Month: February 2003

Once upon a time… There’s stuff I want to talk about that I don’t want to talk about. Car situation, worries about Banshee Studios, the ever-present financial woes, the near-maddening internal debate about what to plant in the front yard come spring, stuff. Just stuff. So here’s me, just writing. Uh, don’t read this if you’re offended by the word “shit.”

P.S. I’m not sure why this is what came out. It was just the worst day I could think of…

Bad Day.

Whenever I have a bad day, I think of this poor sod that I head about a couple of years ago from a friend of mine at work. He’d already been through the classic three of a really bad day a few weeks ago: his dog died, his truck broke, and his wife left him. Well, he woke up one morning and smelled shit. Not just shit, but oh, shit. His first thought was that the sewers had backed up. He should have been so lucky.

A bear had broken into his house in the middle of the night (ironically enough, the guy lived in Colorado. I lived in Iowa at the time), pulled out all the garbage, and shit in this guy’s hamper, which was in the bathroom. The wife had just left and had left a few things behind. The guy, being a guy, hadn’t washed the laundry since his wife had left, so all their clothes were full of bear poo.

So the guy gets up, digs out some old clothes with holes in them, goes without underwear, puts on his shoes with no socks, washes out the cleanest tie he has, throws everything else that looks nasty outside (again, because he’s a guy), and leaves for work. He’s got some kind of important meeting that day that he can’t miss, whatever. On the way to work his loaner car (not the truck, which is in his garage while he’s working on it) dies. The alternator goes out, and he can’t get any power. And his cel phone isn’t charged. So he’s out there on this semi-country road up in the mountains, getting late and later for work, no phone, and his tie smells like bear shit.

Behind him, he hears the sound of a big engine coming up the grade. As the front end of the vehicle comes over the top, he thinks, “Hey! That looks just like my truck!” As the rest of the vehicle comes into view, he realizes that it is his truck. The guy starts yelling. “Hey! That’s my truck!” He doesn’t know whether to be pissed off or glad to see another human soul on that road. The truck pulls over and the window rolls down.

The bear leans out and says, “Know how to get shit stains out of lingerie? Your wife’s going to kill me…”

Ooh. Geeks of the world, gawk:

Invisibility…uh…windbreaker. Of doom.

Via Jon, purveyor of cool stuff.

Escapism. Today, thinking of Doyce and his dickweed po’lice officer, I renewed the tags on the car.

I had to go back in to work for a meeting today at two; I decided to leave early just to finish up a few things before I had to go. Put the tags on the car. Stopped to fill up with gas.

Failed to re-start the car.

Asked both the managers in the station if they’d help me jump it–I have cables–and they refused. “I have a new car,” they both said. Well, so much for my business. Bye, Breakplace.

I waited until I calmed down and received help jumping the car. Two blocks from work–no power. I coasted to a stop and walked to work, called Lee, went to the meeting, and caught a ride home.

Ah, escapism.

Library. There’s a revolving door at the East library in Colorado Springs. Most people avoid it, choosing instead to pass through the handicapped entrance (a normal door) to the side.

I say, how often do you get to go through a revolving door, anyway?

…And there’s a coffee shop that serves espresso right in the front doorway.

Ray. She’s feeling better. She was giggling when I came home today.


A good story I heard at work. You know how it is. Every once in a while someone tells you a story at work.

It’s your classic gathering of friends with small children. The evening progresses, everyone’s been fed (changed if necessary), you’re sitting on the couch, leaning back, when someone interrupts someone else’s brag with the line, “Have you seen the kids lately?”


Everyone stands up and starts searching. There’s no need for everyone to look; nevertheless, everyone must look. Search, search, search. Nope, no kids here. Hm, hm, hm. Are they in the upstairs bathroom–oops, sorry! To the left, to the right, not in the bedroom…whups. Why is the craft room door shut?

Your heart stops. There are sharp objects in there. Right now, someone could be poking an eye out.

One of the mothers–the bravest one–opens the door.


Yes, that’s right. It’s worse than an eye out.

Another of the mothers steps in, panicking.

“Mary!* What have you done!”

One of the fathers steps in.

“Well, that’s just hideous.”

Mary, the three and a half year old, has…cut the one and a half year old’s hair. With scissors.

The parents are freaking out, the friends are all yelling, and the two little girls (as well as another little boy who was just sitting there, saying, “You’re going to get in trou-ble” the entire time) are getting complexes.

I said, “But nobody got their eye poked out, right?”

She said, “Nope. And I got pictures.” Then she giggled.

*Names have been changed to protect the preschoolers.

Rrowl. And I still haven’t finished the first chapter of the story. Ok, it’s up to nearly forty pages so far, and I’ve only missed three days since Dec 31. Nevertheless. And I’m going to have to do a rewrite before anybody (even Lee) is begged to read anything.

Once again, I think to myself: who’s going to read this? Answer: well, people I know. I mean, literally the people I know might read it (if they like), but it’s the kind of people that I know that I’m writing for, and, well, they’re weird and don’t fit into genre categories well. There is no Generation X Fiction section at Barnes and Nobles.

But I’m not cutting out the whole Bugs Bunny thing. I don’t care.*

Lee advises me to write whatever makes me happy. If that means short stories…he shrugs. Too bad I’m being possessed by ideas for novels.

*For those of you who know the story, I keep thinking of Joren at the Amber game. That kind of humor–you see what I mean?

Six more weeks of winter. I’ve passed Groundhog’s Day without comment.

First, it was a bright, sunny day. (Whistle cheery theme here.) Then, it became darker and ominous. Darker, and more ominous. Lions and tigers and bears, Oh my!

Finally, I said, “Shit!”

Joe’d gone to a company dinner for post-Christmas. Some idjit had almost run over three people standing at the stoplight a few blocks away. “Don’t go anywhere,” he said. Actual winter-like conditions persisted until later that night, when Lee scraped my windows. He’s a better man than I deserve. I refilled the windshield wiper fluid for him this afternoon. Love.

Raynews. Ray still isn’t feeling well. Lee said she cried for about half the morning, which is just damned unusual for her. And she isn’t sleeping well. Poor bebes. Lee’s napping now before work.

Space Shuttle. The Columbia boke up on re-entry today. An Israeli Air Force Colonel, Ilan Ramon, was one of the astronauts. No solid news of terrorist activity; security had been increased for both the launch and re-entry. Seven lives were lost. Lots of debris was found between Waco and the Louisiana border.

1967: Apollo 1 fire, January 27.

1986: Challenger explosion, January 28.

A Sunday launch of a Russian cargo ship to deliver supplies to the International Space Station will not be affected. There’s an emergency “escape pod” available on the space station to evacuate the three remaining astro/cosmonauts on board. They’re scheduled to return in March.

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