Adventures with: Disturbie

I have a new friend. He gives me ideas and gets those creative juices going for me. I think he's going to start hanging out with me. A lot.

Meet Disturbie.

Isn't he precious? Yes, it is a "he". I know because he has a penis. (No, that's his belly button in the picture.) This was my cousin's doll when she was a little girl. I thought he was creepy then, but after twenty years of wear and tear, he's downright revolting. I like him now. *smiles*

Why did I name him "Disturbie"? My aunt saw that I had taken a picture of him and told me that it was disturbing. I thought she said, "It is Disturbie." You know, like "Look! It's Chucky!" Well, that's not what she said, but his name is Disturbie now. I think it's a good name for a twenty-plus years old baby doll, and he's going to be moving in with me. I even have one of Bug's doll beds in my room that he's going to sleep in at night. We're going to make stories, even if they aren't always about him.

Gosh, he's just fantastic!

So, I think I've found my muse, even if he's plastic. With a penis. And missing an eyeball.

Sweet Disturbie, we are going to have adventures!

Don't you just want to kiss and love on him? Come on, don't kid yourself. You know you do.

Adventures with: A Telephone Pole

This summer was a hot one. There was practically no rain for months, and I thought we would never have grass in our yard again. September brought random forest fires throughout my area - some arson - and at one point; I had to evacuate my home. It was terrifying, stressful, and I am immensely glad that it is over. When little sprigs of grass began to reemerge in November, I had to sit on the ground to admire them and thank God that my slice of Louisiana had regained its usual mugginess.

I am not going to blame the rain. I am too glad to have it returned to us to shake my fist at it. I suppose it is an easy enough thing to forget, the danger of driving on a wet road.

I was on time for what I needed to do for work yesterday. It was my turn to buy the daily drinks for Bookboy and I at the library since he was kind enough to buy this poor woman lunch. I had ample time to go to the store and post office before opening the library. I was not in a hurry, and I was not driving fast.(1) I was not on my phone(2), as it was playing Beauty Queens by Libba Bray over my radio for me. I was not distracted. It probably saved my life.

As I rounded one of the corners on windy Highway 168, I watched an 18-wheeler go over the yellow line into my lane. This is a common occurrence on this road; many people avoid driving on it when possible for this very reason. There is only one thing a person can do, and that is to take the ditch. I have done this numerous times because there are discourteous truckers going through Ida and Rodessa quite regularly.

This time was different. Instead of stopping in the shallow ditch, my car began to slide toward the trees on the side of the road.

This is not the location of the accident, but that an example of the roadside flora.

I knew if I went into the trees, things would be bad. Not only are there tall, bendy pine trees, but there are tall, magnificent oak and pecan trees. However, the only way I could miss the trees on my crash course is if I hit a telephone pole.  It is not very often that I have to choose between the lesser of two evils on such an awesome scale. I would have preferred not to hit anything, but there was no way to avoid it. I turned the wheel, and began to spin.

Many people cannot remember anything about their car accidents. I refused to allow myself to lose control of my senses, even though I had relinquished control of the car as I spun toward the telephone pole. I did not indulge myself in lost consciousness as pain enveloped me as my car slammed once, then twice, into the telephone pole. I was convinced that the impact would break my shoulder as pain exploded everywhere, but I stayed in the moment, even as the airbag exploded underneath my chin, throwing my head back. I saw and smelled the smoke rising from the hood of my car even before I stopped. I knew that I was going to have to leave my somewhat-beloved Mazdarotti as soon as the car stopped spinning, despite whatever injury that I might have.

I have heard recounts of other accidents where people say that time completely slows. Mine was over in probably less than five seconds. As soon as the car stopped, I pulled cords to bring my phone to me. It was close, as I believe it was what hit the front of my head during the whirlwind inside of my car. I jumped out, leaving everything else where it had landed because not only was the hood smoking, the airbags were as well. My entire car stank.

I was surprised that the door easily opened. The cords connecting my phone to its charger and my iTrip were wrapped around my seatbelt somehow, so the most difficulty I had was disconnecting from all of that. Once I was outside of my vehicle, I knew that I needed to call for help. I felt completely fine, except for an achy shoulder (I checked - it did not feel broken), so I called my coworker because I knew that he was closest. I then called my aunt & uncle because I would need a ride to work, and they were also close. It was not until my beloved aunt began screeching at me about calling 911 that it occurred to me at all. Why should I? I was uninjured and the 18-wheeler was most assuredly long gone and probably already out of state. I promised my aunt that I would call 911 immediately, just to get off the phone.

Thankfully, the first car to pass by my accident was a good enough Samaritan to stop. They had slowed to look at the accident, and then saw me wandering by the wood-line about a thousand feet behind the car and rushed to me. Luckily, the wonderful man and his children were not on an adrenaline high and had the good sense enough to call 911 for me. I took that opportunity to start ranting to his son (who was very young and driving the car) about not having his seatbelt on, because I was convinced then, as I am now, that it was the only thing that kept me in the car and probably saved my life.(3) The Good Samaritan then had me sit in his car instead of on the fence that I had found because it was still raining and I was shaking like a chihuahua at a pit bull party. More cars came. Bookboy arrived and retrieved my belongings from the car, and my family came to check out the car and me. A childhood friend stood at the front of the car, and kept me talking and distracted from everything. She told me that I should take my earrings out (she knew that I would be going to the hospital, even though I had been trying to convince everyone that it was quite unnecessary). I was able to get one out, but the other was stuck. Apparently, when the airbag hit, one of the French hooks went into my neck. Thank goodness my childhood friend was also a mother (we have iron stomachs, most of us lot) and kindly pulled it out for me. I think that was what bothered me most of all and set me on the path to being convinced that I should seek medical attention.

Once the adrenaline began to wear off, my head began to hurt - badly. My neck was extremely painful (not where the earring was, mind you), and it scared me. Once I began to feel dizzy and queasy, I told my aunt that it was time that I went to the ER. I had called my doctor, but she said that it would not be a good idea for me to go to the office. Duh, Kayla.

A police officer met me at the ER door and took my statement as I waited to be treated. He was a high school friend's father, and it was very comforting to talk to someone I knew. The doctors were unfailingly kind (as always), and one was extremely hot (a nice surprise). I checked out well enough. Nothing was broken, but I did manage to sprain, strain, and tear a good number of muscles. I am also supposed to wear a neck brace for a few days. >.<

Overall, I consider yesterday a win, despite my car losing its fight - and life - to the telephone pole.

Taken by my aunt at the wrecker's location - the fender is still at the site of the wreck

Here are the only injuries that I can post, because you are not seeing my hematoma rainbows on my chest and thighs unless you buy me dinner first.

This is where my neck had been burned and bruised by the airbags

I did not even notice that my thumb was sprained until I had gotten home

There are no words for how grateful I am to be safe and alive today to write this blog post. I have friends who have died from hydroplaning and similar accidents, so I was blessed to walk away from that accident, mostly unscathed, and to come home to my daughter and my family after only two hours in the hospital. I am not saying that I do not hurt - I do, oh, I do - but this is definitely the lesser of two evils.

(1) Please ALWAYS leave early and drive slowly when the roads are wet. I am so glad that this bit of wisdom was drilled into me even before I started driving.

(2) You know not to text or call people while driving, especially when it is raining, right? (Just nod and agree.)

(3) Please buckle up anytime that you are in the car.

Adventures with: Bug & the 80s

As my readers know, I am the single mother of a fantastic kindergartner named Bug. The people that know us personally know what a strange creature my child is. Everyone who knows her bombards me with questions, mostly along the lines of, "What has she come up with lately?" Because of her shenanigans, she is a mini-celebrity at the local ER (I am keeping her teenage years in mind by NOT telling you that story).

Ever since she was a baby, she has always had the strangest obsession with stuff from the 80s. For example: her favorite movie is Labyrinth. She is currently on a Pee Wee Herman kick. She has stolen my Rainbow Brite DVDs. The list could go on all day. Anyways, she is convinced that I am going to marry the Goblin King (David Bowie circa 1986), and refuses to believe that he has aged in the past 25 years.

My Husband-to-be

All of this I can handle. It's cute, even. Hell, I wouldn't even mind marrying David Bowie because I respect a man in guyliner, and I wouldn't have to work unless I wanted to. My problem of late is this:



EVERY time we get into the car, my child demands that I play this song. She knows every word. My five year old can sing this song with more emotion and force than most grown people that I know. It is outstanding. I just cannot help but crack up when she belts it out. She is off key through its entirety and she sounds like a munchkin. The song is cheeseball hilarious and she gets pissed when I laugh at her. What can I do?

Heaven help me if she decides to obsess over Bryan Adams.

NaNoWriMo Update #3

Last night I made the official decision that NaNoWriMo was not for me. I love the "seat of your pants" writing requirements, but I have discovered that it is not my writing style. That is not to say that I am not grateful to have experienced it, because "the little girl" has been born. Shall I explain?

I went in to this project knowing my character. I have known her, researched her, and rolled her around in my brain like you do a fine wine in your mouth when you're tasting its excellence. I could feel her in every inch of my soul, and she wanted out. I knew that NaNoWriMo would be the perfect opportunity to put her to paper.

I was wrong.

In trying to make my daily word goal, I was writing just utter shit that was not beneficial to my character's story. She began to transform into an angsty teenager in love with a guy that is a complete dickwad. My character is strong, extraordinary, and so powerful that she has wrapped herself into a shell of self-hatred for what she is capable of. The teenage girl was not my character, and I don't want to write about her. Yet.

Mixed in with that silly teenager, there have been a few scenes that I wrote about "the little girl". That is the only name that she has right now, and maybe the only one she will have. I don't know yet. I only have about 3k words about her (as apposed to the 18k total), but the quality of those are exponentially better than my YA love story. I had my baby horror novel creeping in around the edges, and it's fitting. Shouldn't that be how horror novels are born? Slinking into other works, taking over the words that are not supposed to be there either, devouring them? I believe so.

I want to write for the same reason that I read. I read because I want to escape from the reality that is my own, and live in another world for just a little while - even if it scares me. I would be humiliated if I created something that I did not want anyone else to read, and no one wanted to visit. I want to make a story that will be worth the escape, even if it is for only one person. Even if it is only for me.

My NaNoWriMo project was not that story. It did, however, give birth to the one that is that story. I am going to write it and maybe one day, you'll get to read it. I hope so.

Thank you everyone for the support so far, but now the real writing is going to start, and I'm going to make it good.

Adventures with: Photographs

I found a picture album with a lot of old photos of myself yesterday. It had been heaped into a pile of other things, and I was quite surprised to see them. Many of them I have not seen since before Bug was born.

I'll share one of them with you.

This is one of my favorite pictures of myself. (No, his face is not blacked out in the original photograph.) I was young and pretty, with my hair the shade of red that it's supposed to be. Look at me smiling - I look very happy and in love, don't I?

There is a secret behind the picture. Two nights before this was taken, the guy on the right beat the crap out of me. After an evening of verbal abuse, admissions of cheating on me with multiple other women, and drinking, he decided that I was being disrespectful to him. It started with him dragging me out of a bar and backhanding me in the cab. The highlight of the evening was me bleeding on the sidewalk in front of his cousin's town house. The neighbors called the police and what I remember as a SWAT team trying to haul him off to jail while I hid under his cousin's bed because I felt like I had done something wrong. The night wrapped up with us in a motel room in another state that he made ME pay for because his cousin kicked him out. I woke up that morning with him on the phone with his ex-fiance telling her how much he missed her.

No, you're not reading this incorrectly. That all happened before this picture was taken. The girl in that picture was completely ruled by the guy next to her from the way her makeup is done, to the clothes she is wearing, to the way she is standing. Needless to say, that guy is no longer in the picture, figuratively and literally.

The woman I am now would say that I would give up everything I possess in that picture - youth, beauty, clothes, etc. - to never be in that picture again. In a way, I have. I may not be as young or pretty or dress in stylish clothes, but I am now strong enough to break things off with a guy who respects me and treats me kindly (that I also care about) as opposed to being someone to stay with an abusive, hateful twat for a month after he gave me a concussion.

I think being who I am versus who I was is a fair trade.

NaNoWriMo Update #2

I have been a little out of whack lately with NaNoWriMo, but I am getting my game face on. I am going to finish this by the end of the month. I am no longer going to hold myself back or imagine that there are outside forces keeping me from my goal. Anywho, here is my latest:

14943 / 50000 words. 30% done!

I hope to catch up by doing 1k/hour bursts over the next few days. I won't be writing in chronological order anymore so I can just get the scenes out that I believe are important. I'll add all of the fluff later.

Wish me luck!

Adventures with: November

The world is out to get me. The Universe hates me. Murphy's Law is operating to its fullest extent, barring great bodily mutilation or some other incident of excessive horror. Something that cruel would only serve to shut me down completely. The Powers That Be only want me to be irritable, depressed, and insane.

Meet November.

This is what the second to last month in the year holds in store for me annually for as long as I can remember. It is a big nasty ball of Suck, and there is nothing I can do about it. I have grown used to it, and I accept it as part of my life. Is it terrible that Life takes a shit on me for an entire month every year? Absolutely. However, it helps to know that it is going to happen, and I can just resign myself to it. Luckily, I realized that November had set in by the 7th and got the toilet paper handy.

I do not know why I always forget about the coming of November. I swear every year that I will be ready the next time that it hits. That is never the case. I am a die-hard optimist (deep down, ok?) and the month always plays the defenseless and cute card in the beginning. This year, the month started out as easy as it always does. I was able to get some of my NaNoWriMo project done, and all other aspects of my life were in their normal mode of mediocrity. Then November slowly started rolling out the attack.

Last week, I had a law official come into my place of business to question Bookboy and I regarding a crime that was committed at my workplace, in a sense. Thank Bob we were not faced with the Prisoner's Dilemma, as we naturally turned upon each other as soon as the cop walked out of the room. If we had been arrested for a crime (we were not and we have not done anything illegal), we would have been clawing each other's eyes out in order to get a better deal. Yes, we would turn on each other in a heartbeat, but that is the nature of our relationship. We are coworkers. A little backstabbing and self-servicing is demanded. Anyways, in terms of November, that is not so bad. That is something that one could easily expect from April or September.

It was not really until Sunday that I began to see the pattern of terrible that is November. I blogged about Sunday's Gossip issue a few days ago, but that was not the whole of the awful for that day. There was a gross miscommunication between the Gingerman and myself. We are the same in a lot of ways, but we have some major differences in others that make things very difficult for me (and for him because when things are difficult for me, I make life difficult for everyone). That being said, I ended up being very pissed off at him, and I am quite sure that he is completely disgusted with me. I do not know for sure - we have not spoken since then. Even better - my mother called to talk about what was going on with me. Bless her heart for caring, but when I am in the middle of an emotional meltdown, I only want to discuss things with the others involved (and maybe break the noses of the gossipy offenders). Glorious November rolls out the goodness!

It is not paranoia. This is Every. Fucking. Year. No exceptions. Let us head over to Monday so you can see. I ran away from the world to my friend Un-Nicknamed's house on Sunday night. She is mean enough to hold the evils of November at bay - which is also why she is Un-Nicknamed Friend. The terrible got right back on track when I left her house. Bug did not want to go to school and had a complete meltdown when I tried to drop her off that morning. I do not need to go into details. All of the parent readers know and those without children will not understand what I am saying until they are parents. It sucks to put it that way, but that is just how it is. The most I can say is that November was not pulling any punches when my child turned and chased me to my car, tears streaming down her face, begging me not to leave  her there. A tear-stained, snot-nosed child is not the main ingredient to a fantastic day - just so you know. Work was not really memorable except for a patron telling me that I looked like I had "bedroom hair" which translates to "you look like you just got done having sex" (which is never the case in November), but Bug was an emotional terrorist for the evening when I got home. Hooray!

Tuesday was the day November chose to pelt me with paperwork and bills and letters. None of it was anything good. I got a letter from the school board saying that paperwork that I sent in over a month ago was not there and bad things would be happening within two weeks if they did not get it. I got a letter from the DMV stating that my insurance had lapsed and my presence at their fine facility would be required - and soon. Then there was the most fun thing of all - a questionnaire for jury duty. It is November, so I am going to be selected for the pool. That is fairly awful, but if I am summoned for the pool, it will be the fourth time this year. Yes, you read that correctly - FOURTH. Honestly, I have given up. I hope they pick me so I be done with the nonsense. Somehow, I doubt they will so I can be summoned again. And again. And again. And again.

I chose the Ninth of November to be the day to take care of All The Things that was set upon me the day before. I had the foresight to ask Un-Nicknamed Friend (UNF)) to accompany me on my quest against the Evil Paperwork. I am not saying the day was not riddled with greatness. I had a morning coffee date with my favorite mommy friend, and there was much giggling and snark involved. It was a lovely November refueling point, and I paid for it later. After the coffee date, I decided that I would stop by my credit union before meeting up with UNF. I only had to deposit a check into my account, and I wrongfully assumed that November would turn her vindictive eye the other way. Almost immediately upon me sending my deposit slip and check through the drive-thru's Magical Sucking Tube, the teller told me that she would be unable to deposit it without the branch manager's approval. Would I like to go in and speak with the manager? Not particularly, but I resigned myself to it. After half an hour of waiting in the lobby, one of the loan officials invited me into  her office to assist me. She took a quick look at the offending check, and told me that I would have to speak to the branch manager. Apparently, requesting to speak to the branch manager does not really sink in until a person has seen everyone else in the branch first. I imagine that it is like a video game where all other enemies must be defeated before advancing to the Big Boss. After another fifteen minutes, the credit union's Big Boss stepped forth to do battle with me. For whatever reason, sometime in the past few months my credit union decided that it would no longer take perfectly good third party checks unless the person the check was made out to was a member of our credit union. Are you incredibly bored with this description of events? Of course you are. I am bored with writing it. November won and I left with my check. Game Over.

Getting right down to the point, I also lost to November with my insurance agency and the DMV, despite having UNF with me. (As a side note, she thought I was in need of medication at the beginning of my November explanation, but after I outlined it all for her, she agreed that I was in trouble until December.) I had to pay a fifty dollar reinstatement fee because of my douchebag, irresponsible agents. Did I have the fifty dollars? Well, hell no. I did not get to deposit my check. UNF was able to cash it at her bank, which everyone is boycotting and bashing right now for 99% reasons. I do not mind them because they can cash a fucking check! Try that one on for size, small business America. I paid the money, and got things done. The only part of all of that where I came close to coming unglued was when I was on the phone with an idiot from the main insurance company who accused me of speaking in riddles when I asked her to tell me the dates of which my coverage had lapsed. I am sorry America, but when my period there is up, I am going back to AIG. They may be crooks in public opinion, but they got shit done when I needed it. Simple questions also do not astound their operators. If small business wants to beat out corporations - hire non-idiots. But this is about November... I will tell you the worst part of the DMV. I had my number, and I asked UNF to hold on to it for me while I went to the restroom. My body is still actively rebelling against the removal of its cousin, Gall Bladder, and my number was called mid-attack. I knew that it was going to happen - it is November.

Yes, I am a big ball of stressed-out crazy. That is only because I do not know what November has in store for me next. I know bad things are going to happen. I am braced for the impact. I look forward to it. I would love for every bad thing that I have left built up for this year and the first part of next year to come at me right now. Why, do you ask? Because it is November and I am ready for it.