there.

I’m not a monster. I hoped he wasn’t seriously hurt. I figured with that fall maybe at least a broken nose, but that was a character building injury. He could grow up to be a hockey player or something and completely fit in. I couldn’t help but think that at least I hadn’t thrown my purse.

The next thing I knew, while the kid was still as frozen as a statue on the ground in front of me, the garage door of the house we were in front of exploded. As in “dynamite stick goes kaboom to cause big fire” kind of explosion. There was immediate sound and just as immediate silence. A high pitched ringing came in gradually as the sound began to get filtered back in. Now, I’ve heard of tetenitis before, and I always thought, “What’s the big deal?” I will never ask that question in regards to tetenitis again.

It wasn’t until the sound came back with that loud ringing that I began registering what was happening in front of my face. First and foremost, the most hilarious part of this whole affair, the kid was still lying facedown on the ground, seemingly frozen in place. As far as I could tell, he hadn’t even flinched. It made me start laughing right there in the street. I feel like that was something I was entitled to. Surviving a bomb or whatever the fuck had blown up that garage door earned me some fucking laughing points.

In the middle of my hysteria (I can’t pinpoint the exact moment, but you get the idea), I realized there was a man standing in front of me. My best guess was that it was the man who lived in this house, but I’d never seen him before. This wasn’t actually neighborly central, if you catch my drift. I was still laughing when I saw him. He probably thought I was insane. I thought he should be laughing with me.

That’s when I noticed the gun. It’s a little after six in the morning, his garage door has just exploded, and he’s pointing a gun at me. Yeah, that pretty much sums up the situation.

The guns goes off in a blast that seemed almost as loud as the first one, even though logic tells me that it couldn’t have been. I expected to get shot. I expected to be shot, to have a bullet hole in my chest from which my life source was leaking out.

But I didn’t. The kid next to me, on the other hand, hadn’t gotten off so easy. Still frozen into position, his head now had a hole the size of my hand in the side of it, blood and brain flooding onto the snow and tar. Needless to say, I stopped laughing. I told you, I’m not a monster.

The man in front of me, on the other hand clearly was. He turned towards me and grinned. One of those stupid horror film smiles that just screamed “I’m gonna get you!” I thanked my lucky stars that I wasn’t frozen solid like that kid had been. I started backing away, over the newspapers and bike and slush. Finding my feet, I turned and ran back towards my house. But standing panting in my driveway (completely out of shape), I turned to see that he hadn’t followed me. He hadn’t even moved from where he was standing, or even the position. Was there a freezing virus going around? Were all of these people windows computers, catching that virus? I couldn’t comprehend anything. I felt like my IQ had taken a fifty point hit. Maybe it had.

There was one thing that stood out as ridiculous to me. No, not that the cops hadn’t shown up yet. I couldn’t even afford a fucking car, do you think I could afford a nice house in a nice neighborhood by myself? Think again, dip shit. No, it would take the cops a little while to show up, if they ever did.

The ridiculous thing was that I knew I had to get to work somehow to pay my rent and electricity bills, which would no doubt be higher for the coming months. And that mess of a scene was blocking my way.

And no way in hell was I walking back past the man with the gun. And no way in hell was I getting fired because I didn’t show up for work. Quite a little catch 22 for me, wasn’t it?

You want to know how I figured it out. I didn’t do the obvious thing and wait, that’s for sure. I had to walk to work, and there was a good chance I was going to be late already. Stupid fucking newspaper boy and dumb shit garage exploding gun guy. Why did this have to happen this morning? Of all mornings? I was off work the next day. Why couldn’t this have happened while I was sleeping in and warm in my bed. I wouldn’t have given two shits about what was happening outside my house then, and it wouldn’t affect me. Stupid people, always trying to ruin my plans. Go ruin your own damn plans and leave me out of it.

Okay, back to how I got out of this mess. You see, I had two options. I could walk on the sidewalk on the other side of the street, or I could walk through people’s backyards. Both were equally terrifying because I was sure that more than a few homes had some vicious guard dogs, and I wouldn’t put it past the slime I had for neighbors to leave those poor animals out in the cold. See, not a monster. I care for fucking animals. Which is probably why I don’t have any of my own. Not important.

I still chose to take the backyards. Who knows what would have happened if I decided to walk in front of the freak with the gun? Actually, I probably would have gotten shot. Meaning I know what would have happened, making it a ridiculous unneeded rhetorical question. Why do I put thoughts like that out there? Whatever.

I slogged through the snow that covered my yard. Snow shoes would have been helpful. They would have been more than helpful, they were necessary. My feet sunk at least a foot with every step, making for slow going. Yes, I was most certainly going to be fucking late for work. Guaranteeing that I was going to be yelled at. Just what I needed that morning. The thought occurred to me that it might have been better to just go back inside and get fired. I could find another job. Maybe.

But I’m not a fucking quitter. I was getting to work. I was not losing my job.

Um, yeah. I feel like since I’m recollecting this and recollections don’t generally happen in order but more all at once I should have known that this story wasn’t going anywhere. I still would have told it, but I don’t feel like I would have built it up as much. You’re probably going to be pretty disappointed with me.

It took me over twenty minutes to walk the block through everyone’s backyards because of the damn snow. I came across a couple of poor puppies, but they were so cold, they could do nothing more than look at me pitifully. I probably should have called the cops or whoever you call on people abusing animals.

I had to climb a fence. That was exciting. I climbed up and fell over the top into the snow, which hurt more than I feel it should have (what good is snow if it doesn’t cushion your fall?). And then I had to do it all over again on the other side of the fenced-in yard. I ended up cold and soaked. Even more cold and soaked. So I guess it was more sad than exciting.

I made it to work over a half an hour late. I got yelled at. I almost lost my job. Almost. Worst of all, my boss didn’t even seem to notice that I looked like absolute shit, what after an explosion and trek through the snow and all.

When I got home later that day, the cops and fire engines were crowded into the small street around the house with the exploded garage. They took away the kid in a body bag. Poor kid. Poor parents, too. I saw them crying. They arrested the guy with a gun. Half of his garage burned down. No one’s fixed it yet.

I never learned anything more than that. I don’t know why the garage exploded. I don’t know why they were frozen statues. I don’t know anything beyond what I’ve said here. I don’t think they even knew that I’d been a part of the occurrence.

Also, I have no idea what happened to the man who was sprinkling salt on his driveway. Maybe he was a witness, as I was. I haven’t seen him since that morning. He never came forward, just like I didn’t. Are you out there salt sprinkling man? We may be the only two that know. Or maybe something happened and I really am the only one.

That’s probably my only reason for writing this. No one knows I was there, except maybe that one guy. And I don’t care so much about that as I’ve had no one to tell it to. You listened. You’ve brightened my day. I thank you. Or, at least, I’m assuming you listened. Like that bandage, I’ll take what I can get.

Could you do me a favor and not tell the cops? Or, if you are a cop, could you just forget everything you’ve just read? I’ve gotten back into my routine, and I like it. No disruptions, please.


Some notes. Warnings maybe. Things to read.


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I’m about to get serious here. And everything I’m about to say may get deleted if someone corrects me. Or fixes me. Helps me. Some variation of those things. But until then, it needs to be said.

It’s been awhile since I’ve blogged, which is the reason for the new blog. I could have started back on that one I created 2 years ago and didn’t follow through with, but who wants to do that? That one’s old and crappy and from a different time in my life. New is better. New is so much better. Maybe not in the world of blogging. I really have no idea.

I curse. That’s the point of this message. The actual point. Not one of my rambling points. I use curse words. I say things that some people might find offensive (I don’t know you, you could like taking things a little too far, you could be fine with everything). I feel as though the world is coming around, but I’m a good enough person to state the warning anyway.

I have no idea if there’s a NSFW setting somewhere I can change. Because I’m going to curse. I can’t even remember if NSFW includes cursing.

The point is, I curse. I believe that words are words, and that’s all they are. They’re words until they have actions behind them. Before that, they’re sounds (or in this case, visual symbols) that our brains interpret to have meaning. So for the purpose of this blog, they’re just words. Accept it or get out, people. I’m not going to censor myself, as I shouldn’t have to. This is a creative blog filled with my creative work. Unless it’s not creative, as this post really isn’t.

I’m going to keep making the point in case someone decides to skim and they miss it the first couple of times. I CURSE.

There’s no excuse for not knowing now. Any complaints later on will be ignored. Just a warning. This is the internet. You don’t have to read. You can just continue on with your day.

I have to start somewhere.


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Here it is. The dreaded first blog post.

I’m feeling so much pressure to say something significant. Something to reel people in so they stick around to keep reading. Though I also feel this need to be honest with myself. I know that nothing I say in this post is really going to do anything to keep you around right now. That’s if you’re even reading this. I could just be talking to the expanse of cyber space with no actual eyes to see this. There might be a bot looking at this. I don’t know. I also don’t care.

Anyway, now it’s time to be honest with anyone who makes it this far into the post. I’m just using this post to test out themes. Trying to pick a theme with nothing to actually look at doesn’t really work all that well.

But if you care to know, and you’re still reading (what is the matter with you?), I’ll be using this blog for my fictional writing as well as my every day opinions about anything and everything. Probably more deep things, but I’m sure I’ll have some shallow things to talk about as well.

Happy Reading! (Seriously, how did you make it this far? I couldn’t even standing writing all of this.)